Kids are tough.
Life was not fair. I don’t know if I’d ever been under the illusion that it was, but if I had, it was long, long ago.
Bad things happened to good people, and those who deserved to have life rain on their parade always seemed to have umbrellas.
That was nothing new, but seeing kids always drove that point home.
I crouched down in front of the little ghost. “I’m going to go say goodbye to my friends. Can you wait for a little?”
The boy nodded, then sat down on the floor. He reached over to the coffee table and snatched the magazine.
He was a little off. I couldn’t point out what was off about him, but a voice at the back of my head was nagging at me.
That was normal, though. Ghost children tended to be…strange. The young either handled their death better than anyone else or broke.
It had been less than five minutes since Blair left to gather her things, but I was betting she was already done.
I strode through the twisting halls of the manor, my feet echoing off the hardwood.
Memories tugged at the edges of my vision. Margo skipping along the hall, the smell of eggs wafting from the kitchen. Master Bram’s warm laugh.
I shook my head, scattering the memories like smoke.
I found the Pack gathered at the front door, each with identical backpacks slung over their shoulders.
Well, identical in brand and model.
They had all started as large black packs with a perverse amount of zipped pockets, but each had certainly made their mark.
Blair hadn’t changed her bag, but I could still pick it out just fine. It was positively bursting at the seams. Every ounce of space that could be used was. And despite that, I was sure the whole thing was organized with enough precision that Blair could find what she wanted in the dark.
Simon’s pack was worn ragged, with patches over much of it. A few sections looked melted. I didn’t want to ask.
Laurel had bedazzled her backpack. Well, I say that, but it didn’t actually have any rhinestones, just lots of pinks and purples painted or stained or something into the fabric, giving it a vibrant, cheerful vibe.
Bobby had a shit ton of stickers—just an unreasonable amount layered over every inch of the bag.
I couldn’t even make out a quarter of the individual stickers; they were layered that thick.
They turned to me as I neared. “We shouldn’t be gone for too long,” Laurel said. She pushed a strand of black hair behind her ear as she watched me.
All of them looked at me with concern as they hefted their packs. It was sweet, but it was also annoying.
“I’ll be okay,” I chuckled. “You lot are more likely to end up in a fight.” I frowned. “Stay safe out there.”
Simon gave me a tiny grin. “Always.”
I paused. “That would make me feel better if it wasn’t coming from the only person in this room that tinkers with bombs.”
He sighed. “They aren’t silver. It's…safe.”
Bobby rolled his eyes. “Which is why you paused.” He gave me a fist bump before heading to the door.
Laurel hesitated, then gave me a very quick hug as if afraid it would shatter me.
Simon waved, his usually reserved expression cracking to show his worry.
Which left Blair.
Her grip tightened on her pack, the fabric creaking.
I walked forward and gave her a gentle hug. She was warm and solid. I took a deep breath. “It’ll be alright. You guys will be back before you know it.”
She returned my hug silently. After several long seconds, she spoke. “Just don’t do anything crazy, alright?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
She stepped back and, after one last look, walked out of the manor. Leaving the place empty, save for me and one lone ghost.
~<>~<>~
I didn’t waste time to get out and about.
With the child in tow, I started for the town proper.
The kid nodded when I asked if the place he wanted to go was downtown, which was good enough for me.
The familiar, pothole-strewn north road greeted me like an old friend. An old, often muddy friend that tried to break my ankles when I wasn’t paying attention.
…I never said it was a good friend.
The setting sun washed over me, casting deep shadows over the road and making the lots I passed even more ominous. Considering some of the things that lived in those lots, more ominous shouldn’t even be possible, but here we were.
I avoided Grumpy’s side of the loop. I could deal with him just fine, though the carnival would suck. It was the kid I was worried about. The little ghost might be fine, or he might have a panic attack after feeling Grumpy’s presence.
I chose the path less likely to include child trauma.
By the time we reached the town proper, the sun had set, casting Silver Spruce into gloomy twilight.
I actually liked twilight. It fit with the whole hermit who owned a graveyard vibe.
The problem was that a lot of other things that were bigger and stronger and much, much hungrier than me also liked twilight.
That small bridge between day and night was the metaphorical dinner bell for much of the supernatural world.
And I was a preferred meal for a good chunk of the things that went bump in the night.
Blair had written me a note of all things explaining the situation with the clans. I wouldn’t need to worry about a ‘Rogue’ group kidnapping me for now unless they actually were rogue.
And all it had taken was the threat of war from one of the most powerful factions on this planet.
But while that was undeniably nice, I had never been truly safe. There was always danger. The mage clans had just been the cherry on top.
~<>~<>~
The bus rumbled beneath me, its warm, almost definitely germ-infested seats oddly comforting in their familiarity. I turned my attention to the ghost and got ready for a game of charades. “Do you know the exact location you need?”
Cara, the bus driver, gave me an exhausted look.
I ignored her.
The ghost nodded, his pale cheeks looking even worse in the harsh fluorescents overhead.
“Is it a restaurant?”
A shake.
“Is it a park or other natural landmark?”
Another shake.
“So it’s a building.”
Nod.
“Tourist attraction.”
He paused, then waggled his hand.
I went down my list. “Business?”
A resounding shake of the head.
“Government building.”
Nod.
“Library.”
Shake.
“Police station.”
Shake.
I paused. “Town hall.”
He nodded emphatically.
I sighed. Not the worst place he could have said, all things considered.
After that, it didn’t take long to get into gear, but twilight faded into true night when we reached town hall.
The town hall was old, older than downtown, older than most of the town, period. It was tucked away on a hill, a winding road maintained in the most technical sense leading up to it.
I walked for a half hour from the closest bus stop before the old thing came into view.
Two stories, wooden and dark. Its age stuck out at a glance, its windows stained with time and grime. It had a tall, arched roof with green tiles and dark wooden siding.
The building looked haunted as hell, but I knew it wasn’t.
Not anymore.
I turned to the boy. “This the place?”
He nodded, his gaze wobbling somewhat.
He looked like a sad child, but…
I hid a frown. There was something off about his expression, something I couldn’t quite place but didn’t like all the same.
I unveiled my aura, tearing off a tiny bit of shroud. I pushed the image of friendliness into it and sent it out.
The pulse had enough juice to cover the town and would signal all the friendly ghosts to come my way.
It might not be necessary, the kid leading me to an out-of-the-way area that looked sketchy as hell was the norm for me. But better to have help just in case.
