Chapter 4 #2
One was a woman in a torn sweater, hair hanging in greasy clumps. Her face was gray, eyes clouded, mouth smeared dark. She ran with jerky speed, arms pumping at stiff angles. Not graceful, not human, but fast enough that my brain struggled to accept it.
The second was a man in work boots, one pant leg shredded. His head snapped from side to side as he ran, as if he were tracking scents or sounds. His jaw hung open, teeth bared. He made a wet, guttural sound that was not a groan. It was a growl.
The third one… I didn’t want to look at it too long. Its throat was torn open, skin flapping as it moved, and somehow it still ran.
Mundanes screamed and surged backward. A few tripped. Phones wobbled in the air, still recording.
Faith moved without hesitation.
She drew a handgun so smoothly it looked like the weapon had been waiting in her palm. She aimed for the lead corpse’s head and fired.
The crack split the air.
The undead woman jerked, stumbled, then kept coming.
Faith fired again, and this time the bullet took the skull at a cleaner angle. The head snapped back. The body collapsed, sliding on the pavement.
“Okay,” I breathed. “Head shots.”
Faith didn’t glance at me. “Always.”
Victor barked orders to his officers, pushing them into a tighter line. “Back them up. Keep the crowd behind the cars. Move!”
Officers shifted, forming a barrier with bodies and vehicles, trying to hold mundanes back. Some listened. Some didn’t. Fear and curiosity fought in their eyes.
Eve lifted her hands and hellfire bloomed.
It wasn’t normal flame. It was brighter, hotter, edged with something unnatural. The heat hit my face from ten feet away.
Eve hurled it toward the second undead, the man in work boots.
The fire struck him and he ignited instantly, flames crawling over rotted clothes. He staggered, arms flailing, still moving forward for two steps before collapsing in a burning heap.
The smell was horrific. Burned hair, burned meat, something sour underneath.
I gagged and forced myself to breathe through my mouth.
Tegan moved beside me, eyes wide but focused. She held something in her hand, a small relic, its surface etched with symbols that shimmered.
“Stay behind me,” she snapped, not to me, but to a pair of mundanes who had stumbled into the street near her.
They stared at her as if she were insane.
“Now,” she demanded, voice loud enough to slash through their shock.
They moved.
The third undead, the one with the torn throat, charged toward us.
I lifted my hands, pulling power up from the ground, from my own core, from the part of me that never fully relaxed anymore.
A wave of force slammed into it.
It skidded, boots scraping. It didn’t fall. It recovered too quickly, snapping its head toward me as if it could smell my magic.
That tether sensation brushed my senses again. Thin. Tight. Like a line under tension.
I shoved again, harder, and the corpse slammed into a parked car, denting the door.
Faith fired, bullet cracking into its skull. It dropped.
I exhaled, shaking.
Then more emerged.
Two from the alley. One from behind a parked truck. Another staggering from the sidewalk, as if it had been hiding among mundanes before deciding it was time.
“They’re multiplying,” Eve hissed, voice tight.
Victor’s shadow stretched again, and for half a second the light around him seemed to dim, as if the darkness was listening to him. A tendril of shadow flicked out toward a corpse, wrapping around its ankle, tripping it hard.
It went down, limbs twisting, and an officer dragged a mundane away before it could lunge again.
Victor didn’t look like he was casting anything. He just looked like a man who had decided the night would obey him.
Nishi appeared at my left, moving fast, phone already away. She had two hunters behind her, faces set, weapons drawn.
“Teams are sweeping blocks,” she said. “But this keeps popping up like someone’s opening doors.”
Faith didn’t stop firing. “Then find the doors.”
“I’m trying,” Nishi snapped, and there it was, the crack in her control. Not panic. Pressure.
Eve’s hellfire roared again, throwing heat across the street. Two undead went down in flames, but before the fire could finish eating them, another one sprinted in, faster than the last.
It leaped.
Not stumbled. Not lunged.
Leaped.
