Brock’s heart pounded as the screams echoed around him. The inhuman sounds were growing closer!

“Oh God, oh Jesus. Anyone up there listening? Wanna send me a hand?”

He stumbled and nearly kissed the pavement.

His store was in sight. He was so close.

A dark form stumbled into his path. Brock froze.

The figure took a step closer, and a beam of moonlight lit their face.

It was something he’d seen in countless horror movies. A zombie. Grey skin, dull, sunken eyes, and half its face was missing, exposing bone and rotating muscle.

It groaned and limped toward him, crocked fingers reaching.

The smell hit him next, wet soil and rotting meat.

Brock gagged and started to back peddle, but a scraping noise from behind made him spin.

Another zombie! He turned and saw even more. They were slowly encircling him. And some of them weren’t stumbling. They stalked forward with more grace than Brock had!

His breaths came fast and shallow, and his heart beat so loud that he was sure the zombies could hear it.

I’m going to die!

A man’s voice, faintly touched with a New York accent, spoke into his ear.

“Helps coming. Hang tight.”

Then one of the zombies tripped, then another, and another.

It slowed the group's advance, but just as Brock got ready to make a break for it, a new figure appeared.

The man was average height, with a lean frame covered in a nice suit that had obviously been fitted.

He had dark skin, and his handsome face was marked with half a dozen bright scars that seemed to glow in the night.

He glanced at Brock and smiled.

Brock froze. The man had teeth like a shark.

“Well, well, well. You weren’t lying, ghost.”

One of the faster zombies lunged for the man. He took a single step back and, as it stumbled past, punched.

The zombie's head crumpled.

The bottom dropped out of Brock’s stomach.

The zombies mobbed the man, and he tore them apart.

They clawed and bit and groaned as they died, but they died.

Every punch dropped a monster, and he ignored every attack as if he couldn’t feel them.

In seconds every zombie was motionless on the pavement.

He turned to Brock and grinned wider.

“Is that your place?” He motioned to Brock’s apartment building.

Brock tried to speak, swallowed, tried again, then settled on nodding.

The man gave a sharp nod of his own and gestured at the building.

“Let’s be quick. I’ll help you with some hasty barricading, and then I have other people to rescue.”

Brock was frozen for several seconds until the man's raised brow jolted him into motion.

The man glanced at the empty air. “Ghost?”

The voice that had spoken in his ear answered. “I told you, it’s Ben. And I’m already on it. Stay safe, Brock!”

He felt a shiver pass through him as he followed the direction the voice had gone.

That ghost knew his name.

~<>~<>~

Barry slowly put down his mop. A man had just stumbled past one of his store's broken windows. The man didn’t have arms. Barry pulled out his phone.

“Don. You might want to come over.” He reached under the counter and pulled out his shotgun. He paused, then pulled out two rifles. He pursed his lips and reached down again. He set the Vepr-12 down with a thump. Getting his store wrecked again had made him over prepare a little. He watched as another figure stumbled past. Then again, maybe it was the right level of preparation.

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“Come over to your shop at this time of night? Are you coming on to me?”

He rolled his eyes at the phone. “If that’s what I meant I would have said that. A man with no arms just passed by, and it looks like more are on the way.”

“Shame. I’ll be over in a second.”

A woman appeared out of thin air. Barry blinked at the semi-translucent old woman with floating grey hair, and she stared right back.

“God damn, I was going to lend you a hand, but I don’t think you need one.”

Barry rubbed at his face. First people with magic healing and just plain magic, and now ghosts.

“You're not even going to say anything? Well, fair enough, I need to move on anyway and go find someone who does need my help.” Barry moved to the entrance. He had a clear line of sight to Don’s.

He checked both ways before calling out. “Clear.” Don strolled over, her pig in toe. She had painted its hoofs again.

The ghost watched Barry hand Don a gun before shaking her head and vanishing through the floor.

~<>~<>~

Rodgers finished leading a squad of ghouls to some townsfolk trapped by undead and then flew up to get a birds-eye view.

