Last Call: A TempleVerse Anthology Book 1 (TempleVerse Anthologies)

by Shayne Silvers

  Sanchez spat onto the floor, and there was blood in it. “And just how did he know where to shoot, huh? Machado told us to keep an eye on you, you know,” he said, jabbing a finger at Jimmy. “Said you might know more than you were letting on. And that one,” Sanchez said, finger now jabbing at me, “was in custody not a couple hours ago.”

  Everyone’s face turned towards me, and I shrugged. “Look, would ye have believed me if I’d told ye I saw those t’ings you’ve been huntin’ down here? Because I sure as hell wouldn’t have.”

  Jimmy grunted. “So that’s what had you so freaked out.”

  I nodded. “Aye. One of ‘em got O’Bannon while I was locked in the car.”

  Jimmy cursed.

  “Don’t tell me you’re buying this shit, Collins?” Sanchez asked.

  “You saw what they did to Sergeant Howard,” the woman said. She had a haunted look in her eyes that I recognized. I’d seen it in the mirror often enough that I almost didn’t say what had to be said next, if only to keep the horror on her face from spreading to everyone else’s.

  “Listen, ye lot don’t have to believe a word I’m sayin’, and if ye run back to your people blabbin’, I’ll deny everythin’ I’m tellin’ ye now. But these are the facts: the person who took Lukas Reynolds is probably behind this. Ye t’ink he wants to be called the necromancer to hide his identity, but I’m guessin’ Necromancer is his identity. Which means what you’ve been fightin’ are corpses.”

  “Bullshit,” Sanchez said.

  “Necromancers are real,” Bernie chimed in, for the first time. “Magic is real. Make peace with that now, or get out while you still can. Because it’s going to get uglier. I can feel it. He’s preparing something worse.” Bernie rubbed at his arms, and I noticed the hairs were standing on end.

  “And who the fuck are you, old man?” Sanchez asked.

  Jimmy held out a hand to cut Sanchez off. “Doesn’t matter. Look, I appreciate you two coming down here to help us, but it’s time for you to go. Civilians don’t belong down here, and we can’t protect you. I suggest you get out of here, then disappear.” He gave me a knowing look. “If they find you sniffing around, they’ll have just cause to pull you in for questioning.” He didn’t add the words “this time” because we both knew that Machado had overstepped. But he was right. I wouldn’t walk away from this without another call to Sloan, if I didn’t leave now. Hell, maybe even if I did.

  Not that I gave a shit, either way.

  “I’m not goin’ anywhere,” I said. “And I don’t need your protection.”

  Jimmy opened his mouth to reply, his eyes dancing with frustration, but never got the chance to speak. Because that’s when the dog lunged forward, barking so violently it made us all jump. The officers spun towards the opposite end of the tunnel, their guns raised. The uniform holding the leash cursed, straining to hold his canine companion back. Figures, far enough away to be little more than shadows, emerged from the mouth of the tunnel.

  And they were running.

  Chapter 13

  Zombies should never be allowed to run. I wasn’t sure what rules should dictate what flesh-sucking zombies were capable of, but their being able to chase you down and not simply overwhelm you with numbers or wait for you to make a classic blunder was really, really not fair. Apparently, the cops agreed, because all I could hear over the sound of their guns going off were their colorful curses on that very topic.

  “Fucking die, you abominations!” Sanchez screamed, getting to his feet with difficulty, the cop beside him propping him up as best she could. I cocked an eyebrow at his choice of terminology before returning my attention to the oncoming zombies. Now that they were closer, I could see they were still skeletal, dressed in rags, animated by a power that defied logic.

  The cops who could fight had formed a line in front of us, leaving Bernie and I with no openings unless we wanted to run around them. Jimmy held the center. He shot less frequently than his companions, many of whom were simply unloading their clips into the mass of bones, too freaked out to remember what the hell they were dealing with. In contrast, every time Jimmy fired, I saw a figure fall. Headshots, every one.

  If we weren’t about to get attacked by at least a dozen zombies, I’d have said it was sexy.