“I’m guessing we need to head inside?”
Another nod.
With growing unease, I walked up the steps to the double doors.
~<>~<>~
“Got him.”
Dalton blinked at Cornelius, who had flung himself to his feet.
He pulled out his phone. “Sight B. I’m sending in the twins with you. Wait for them, Cagel. I mean it.”
The woman growled on the other end of the phone, but he knew she would listen.
A lesser were might have let their pride and anger push them into chasing a necromancer without mage backup, but Cagel was old enough to understand her limits.
Someone like Adela Northwood would literally eat the necromancer for breakfast before the man knew what was happening, but Cagel was not Adela Northwood, and she knew it.
Dalton swallowed. “What now?”
Cornelius sighed and sat back down. As much as he wanted to rush off into battle, that was likely what the Barrow King wanted.
The twins were being sent as backup because of their insane mobility as much as their power. If the necromancer had tripped a false alarm and escaped, they could move anywhere in the state fast enough to make a difference.
They had five different sights scouted out, and Cornelius had been tying himself into knots waiting for news. But now that he had it, he was to sit in this dingy Portland safe house and wait.
…Cornelius hated waiting.
~<>~<>~
The front door was unlocked. I knew it would be. I doubted anyone had been here since the last time I visited.
The entry hall was large, with a big oak desk filled with dusty papers and a line of wooden chairs on the wall for people to sit as they waited for the mayor to bother with them.
Hypothetically, if we’d had a mayor since my equally hypothetical grandparents day.
Now those chairs had a few inches of dust on them, and I was pretty sure a family of raccoons had been using one as a nest.
To our left and right were long halls. Each one led to a corner and
wrapped around the whole building.
The boy led me to the right. I had an inkling we were heading for the stairs a little ways into the hall.
Sure enough, we headed for the stairs, their dark wood creaking underfoot.
The second floor was a maze of offices, hallways intersecting and linking to rooms only to dead end seemingly at random.
I sighed. Our dear mayor had made several changes in his time in office. Most of them aimed at making the town hall more defensible in case of an attack.
You might think he was aware of the supernatural and paranoid, but no. The nutcase was just paranoid. He didn’t have a clue about the spooky side of things.
The kid led me through the winding halls with confidence, and my apprehension grew the further we went.
The kid wasn’t walking right. His posture and bearing had changed. Gone was the timidity and fear, replaced with a self-assuredness that didn’t belong anywhere near a child.
My gut told me this little guy had led me into a trap, and if he was making such a big tell, then it had likely already sprung.
He stopped at the doors to the mayor's office. This actual office was at the deepest point in the building, not the phony one he’d constructed near the front.
Something nasty could be waiting for me in there, but I was pretty sure I knew what this jig was.
I pushed open the door, the weight of my sidearm at my hip clear in my mind.
The room was a big box with steel-reinforced walls behind the plaster. It had no less than three hidden gun cubbies in it. Two of them had been cleared out, but Gus had made sure I cleaned and repaired the guns in the third cubby before…
I sighed and turned to the ghost.
“Alright. What’s the plan, then? You got a grudge, or does someone else?”
He looked up at me, his eyes cold. “Well, aren’t you clever.” The voice was technically still that of a child, but his tone was as vicious as it was high-pitched.
“Took you long enough, but you technically managed it before it was bleedingly obvious!”
I frowned. “Is that even a word? Bleedingly?”
He scowled at me. “Shut up, fool! You followed an unknown ghost into an isolated building. I won’t have you questioning my grammar!”
I rolled a shoulder. “That’s literally what I’ve done my entire life. Ghosts tend to be in spooky locations.”
The ghost glared at me for a few seconds, opened his mouth, then turned away. “I won’t waste words on a deadman.”
I snorted. “Well, isn’t someone a hypocrite.”
The child vanished through the ceiling without another word.
As soon as he left, I rushed to the far wall and pulled back the plaster. It gave easily, the hidden hinge allowing the section of wall to swing out.
Rodgers and the others would arrive soon, so I’d have backup for whatever was coming, but it might not be enough.
I pulled out my shiny new phone. Blair had forced me to get one when she learned I was lacking in the tech department. I had resisted at first. I hadn’t needed a phone for my entire life, all the people I talked to regularly were dead, and I could call them with my magic if needed.
I relented pretty quickly. Partially because I couldn’t even remotely defend my desire not to get one, and Blair had told me her family would pay for it.
Usually, that would have stung my minuscule pride, but I was okay with her unreasonably wealthy Pack paying for my phone when they were the only people I’d be talking to with it.
As I frantically typed in the password, I was grateful she had bullied me into it.
Rodgers appeared next to me, phasing through the wall. His face was grim, his ordinarily kind eyes hard. “Zombies are entering the building. The necromancer is coming for you.”
“Shit!”
I hit call. The phone barely rang once before Blair answered.
“Yes?”
“The necromancer is after me! I’m in the town hall, zombies coming as we speak.”
She snarled, and I heard the sound of tires screeching over the phone. “We’re in Portland. We can’t make it to you within the hour!”
Panic started to flood her voice, and I cut her off.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be okay. I got a plan. I-“ The call dropped.
I checked the bars and got a blinking No service. for my trouble.
Rodgers cursed. “They cut the lines!”
Ben stepped through the wall a moment later, his expression grim. “Do you actually have a plan?”
I gave him a dark chuckle. “No. I was just trying to make her feel better.”
“Well…that’s sweet, at least?”
I nodded. “Have that engraved on my tombstone, will you?”
Ben gave me a big thumbs-up. “Of course!”
“No! We will not be carving anything on any tombstones!” Rodgers growled.
I returned to the cubby and the guns that filled it.
There were only two, but they were beauties.
The pump action shotgun was a comforting weight in my hands. It’s dark brown wooden stock glossy in the flickering light.
The box of shells behind it was even more comforting.
A heavy revolver came next, a real Dirty Harry looking thing.
Its rounds were in a purple Crown Royal bag, which I promptly tucked in my pocket.
I loaded both guns then looked at the ghosts.
“Who else showed up?”
“Agatha, Ahab, and Lilly,” Rodgers said.
I hesitated at Lilly’s name but nodded. Five ghosts total. Not bad for the middle of the night.
A moan echoed through the building, followed by a crash.
Agatha flew through the floor. They’re coming in from every angle. You’re surrounded.”
