The trampling shuffling feet of the flesh eaters pursuing them put her in fight or flight survival mode and her choice was flight. However, she remained unable to levitate like before. A hell of a bad time for her
witchmacallit
not to work. Anyway, what would stop them from shooting an easy floating target?
Mansfield opened the door to his office, pushed her in and before his last security guard caught up, he closed the door.
Dora tried to open it. “You can’t leave him out there.”
He smiled. “He’ll be a zombie
piranha
’s distraction while we cross the
Amazon River
.”
Chapter 7
Dirk lay sprawled on the cold steel walkway. The demonic zombie chorus much tamer since no human happy meals were around to rile them up. He lifted his werewolf head, groggy from the wolfsbane coursing through his veins. Everything appeared blurred, and he blinked until his vision cleared. He was alone.
He growled and hot drool dribbled down his neck. The asshole had shot him with a strong dose that should have kept him out for a day or more. Fortunately, tonight was the full moon, which sped up his body’s ability to metabolize the herb from his system. Tonight, he would also be at his strongest, meanest and most protective. Mansfield had Dora. Mansfield betrayed him. Mansfield would die.
He struggled to stand. His body faltered as if stuck in a vat of molasses. He thrust himself to his knees and then rose bit by bit. His legs trembled, and he leaned on the rail. Only five zombies remained. The majority must have followed them. While falling unconscious, Dora had tried to reach him but all he could do was whimper in response. How long ago was that? Five, ten minutes? Was she still alive? Had she gotten away? When he arrived, thirty-six hours ago, he had thought of her as some hot chick to have sex with but now he acted, heck, thought of her as possible mate material. Was it just because of his natural instinct to protect or was it more? His inner wolf wanted to snatch her and hide her in his den.
Damn, he missed her company. Must be the moon. Or her alluring magical witch powers. Damn it. Life had been perfect without a woman. Playing the field, roaming the country on his Harley Davidson, and hunting the Kindred, the perfect life for a lone wolf. Shit, just like Fang found a place in his hard heart so did the witchy doctor.
Oh, hell. That’s right, she’s a witch. No can do.
Babe, you’re forbidden goods.
Just need to save her ass and convince her to join our community
.
They were in need of a human doctor. Let Talon determine how to hide her powers. He’d do the right thing. Mate with Marla and strike off to hunt more Kindred. His inner wolf growled at the idea of any other woman but Dora.
He stretched and took a long hard breath. Better. He climbed the rail and leapt down. A soft landing. Zombies brushed by him as if he were one of them. In a sense he was. A monster that howled at the moon and entered the nightmares of men. He winced at their stench and tried to hone in on Dora’s sweet scent.
Two zombies chomped on what remained of the blown-up soldier’s brain. Dirk raged at Mansfield’s betrayal of his own man.
I’ll make sure Mansfield gets his karma.
The maddened werewolf grabbed one zombie and snapped his neck then moved to the next one and twisted his.
He covered the soldier’s remaining cadaver with his jacket. Dirk flared his nostrils and stalked toward Mansfield’s secured office.
A zombie wearing silk blue pajamas and a tattered robe bumped into him and grunted, before shambling aimlessly. Dirk recognized the older middle-aged man with the blood blotched gray face. Vice President Cummings. This man had negotiated peace in the Middle East and prior to the Bane, the treaty had worked. The news reported that George Cummings was in a safe underground bunker, running the government and working with global leaders to contain the doomsday virus. The man that had brought peace to the Middle East would do the impossible, save the earth. A false hope that even the packs believed.
Cummings stopped and sniffed. Like a hound on the scent of a hare, he and a few others headed to the door where Mansfield and the others had escaped. Dirk dashed ahead. Zombies crowded the door while feasting on another soldier. He barely recognized the former guard now gutted and his limbs torn asunder. Another sacrificed by Mansfield.
Dora, talk to me, babe!
Nothing. Damn.
Dirk growled and pushed Cummings out of the way. The former world leader stumbled and on all fours, began licking blood oozing out from the downed man.
Oh, hell. Sorry, I’m doing this out of respect.
