Why was she doing that? Was she trying to tell me something?
Please stop, Annie. Oh God.
Exposed shreds of muscle pulsated in the candlelight, clinging to her tiny frame. Still, the front door held her attention.
The candles sizzled, vaporizing her transparent figure into the smoke. My stomach rolled under the miasma of burning flesh.
I grew wary of the front door. A sting bit through my guts. I knew that feeling. My muscles tensed, readied for attack.
“Evie? Evie?”
The flames consumed her, and the candlelight extinguished with a pop.
Roark muttered through the dark, “Wha’ in under feck—”
“Shh.” I swooped up the carbine and pointed it at the door. His hand found my back.
“I hope you know how to use that pistol,” I whispered. “They’re coming.”
“Why? Wha’ are ye—”
The door swung open and smacked the wall. A chilling gust swept through the room and with it the hum of hunger.
One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
Lewis Carroll, Jabberwocky
I discovered in Pomme de Terre the best way to kill an aphid was in or near the eyes and doing so required a fast hand or an accurate bullet. While I prided in both most of the time, I wavered when the luminous figures floated into the pub. Numbers in the teens, they stacked together to move through the crowded doorway. The way they hugged the walls and swept the room made it hard to believe they were blind and weaponless. Still, I kept my finger off the trigger, remaining silent, buying time.
Buzzing and vibrations bounced between them. The aphid at the front held up a claw. Another scurried to the back room.
Pans pinged across the kitchen floor. A scream followed then died. The absence of candlelight blanketed the dining room in black.
“Roark, can you see them?”
The glowing bugs paused and pointed their profiles in my direction. I tightened the carbine against my shoulder, wincing at the twinge in my damaged chest.
“There’s movement in the shadows.” His voice rasped at my ear. “Let’s flit to the door.”
We’d never make it. “Aim for the eyes. How many rounds do you—”
The priest hissed and steel whistled. A sword? His attacker fell headless at his feet.
Exhale. Squeeze. The vhoomp of the spring recoiling in the buffer tube soothed me. With the clanking of the priest’s sword behind me, I slaughtered my way across the pub to find Lloyd.
An aphid blocked the kitchen door. It straightened its legs, rising to its full six-foot and many more terrifying inches. A spray of flinging drool drenched my face.
The aphid sprang and hooked a claw around the carbine. Metal clanked the floor. What the fuck? I freed a dagger and buried it between the eyes.
Another aphid filled the doorway. Oh hell. That one was bigger than the last. It bent over the body at my feet and screamed. Its mandibles flexed and trembled. Was it mourning its fallen comrade? A moment of hesitation slipped by. A moment of sympathy.
But I didn’t subscribe to sympathy. Not if I wanted to survive.
I drew the pistol. The bullet aimed true. Vile black matter rained from the eye socket and it crumpled upon its friend.
Did I imagine the aphid’s show of emotion? I hadn’t quite worked through that answer when I located my pack, the Maglite, and pointed the beam on the last mutant flailing under Roark. His fists thudded. Smack. Smack.
My lips twitched. Funny just a year earlier I thought I’d never look at a man like that again. Then I’d found Jesse. And there I was, adjusting the Maglite so I could watch Roark’s biceps move under his priest uniform. There was substantial muscle on that broad frame, enough to heave steel through dozens of necks without breaking a sweat—
Fuck. He was a priest. As in the celibate kind. If I didn’t wipe the hungry look off my face, I’d find myself alone again. I lowered the light. “Lose your sword?”
“This one…” Smack, thud-thud. “Wanted it the hard way.”
I crouched before them. The skull crunched under each blow, the jaw snapping open and closed, the tusk missing. He must have sliced it off, removed the risk.
I held up a knife. “Time to end it.”
“Right.”
I plunged the blade and sat back on my heels. “Not that I’m complaining but what do you have against guns?”
“Who says I do?”
“You didn’t use your gun. Seems like it would’ve been easier than…” I swept the beam across the decapitated bodies. “The alternative.”
“Gun ownership was strictly regulated in Ireland. Never held one till the outbreak. I prefer me sword.”
“I see.” I didn’t. “Can you see them in the dark? You know, do they glow?”
He skimmed the carnage and looked back at me. Frown lines marked his forehead. “Glow?”
“This pub has no protection. I checked the perimeter for hours before entering. Where the hell did they come from?”