I scratched my chin. Well, this was bad. “Anything other than zombies?”
“I think there might be a fallen ghoul. I only got a look at it for a second. I was in a bit of a rush to reach you.”
I nodded, but the bottom fell out of my stomach. I could technically kill a fallen ghoul with what I had on me. And you could technically kill a grizzly bear by sticking your arm down its throat and choking it.
Possible, but the more likely outcome was you getting mauled to death by a goddamn bear.
My thoughts swirled, plans forming and discarding at a record pace.
My panic and fear were shoved to the side. I didn’t have the time for them.
Blair would be coming for me, as well as alerting others. If the mage clans heard I was in danger, there was a good chance they’d help in hopes of endearing themselves to me.
But most of the mages had cleared out along with the werewolves. I wasn’t sure who was even in town to help.
And if they did come, how long would that take? More importantly, how long could I hold out for?
I had to work under the assumption that help was coming, so my best bet was to plan on stalling.
But that didn’t mean holding on here. If the undead reached me and broke into this room, I’d be screwed. I needed to stay mobile.
I looked up. Lilly and Ahab had entered the room while I was lost in thought.
Ahab looked exactly like how you’d expect someone named Ahab to look. He had a strong jaw, thick black hair, and a full beard.
He was dressed in a pair of chest-high waders and a large black raincoat that hung to his knees.
He pulled off his beanie and met my gaze, his dark brown eyes full of worry.
“Running back.” Rodgers nodded. “Good idea.”
Lilly looked between us. “What’s that?”
I started moving towards the old desk. “It’s a stalling tactic. This building has a hallway along its outer edge that links to deeper rooms like a honeycomb.”
I pulled a drawer out, revealing the old record player inside. It was hooked up to a nest of wires. Our lovely mayor had made me spend a week hooking the thing up to the building's intercom system.
I’d needed the help of several other ghosts who actually knew shit about tech, but I’d gotten it done.
“I’m going to haul ass while you cover for me like I’m carrying the ball. Two ghosts in front cleared the path and warned me about what's ahead. Two behind to cover my rear, and one with me to help when needed.”
Lilly nodded. “Okay, simple enough.”
I reached into the drawer again and pulled out a record.
The mayor had been dead when this thing released, but being dead didn’t stop him from becoming a fanboy, and he hadn’t settled for anything other than an authentic first edition.
Even after all these years, I felt a flash of anger for the bastard.
“They’re getting closer!” Agatha warned, her voice rising.
“Almost done!” I slotted the record. The familiar stress, the adrenaline, the terror, all of it washed over me. I let it.
The needle dropped.
The undead, by and large, were hunters. Either by scent, sight, hearing, or magic. They hunted down their prey and tore them apart. I couldn’t do anything about sight or smell at the moment, but sound?
Bad Moon Rising began to thunder into town hall, masking the sound of the groaning dead.
I stood, sucking in a deep breath. The scent of old wood, dust, and paper filled my nose, mixing with the metallic stench of the gun in my hands.
My side ached, and I was already exhausted. I wanted to go to bed.
I cracked my neck, then raised the gun. “Let’s go.”
Ben and Agatha rushed through the door, and I followed.
Rodgers stayed at my side as Lilly and Ahab took the rear.
“I hear a bad moon rising~”
I rounded a corner into a hall and sprinted down it.
I needed two more lefts, and then I’d be in the hall I wanted.
I busted through the next door, and Ben shouted a warning.
“One on the left!”
I brought the shotgun up and fired the instant the zombie came into view.
The things rotting suit was blasted apart as I took its head off its shoulders.
The zombie dropped, and I kept going.
Another room filled with dusty papers and dark walls with chipped paint.
“Two on the right!” Agatha called.
I burst through in time to see Agatha’s hands solidify, the ghostly blue tint to her skin deepening as she shoved one of the zombies in the back.
At the same time, Ben’s foot solidified in the zombie's path.
It went down, and I ignored it, focusing on the woman in a tattered white dress. Mud clung to its edges, and her grey hands grasped for my throat.
I fired, the buckshot tearing into her with a spray of dark blood. The smell of rot and mud filled the room.
I kept moving, the music pounding in my ears.
Sprinting like this sent pain lancing down my side, but I kept it up until I reached the hall. I looked both ways before running right.
I slowed to a jog. If I gassed myself, I’d be screwed.
My breaths came deep and slow. Despite my injury, a week and change of bedrest hadn’t undone years of conditioning. The hole in my side had undoubtedly put a damper on that, but magical healing was a beauty.
“Corner’s clear,” Ben called.
I rounded it and kept going. I just had to keep stalling, make them work to find me. Blair would call in the cavalry.
I ran past a stairwell that would lead to the back. I couldn’t take that way out. It would be guarded.
And if this necromancer was remotely competent, they’d have fast undead stationed outside in case I jumped through a window.
Why the hell were they after me in the first place? I’d never even met them! The closest interaction we’d had was when I sensed their ward.
Surely that wasn’t enough for them to send the undead hit squad.
It might be, though. The odds were good that these necromancers were insane. You couldn’t always tell what could set them off.
I knew what it was like inside a broken mind. Things didn’t have to make sense to someone like that.
Wails sounded over the music. A cold, oily sensation rose with the sound, covering my senses in a flash.
There was a thump from my right and a flash of power. I dove forward and hit the ground as the wall exploded, wood and plaster flying.
I hear earthquakes and lightning~
I rolled to my feet, pain rippling from my side. No time for resting now, Alder.
I glanced over my shoulder as I ran and bit back a curse.
The ghoul was hideous. Close to seven feet tall with a hunched back, long arms hanging to its knees, and thick fingers topped with black claws.
And all that paled compared to its face.
Ghouls were in the same boat as vampires. They didn’t start as undead, but if they gave in to their hunger, it literally ate them alive. Twisting them into something else.
The ghoul's jaw distended in a nightmarish muzzle, somewhere between a wolf and a bulldog.
Jagged yellow teeth overflowed past its lips, and I could smell its rotting breath from here.
White eyes focused on me, and those jaws spread, displaying those teeth in more detail than I ever wanted.
It moaned, the sound filled with raw hunger.
Welp, the shotgun isn’t going to cover it.
I ran as fast as I could and prayed this ghoul skipped cardio.
As the sound of its gaining footsteps pounded over the music, I knew I wasn’t so lucky.
“Trip it in three!”