He dug his claws into Cummings’ neck and snapped his spine. No time to kill the others, he shoved the ones blocking the shut door and slammed against it. Sealed. Only Mansfield’s retina would work. He sniffed in the direction of the soldier’s body. That might work. He picked up and tossed zombies until he reached the man’s gun belt. Two grenades. He grabbed them and stood away as the zombies scurried back to their meal. Might as well take as many of them as possible.
With one claw, he removed the pin of the first and hurled it against the door. The explosion sheared most of the metal off the door but it remained sealed. Zombie bodies blown in every direction. Those with heads still attached squirmed on the floor like maggots. Dirk threw the second grenade. This time the blast worked and made a gaping hole. Using his bulk, he propelled himself against the weakened door and it fell with a thunderous bang. He strode in and a few of the zombies followed, catching the scent of fresh human. They had that in common. He spotted the pushed aside bookcase and opened trap door. He ran in and closed it before any zombies got out.
****
Dora shivered as they cautiously walked through the dark cold cave. Sandwiched between Mansfield and his personal guard, Aimes, who led the way, Dora tried to communicate with Dirk. Nothing.
Aimes shone the flashlight, illuminating walls wet with condensation. The cavern appeared devoid of life. No sign of bats, or skittering animals moving away from the light. Bogyman-ready-to-leap-out silence struck a tingling terror up her spine. The subterranean tunnel reminded her of the violent video games Josh played during middle school. Any moment a monstrous mutant would leap out and the player open fire. Blood would splatter everywhere on the screen, points made and Josh’s loud cheer echoing throughout their home. Their parents had berated Josh that the realistic game stressed him out and he snapped back saying it was fake and just plain fun. Unlike her situation, this was real and definitely not fun. Stress level, DEFCON 1.
Mansfield shoved Dora forward and she slipped on the dank cavern’s wet ground. She fell and slammed her right knee on the slippery rock floor before falling on her side. “Oww!” She touched warm wetness on her knee. “Good move Dr. Frankenstein. I’m bleeding.”
Mansfield grabbed her arm and dragged her up. “Aimes, shine the light over here.” His guard twisted and shone the flashlight on them. The powerful beam skimmed over her and landed flat on Mansfield. He covered his eyes. “Not on our faces, you idiot.” Aimes shined the light along the wall. Mansfield barked. “Can you see? How bad is it?”
The filtered dim light didn’t help. “Infrared goggles should have been on your things-to-bring list to the cave party,” she snapped.
He responded with a sharp cynical tone. “I’ll remember for next time. Can you walk?”
Beneath a rip in her sweat pants, she fingered a nasty scrape on her knee. Her right butt cheek hurt too, but a bruise would not cripple her. “Not sure.” She gritted her teeth and stretched her wounded leg out. Nothing broken. “Get me the first aid kit from my pack.”
Mansfield dug in and handed her a Ziploc bag. “Hurry up. Blood draws them.”
“Duh! Whose idea was it to push me?”
“You were going too damn slow!”
True. She’d stalled to give Dirk time to wake up and find her scent. Once they boarded the vehicle, he wouldn’t find her. Wherever Mansfield headed wasn’t on her bucket list. Of all the luck. Twenty-seven years old and Hawaii waiting for her. It sounded so good. Too bad Josh’s gift ticket was in her house. She imagined her peaceful home with warm popcorn for dinner and a silly romantic comedy on the tube. Watering her grass and then off to morning rounds.
Dora shook her head. “I’m not sure I can put weight on it. Why don’t you go and I’ll catch up?” Why couldn’t she just fly out of here? Maybe her last floating escapade was a freak incident. Dirk, a card-carrying member of the Halloween club, had said it was unusual for a new witch to achieve flight so quickly. Anyway, what she really wanted to do with her new powers was to turn Mansfield into a lab rat. Better yet, a microbe on a Petri plate. Nonetheless, it appeared her witchmacallit was hit and miss. Too unpredictable to rely on.
“Not a chance. Just bandage it,” he barked.
She spread a thin film of antibiotic cream on her smarting abrasion and winced. “Okay, but I’m going to slow you down.” She covered her wound with a large band aid and reached a trembling hand for him.
He jerked her up. “I can’t believe you’d rather take your chances alone than come to a facility.”
