No Magic, No Problem

by Blair Daniels

  "My... torch?"

  "British for flashlight," Jim said from behind me. Gavin gave him an indignant glare.

  "Oh. Right." I passed my flashlight through the darkness, and he held it up.

  Another angel perched on the tombstone, wings extended, facing away from us. "Oh, it's just an angel. Good."

  We trudged through the wet grass in silence. Rows of tombstones passed, along with the occasional mausoleum or angel. A fine mist clung to the tombstones, making everything that touched the light glow.

  Another mausoleum came up on the right, looming over the tombstones. Roughly hewn bricks, sprayed with mud and moss. A tiny window. A stone plaque engraved with the name CARUSO.

  And a metal door.

  Hanging open.

  "Hey, guys?" I said. They didn't turn around, instead treading deeper into the shadows ahead of us. "Hey! People!" I yelled.

  "What?" Gavin shouted back.

  "The door's open!"

  Crunch.

  The unmistakable sound of a footstep sounded behind me.

  Crunch.

  I whipped around. A shadow poked around the side of the mausoleum, then quickly retracted.

  "Someone's there!"

  The flame in Abby's hand grew. Gavin leapt forward, gun and flashlight crossed over each other. Jim lifted his spear.

  I trudged through the grass, far behind the others, awkwardly holding my gun up. "Do you see anything –"

  Ice cold hands wrapped around my neck.

  Then I was yanked back. Hard. I flew to the ground, and pain pulsed up my back. "Help!" I shrieked.

  A rotten, musty stench filled my nostrils. I nearly vomited.

  "Don't shoot!" Abby screamed, the flame rising high in her hands. "They're too close!" Gavin put down his gun. Jim kept his spear raised.

  "I can get it. My aim is good," he said.

  "Not good enough!" Abby spat back. "You're going to kebab Kira if you throw!"

  "You're wrong."

  Jim lifted the spear.

  "No—" I screamed.

  Ziiiing. It whistled past my ear. Then the hands released on my neck. I sprang up, choking on air, as I stumbled towards the group.

  Gavin stretched out a hand and helped me steady myself. For a second, I fell against him. His shoulder was so firm, so warm...

  But whatever feelings started to bubble up in my chest were quickly extinguished by the sight of her.

  It was a woman. Or, had been, once—a long time ago. Her skin was gray and papery, stretched thin over high cheekbones. Snarls of white hair cascaded down her neck. She twitched languidly in the grass, muttering incoherently to herself, the spear sticking out of her chest.

  Jim walked over to her and tugged at his spear. After several seconds, he got it free. With a final swing of his arm, he drove it through her head.

  "And now we burn the body," Abby said.

  "Wait! I need to retrieve the spear!"

  Jim pulled the spear out. Then—ssszzzz—a stream of fire flew from her hands. The flames immediately caught on her body, and soon she was a full-out conflagration.

  Rrrrrrmmm.

  A thunderous noise came from the shadows of the graveyard. We all glanced up—but the firelight was blinding compared to the shadows. Everything outside the ring of light was pitch black.

  "What was that?" Abby whispered.

  "No idea," I replied.

  But we didn't have to wonder for long.

  A voice called out from the darkness.

  "That was my wife."

  Rrrrrrmmm. The rumble grew louder. Far too loud to be footsteps.

  Weapons raised, we huddled against each other.

  A shadow stretched across the grass. Hulking, immense, navigating through the tall grass. Weaving expertly through the tombstones.

  A three-headed dog.

  The three-headed dog from B2.

  Ridden by an old, shriveled, undead man.

  The dog's eyes—all six of them—burned red. The man on top was a bag of bones, shriveled and tiny in comparison.

  Jim lifted the spear. Contorting his immense arm, he threw it at the man. It pierced the air with a high-pitched whine.

  The man lifted his hand and grabbed it out of the air.

  "Excellent," he said. "I didn't have a weapon."

  Crack! Crack! Gavin began shooting wildly—at the dog, the man, the tombstones. Holes appeared in the matted fur, the muscled shoulder—but none struck any of the heads.