I spun, bracing the shotgun as ghostly hands grabbed its back foot.
The ghoul would be monstrously strong but not that strong by supernatural standards. If it were, I’d be dead already.
So when Ben and Agatha jerked its foot back the instant it tried to move it, the ghoul tumbled forward, and the shotgun roared.
The gun kicked into my shoulder, and black blood sprayed.
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The ghoul’s head jerked back, but its brain wasn’t included in the spray of gore. While they couldn’t heal as fast, ghouls were as hard to kill as werewolves and vampires.
They didn’t regenerate as quickly as the former and didn’t have the myriad of magical tricks as the latter, but the average ghoul was more durable than the average were or vampire.
So, while the shot staggered him, I had no illusions that this was over.
I pumped, the shotgun giving me a weighty ‘chunk chunk’ with the motion.
I fired again, slamming the buckshot into the ghoul's head, more blood and flesh flew, giving the thing an even more horrific appearance, but I didn’t even chip the bone.
I gave it one last shot to its knee, then turned and kept running.
I rounded the corner, and Rodgers called out. “File cabinet coming down.“
I sped up, and the heavy wooden cabinet crashed to the ground inches behind me, partially blocking the corridor.
The pain in my side built, but I felt no blood leaking.
Not bad, all things considered.
I blew through two more zombies and then started to reload without slowing.
I could hear the ghoul in the distance. I couldn’t keep this lead for long.
I rounded another bend. Had I done a full loop at this point?
I tried to consult my mental map of the place. Where was the nearest gun stash? One of them had a hand grenade in it. And since the ghoul hadn’t caught me yet, there was a decent chance that a grenade to the face would kill it.
“Detour!“ Rodgers bellowed. “First door on your right!“ I didn’t hesitate, barely looking at the hall long enough to see a group of four zombies before I took the door.
If I cut through the next two rooms and took a left, I could get back into the hall. I wanted to barricade some of the doors behind me, but depending on how long this went, a pathway that I closed off was one that I couldn’t double back through later.
It would be awfully embarrassing to die because I trapped myself with a file cabinet.
Shag carpet greeted my boots as I raced through an office. This office was Linda’s. I can’t believe I let her have that stupid carpet.
I shook the thought off and kept going.
I hear trouble far away~
I made it to the next room, a long office space with a door to my left, right, and one straight ahead.
Rodgers and Ahab slipped through the far door only to burst back in an instant later.
“Take the door to your right!“ Ahab shouted.
Three zombies charged through the door on the ghosts' heels.
They came at me, running only a few notches below a full sprint.
Go for the head? No time, can’t stay still.
The shotgun roared, and the lead zombie's legs buckled and gave. It didn’t matter if they couldn’t feel pain. If the muscles and tendons connecting their legs together didn’t exist, they weren’t running.
These zombies were fast, but they weren’t agile. The first toppled, and the next two slammed into it, going down in a tangle of limbs.
I burst through the door as Rodgers flew ahead of me.
It was the lunch room, which was a needlessly elaborate thing that stretched up both floors with a cafeteria on the bottom and tabled seating overlooking the first floor.
Don’t know why so many people complained about the room. So what if it was expensive? I wanted to eat somewhere that looks nice!
Dammit!
I shoved the thoughts away and pushed a chair against the door behind me.
Body’s slammed into it a moment later, causing the wood to shake in its frame.
Ben and Agatha flew through the door, their expressions grim. “Bad news,” Agatha growled.
“The other doors are getting swarmed. They’re converging.“
I swore. “Barricades!“ I rushed to the nearest door, wedging a chair under its handle before dragging a table over to shove against the chair. It looked wedged in enough that they’d need to break the door itself to get through.
Rodgers, who had been slipping in and out of the walls as I worked, flew over to me. “Six directions now. They’re trying to cover every exit.“
I sucked in a breath as my mind worked overtime. “Anything nastier than a ghoul?“
He shook his head. “I counted three bands of sprinters and another three with slightly slower runners. But there are a lot of zombies.”
I bit my lip, my eyes scanning over the doors.
How had so many zombies gotten into town with no one noticing? How had they slipped past the Pact’s defenses?
I shook the thought off and focused back on the doors.
I ran towards where Rodgers pointed, a barricaded door to my left.
“Help me bar the hell out of this thing. It needs to be able to take a beating. Then we block the others until they’re good enough. Then we wait.“
“And after that?“
I sighed. “We find the door with the least amount of resistance, open it, and then pray we can kill what’s on the other side.“
~<>~<>~
Blair fought, desperation and rage pushing her into a frenzy.
A treacherous voice at the back of her mind told her that it didn’t matter. She couldn’t get there in under two hours, even running at her top speed. Alder would be fine, or he would be dead, and there wasn’t a thing she could do.
Hot, ugly rage burned in her chest. Before she could even worry about being too slow, she had to deal with the undead and the vampires.
The Barrow King had sent six different squads into the city, each heading for an artifact or Pact member.
Blair’s Pack had been stationed outside a museum with an Egyptian exhibit inside. Blair had been told what the artifact was, but she couldn’t remember.
It was hard to focus on anything. Anything aside from the undead in front of her.
She crashed into the woman blocking the doorway, taking her head off with a punch. The rotting flesh gave easily. Blair hardly even slowed down.
Her Pack ran beside her, their faces grim.
They knew the score as well as she did.
There was nothing they could do.
She screamed, breaking through the formation of undead and hurling herself at the trio of vampires, leading them.
The radio chatter said Portland wasn’t being hit hard, not on a grand scale. But the strike teams were either after something or someone. Even if they aimed to bind some influential Pact members in the city, tearing them apart would deprive the enemy later.
And Blair couldn’t leave with them at her back.
Her fist blurred through the air, her blood pounding through her veins as the strength from the fading moon shone down.
The vampire dodged the punch, one of its flunkies charging her from the side. She didn’t acknowledge the woman, pressing off with her toes and cracking the ground as she moved.
Bobby intercepted the second vampire, and she kept after the first.
The vampire moved like someone in their early hundreds, his steps precise and his strikes brutal.
But he wasn’t faster than Blair.
Her fingers shifted as she swiped, black claws sprouting up and giving her several inches of reach. She caught the vampire across the face, and he cried out.
She was on him before he could recover.
He slashed blindly at her, and she caught his wrist. She crushed it, his bones grinding together as he screamed.
