The homestead comprised of a circle of strong fencing, within which Henry could see a small corral, a medium sized barn and the cabin itself. Cattle continued to graze in the enclosure, untouched by the dead that milled around, seeming to have no purpose, nor any will to move on. In front of the cabin, Henry could see, at a guess, more than a dozen Drifters laid on the ground. Truly dead, it seemed. Gates, at either side of the enclosure had either been opened by someone uncaring, or left badly secured by someone careless. Either way, the homestead had become home to Drifters and Henry could see no way through, unless Annie went in, all guns afire.

She had already dismounted, edging as close to the fencing as she could dare without disturbing those Drifters close enough to catch sight of her. Crouching, she removed her black hat, wiping her forehead with the sleeve of her shirt, before replacing it. Now, she stared, her head moving as she took in every inch of the homestead that she could see. With a groan and a rub of her knees, she walked stiffly back to her horse.

"It would appear the Drifters have stymied our attempts at finding your man." A cow, closest to the fence, bellowed causing a number of Drifters to look that way. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "And we are most certainly in danger of catching their attention, should we linger too long in their vicinity."

The Drifters had no interest in cattle, nor of the flesh of horses, or of any other common animal. For these creatures, the only thing that could sustain their hunger was the flesh of those that were once their brethren. They only consumed human flesh. Why? No-one could say for certain, though many a man and woman of science had attempted to explain it. Some said it was affinity that drove them to partake of human flesh. Others that a peculiar distinction, that humans alone were the children of God and the Devil had sent the dead abroad to punish the living, made the Drifters feed upon people.

For whatever reason, the cattle within the enclosure were safe, whereas Henry and Annie were not. Their luck held, this time. Without moving, they had not shown themselves to the nearby Drifters, but Annie did not appear to wish to take that grace and leave. Instead, she began to unbuckle the saddle of her horse, trying her best to keep the clinking of the metal parts of the tack to a minimum, laying the saddle and bags to the side.

"Way I figure it, there's either a rich bounty within the confines of that cabin, or a place to sleep the night. Or both." She unslung her pitchfork and replaced it with her rifle. The sawed-off shotgun, she attached to her belt. "Now, we can take our chances out here in the brush, but I fancy a man like you would prefer a bed for the night. Just follow my lead, try to keep up and don't shoot me in the back if'n you get too scared to shoot straight."

Taking a length of rope from the saddle bags, she fastened it around a knife, a fork, a spoon and a couple of tin coffee cups that she dug out of the same bag. Arranged in such a fashion that they would not touch unless the horse moved, Annie had fastened the rope around the neck of her light-coloured horse. With a nod to Henry, Annie slapped the horse's rear end.

Almost in an instant, the horse reached a full gallop, the eating utensils and cups crashing and clattering together as the horse ran and, as it neared and passed the Drifters, their heads, to a one, whipped around at the tumult and the glimpse of speedy movement. That was all it took for those creatures to turn and follow the noise, hissing and gurgling and growling as they moved at as great a pace as they could achieve. Henry almost whooped as he saw almost the entire contingent of Drifters begin to follow the horse out, through the open gates at the other side.

"Quite brilliant." Henry had to stop himself from laughing at such a simple ruse. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and began to lead his palomino through the nearby gate. "Though not all have fallen for the trick."

Though the majority of Drifters had formed into a shambling group, near to passing out through the gates opposite, some still wandered within the confines of the enclosure. Annie nodded, taking note of the five, or so, remaining Drifters as she closed the gate behind her, fastening it tight and secure. With that done, she picked up her pitchfork, wrapped the strapping sling around one hand and began to stalk towards the nearest Drifter.

Without pause in her step, Annie plunged the pitchfork deep into the forlorn creature's head, tugging it free with a vicious yank. The Drifter fell immediately to the ground, but Annie had already set her sights upon the next one. She despatched that one with equal ease. The next pair were closer together and Annie had to use a different tactic for them. As one threw clawed fingers, the nails hanging from the tips or extending out at odd angles, toward Annie, she ducked, driving the butt of the pitchfork between the creature's legs.