  The dog bounded forward. Drops of saliva rained down on me.

  I lifted the gun. With a trembling hand, I pulled the trigger.

  Crack.

  The bullet sailed far over the man's head, and into the bushes somewhere.

  Crack. That one flew right into the soil.

  Crack. That one hit the old man in a very inappropriate place.

  He winced for a second. A second. Then he raised the spear, and—with an expert throw—aimed it right at Jim. It missed his head by an inch. "I threw javelin in track and field, back in the day," he wheezed. "Weren't counting on that, were you?"

  Gavin pulled the trigger. A bullet hole appeared on his shoulder.

  He turned to Abby, smiling a rotting, toothless grin. "Hey, you want to take Camila's place, cutie?" he asked. "Be my wife? I mean, obviously now –" he gestured to his obliterated groin—"there's not much I can do in that department. But we could –"

  Sssssszzzhhhh.

  Abby hit him with a blazing stream of fire.

  The dog keeled back, whimpering and yelping. The man slid right off its back, flames licking over his body. He hit one of the tombstones with a dull thump, and swore loudly.

  The flames licked at the dog's fur, spreading up its neck. It rolled in the grass, all three heads whining. When it finally hobbled up, it was a smoking, blackened mess.

  Then it bounded for the forest.

  "He's getting away!" Gavin yelled.

  The three of them ran after it. I started forward—but not quickly enough.

  I felt intense heat across my back.

  I turned around to see the zombie. His entire face was aflame; a skull filled with fire. Yet those two blue eyes stared back at me through the orange light, from the blackened bone.

  I screamed. The flaming creature advanced towards me. "Kira Steele," he rasped.

  No. No, no, no.

  "Our master knows you well."

  The grass fizzled and burned in his wake. He extended his hand forward, and the fire nearly licked my skin. "Your day is coming," he said. "Soon, you will be one of us."

  I retreated. My back snapped painfully against something. I looked up to see the mausoleum.

  No. I was cornered.

  I frantically looked for a weapon. No—my gun was on the ground. And I'd rejected Jim's spear.

  Then my hands fell on something in my pocket.

  "You will be one of us!"

  "No!" I yelled, a sudden anger bubbling up inside of me. "I won't!"

  I pulled the knitting needle from my pocket. With a rapid movement, I flung my hand into the fire—and pierced his skull.

  My hands seared with pain.

  I yanked it out and hit him again, and again, until the zombie flailed backwards. Then fell to the ground with a sickening splat.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  "I did it."

  I sat in the wet grass, staring at the crumpled, burned body of the man. The man that I killed.

  Well. He was already dead, but still.

  "Kira!"

  Shouts sounded around me. Then they hushed. The knitting needle glinted in Abby's firelight, poking out of a rotten skull.

  "Kira... you did this?" Gavin's tone wasn't proud or praising—it was incredulous.

  "Kira. Your fingers..." Abby started.

  I looked down. The skin on my right hand was shiny and deep pink. Searing pain pulsed through me—I hadn’t noticed it before, with all that adrenaline rushing through me. "We need to get you a burn salve," Jim said. "I have one in
the truck—"

  "Did you get the dog?"

  "Jim got it. Now, come on." Gavin helped me up. We walked back through the cemetery—which was now silent and still—and then he led me to his truck. I sat in the passenger seat as Jim got the salve. He dipped his fingers into the deep blue liquid and gently massaged it over my thumb.

  "Ow! It burns!" I screeched, yanking my hand away.

  "I'm sorry," Jim said. "It prevents damage, but it does hurt."

  "Gah. You could've told me that!"

  "Gavin, take her home. She needs to recover. Besides, this isn’t her responsibility anyway, because she quit," Abby said, with a reproachful glance in my direction. Then she pulled out her radio. "I'm going to call Aubergine to patrol the rest of the cemetery, but I think we got everyone."

  "All right,” Gavin said.

  He took the bottle from Jim, slipped it in his pocket, and got into the driver's seat. The engine roared underneath us as we drove down the city streets. I reached over and turned on the radio. Strange electronica music beat through the speakers, and I quickly changed the station to Q104.3.