A distant part of Blair realized that she shouldn’t be strong enough to do that, that it was a bad sign, and that she should reevaluate, take a step back.
The rage drowned that voice out, smothering it in hate.
Simon swept the vampire’s legs, and Blair’s boot stomped down, crushing its throat before he could turn to mist.
She ripped a steak from the holster at her side and drove it down. She moved on to the next one.
The vampires lay dead moments later, the zombies in pieces, and the cries in the night air growing distant.
Blair started to run even as that voice continued to whisper that it wouldn’t be enough.
~<>~<>~
I stared at the can of preserved raspberries as the riffs of Down On The Corner drowned out the wailing dead.
“How long do you think canned raspberries last for?“
Lilly stared at me like I’d gone insane.
Ben answered from his position near the door.
The barricade was as big as it was going to get, he knew that, but he obviously wasn’t happy about it.
“A while. Years I think.”
I pushed my lips. “Well, I think this has been here since the late 60s, so it’s probably fine, right?”
“You are not eating that!“ Rodgers called from outside. “It’ll make you sick!“
I waved him off, not that he could see. “You’re no fun.“ I pocketed the can and walked further into the kitchen.
They hadn’t spared any expense. Despite being 60 years old and out of use for most of those years, the kitchen was in as close to pristine condition as you could expect. It just needed a bit of dusting, and you could feed a small army.
“Maybe I’ll cook a cobbler for the zombies. Raspberries are red and chunky. Maybe they’ll mistake it for brains.“
“Brains are pink,“ Ahab pointed out.
I waved him off too.
“Next phase, Alder,“ Rodgers called out.
I moved to the back of the kitchen, into the cleaning closet, tucked into one corner. Lilly followed me inside, her expression drawn and her eyes tight.
There was a mop bucket, empty, of course, leaning against one wall.
I tipped it over and sat down. My side cramped, and my muscles groaned, but it was nice to have a seat at least.
I hummed along to the music, doing my best to ignore the pain and the sounds beyond the door.
Lilly stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “How do you do it?“
I tilted my head towards her. “Oh? Do what.“
She gestured with her hand towards the kitchen and what lay beyond. Then back to me. “All of it. How do you fight when your side is like that? When you’re so…“ She trailed off, floundering for words.
“Fragile?“ I offered.
She nodded.
“I don’t mean you as a person. But humans in general.”
“How do you go around when everything out there can kill you, when you…”
She sank to the floor and wrapped her arms around herself.
I reached out and gently laid a hand on her arm, her skin cool under my fingers. “You didn’t think about it until you died, did you?“
She shook her head. “ I always knew it could happen, in my head. We’re not immortal. Not truly. But it was always so distant. Werewolves don’t die slipping in the tub. They don’t get sick and waste away. They don’t… They aren’t supposed to just vanish, just like that. Without a fight.“
She squeezed her eyes shut.
“I don’t-” she sniffed. “I don’t think I could’ve left the house if I thought it could end at any moment. If I thought I was just as weak as a-” she cut herself off.
I finished the thought for her, my voice gentle, “as weak as a human.”
“I didn’t mean-“ I squeezed her arm. “No. It’s okay. You’re right. We are weak. Hell, we’re practically made of paper compared to most spooks.”
I stared into the kitchen as the moans and crashes continued. “The world is scary. It’s dark and unfair, and people who don’t deserve it die every day.”
She stared at me, her eyes wet. “But?”
I shook my head. “There is no but. All of those things are true.“ I chuckled, the sound coming out darker than I intended.
“There isn’t a but, more of an ‘and.’ That and is everything good in the world.”
I looked into her eyes. They were tired, scared, and so very lost.
“The bad things out there can keep you inside, terrified, and alone. Or you can go out and live. Being human is accepting risk. Accepting that life is going to hurt. And that it’s worth it anyway.“
Her lips began to tremble. “I don’t have a life anymore.“
I took her hands in mine and gave them a squeeze. “Not in the traditional sense, no. But do you know what being a ghost means?“
She shook her head.
“Whatever you decide it does, far as I can tell. There’s no grand meaning to undeath. Just that you have a strong attachment to life, to this world and the people in it.”
“Whatever you decide you’re unlife should be is just that—a decision. If you want to move on immediately, if you know your last request, or if you want me to speed the process along, we can. If you want to explore the world, you can. Or if you want to stay here and spend time with your friends and family for however long you wish, you can.“
Her expression twisted. “I can’t even show myself to them. They can’t hear me.“
“You can learn. There aren’t many better teachers for that anywhere else in the world than in this building right now.”
“Alder, it’s time!“ Agatha called.
I stood up, brushing my butt off as the dust from the mop bucket clung to me. “You didn’t choose your death. You didn’t have control over it. But you get to decide what happens now. And whatever you decide, I’ll help you through it.“ Lilly stared up at me and wiped her eyes. She wasn’t in time to catch a few tears that fell through the floor.
“Thank you.“
I nodded. “Of course.”
Then I spit in the mop bucket.
~<>~<>~
The plan wasn’t too complicated. You could only work with so much complexity when the tools at your disposal are one short Telss, a handful of ghosts, three guns, and a bunch of dining implements.
My spit landed in the mop bucket with a splat. I spat on several other parts of the closet, grimacing as I wiped it around.
A mage's DNA contained magic. Blood was the real heavy hitter in that department and could be used for some real dark shit.
Spit, on the other hand, was a tiny stream of magic compared to the raging river that was blood.
But cutting myself to leave a blood trail would kind of defeat the purpose of this little stunt.
As tightly veiled as I was, the zombies were having a much harder time tracking me than they should’ve.
And now I’d walked all around this room and left a big helping of my magic behind in the janitor's closet. It should serve as a nice decoy.
The next step was to pick the right door to burst through, kill everything on the other side, run like hell to the next gun cash and pray that nothing too nasty got in the way.
Some of the zombies would absolutely chase me, but hopefully some would waste time staring at spit in a bucket.
We were walking towards a door to commit step two when crackling filled the air.
The music hissed and popped, and a woman’s voice sounded through the intercom. “How do I make this stupid music stop! How does this even work?“
The music roared up again, drowning out her voice. A moment later, the intercom popped again, and the music cut off. “There we go! Christ, that was annoying.“
The voice was high-pitched and youngish, probably in their late teens or early 20s.
The woman’s tone was an uncomfortable mix of annoyance, impatience, and an edge I couldn’t quite place but didn’t like.
