Wanted: Undead or Alive: A Riveting Western Novel With a Twist (Zeb Clemens Book 2) by J.R. Rain & Matthew S. Cox

Author:J.R. Rain & Matthew S. Cox [Rain, J.R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rain Press
Published: 2021-09-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Spirit Talker

Zeb stared up past the juniper branches at clear blue sky.

He realized he lay flat on his back upon bare earth, arms splayed out to either side. A short distance to his side lay the fallen tree Arnold had taken cover behind during their sorry excuse for a gunfight. Tingles and itching spread over the side of his head. The taste of blood filled his mouth. Much to his surprise, his guns remained loose in his grip.

That did not go well.

After a moment to adjust to being alive, he reached up to feel around his face. Everything seemed to be where it ought to be. Suffice to say, the creature had killed him with a single punch and The Lady saw fit to catch him at the gates of death yet again. A kink in his neck suggested that it had indeed been broken by the blow.

After a moment of lying there in silence, he sat up and blithely spent about fifteen minutes reloading both Colts while sprawled on the ground like a small boy playing with toys.

“This right here is wasting time.” He held up one gun. “These things ain’t gonna be no good. Would help if you gave me some instruction. How am I supposed to stop that thing?”

A man’s presence on his left made him sigh to himself. He waited a moment for Arnold to shoot him in the head. When no shot came, he decided to look in that direction. Rather than a bank robber, a Native American man stood there. The expression on his face said he had expected things to go about as they had.

“Don’t suppose you’re actually there,” said Zeb. He reached out toward the spirit—and touched his arm. Upon finding the apparition not so much an apparition as a solid person, he raised both eyebrows.

“We are all here,” replied the Native. “Can you truly say a spirit is less here than a man bound by flesh?”

Zeb rubbed his forehead. “It’s too early for talk like that. Just woke up from the dead. Haven’t even had a cup of Arbuckle’s yet.”

The shaman offered a placid smile.

After encountering a creature like he’d seen the previous night and coming back from the dead—again—the sight of a Native speaking perfect English shouldn’t have shocked him as much as it did. Certainly, some of them had learned the language by now, but he expected they’d speak haltingly, with a strong accent.

Guess the rules change when you’re a ghost. Bet he’s speakin’ whatever he speaks and I’m hearing it in English.

“You here to help?” asked Zeb.

“I am Keekuk, spirit talker of the Navajo Nation.”

Zeb offered a hand. “Zebadiah Clemens. No fancy title.”

Keekuk regarded the outstretched hand as if unsure what to do with it.

“Pardon. Just somethin’ white men do.” Zeb lowered his arm.

“You are He Who Strides Between Worlds.”

Zeb stuffed another paper cartridge into his second Colt, then pulled the ramming lever to stuff it into the chamber. “Something like that. Yeah. What was that thing?”

“Your people would call him a revenant.

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