I tried to summon my fire the same way I’d left my body, believing I could and thereby gaining the inner strength to actually do it, but I was so new to this, didn’t have as much faith as the others and could only stretch myself so far. And multitask? Forget about it.
As expected, no flames.
Another zombie lunged at me, black-stained teeth bared. I spun and kicked, my booted heel slamming into his side. He stumbled away from me as yet another zombie lunged at me. I popped her in the nose and spun again, elbowing her in the temple when I lined up to her left. She went down, but quickly twisted and reached for my ankle.
I don’t think so. I hopped up and stomped on her hand. Saw two more coming at me from the right. With a twirl of my dagger, I pressed the blade against my wrist, then punched one creature and kicked the other. At my side, a gnarled arm stretched out. I grabbed and bent it, forcing the zombie to hunch over as I jerked up my knee, barreling into his face. When I released him, he fell to the ground.
But like his brethren, he recovered in a rush. I performed another spin—am getting so good at those!—whipping out my leg to shove him back several feet. Before he could rise a second time, I swung my arm around and launched one of the daggers. The tip soared past his open mouth and embedded in the back of his throat.
Bull’s-eye.
On instinct, I turned, realized a pack of zombies had launched a sneak attack. I arched left, right, narrowly avoiding nails and teeth, my blade constantly swinging, slicing through rotting flesh. Cold black goo dripped down my hands.
I grinned. Some people got off on drugs. I got off on this.
Something solid pressed against my back, and I threw an elbow, raised the blade. As I sliced in a downward arc, Justin ducked, barely avoiding impact.
“Idiot,” I screamed. He knew better than to creep up on a slayer.
“Incoming.” He motioned to just over my shoulder.
I drank in the scene as quickly as possible and decided what to do. A zombie had used my distraction to his advantage, stealing in close and preparing to sink his teeth in my upper arm. I could dive away, but Justin’s nearness would put him in striking range. I could arch, but the creature’s momentum would draw him back with me. We’d fall. His weight would cage me. I’d be more of a target, and he could go for my neck.
I had to take the bite in my arm and pray Justin or Gavin injected me with antidote right away, so I could jump back into battle.
Gonna sting.
“No!” Justin reached out, flames springing from the pores in his hand, the light shining as brightly as the streetlamps. The zombie bit into that light, and both Justin and the creature dropped.
The zombie frantically patted at his mouth, his throat, his stomach, as if experiencing pain for the first time. But that wasn’t possible. Was it? Even still, he hadn’t been exposed to Justin’s fire long enough to die.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, Justin had been exposed to enough toxin to die. A single drop was all it took. He writhed, the poison already pouring through him, a river, pulling him down, down, down, washing over him, drowning him.
I wanted to help him, meant to inject him, but there just wasn’t time or opportunity. All I could do was stand over him and fight, protecting him from further harm, reeling that the boy I knew as a traitor had taken a blow meant for me. Maybe I should have been nicer to him.
Zombies, zombies, zombies, everywhere I looked; so many grotesque bodies I lost count. They were like a swarm of flies, moaning instead of buzzing. I hobbled one, and two more replaced him—and then the one I’d hobbled rejoined the party.
My inhalations were too shallow, my exhalations too quick. I trembled, the blades seeming to gain ten pounds with every move I made. I’d been without physical activity for too long. This was too much, too soon. I wasn’t sure how much more I could take and still remain on my feet.
Can’t let Justin’s sacrifice be in vain.
Must avenge my family.
As I fought, I caught a glimpse of Gavin battling his own horde. He moved with the grace of a panther, his every action fluid, nothing without a purpose.
Should I call for help?