“Spirit mage! I know you’re in there! My thralls can smell you. Open the door now, and I’ll make this quick!“
I exchanged looks with the others. “Can you hear me?“
The intercom system couldn’t pick my voice up, but she was a necromancer. I didn’t know what she could do.
“Yes. My servant's ears are my ears.“ Her voice came out in a hiss that set my teeth on edge.
But if she was feeling talkative, I could try and get some information.
“Why are you coming after me in the first place?“
She laughed, the sound crackling through the intercom to stab into my ears. It was manic and high-pitched and made me feel unclean.
“You delivered the first slap! You sent your insults, and a necromancer responds to slighted honor. One who deals with spirits should know as much!“
She spat the last word out before proceeding to breathe into the mic.
I exchanged another look with the ghosts.
Holy shit, she was off her rocker. Which wasn’t surprising, virtually every necromancer was, but just my backhanded insult towards her ward had prompted her to hunt me down?
This attack had thought put into it.
The ghost to lure me away, the timing of it coinciding with the Barrow King ramping up the pressure.
She had spent all that time and committed dozens of undead to hunt me down because I’d hurt her feelings.
I hadn’t even seen her face! People usually let me insult them to their face before they tried to kill me!
I motioned with my hand, and we started moving toward our chosen door.
As we moved, a devious part of my brain started to work.
Obviously unstable, fragile ego. Impatient.
I can work with that.
“You know, it’s a good thing you’re hiding and letting your goons do all the work. I’m gonna tear through them just fine. I might be no match for a ‘master necromancer’ like yourself, but your thralls? I can handle them just fine. It was a good shot, though.“
I paused and then fired a shot in the dark. “For a little girl. “
Her scream ripped through the building, and the intercom cut out.
She probably lost control of her aura and overwhelmed the machinery. That was a shame, no more- the music blared out again, and I laughed.
My acting wasn’t that impressive, and my lines were cheesy as hell. But while the downside of dealing with the dangerously unstable was that they might try and kill you because of one comment, they also tended to be extremely easy to goad.
“You have less than five minutes before she tries to kill you herself,” Rodgers whispered into my ear.
It was best to be cautious. There was a decent chance the undead couldn’t hear him over the music, but better safe than sorry.
“I know,” I whispered back. “Blind rage doesn’t lend itself to strategy. I don’t think she will make effective calls while punching holes in the walls.
And when she does try to fight me…“
Rodgers nodded at my guns, his expression grim.
We stopped at the chosen barricade, and I readied the shotgun. I didn’t have much ammo left for it. Though I was fine on revolver rounds.
I repeated the numbers Ben had given me in my head. “3,1,3.”
Three slow zombies. One sprinter.
Three joggers.
There was a door with fewer zombies behind it, but it was far too close to where the ghoul was pounding away.
It wouldn’t do to break through my barricade only to run headfirst into certain death.
I cracked my neck and took a slow breath.
The necromancer being in the building put a damper on things.
I wasn’t sure how well my distraction tactic would work if she could tap into the zombie's senses and see which door I burst through.
But there were dozens of undead in this building, all grouped in a relatively small space.
I’d bet she couldn’t focus on all of them at once. Especially not while having a temper tantrum.
I took one last deep breath and then barked out the signal. “Go!”
There was a surge of magic as the ghosts gathered themselves, strengthening their limbs as they hauled the tables and chairs away from the door.
The door flew inward as the zombies scrambled to reach me.
The shotgun boomed in my ears and the two closest zombie's heads burst in a shower of gore.
I pumped and fired again. The second boom took another zombie down.
The sprinter vaulted their corpses, its motions more graceful than the others.
I fired.
The zombie jerked itself down and to the left, the motion so quick and violent that I heard its ankle snap.
It was enough to dodge my shot, the spray hitting the slower zombies behind it.
The zombie leaped for me, its arms spread wide and yellow teeth bared.
Ben’s fist caught it in the shoulder, his magic surging for an instant as he made contact.
The blow didn’t have much power behind it, but it didn’t need to.
The zombie missed me as I danced to the side, Ben’s hit moving it just enough for me to dodge.
Its failed tackle brought it to the ground. I pulled out the revolver, thumbed back the hammer, and fired.
The runner went limp. I dumped two more rounds into the shamblers moving closer.
The one I clipped with a stray shot was gathering itself and stumbling towards me. The revolver barked again, and the zombie went down.
I sprinted into the hall, my side screaming with pain
While the rest in the kitchen was nice for my lungs, it gave my side time to stew and really work itself up.
Every step sent a bolt of pain through my gut, but I still felt no blood trickling through the bandages.
Still a win!
I passed through two more hallways, my breaths coming heavier and heavier.
Memories began to tug at the edge of my awareness.
Cam filling her cup with coffee, those damn journalists, trying to get a quote from me. Those hippies at the edge of town, trying to corrupt our youth, banging on my door.
I shook my head. I couldn’t force all the memories down, I was relying on the crazy old bastard's thoughts to find his gun stashes, but I wrestled the unwanted memories the best I could.
The cries and groans grew closer, chasing me through the dusty halls.
And all the while, music pounded through the speakers, a nice rock soundtrack to accent my likely gruesome death.
I rounded a corner. Not long now. One more room, and I would reach the next cache. One with substantially more oomph.
I finished turning the corner, and my mind skittered to a stop.
A young woman stood at the far end of the hall.
She carried a thin, dark staff in one hand, its length marked with sickly gray and green runes that buzzed and hissed at the edge of my senses.
She had dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail and round, open features. She was only a few inches taller than me, maybe 5’2, 5’3, with a ratty brown cloak, thick denim jeans, and a torn T-shirt with faded comic sans on the front.
She glowered at me, her eyes dark and hateful.
“This is the end for you, spirit mage.“ She growled, her voice cold and low.
Well, it wasn’t that low. She was trying to growl, but I had spent the last several weeks with werewolves.
“Die to my power!“ She roared, her voice ringing out like a bad cosplayer.
Only then did I notice her aura.
The sense of death and rot was so prevalent in the building that I’d tuned it out at first.
It filled the hall, shifting and rising with an eager energy. Its motions were stiff, slow one moment, only to jerk and spasm the next.
Like the corpse of a predator that didn’t quite realize it was dead.
It was strong. Not as strong as mine, but she could do a whole lot of actually dangerous things with hers.
