ZombiePalooza - Anthology

#TeamVoodoo Pt. II - @BellaBelk's "By the Skin of Her Teeth"

BY THE SKIN OF HER TEETH

By BellaBelk

Year: 1854

Location: Just outside Sacramento, California

They came west for the gold, but never counted on the witch.

Even our tribe avoided her, from what I remembered of my childhood. Now my tribe walked after their slaughter, raised to serve her against those who traveled into her territory. Many had strayed into the witch's land, and all walked out exceptionally worse for wear. They were all of them dead, corpses raised to walk, and would capture any who entered her territory and carry them to her- where the captured would become her servant.

I had thought myself lucky to escape, for a time. Then reality set in: I was a tribeless Indian girl in a land ruled by everyone else. The suggestion was made by a well-meaning elderly white man that I join a different tribe in the area; what he didn't understand was the long-standing politics and horrendous wars which separated the tribes. We weren't part of any grand nation; we were no Blackfoot or Cherokee or Sioux. We were a meager group, now slaughtered thanks to wars with the American travelers. A four-army war now plagued my homeland: the Americans, the Spanish, the surviving Natives, and the witch's zombies.

Now, twenty-two years into my life, I had lost everything- my family, my people, my home, even my name. I was called Maria Goldfeather these days, taking Maria from the Spanish that fit my coloring, and Goldfeather as a quiet tribute to my father, whose name I only remembered as 'Hawk.' Whatever his full name had been was lost to me- only another thing I no longer had.

But I wasn't the only one stranded in a war-torn land.

A small village had appeared; we called it Freedom, but that was wishful thinking. We were what remained in California of our respective groups, gathered in a small village at the edge of the redwoods, in a greener part of the newly-named state. What America wanted with this forsaken land none of us any longer remembered.

It was mid spring, as the winds started coming down from the mountains, when something finally gave our miserable existence a bit of hope.

I sat mending a weary boot on my doorstep, just on the edge of the one street running through our tired town, when Ennis Gills came sprinting into town holding a poster and hollering.

"Safety! A community! Hey, y'all, wake up!"

"Blazin' sun ain't even up yet, Gills!" The exclamation came from Lawrence Mullins where he was sweeping the saloon porch. "Hell you on about this early? And where you been past week?"

I watched the exchange in silence; I had learned it was usually better that I observed and didn't speak. I'd pulled my weight in this town, but even still, I was a woman and an 'Indian' so it was better I didn't speak too much.

"I went out on Dusty to try and find help, or survivors, or anything," Ennis panted, coming to a stop in the cloudy street.

"Where's Dusty?" Mr. Mullins asked, and Ennis waved off the question, still catching his breath.

"Gone. You know how it goes. I stayed out the witch's territory but she's spreading out. Anyhow- didn't find no survivors but I found this nailed into a redwood!"

Mr. Mullins jumped down from the porch, dust kicking up around his boots. He crossed over to Ennis, asking, "Then why'd you take it down?"

"Don't you see, Mr. Mullins? This is our salvation! We're gonna be saved!"