A spin and a twist brought the Drifter to the ground in a tumble, but the other had reacted at the noise and movement. Henry had seen such before, though at a far greater distance. Slow to move under most circumstances, the dead could react with a surprising speed once they caught the scent of human flesh and blood. This one reached for Annie, almost catching her, but she had already started to roll away. The filth encrusted fingers grasped at empty air as Annie returned to her feet, plunging the pitchfork deep into the back of its head.

The other had already started to regain its own feet, but Annie caught up with it, slamming her booted foot into its back and stabbing one tine of the pitchfork into its skull. That left only one, lone Drifter remaining, out at the far side of the enclosure, near the open gate. Even as Annie began to move that way, her movements becoming stiff and jerky, her pale horse came racing back towards the homestead.

With the sound of the trailing utensils and cups catching the Drifter's attention, it turned as the horse rushed past, starting to shuffle and stumble back towards Annie and Henry. The fearsome woman met the Drifter half-way, despatching it with nary a second thought, before continuing on to the gate, closing it and fastening it tight.

"Take the horses to the far side of the barn and hitch 'em up. Keep an eye out for the dead." With a pained look upon her face, Annie passed Henry without pause. "Don't go near that house without me. Understand?"

Henry could only imagine the woman had pulled a muscle, or something similar, during her heroics, for he could not recall the Drifters placing a single finger upon her person during the entire event. Yet, in her eyes, he could see she felt pained, flexing and folding the fingers of one hand as she stalked back toward where she had left her saddle and bags.

He did as she had told him, taking the horses and leading them to the barn, keeping it between himself and the cabin that, in the receding daylight, had taken on a more sinister countenance. A quick check around the corners of the barn and he felt he could allow himself to breathe more freely. It appeared Annie had dealt with all the Drifters that had not chased after her horse, but he couldn't help but wonder whether they continued to chase after the horse even now.

While he waited for Annie to return, he untied the eating utensils and cups from Annie's horse, rolling up the rope and putting it to the side. He felt almost useless, even though he knew it was not his profession or within his abilities to help end the lives of the Drifters for the second time. Still, he couldn't help but feel he could have added something. As a distraction for that second Drifter that had almost caught Annie, perhaps. Something other than standing there as an aloof observer.

"We seem to be alone, now. Though I do not know if the other Drifters will return soon." As she dropped her saddle and bags beside him, Henry caught a better look at the woman. She had turned pale in the space of the last few minutes. "Are you alright? You look unwell."

"I'll be fine. Stay here while I check the house." Without rest, Annie set off toward the house, walking as though she had ridden at speed for hours, hardly making use of her knees at all.

He watched as she approached the cabin, dropping her back against the ridged wall and shuffling along. She chanced a glance through a crack between the closed shutters of a window, ignoring the bodies of the dead outside the house, before continuing on to the door. Then, huddled to the side, she used the butt of her pitchfork to push the door open. It swung on well-oiled hinges, leaving a black maw of an opening. Nothing jumped out and Annie gave a testing glance inside, flicking her head around the door frame and retracting it.

Still nothing emerged from the house and Henry watched as Annie slipped inside. It seemed to take an age and Henry began to fear the woman had come to an unfortunate end, but that usually involved a great deal of screaming. He wasn't so sure with this woman, though. He could very well see her trying to choke any Drifter feasting upon her with her own flesh, ramming it down the creature's throat without making a single sound as she died.

Then she appeared, half-in and half-out of the door, she rolled her hand, urging him to go to the cabin. As he ran towards her, he noticed at least some of the Drifters had found their way back to the homestead, unable to pass through the closed gate. He tried to ignore the possibility they could break through and dashed into the house, taking care not to set foot near those dead that lay upon the ground.

He almost wished he hadn't as the stench hit him like a steam train. It stank of death.