“Honestly, I’d rather be back in the sicko zombie lab than anywhere with you.”
Mansfield opened his mouth to retort when the soft sound of shuffling feet and hungry moans echoed from the left. “Fuck, they must have entered from the smaller tunnels.”
Her primal fear of being stalked as food changed her mind, and she whispered, “I’m taking back what I just said. Glad to go anywhere with you, as long as it’s out of here.”
Mansfield handed her a pistol. Her adrenalin spiked. If he trusted her with a weapon, their situation was grim. He hissed to Aimes. “Turn off the light.”
Despite the zombies’ heightened sense of smell and hearing, they still needed light to see their prey. Amidst dead panic, she found her voice, and whispered, “How many tunnels are there?”
He drew her in and lowered his mouth to her ear. “This is the largest but there are others from smaller caves. I can’t believe they squeezed through.”
Aimes shaky voice cut the sound of approaching whine-like moans. “Sir, I can’t see a thing.”
Mansfield let out a deep sigh. “We’ve no choice. Beam the light and we’ll make a run for it.”
Behind them, the illuminated cavern cast shadows of the undead. Dora limped and suppressed a whimper. No use announcing to the zombies that dinner was ready.
Mansfield grabbed her arm and drew her in. “I don’t give a damn if you stay behind. If they catch up to you, too bad.” He twisted away her pistol and placed it under his belt. “No use wasting a weapon on you. I’ll give you twenty minutes to meet me by my parked SUV. This is your only offer.” He let go and ran ahead.
Asshole!
I’m getting tired of his “I don’t have to outrun, just trip you attitude
.
”
He should have left her the gun to end her life if need be. She focused on the distant light and, with screaming pain, half jogged and limped in their direction. Behind her, the echo of the cacophonous moans terrorized her to her core.
She ran, ignoring the pain. Janelle’s voice pounded in her mind.
“Keep up, Dora or I’ll get another running partner.”
Dora had wheezed a response to tall Janelle, who had been on her college track team.
“Not fair, your legs are twice as long.”
Without losing her breath, Janelle laughed.
“Are you kidding? Half the male doctors talk about your long gorgeous legs.”
“Long, not muscled.” Gorgeous?
Her choice of dressing like Cat Woman for the last costume party had been too revealing.
Janelle looked over her shoulder
. “Just run as if you’re being chased by Dr. Grover to get you to pull a third shift.”
That image of Dr. Grover seeing her and then zooming in on her urged her to move faster
.
Her heart ached as much as her wound. Dead. Grover was a zombie. A vision of him eating a comatose patient flashed in her mind. Janelle crawling with the lower half of her body missing. No. Dirk’s words haunted her.
“You can turn on a telepathic line with people you most care about and trust, like me, babe.”
Even if they are dead?
Out of breath, Dora’s stomach protested the gruesome imagery.
Please, no
. Gagging, she bent and threw up her breakfast until only bile puked out.
More moans spiked her fight or flight reaction. Fight was not an option. Not without guns and somebody who could shoot more than the broadside of a barn. She rose, and wiped spittle from her lips. She continued onward but soon halted. Shit. Moans filtered from dead ahead, toward the light. Voices. Mansfield. The blast and light show of gunfire shone through the cavern, like Josh’s adolescent video game.
Mansfield shouted, “Keep shooting! We’ll back track.”
A single shot boomed, followed by Aimes swearing obscenities. “Fuck you, Mansfield!” Moments later another shot rang out. Mansfield must have wounded Aimes to distract the zombies away from him. His current MO. Aimes must have used a bullet to blast his brains out because all she heard after the second single gunshot was the satisfactory “yums” of zombies feasting.
The flashlight grew brighter as the patter of Mansfield’s shoes drew closer. He’d do the same to her if it became necessary to save his sorry ass. Please don’t let this be
game over
. She searched for an escape route. Zombies were before and behind her. Surrounded. Worse, she had to get away from Mansfield.
“Dora!”
She pressed her back against the cave wall as the light spread her way. Mansfield ran toward her followed by three zombies, former soldiers with better speed than previous civilian zombies. The fully armed zombies’ weapon of choice, their hungry mouths.