My stomach dropped. That was not normal. That was predatory.
Faith pivoted and fired mid-motion, shooting it through the head before it could land on her.
The corpse hit pavement with a sick thud.
I stared at it, breath shallow. “They’re learning.”
Eve’s gaze flicked to me, fear and fury flashing. “Or someone is escalating.”
Tegan’s phone buzzed again. She answered quickly, voice tight. “Spencer. Where are you?”
A pause, then her shoulders loosened a fraction. “Good. Hurry.”
She ended the call and turned to Victor. “Delia’s coming to wipe witnesses.”
Victor’s mouth tightened. “Thank god.”
“I don’t think god is taking calls tonight,” I muttered.
Nishi shot me a look that suggested I should shut up and fight.
I did. Mostly.
Another undead sprinted toward a group of mundanes near a storefront. One man stood frozen, phone raised, filming, his face lit by the screen. His mouth was open, but no sound came out.
I ran.
My boots slapped pavement. My lungs burned. My age made itself known in my joints, the familiar complaint of a body that did not like sprinting for fun.
The undead reached him first, grabbing his shoulders, jaws snapping.
I slammed a force push into its side. It flew off him, crashed into a newspaper box, metal clanging loud.
The man blinked at me, shaking.
“Move,” I snapped. “Go behind the cars. Now.”
He didn’t move.
Faith appeared beside me like a bullet, grabbed the man by the back of his coat, and hauled him backward. “She said move.”
He stumbled, finally obeying.
Eve’s fire burst again, catching the corpse I’d shoved before it could recover.
More kept appearing.
From alleys. From street edges. From behind dumpsters. One dropped from a low rooftop, landing with a crack of knees, then still ran.
Nishi swore under her breath, then shouted to her hunters. “Sweep the perimeter. Check the drains. Check the doors. Anything open that shouldn’t be.”
Victor’s officers tightened their line, trying to keep mundanes back. Some officers shouted for people to put phones away. Nobody listened. A teenager held her phone steady, face pale, whispering into it.
“It’s like… zombies. I swear. If I die, tell my followers I loved them.”
I wanted to smack the phone out of her hand and then immediately apologize for it. Both impulses were strong.
Headlights cut across the street.
A sleek vehicle slid into view, stopping too smoothly for a normal driver in a panic. Another followed behind it. Then another.
The air shifted.
Cold, clean, predatory.
Vampires.
Spencer Carr stepped out of the lead car, black hair neat despite the chaos, blue eyes alert. For a split second, as he scanned the blood and bodies, his pupils darkened and his irises flashed red. Hunger flickered across his face, then he swallowed it down like a man fighting his own throat.
Behind him came Delia.
Long red hair, green eyes, medium build with curves, dressed casual classy. Not couture, not business attire. Jeans and a jacket that looked expensive but practical. She moved with a smoothness that made my skin prickle. Not rushed. Controlled. Like the night belonged to her.
Three vampires followed, faces hard, eyes bright, moving like a unit. Reinforcements.
Delia’s gaze swept the scene, taking in filming mundanes, dead bodies, burning corpses, officers, and the unnerving speed of the undead.
She didn’t flinch.
She just exhaled. “That’s a lot of witnesses.”
Spencer moved toward Tegan immediately, concern written in the tightness of his posture. “Kacey’s asleep. She’s okay. I got here as fast as I could.”
Tegan nodded once, relief flickering. “Thank you.”
Delia stepped closer, eyes scanning the crowd. “Where do you want me?”
Victor turned toward her, expression grim. “Start with anyone filming who saw the kills up close. We need that gone.”
Delia’s green eyes narrowed. “I can do that. But it takes time. Keep them contained.”
“I’ll handle crowd control,” Victor said.
Faith barked a laugh without humor. “Good luck.”
Delia didn’t react to Faith. She moved toward the nearest cluster of mundanes with phones raised.
She didn’t wave her hands. She didn’t chant. She simply stepped into their space as if she belonged there, her gaze locking onto the first witness.