She kept monologuing at me, but while my brain had momentarily stopped, my feet hadn’t.
I barreled towards her, and her eyes went wide. I brought up my gun, and her eyes turned into saucers.
I fired.
I hadn’t had time to aim in my dead sprint, so the spray flew toward her right arm.
She threw herself down in time to dodge it all together, and before I could get a second shot off, a mob of zombies sprinted in behind her, quickly blocking her from view.
Well, that was bad.
I reached my destination and crashed through the door to my left and slammed it behind me as Ben, Rodgers, Agatha, Ahab, and Lilly quickly got a barricade going.
I hurdled the desk, my side screaming, and landed on the other side. I opened the bottom drawer, my hands scrambling against the wood.
A boot knife had been slipped between old files, its ivory grip smooth and familiar in my hand.
I pulled it free and stabbed it down into the shag carpet.
I quickly cut a hole and ripped the carpet out, revealing a green metal box.
I reached in and heaved.
My side screamed, but adrenaline was a hell of a drug. I removed the box, undid the latches, and flipped it open.
There was a semi-automatic rifle, whose name I could never pronounce, with several mags of ammo, a hand grenade, and a longer bolt action rifle.
“They’re flanking!“ Rodgers warned. “They’ll be around in under a minute.“
My palms felt clammy as I worked, quickly loading the guns before pocketing the grenade.
I slung the bolt action over my shoulder. Its strap was a little big, but it would do. There was another problem, though. Carrying a shotgun, two rifles, and a revolver was a lot of weight.
And I was far from a 100% at this point.
I frowned, then slung the semiauto over my shoulder as well. I didn’t have many shotgun shells left. It made more sense to use them up and then ditch the gun.
Fists pounded, crashing into the door, and the necromancer screamed something I couldn’t make out over the music.
“Man, she sounds pissed,“ Ben said. “She’s going to give herself a heart attack if she keeps going like that.“
He paused. “Actually, that would fix the situation for us. I hope she keeps going.“
I hummed along to the music as I jogged to the far door.
“Two on your left, about 20 seconds out.“ Rodgers said.
I nodded and readied the shotgun.
I burst through the door; gun raised, just as Rodgers swore, pulling his head back through the far wall. “The ghoul’s on its way! It’s coming in fast!“
Shit.
I was pretty confident that the grenade could kill the ghoul. If it were strong enough to survive the grenade, it would’ve been fast enough to have caught me by now, and the barricades we threw up wouldn’t have stopped it.
Though if I hadn’t spent so much money reinforcing these doors, the undead would’ve gotten through anyway.
I shook the thought away. I hadn’t spent money on the doors.
I saw the zombies round the corner and fired. They lined themselves up for me, and both of them went down from the spray.
I took the corner, my heart pounding in my chest. I was close to a stairwell. If I could get to that before the ghoul reached me, it would make for a good spot to fight it.
The shotgun might not have enough punch to actually kill it, but shooting its feet as it tried to climb would trip it up.
“Say, Agatha,” I gasped out. Man, I really was out of shape.
“What’s the punishment for destroying government property?“
“Depends on the property and the amount of destruction.“ Agatha said.
“But usually a fine and some jail time.“
“Well, the cops in this town don’t do anything anyway. I doubt they’ll be able to pin it on me.“
I made it to the hallway leading to the stairs. Unfortunately, so did the ghoul.
It whipped around the corner on all fours, its black claws stabbing into the carpet as it rushed forward. “God!” I gasped. “Fallen ghouls are so icky!”
I raised the shotgun and fired. We were close to 50 feet from each other, but shotguns didn’t behave as you saw in movies or games. The buckshot didn’t spray in an absurdly wide cone the instant it left the barrel.
It hit the ghoul, but that didn’t mean it did anything.
I kept running for the staircase and fired again and again. Just as the shotgun clicked empty, the ghoul stumbled as the last shot connected with its ankle. I hurled the shotgun at it and sprinted up the steps.
I took them two at a time, my legs straining, and just as I reached the top, something gave.
There was an awful popping sensation from my side, and warmth spread under my bandages.
Well, shit.
I scrambled for one of the rifles and ended up with the bolt action. It was better than nothing, and for what it lacked in fire rate, it made up for with power.
It was the kind of thing you used to go bear hunting.
The ghoul howled, the sound feral and full of need.
It took the steps in a mad rush, its limbs flailing and jaws clacking.
Zombies ran behind it, piling up the stairs.
I aimed and fired. The shot boomed out, deafening me for a second.
It took the ghoul between the eyes, and it staggered back a step. I reloaded, pulling the bolt back before slamming it forward again.
Boom.
The ghoul's hand flinched, and I saw a chip of bone fly away. I reloaded again, then yelled out. “Trip it!”
I fished out the grenade, desperation causing me to miss my pocket on the first try.
My fingers closed on cold metal. I pulled the pin and started counting.
Ghostly hands burst through the floor, seizing the ghoul's feet.
In a direct context of strength, they would fail, but I didn’t need them to box the thing. I just needed a few seconds.
The ghoul struggled, its eyes locked onto me.
It jerked its foot once, twice, then it was free.
Done with my count, I dropped the grenade, letting it clatter down the steps.
Then I turned and ran for my life.
I sprinted for all I was worth. My lungs burned, my side throbbed, but I kept pushing.
I timed it well, making it a good distance down the hall before the explosion drowned out the music.
It still sent my ears ringing.
I kept going, though I couldn’t hear the music or my own feet pounding against the stupid carpet.
Rodger and Ben gave me some pantomime while Agatha and Ahab rushed ahead. I assumed that meant danger up ahead, so I readied the gun.
I had dropped the bolt action in my sprint, I wasn’t sure when, so it was the semi-auto I leveled.
Lilly jogged next to me, her expression tight.
I could feel traces of magic swirling around her fists. She was trying to figure out how to make herself physical.
Agatha tripped a zombie as they rounded the corner, and I fired. The zombie jerked, then went still.
I stumbled along, the pain growing worse and worse.
More zombies came, and I fired more. I changed the mag at some point, I was pretty sure. How many shots did I have left?
My ears finally stopped ringing, and I shook myself. I wasn’t any less tired or in less pain, but my thoughts didn’t feel like they were being filtered through mud anymore.
I was near the front of the building, and at this point, I felt confident that the necromancer had called all the undead she had. That grenade had to have wiped out a good chunk of her horde.