The others were all helping along with him, and while the fighting was still intense, most of the undead that had slipped into this side of town had been dealt with.

He had a few minutes.

He raced towards the Hanging Manor as fast as he could. Which for a ghost his age, was very fast.

He reached the manor in under thirty seconds.

He found what he expected. Corpses were piled high, two of the older werewolves dragging them from the yard to give Adela room to work.

Adela herself was a mass of controlled savagery. Any undead that came was killed with inhuman efficiency.

A fallen vampire rushed in, only for her to tear its head off in an instant. The body thrashed, and she held one hand out. One of her Pack was already throwing her a stake.

She caught the weapon and plunged it into the writhing body.

The vampire went still.

The lure was a tried and true method of dealing with hoards. It wasn’t uncommon for leaders to be several orders of magnitude stronger than their people. So, when dealing with an enemy that was largely unthinking and hungered for magic, sending the leader out on their own was optimal.

The hoard, in its unthinking greed, would break itself on the wall that was Adela, leaving her Pack unharmed.

Though it was a delicate balance to keep, if she pulled in too many at once, they might tear through the manor on their way to her.

Even if the hoard couldn’t kill her, she was only one person. If she was slowed for an instant, an undead that would do nothing to her might tear through her charges.

Rodgers felt a confusing cocktail of emotions seeing her after so long. They hadn’t been friends, exactly, but there had been respect.

He flew to her side and made himself visible.

Adela stiffened.

“Save him.”

The werewolf didn’t look at him, instead facing the drive.

“I’m begging you, Adela, please.”

Her gaze flicked to Rodgers before returning to the drive.

“I can’t bring him here. It’s too much of a risk.” A mob of over thirty undead sprinted into view.

Rodgers saw a handful of fallen vampires, a gorger, and over a dozen sprinting zombies.

He glanced around. “Two corpse hounds heading for the house.”

She slowly rolled her shoulder, and half turned to look at him. “I know.”

She ran, not in a blinding dash, but far faster than a human.

As one of the corpse hounds raced for the house, Adela caught it, her speed just barely overtaking it.

One strike and the monster died. The next tried to slip inside, but the two Pack members made quick work of it.

Adela turned and started towards the approaching mob.

The screaming monsters crashed into Adela and broke like a wave against a cliff.

She killed or crippled everything in one hit and never stopped her slow walk.

Adela was not fighting. She was exterminating.

“You can wipe this group out without trouble, but bringing Alder would be too much?”

Adela turned as the other two Were’s started staking the now headless vampires.

She gave Rodgers a look he’d rarely seen on her face. Sympathy. “You know the reality of this situation, Rodgers. He will draw in too many.”

A flash of something cold and

dark crossed her face. “Fortunately for you and Alder, my daughter has already gone to help him.”

She clenched her jaw. “I am doing what I can.”

She didn’t elaborate, but Rodgers didn’t need her to.

If she went to help, her Pack would get overwhelmed. If she brought Alder here, it would increase the chances of her Pack getting overwhelmed.

So she had to try and use enough magic to pull the Hoard towards her, but not too much.

Rodgers heart swelled with gratitude towards Blair, and he took a deep breath. It wasn’t necessary, but some old habits never died, even if you did.

“Well, I owe you daughter then-“ Rodgers cut off as a massive form slammed into Adela.

It was a big, hulking thing with pale skin and four arms.

Adela tore the creature apart, but it had managed to cut her cheek.

Of course, the wound instantly stitched itself closed, but Rodgers had seen bullets fail to scratch her.

Adela kicked the corpse away with a sneer. “The elites are beginning to arrive.” She glanced at Rodgers. “Can you assist with any spirits? Alder gave me a spirit ward, but having an actual ghost on our side would be a help.”

Rodger nodded. “I will do what I can.”

He wasn’t much good against a mass of shades, but that was what the spirit ward was for.

Rodgers would do his best to counter any strong spirits. And from what he was feeling from the woods, he was about to be needed. The next wave was coming, and it was much, much larger than the last.

Rodgers readied himself for a fight and prayed that Blair could keep his boy safe.