The Emissary (Horse Women of the Zombie Apocalypse) by K. A. Jordan Page A
Authors: K. A. Jordan
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be either. But she wasn't interested in any of the local boys. They were all from small farms. Tyler would inherit the Davidson fort and everything he could build from it.
Alexis had nursing experience. She was also an herbalist and top-notch organizer, just like Patricia, her mother, and her eldest sister, Abby. The hundred acre farm that was Dunvegan, only had room for one chatelaine. Matters were already strained between Abby and Alexis.
"I'm not going to say goodbye," he said as he hugged Alexis. "I'm going to count on you to come back in the fall."
"It isn't that far," she protested. "Three days is nothing."
"Look after your sisters," he said. "Bethany will bring home more refugees than our community can absorb."
Alexis laughed, but when she looked up at him, her smile faded.
"Take care of everyone," she said. "I'll miss you all terribly."
"Don't let that boy send you home knocked up." Ken drew himself to his full six-two. "I'd have to ride to Fort Chatten to kill him."
"Oh! Dad!" Alexis protested. "Don't go all medieval on me!"
"Mind yourself," he growled.
He looked at the girls and their horses.
"Mount up!" he called to his daughters, then waved to his son-in-law standing at the wooden gate. "Open the gate!"
The girls swung into their saddles. The sound of hooves echoed against the stone walls as they turned their horses toward the gate.
Julie's young pack horse threw up her head, neighing shrilly to the horses in the stable. Ken frowned. The other pack horse had been lent out. Julie would have her hands full with that one. She snapped the lead rope, and the filly fell into step with Julie's saddle horse.
Ken nodded, satisfied Julie could handle it. He'd taught his daughters well. They were a small cavalry, unleashed on a world in ruins. His daughters had the skills and drive to reshape the world to suit themselves.
Not even an army of undead would stand against them.
Chapter 1
The four young women had been riding all day, dressed in leather chaps, knee-high boots and leather vests. The sisters ranged in age from early twenties to early teens. The two oldest had sun-bleached dark blond hair, one was a red-head, and the youngest had dark hair. They had tied their hair back with leather strips and tied bright yellow tartan scarves around their waists. Each woman was armed with a short bow, a pistol, a long knife and a rifle. The afternoon sun was warm, and the girls were sweaty, as were their four riding horses and two pack horses.
The compact horses were various shades of buckskin and dun. They had gold to cream bodies, striped legs, and black manes, tails, and stockings. Two had white body markings. The horses' cannon bones were strong, chests deep, rumps round with long, low-set tails. Their large dark eyes watched, small ears flickered, alert for any sound or movement.
Decked out in western saddles, breast collars and bridles, their gear had no flashy decorations to reflect light. The saddles were hung with weapons, water bottles, saddle bags and bedrolls. The two pack horses were loaded with panniers and packs.
The group traveled a dirt track parallel to a paved road. The road side hadn't been mowed in years, but cattle had grazed there, so the weeds weren't high. To the left was thick brush that eventually became woods.
The lead mare lifted her head and snorted a warning. Her rider, Bethany McLeod, raised her hand to signal the others to stop.
"Mist has something?" Alexis, the eldest, asked as her horse came abreast.
Beth shrugged.
"Scout's got it, too." Dani looked at her horse. His head was up, ears trained in the same direction.
"What is it?" Julie whispered.
"Guns or bows?" Alexis asked Beth. Alexis's horse's ears scanned like radar for movement in the brush around them. When the horse heard something, both his ears stopped moving.
"Bows. We want to pass quietly." Beth dropped her reins over the saddle horn. Alexis dropped her reins, too. Both sisters armed their short
Alexis had nursing experience. She was also an herbalist and top-notch organizer, just like Patricia, her mother, and her eldest sister, Abby. The hundred acre farm that was Dunvegan, only had room for one chatelaine. Matters were already strained between Abby and Alexis.
"I'm not going to say goodbye," he said as he hugged Alexis. "I'm going to count on you to come back in the fall."
"It isn't that far," she protested. "Three days is nothing."
"Look after your sisters," he said. "Bethany will bring home more refugees than our community can absorb."
Alexis laughed, but when she looked up at him, her smile faded.
"Take care of everyone," she said. "I'll miss you all terribly."
"Don't let that boy send you home knocked up." Ken drew himself to his full six-two. "I'd have to ride to Fort Chatten to kill him."
"Oh! Dad!" Alexis protested. "Don't go all medieval on me!"
"Mind yourself," he growled.
He looked at the girls and their horses.
"Mount up!" he called to his daughters, then waved to his son-in-law standing at the wooden gate. "Open the gate!"
The girls swung into their saddles. The sound of hooves echoed against the stone walls as they turned their horses toward the gate.
Julie's young pack horse threw up her head, neighing shrilly to the horses in the stable. Ken frowned. The other pack horse had been lent out. Julie would have her hands full with that one. She snapped the lead rope, and the filly fell into step with Julie's saddle horse.
Ken nodded, satisfied Julie could handle it. He'd taught his daughters well. They were a small cavalry, unleashed on a world in ruins. His daughters had the skills and drive to reshape the world to suit themselves.
Not even an army of undead would stand against them.
Chapter 1
The four young women had been riding all day, dressed in leather chaps, knee-high boots and leather vests. The sisters ranged in age from early twenties to early teens. The two oldest had sun-bleached dark blond hair, one was a red-head, and the youngest had dark hair. They had tied their hair back with leather strips and tied bright yellow tartan scarves around their waists. Each woman was armed with a short bow, a pistol, a long knife and a rifle. The afternoon sun was warm, and the girls were sweaty, as were their four riding horses and two pack horses.
The compact horses were various shades of buckskin and dun. They had gold to cream bodies, striped legs, and black manes, tails, and stockings. Two had white body markings. The horses' cannon bones were strong, chests deep, rumps round with long, low-set tails. Their large dark eyes watched, small ears flickered, alert for any sound or movement.
Decked out in western saddles, breast collars and bridles, their gear had no flashy decorations to reflect light. The saddles were hung with weapons, water bottles, saddle bags and bedrolls. The two pack horses were loaded with panniers and packs.
The group traveled a dirt track parallel to a paved road. The road side hadn't been mowed in years, but cattle had grazed there, so the weeds weren't high. To the left was thick brush that eventually became woods.
The lead mare lifted her head and snorted a warning. Her rider, Bethany McLeod, raised her hand to signal the others to stop.
"Mist has something?" Alexis, the eldest, asked as her horse came abreast.
Beth shrugged.
"Scout's got it, too." Dani looked at her horse. His head was up, ears trained in the same direction.
"What is it?" Julie whispered.
"Guns or bows?" Alexis asked Beth. Alexis's horse's ears scanned like radar for movement in the brush around them. When the horse heard something, both his ears stopped moving.
"Bows. We want to pass quietly." Beth dropped her reins over the saddle horn. Alexis dropped her reins, too. Both sisters armed their short
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