If I got out of the building, I could run for it… I glanced down at my bandages slowly filling with red
Or shoot them as they made it outside, at least.
I stumbled to another staircase, nearly tumbling down it as I went.
More zombies, more shots.
Pain.
At this point, my side felt like it was going to rip me in half, but I made it to the front door and pushed it open.
A few distant wails sounded over the pounding music, mixing with my gasping breaths to completely fill my ears.
I started down the front steps, and my side cramped. Pain flashed through me, and I stumbled, falling the last few feet to the ground.
It saved my life.
Agatha cried out as I fell, but instead of trying to catch me, she shoved me, hard. I hit the ground as a shape flew over me.
The ghoul, its body ravaged and broken, landed in a crumpled heap.
It slowly pulled itself up and began to crawl toward me.
The necromancer walked through the front door and rested her hands on her knees. “You gave me,“ she gasped. “Quite the chase, spirit mage. I’ll give you that.“
Seemed she didn’t get enough cardio.
The ghoul looked like a mile of bad road that had stumbled into a war zone. One hand was gone, both legs were visibly broken, and a large chunk of its face was been blown off.
I could see muscle and even a bit of brain through its flapping skin.
But ghouls were tough. Despite all of it, it was still moving.
The rifle had flown off in my dive, I tried to crawl towards it, but my body wouldn’t listen.
A few more zombies stumbled through the door, their clothes singed and their limbs mangled or burnt.
I caught most of them with that grenade, I guess.
Unable to get to my rifle, I pulled out the unreasonably large revolver and leveled it at the ghoul.
A spiteful part of me wanted to aim for the necromancer, but even if I shot her dead, the ghoul and zombies would still tear me apart.
Before the ghoul could shamble over and kill me, I fired.
I wasn’t in the best of spirits, and my arm was heavy. But the ghoul was less than 10 feet away.
Its head jerked, but I could see that the bullet hadn’t entered at the right angle. It had gotten stuck on thick muscle or bone.
I fired again, and this time I got lucky. The ghoul’s head jerked back as the bullet wreaked havoc on its exposed brain.
It dropped, and then things got a little hazy. I fired a few more times, and some zombies hit the ground.
There was some screaming, my friends rushed in, and the necromancer's aura surged. The last zombie dropped in front of me, a bullet in its head.
I aimed at the necromancer and fired.
Click.
Oh shit.
She sprinted at me and kicked the gun from my hand, nearly breaking my finger in the process. I reached for my sidearm, but she was too quick, kicking it from my grip before I could finish drawing.
She danced back, focusing on the ghosts pressing in at her aura.
I blinked. She was doing what I did. Her aura, a pulsating, sickly green thing, shoved against the others, warning them away.
No, it was doing more than that.
They grimaced in pain, and Lilly held her stomach like she’d been stabbed and cored out.
She was draining them.
I unveiled my aura, and her eyes widened. A wall of green and purple crashed against sickly green.
It hit her with a lot less force than I’d hoped.
She pushed back, hard.
My whole body tensed with the strain, and I had to fight back a gag as my side cramped, which made it cramp even harder.
At least the pressure seems to lessen from the ghosts, their expressions changing from pain to anger.
But while that stopped the drain, they still weren’t coming closer.
I could exclude them from most of the effects of my aura, but clashing with a necromancer was still causing my shroud to buffer the ghosts like strong winds. They staggered, raising their arms as they slid back from the force of our contest.
I took as deep a breath as I could and pushed.
If I was at my best, well rested—as well as I ever got rested—and not beat to hell, I probably would’ve been able to force her aura back. But she wasn’t weak, and I was none of those things.
I’ve put my will against a lot of things, most of them older, stronger, and meaner than me.
A lot of them had a kind of furious natural focus, like they could narrow down the world, cutting everything else away until it was just you and their will.
The necromancer wasn’t like that. She pushed against my aura with the ferocity of a rabid animal, desperate and furious and unwilling to give an inch.
It took everything I had just to keep her from boxing me in, and after only seconds, I could tell how this game would end.
She would close on me, and while she wasn’t that much bigger than me, she didn’t have a hole in her side and a list of injuries that could fill a novel.
If I kept stalling, I was going to die.
And after she kills me, she’s going to turn on the others. She's a necromancer, she can hurt them.
The air was a disgusting mix of my own blood and carrion, rotting corpses surrounded me, causing memories to flicker at the edges of my awareness.
The smell of fresh pines and the Fall air was so far away.
I couldn’t hold a stalemate, so I started losing.
I let my aura give, but slowly, in the areas away from the ghosts.
And as my shroud faltered, I split my focus and began to dig around in my pocket. I was hoping for a gun I’d somehow forgotten, and as my aura buckled, my fingers brushed something cold and metallic.
The necromancer grinned and lifted both hands. She muttered something under her breath, and her eyes shined with a manic light.
I tuned her out.
I’d heard it all before, and I couldn’t spare the focus.
With a jerk, I pulled my hand back and let my aura fail. Green power rushed in, slamming over my senses and intensifying the smell of rot.
But meeting no resistance out of nowhere left her flat-footed, her eyes widened a hair, and she nearly missed a step.
With all the strength adrenaline and pure desperation could give my flagging body, I hurled the can of expired cranberries at her face.
My aim was a little off. Instead of slamming into her forehead, it clipped her cheek.
But I had thrown it with everything I had.
As my side sent waves of agony through me, she staggered to one knee, and her aura faltered. Rodgers was on her in a heartbeat, his fist slamming down on the back of her head.
The other ghosts were there a moment later.
Lilly screamed, punching her fist down over and over, and in her rage, she reached out to the magic around us.
Power gathered in her fist, and I saw them connect as she punched down again and again.
Rodgers pulled her off a few seconds later. “We need her alive,” he rumbled as he patted her shoulder.
“I doubt she knows much, but you don't give up information.” Lilly trembled, and her eyes bored into the necromancer, but she controlled herself.
Sirens sounded in the distance, and much closer, I heard the crunch of tires.
A black SUV rolled up. The familiar figure of Quinton jumped out.
I leaned back against the steps, one knee up, both arms resting in my lap.
Music pounded through the building behind me, matching the rhythm of my heart.
Someone said something, and footsteps pounded closer.
When did I close my eyes?
The wind picked up, gusting through the trees, and for one beautiful moment, cut through the smell of rot, carrying the clean smell of the forest night.
I finally went limp and let the darkness take me.