  Gavin frowned, as if Metallica deeply offended him.

  "We need to do a better job of protecting you," he finally said. "If the Gravedigger's got some personal vendetta against Steele women, he's going to come for you. And you can't really protect yourself."

  "Hey! I killed that guy, didn't I?"

  "I suppose."

  "You suppose? I skewered his head with a knitting needle!"

  He sighed. "Yes, but... generally speaking, you don't have any powers, you aren't that great with weapons, and you're the target of the most powerful monster we've seen in decades."

  "When you put it like that…” I said, trailing off. “Okay, yeah. You're right. So who's protecting me? You?"

  "For now. But we need more. Maybe all of Team Indigo. Maybe Erika..." He trailed off, in thought. "I'm not sure. But I promise we'll make sure you're safe." The car slowed. "I make a left here for your apartment, yeah?"

  I nodded—but he didn't turn.

  "Um... can we go back to my apartment, instead?"

  "What do you mean by that?" Various emotions swelled inside me. Namely terror and awkwardness, but also a tiny dose of desire.

  Okay. Maybe not that tiny.

  "Just, it's a nicer apartment than yours."

  "Hey!"

  "Come on, Kira. You know your apartment is awful. And I don’t want to spend ten minutes counting peppermints again.”

  “Fine. We’ll go to your place."

  We passed up the turn.

  As soon as we did, a flash of motion caught my eye in the sideview mirror. Something was bounding out of the darkness at full speed, running behind the car. Sunken skin. Tattered clothes.

  Inhumanly fast.

  “There’s a zombie behind us!”

  "Bloody hell."

  I watched in horror as shadows poured out onto the road. A ton of them—so many, they blended into one huge, shadowy being that spanned the entire width of the road.

  "How fast do they run?!"

  "Not faster than a car," Gavin replied, as he pushed down the gas.

  Crrack.

  A blast of orange came from the shadows. Then—pop!—the truck swerved wildly. Pop!—another tire burst.

  "They're shooting!" I screamed.

  "You think I don't know that?!" Gavin yelled back. "Radio for backup!"

  My shoulder hit the passenger door. Hard. Pain snapped through my body. I fumbled with my pocket, then finally pulled out the radio. "We need help! We're on Maryland Ave., uh, around—"

  "Around 5th street!"

  "Around 5th street. There are about twenty undead—"

  Pop! Pop!

  "—they're shooting at the car, oh, God, no—"

  Pop!

  The car spun out of control. Gavin stomped on the brakes; it screeched to a halt, and I jolted forward.

  The shadows bounded towards us.

  Gavin pulled out his gun. With trembling fingers, he loaded it, whispering fervently to himself. "Our Father, who art in heaven..."

  He's praying. He thinks we're going to die. I grabbed for a weapon—but all I had was a knitting needle. I pulled it out, holding it in front of me like a knife.

  "...hallowed be thy name..."

  A horrible scratching sound cut across the metal, and I looked up. The zombies stood around the car—fists pounding the windows, clawing at the doors. The entire car shook, rocking back and forth on its tires. Gavin pulled out his gun and took aim.

  The window shattered. It struck a blonde woman in the head—but not in the center. She grinned, baring yellow teeth, and began climbing into the car.

  "Gavin!" I screamed.

  "Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses..."

  Crash! A shower of glass burst forth as Gavin took another shot. He’d missed. The blonde woman who’d climbed in crawled her way across the back of the car. Past the monster cage. To the back of my seat.

  I screamed as she grabbed my shoulders.

  "Deliver us from evil. Amen."

  Is this it? Is this how I die?

  I thrashed, trying to break free from the zombie's grip. Gavin's eyes met mine among the chaos. "No!" he shouted. He grabbed my arm, trying to pull me back.

  But the zombie was stronger.

  She dragged me across the back of the car—then out the window.

  I fell onto the hard pavement. The knitting needle rolled away, across the road. Out of reach. "Get off me!" I screamed, trying to kick at her. “Let go, you undead bitch!”

  She didn't.

  She just stared at me with those hollow blue eyes as she dragged me towards the crowd.

