Chapter Twenty-Two #2
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Oliver replied as he handed Felipe the heavy, horn-hilted knife.
A stricken look passed across Felipe’s features, but it disappeared beneath the hunter’s sharp-eyed gaze as whatever was in the field walked closer.
Oliver jogged back to Gwen with the oil lamp, casting glances over his shoulder to make sure Felipe was still waiting at the corner of the house.
Behind her glasses, Gwen’s eyes were wide.
“Where’s Felipe?” she asked, glancing around his shoulders.
“He’s at the back of the house. Something came out of the Dysterwood and is walking through the field. We’re going to see what it is, but Felipe wants you to go in the house until we’re sure it’s safe.”
Gwen looked like she wanted to protest until her eyes narrowed in thought. “I’ll see what I can do about making your job easier. Just don’t forget you aren’t a fighter, Ol. Know when to get out before you get hurt.”
At that, she slipped back inside and shut the door behind her.
As Oliver crept back to Felipe’s hiding spot at the corner of the building, the lights in the house came on one-by-one and the curtains were dragged apart to let the light spill out.
Gwen. Individually, the lamps didn’t do much, but the collective glow from the house illuminated the half of the old horse pasture closest to the inn and made Felipe’s eyes flash orange.
Oliver stood at his partner’s shoulder and followed his gaze to where the intruders moved just outside the halo of light.
Against the trees, he could make out two shadows lumbering through the brush.
The figures looked like people, but they moved wrong.
Their movements were all at once too stiff and too loose as if their bodies weren’t held together correctly.
“What are they?” Oliver whispered.
“I don’t know.”
At the sharp crack of Argus’s bark, the creatures swung their heads toward the house, and Oliver gasped.
The creatures were human, or had been at one point, but the skin on their faces was marred by black veins while their flesh was mottled purple with lividity.
They opened their eyes wider than people ever should as they craned their necks and swept their gazes across the yard toward their hiding place.
The taller one had a beard laced with moss while a large beetle scuttled across the shorter man’s face unnoticed.
Everything about them felt wrong, but the way they moved made Oliver sick.
He expected them to give up the charade of humanity at any moment and drop to all fours and crawl.
With each step, their limbs jerked and their heads swayed like puppets on strings as they ambled closer to the edge of the light, drawn by the dog’s barking.
As they drew closer, Oliver could make out their tattered brown suits and standard issue traveling coats.
Felipe tensed against Oliver’s side as the stink of stagnant pond water and rot carried on the wind.
“The missing investigators,” Oliver whispered. “Something’s wrong with them. The other dead weren’t like this.”
Felipe nodded without taking his eyes off the two men. “Oliver, I don’t think you should be out here.”
“Neither should you. Maybe they’ll keep walking. The dead only attacked those who murdered them, and we didn’t do that.”
The dead investigators were heading straight for the house. A few yards from their hiding place, they stopped, and the taller one threw its head back and sniffed the air. Oliver and Felipe exchanged wide-eyed looks and soundlessly took half a dozen steps back.
“Do you really want to test that theory right now? I don’t know if they’re looking for us or Mr. Allen, but we can’t let them into the house.”
“Tell me what to do.”
“Get my gun and my other knives. I’m going to meet them.”
Oliver’s pulse pounded in his ears as his hand tightened around Felipe’s arm. He didn’t want to let him go. He didn’t want him anywhere near those things. Felipe kissed him hard enough that Oliver instinctively shut his eyes, but it was still too short.
“I promise, I’ll be fine, Oliver. Just get my things for me and stay out of danger.”
At Oliver’s begrudging nod, Felipe readjusted his grip on the knife and slipped around the corner of the house.
Oliver froze as Felipe called for the creatures to identify themselves.
For a long moment, there was only eerie calm on the other end of the tether and silence.
Adrenaline hurtled through Oliver’s veins in time with a wet slap and a grunt of effort.
Forcing himself to move, Oliver ran back to the kitchen door.
He was about to throw it open when he spotted Gwen straining to see from her bedroom window.
“What are those things? Why are they moving like that?” she called, her voice high with alarm as Felipe lured the men into the light streaming behind the house.
“The missing investigators. I think they’re possessed by the Dysterwood. Gwen, I need you to give me Felipe’s gun, his throwing knives, and whatever else you can find. They should all be in the bedside table closest to the window in their holsters.”
With a nod, Gwen ducked back inside. Oliver didn’t want to watch the fight, but he couldn’t look away.
Felipe moved with a dancer’s grace as he lashed out with the heavy, curved blade.
It would have been a ballet of death if the investigators had been living men.
His knife sank efficiently into the men’s kidneys, yet it did little to stop them.
They didn’t have weapons, but they didn’t need them.
Felipe had barely finished landing the last blow when the corpses converged on him.
They threw their sodden bodies at him as if they meant to smother him beneath their weight.
Oliver swallowed a cry as Felipe cracked one in the face with his elbow and slashed the throat of the other, but the dead didn’t even notice.
The shorter one held tight to Felipe’s arm as he eyed the taller one suspiciously.
Its hands played over its form as if searching for something, and Felipe used that opening to slam his head back with a sickening crack while kicking off the taller one’s chest. Its ribs gave beneath his foot as it staggered back, and Felipe wrenched his arm free.
“Oliver, catch!” Gwen said as she levitated Felipe’s gun and knives into his arms. Freeing the revolver from its holster with shaking hands, Oliver looked up in time to see Felipe sink his knife deep into the ribs of the smaller man.
The corpse reached for Felipe’s neck as he shoved the blade up into its heart, but it didn’t seem to notice.
A barb of fear embedded in Oliver’s heart, a mirror to the look in Felipe’s eyes.
He threw his weight, knocking the corpse to the ground and ripping out the knife in the same motion.
Black ichor dripped from the wound as Felipe gave the creature a kick to the head that did little to stop it from getting up.
The dog was barking its head off, but Oliver could barely hear it over his heart thundering in his ears.
Where was the other one? Hidden in the shadows of the house, the taller investigator rummaged through its coat.
A snarled smile curled its lips as something metal appeared in its hand.
Water poured out of the revolver’s barrel as the man drunkenly pointed it at Felipe.
“Gun!” Oliver screamed.
Felipe swung the smaller corpse in front of him and dove out of the way as the flash went off.
The bang rang through Oliver’s ears as the smaller corpse jerked back with the blow.
The taller investigator’s fingers scrabbled over the hammer as it was slippery.
Oliver stared blankly at Felipe as he motioned for him to do something.
Before he could react, Gwen ripped the revolver from his hands with her powers and flung it into Felipe’s waiting palm.
Without missing a beat, he fired into the taller corpse’s heart.
“Shit!” Felipe cried as it staggered back a step but didn’t collapse.
Oliver’s blood ran cold. It should have worked.
It had worked on the man from the mill. Why didn’t it work on them?
Lucien had bashed in Ridder’s skull, but Felipe didn’t have a golf club.
Decapitation supposedly worked on the undead, but Felipe didn’t have a sword or the creatures’ cooperation to saw through their spines with his knife.
His movements were already slowing, and his chest heaved with exertion as he swung his knife into the walking corpses. Felipe couldn’t hold out until dawn.
“What do I do. What do I do. What do I do,” Oliver repeated under his breath, clasping the throwing knives to his chest.
“They’re reanimated, right?” Gwen yelled from the window, her voice strained with effort. “Can you un-reanimate them?”
Oliver wasn’t sure. He closed his eyes and let his powers expand out, but they couldn’t reach. He left the knives at his feet for Gwen and made for the shadows. “Cover me.”