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My heart rate ratchets up as I raise one of the guns. “I’ve got it!”
But do I? Swallowing my fear, I set one of the weapons on the table beside me, then fumble to release the other’s safety and aim. I shake as I stare at the nearest zombie closing in—with a veritable army behind it.
Once upon a time, he was human, someone with family and friends, people who would mourn his loss. How can I just kill him?
“Shoot!” Marrok shouts.
I bite my lip. My finger curls around the trigger.
It’s not really alive anymore, my father’s soothing voice fills my head. He can never be human again. You’re doing everyone—especially him—a favor by putting him out of his misery.
Perhaps…but it feels a lot like murder.
Several more of the terrible creatures crowd behind the first, all trying to breach the doorway. An arctic blast from their bodies chills me.
Suddenly, the cottage’s furniture zooms past me, and I look up to find Bram brandishing his wand. The sofa and chairs stack up at the door between me and the rotting Anarki, preventing them from entering the house.
Until one climbs the blockade and lunges for me with eyes hungry for a kill.
No time for compassion now.
I pull the trigger. The rotting freak jolts and spasms. His blood spurts, glopping thick and black, before he collapses in a heap.
Seconds later, another Anarki picks up where the fallen one left off, pushing at the furniture with evil glee to reach me. No time to question if I’m doing the right thing. I fire again.
Bingo! