My first fight to the death was when I was sixteen. All I’d had was a silver cross with a thin dagger attachment, and I didn’t even know if it would kill a vampire. It did, obviously, and I’ve been killing ever since. I’d been in hundreds of battles since that initial one, but none of them, none of them, had ever been like this.
Thank God it was dark out. The glowing green of a vampire’s eyes made them distinguishable from the zombies, who continued to pour out of the woods in all directions. Ghouls were a little tougher to filter, but then there were only about ten of them here. You just didn’t realize how interchangeable one figure could appear from the next when your gaze was continually splattered with blood, flesh, or flying pieces of rotted limbs. And the limbs were everywhere; disgusting parts crawling on the ground, unattached fingers squirming like leeches on your body, or whole and still adorning the monsters that kept coming from the woods.
I was in the mindless frenzy of killing, slashing out at anything that came near me. A mental numbness had set in, making me oblivious to my own injuries. My arms, shoulders, legs—every part of me had been chewed on. I wasn’t even sure if I was still clothed; all I saw was red from both the rage and the blood in my eyes. That’s why the matching emerald lights from my comrades was so helpful. At least when I saw them, I knew I wasn’t alone. I certainly felt alone, with nothing but maddened zombies surrounding me, screams blending into a continuous white noise, and the ceaseless cleaving of my sword into the inviolable force of walking dead.
Vlad had an advantage. With enough time, he could grab hold of a zombie and burn them to pieces. They ran around like macabre torches, what was left of them, anyway. Still, it seemed he needed a solid minute of holding them to burn them into a less harmful state, which meant it wasn’t the most productive method of dealing with them.
Every now and then, though, I’d catch an orange glow from the corner of my eye, hear indescribable screams, and know Vlad was still alive. Even more important was that periodically, I’d hear an English accent cresting over the sounds of death and pain, urging everyone on, taunting the creatures with gleeful scorn. Bones was still alive, too. Aside from that, I had no idea who was around me.
“Fall back, fall back!” the shout came. The thing in front of me was suddenly cleaved straight down the center into two halves. Between the falling forms there was Bones, almost unrecognizable in appearance, and I stopped my sword in midarc to avoid slashing his head off.
“Come with me,” he growled. He tugged on my arm and then dropped it with a savage curse.
“Bloody fucking hell, why didn’t you call for help?”
I didn’t know what he meant, and arguing wasn’t an option, since he yanked me to his chest with one arm and began a deranged hacking at anything near us with the other. My feet barely brushed the ground, swinging with his gait while I began to feel nauseous. Some of the haze lifted from my vision and when we entered the house and went at once down the stairs, I could see with clarity again.
Every item in the house had been smashed. I was confused, because the main fight was outside, but then it made sense. Not knowing what the mysterious object was, Annette, Tick Tock and Zero had been obliterating anything they could. There wasn’t even a solid stick of furniture left, and the remaining vampires and ghouls streaked through the wreckage while holding off the hideous intruders that kept coming. This house had three underground levels and just two entrances to them. That was on the plus side. In the negative column, it also meant we had no way out.
Bones deposited me into the arms of Tate, who appeared out of the spattered forms. “Take her to the lowest level,” he barked and turned away. “I have to cover our retreat.”
“Bones, no!” I protested, ignored by both of them as Tate whirled and ran down the stairs. He shoved past people, muttering something that sounded like, “Your arm, your arm,” as he went.
We went through a door where inside, several frightened faces stared at us. The kids, I realized. They’re scared. Maybe this wasn’t outlined in the Be a Vampire Snack brochure.
“Clear some space,” he snapped to them, and fear from either his appearance or his tone made them quick to respond. They huddled together as Tate lowered me to the floor and withdrew a knife.
“Get off me, I have to get back out there—” I started, and then shut up. Oh. No wonder the two of them had given me such a look.