  As it was, I didn’t even have time to be impressed.

  “Bernie, can ye lob somethin’ at ‘em?” I asked, leaning in so he could hear me over the roar of guns.

  Bernie shook his head. “I could, but they’re too close. We could all get caught up in whatever I use.”

  Well, damn. “Since when do these fuckers run?” I asked, mostly to myself.

  “The necromancer has given them more power, somehow. I’ve never heard of anyone making that kind of contract. Not and survive.” Bernie shook his head, fishing through his satchel for something he could use, clearly frustrated.

  Before I could ask any more questions, they were on us. The first wave of runners broke through the line by leaping into the air at the cops like jungle cats, dessicated arms reaching out, bony fingers curled into claws. Jimmy went down to one knee and blew a hole in the jaw of the zombie who’d charged him, the bullet coming out the top of its skull. The other uniforms weren’t so lucky. Two went down screaming, emptying their guns into half-formed bodies. One, the officer who’d held the dog’s leash, managed to get away as his canine companion launched itself at the perambulatory fossil, meeting it in mid-air and chomping down on the creature’s arm as if playing a game of fetch. The last officer rolled away, drawing a bead on his assailant and getting off at least one clean headshot.

  Which left at least ten zombies for us to deal with.

  Yippee.

  I drew and rushed forward, going for the downed cops first. The zombies rode their bodies, draining them dry, skin growing over their faces like water filling an empty basin. I blew those faces away from close enough that I could see the whites of their freshly grown eyes.

  Eight zombies.

  I turned back and tried to search for Jimmy—hoping to keep track of his whereabouts—but I didn’t have that kind of time; my actions hadn’t gone unnoticed. I found two zombies gunning for me from opposite sides, like raptors from Jurassic Park. I cursed and picked the one closest to me, turned, and aimed. It left my back unprotected, but with only one gun, I knew I’d never take them both out. Better to take one with me and pray I could find a way to finish the other rather than to waste time deciding what to do.

  I fired, twice. The first shot took out the zombie’s lower jaw and half the maxilla, but missed the rounded skull. The second didn’t; the zombie tumbled to the ground the instant I blew away the invisible mark that bound it, bones clattering across the gravel. Sadly, I didn’t have time to congratulate myself. Instead, I dropped to one knee and spun, hoping to catch the other before it could wrap its arms around me and turn me into yet another victim. But I found Sanchez there instead. He stared down at me with hollow eyes, looming so large his shadow fell across my face.

  A zombie rode his shoulder.

  I leapt to my feet, put the barrel against its forehead, and pulled the trigger. It fell away, and Sanchez tumbled into my arms.

  The female cop was suddenly there, trying to take him from me before his weight became too much to bear. “He jumped in the way before I could stop him,” she said, eyes wide, shock written plain across her face. Bernie was suddenly there, too, looking concerned.

  “See what ye can do for him,” I insisted, handing the bulky man off to them as briskly as I could manage. Part of me wanted to say more, but I decided I could honor Sanchez’s sacrifice later, if we survived. Bernie nodded and dragged Sanchez back towards the wall, the officer covering their retreat with her handgun drawn. As I turned to resume the fight, a shotgun blast drew my attention to the far side of the tunnel, and I finally found Jimmy. He had his boot pressed into a zombie’s chest, sighting down the barrel of a tactical shotgun. The zombie’s skull had been blown to smithereens, leaving nothing
behind but a jagged stump of spine.

  A quick glance revealed only two zombies remained, each emerging from their respective hosts covered in flesh, no longer mere skeletons. Which meant the other officers were probably as good as dead. I didn’t want to think about what had happened to the dog; there was something crueler, less acceptable about an animal sacrificing itself for the rest of us. I watched as the two remaining corpses angled themselves to come at Jimmy the way the two had come at me, forcing him to choose one over the other. He did, whirling, the butt of the shotgun tucked neatly against one shoulder. I judged the distance, cursed, and rushed the other zombie, stepping in to save Jimmy just as Sanchez had to save me.

  Except I didn’t offer it my back.

  I tackled the son of a bitch.

  It might have been simpler to stand back and shoot, but landing a headshot at that angle would have been tough, and I couldn’t risk missing if it meant Jimmy getting gobbled up. Besides, while wrestling with a zombie definitely wasn’t on my to-do list, I knew what I had to do to win. All I needed was to land on top, put my gun into the bastard’s face, and pull the trigger before it got me. Simple.

  Only things didn’t go as planned.

  The instant I collided with the corpse, I felt its body give way, its flesh pouring over me with the sensation of water splashing across my back. Without the resistance I’d anticipated, I slid face first into the gravel, cutting my hands in the process, my gun skittering along the wooden rails. As soon as I slowed, I cursed and rolled onto my back, too full of adrenaline to take stock of my burning hands and forearms.

  I found the corpse in pieces, divided neatly in two. Its legs twitched but—without a torso—had no leverage to stand. The zombie’s upper body crawled forward on its elbows towards me, close enough I could see its jaw working overtime, teeth gnashing. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have said the thing was pissed. I scrambled to my feet and searched for my gun, but it was too far away to snag and get a clean shot before the would-be ankle-biter reached me.

  Looked like I’d have to do this the old fashioned way.

  I stepped forward and brought my heel down on the zombie’s head like you might an insect, preparing to stomp the fucker as many times as necessary to break its skull open. Of course, it turned out that wasn’t required; the instant my foot touched the zombie’s fleshy dome, the head burst in a spew of liquid, popping with all the resistance of a water balloon. I winced and hopped on one foot, clutching my aching heel where I’d slammed it forcefully into the ground, yelling obscenities.

  Which is how Jimmy found me.

  He stared down at the corpse, then looked up at me, his eyes wide.

  “How did you do that?” he asked.

  I grimaced as something wet slid down my back—the remains of the corpse’s intestines, maybe, from when I’d tried to spear tackle it only to end up hitting the ground? I shook my head, took a deep breath, and tried not to gag. “I have no idea,” I replied, once I felt I could speak without vomiting.

  “I do,” Bernie replied. He approached, Sanchez slung between the woman and himself, head lolling. “But first I think we should get away from here. I doubt he’ll have enough power to send reinforcements, but we can’t risk it.”

  Jimmy took a long look around at the various bodies, friend and foe alike, and nodded. “Alright, but then you fill me in on everything you’ve been holding back.” He met my eyes. “Everything, you got it?”

  I stared into those surprisingly calm eyes and nodded.

  I wasn’t sure if Jimmy could handle the truth, but— after seeing how he’d handled himself against the monsters, not to mention the fact that he’d lost more than a few of his fellow cops to this madness—I was sure he deserved it.

  Besides, he wasn’t the only one who wanted answers.

  Chapter 14

  We found a raised platform down one side tunnel, tucked into an alcove, and used it to get off the tracks and out of sight. Together we hoisted Sanchez, already wounded, up and over the side. The big man looked to have taken a dose of what Cassidy had experienced: he looked diminished, somehow. Less vibrant. It bothered me more than I cared to admit to see him like that; I hated having to be saved by anyone, least of all by someone I’d been content to hate only a few minutes before.

  “Stupid fucker,” I whispered.

  “What was that?” Dawes—the female cop who’d stood up for Jimmy back in the tunnels—asked. She had Sanchez’s head in her lap, brushing her fingers over the man’s scalp as if her touch alone might bring his vitality back. I wondered if they were partners. Lovers, even.

  “Nothin’,” I said, then sighed, resting my back against the wall of the platform. While the tunnels had been lit well enough by overhead lights, the platform was brighter still, with a naked bulb shining above us. Beneath its unforgiving glare, I realized we looked as fucked up as we felt. Jimmy’s uniform was covered in bone dust and thick, viscid liquids I didn’t want to identify. Sanchez was unconscious, his breathing shallow, dried blood caking his face. Dawes looked like she’d been shoved into a horror movie as the sole female protagonist, her virginity a distant dream. Only Bernie looked relatively intact and unfazed.

  “So, ye goin’ to tell me what ye came up with?” I asked him.