  They swarmed around me. At least fifty, maybe more. Even though they weren't as decayed as the ones at the Great Swamp metro, they were a far cry from looking human. They grinned, but their smiles barely reached their eyes. They shot forward with inhuman grace and speed. Their eyes stared at me with incredible focus.

  It was as if they were half machine.

  They closed in. The flickering light of the streetlamp, the wreckage of the monster truck, Gavin clutching his gun with both hands—everything melted away. It was only them.

  Soon, you will be one of them.

  The words echoed in my head, unbidden. The words written across the subway wall, the words spoken from the lips of the undead.

  Then I'm not going down without a fight.

  I forced myself up. With a grunt, I kicked at one of them. My foot collided with the man's abdomen, and he stumbled back a few steps before shuffling forward.

  I balled my hand into a fist and punched at an old woman's head. She was smarter, though, and ducked. I pitched forward, arms flailing wildly, and fell onto the pavement. I gasped for breath. They swarmed around me, eyes wild.

  But I would fight. Even if I was going to lose, I would fight.

  I charged forward.

  Zzzzzzzzzzzpppp!

  A buzzing sound snapped through the air. I whipped around to see a flash of purple, a blur of black. One of the zombies fell to the ground—then another.

  It was Gavin.

  He weaved through the crowd with inhuman speed. Grabbing a zombie by the shoulders, he threw it to the ground. Then he pulled out his gun, shot it in the head, and grabbed the next one.

  In seconds, they had all fallen—and we stood among a pile of bodies. Gavin stared at them, breathing hard, an electric purple glow coming off his skin.

  "...Gavin?"

  His eyes snapped to mine. "We've got to get out of here."

  He grabbed my hand and yanked me down the street, pulling the radio out of his belt. "We got them. There might be more. All after Kira. I'm taking her to my apartment—we'll be safe there."

  He pulled me into a high-rise apartment building, arm tightly locked around my waist. The doorman in the lobby gave us a funny look. “Lockdown,” Gavin shouted to him. “Emergency code 4.”

  He pulle
d me through the lobby, past the crystal chandelier, and into the elevator. The doors whooshed closed.

  “Kira. Are you all right?”

  I nodded, leaning heavily against him. “I… I think so.”

  The doors opened, and we stumbled down the hallway, to apartment 2608. He drew the deadbolt, looked through the peephole—as if he expected an entire undead horde to be waiting outside—and then led me into the bedroom.

  "You sleep on a bed," I remarked, as pain throbbed through me.

  "What, you thought I slept in a coffin?"

  "...Maybe."

  He smiled the tiniest bit.

  Then he motioned for me to lie down. When I did, he tucked me in and lay down next to me. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the burn salve.

  "No. I am not taking any more of that stuff."

  "Kira—"

  "I'm not. I'm in too much pain already."

  "All right.” He capped the bottle, and his expression softened. "What’s giving you pain?”

  “Everything.” Now that the adrenaline had faded, I realized just how much pain I was in. Every joint ached, and a stinging pain spread across my burned hand, my scraped back.

  But worse than the pain was the fear. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw their decayed faces. Felt their arms clawing into my shoulders.

  I thought we were going to die back there.

  Gavin placed his hand on my shoulder. The warmth spread through me, and I closed my eyes for a few minutes. My heart slowed; the pain dulled to pulsing aches. I lifted my hand and squeezed his.

  “You… you saved us. You took down more than fifty zombies, when all the Hunters of NIMP couldn't take down seven. How?" A sharp pain shot up my back, and I winced. Gavin's hand locked tighter around me.

  "Vampires have super-strength and super-speed. I have a bit of it. But it only happens in fight-or-flight situations, when the epinephrine is through the roof. This is only the third time it's ever happened."

  "Wow. I feel special."

  He turned to me, eyes meeting mine. "You should feel special."

  "Funny thing for you to say.”

  He gave me a questioning look.

  “The whole point of all of this… is that I'm not special. Everyone in my family is special, except for me." I frowned. "Which, I guess, might actually make me special, if the word 'special' is just defined as something that's unusual—"