by Landra Graf
The double doors burst open, and a roar like that of a feral cat signaled the zombie queen had finally caught up. Emma hunched down on the catwalk, pulling close to the rail in a poor attempt to hide. Another growl right beneath her. Her friend looked at her with those hungry eyes. Emma couldn’t move, frozen, and without a weapon.
Rose hunched low and then pushed off her feet into the air, the move purely supernatural. With hands latched onto the cat walk, the she-zombie pulled herself on to it. Emma stood, fear sinking deep into her bones. She couldn’t think, only edging herself further away while her friend snarled and scratched at the air, moving slowly toward her. No way would this crazy high-rise be the end, but how could you kill a person you loved with everything in you?
As her childhood companion charged without warning, Emma did the only thing she could do. She took a stance and braced for impact. Grabbing hold of Rose’s slimy, lifeless arms before any zombie claws could reach her, she twisted to her right, using her momentum to drag Rose with her. They both went over the side, and, naturally, Emma let go of her attacker, arms waving widely in an attempt to locate stability. She screamed. This is it.
***
Two guns at the ready, Jason burst through the doors, resigned to the fact that he would have to kill his ex. Then he heard the scream above him. Running between the huge chemical vats, he caught sight of Em holding onto the catwalk for dear life. Zombie growling and the sound of cracking glass also echoed through the room. He couldn’t see where Rose was, though.
“Hold on, Em.” He turned around, heading back to the catwalk ladder. What turned out to be only a few seconds of climbing felt like forever, but then he grabbed her hands, pulling her toward him. She leaned into his embrace, and he soaked up the closeness. Their time apart had been pure agony.
Their tender moment got cut short, though, as the sound of fracturing glass grew louder. He looked down at the chemical vat. Scratching at the vat lid, his prom queen stared up at them. She kept attempting to stand, oblivious to the damage she' caused. A final twist of her body broke the lid, and she fell inward with a screech. He wanted to lean over for a closer look, but his girl pushed against him.
“We have to go. Now.”
He let her lead the way as they scrambled off the catwalk and out the doors. Once near the outer hallways, he sealed the doors and started placing the explosives. Her only request was no fire, which would make things worse. After the events of the evening, he’d expected to feel relief now that they’d overcome the final obstacle. Instead, numb became his word of choice as he placed the last of the wiring and inserted the detonator
“We’re all ready to go.” He walked toward her. She leaned against the car, head turned up to the sky. Her eyes held a lost look, a mirror of what he felt. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, I think I am.”
“I’m going to blow the doors. What’s the chance the nitrogen will evaporate?”
“Slim chance. We’re cutting off the air. Released liquid nitrogen also removes oxygen. I can only hope the chemical cuts off brain function.”
The words sunk deep. A chance Rose survived remained. “She could still be alive.”
“Possible, but doubtful.” She looked at him and frowned. “The only way to know for sure is to dissolve the very thing that stopped her.”
“So safe way is to leave and not look back.”
“The best option, obviously,” she said, looking away from him again.
How do you wipe the sorrow away? The question plagued him as he collapsed the lever. Several small concussions followed by the sound of crumbling rock signaled the entrances were closed.
“Emma, can we ever—” His words were cut short as she ran to him. Enveloped in her arms, the pain ebbed.
She stared into his eyes with a smile. “Yes, we can. Let’s get out of here.”
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Raven Pirate Assassin Spy by Landra Graf
Prologue
New Orleans
1936
Gretchen pulled the scratchy half-blanket tight around her shoulders and took a step closer to the fire, a small orange blaze inside a busted metal pot. What little heat came out warmed her bare legs, her threadbare cotton dress barely coming past her knees. She didn’t have long, mere minutes, before mother noticed her gone, snuck off to hear the storyteller again. Except he wasn’t on the small stool set against the wall like normal. If he didn’t appear soon, she’d have to leave.
“Please,” she whispered, her breath visible in the chilled night air blowing in from the coast.
The answer to her plea—a cat’s loud howl. Startled, she looked away from the fire.
“Come for a tale, little one?” He squatted onto the stool, no taller than her. He’d a long beard, gray and grizzled, like the tangles of wires her older brother tried to straighten. His voice was scratchy; her mother said it happened because the storyteller loved to puff on the steel pipe he kept in his jacket pocket.
“Yes, Nicodemus.” She loved his stories, the tales he’d share. It didn’t matter if they were real or not; they gave her something to think about besides being tired or hungry.
“Then gather close. Warm yourself by the fire, wee one. For a gift, I’ll tell you one of my favorites.”
Searching, Gretchen looked all around, down at the ground, over her shoulder. What could she give, for she had nothing? Then she leaned in and pecked a kiss on his wrinkly cheek.
He smiled. “Thank you. You’ll need a special tale for such a special gift.” He stroked his beard, eyes focused on the flames licking the air in front of them. “Once upon a time, there lived a girl born to parents who’d prayed for a daughter but never expected one.”
“Was she special?”
Nicodemus tapped her hand with two fingers. “So special a band of thieves kidnapped her when she was a tiny thing, not much younger than you are. Her parents had no choice but to trade her brother in exchange for her safe return. The girl’s future would crown her the queen of a kingdom upon her wedding day. With black hair, pale skin, and eyes as deep blue as the Mediterranean Sea, she’d be Europe’s true jewel.”
“I’ve never been to the Meditearret…Med… the sea.”
“Why would you? It’s thousands of miles away, and you have the Gulf right at your fingertips. You have no doubt seen the water that washed along those shores, for it travels long distances over time, more so than people.” He chuckled. “Now, do you want to hear the rest?”
“Yes.” She blushed. Even her mother said she always spoke too soon, no hesitation.
“The would-be princess didn’t want her throne and ran away, searching for her lost brother and hoping to rescue him like he had saved her all those years ago.”
Gretchen put her hand to her chest, trying to rub out the ache the story put there. To care about someone so much, to be cared for—
“Greta-girl!” Her mother’s high-pitched yell echoed down the alleyway.
She ignored the call and looked back at Nicodemus, who puffed on his pipe, curls of smoke wafting into the air. Tugging on his coat sleeve, she asked, “Where is the princess?”
Before he uttered a reply, a hand clasped around her arm and yanked. With her free hand, her mother cuffed the back of her head. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Left your brother to do your work for you? We’ll see how you like not eating then.”
Gretchen rubbed her eyes to keep the tears from flowing.
Mother spat on the ground at Nicodemus’s feet. “Stories.” The word sounded like something cursed. “A bunch of drivel and a waste of time. Back to work, girl.”
The words came with a shove to Gretchen’s back, and she nearly fell, face first, as she took those few stumbling steps forward. Somehow she managed to stay upright and start the trek back to the busy main roads. The roads where her mother searched for a buyer, where she’d have
to worry about being sold, and where no would save her.