  Bernie glanced at the others. “You sure you want to talk about this here?”

  “I meant it when I said I want to know everything,” Jimmy interjected, moving to stand in front of us. His hands were balled into fists, and tension rode his shoulders. “I want to know what the fuck those things were back there, what we’re up against, and why good cops had to die tonight.”

  Bernie sighed. “I don’t have all the answers. Very little about this makes any more sense to me than it does to you. Those things back there were zombies. Old ones, probably pulled from these very tunnels. Beyond that, all I can say is I’m sorry. If I’d have known what you and your people were up against, I’d have never pointed you in this direction.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jimmy asked, folding his arms across his chest.

  “I’m the one who tipped the cops off about this place,” Bernie said, staring down at his shoes, which is all that kept him from seeing the rage contorting Jimmy’s face.

  “T’wasn’t his fault,” I said, drawing Jimmy’s attention to me. “He was tryin’ to help, that’s all. And he’s down here now, the same as ye and yours, fightin’.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why this is happening,” Jimmy said, finally, his rage leaking away as quickly as it had come, although the tension was still there, lurking beneath the surface. “What does the kidnapping have to do with this Necromancer you keep talking about?”

  Bernie shook his head. “Not a Goddamned clue. I’m fresh out of ideas. But, what happened to that creature back there? The one you curb-stomped?” Bernie met my eyes. “That was your ability. Your whatever you call it—your anti-magic field— cut right through the magic that animated that thing. First I’ve ever heard of anyone being able to do that, but it’s all that makes sense, in theory.”

  “Anti-magic field?” Jimmy asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  Bernie nodded.

  “As in magic. Like real magic.”

  “It’s not the fucking Easter Bunny,” Bernie said, one side of his mouth curling upward. He held out a hand, let it hover just over Jimmy’s chest, and a wave of heat radiated outward as if from a wood stove. Jimmy took a step back, eyes wide. For a moment, an expression crossed his face that I couldn’t read. Not fear, exactly, which I would have expected. But something.

  “And you?” Jimmy turned to me. “Since when?”

  I sighed, knowing deep down what he was really asking. Jimmy and I had known each other for a long time, which meant—if I was a Freak—he should have known about it. Seen something. Felt something. Or at least that’s what he assumed. I shook my head. “Whatever I am, what I can do, doesn’t work like that. It isn’t flashy or loud. Hell, I didn’t realize what I was until after
ye and I graduated high school. At first, it was runnin’ into weird creatures around the city. Seein’ t’ings I couldn’t explain. But it got more obvious when I moved to New York. The Freaks were everywhere. Eventually, I found out I was immune to ‘em.” I shrugged, leaving out the more sordid details, like the vampire ex-boyfriend who’d recruited me because I rendered so many other Freaks powerless, including him.

  Now wasn’t the time.

  Besides, if I was being honest with myself, I couldn’t exactly fill Jimmy in on what I was capable of; I hardly knew, myself. I didn’t rely on my nullification abilities. I relied on my wits and my reflexes. I relied on firepower. But it did give me an edge. An edge I could sometimes use to take down the monsters before they gobbled me up.

  And for that I was pretty damn grateful.

  “None of what you guys are saying makes any sense,” Dawes said, her voice a little higher pitched than I remembered. “What were those things, really?”

  “The risen dead,” Bernie replied, as if he were talking to a child. “Zombies, if you want to call them that.”

  “That’s not possible,” Jimmy replied. “When people die, they don’t come back.”

  Bernie cocked an eyebrow. “Is that right? Let me ask you a question: what made you think to shoot them in the head?”

  Jimmy frowned. “Never seen anything or anyone survive having their head blown off. Seemed like the thing to do.”

  Bernie chuckled. “Pragmatic. But I don’t think that’s all there was to it. I think you knew, deep down, what you were dealing with. Regulars—your kind—walk around thinking the world of make-believe is just that, but when the lights go out, they have enough sense to fear the dark. Deep down, they remember. Trust me, the monsters are out there, officer. What you’re up against now is simply one of many.”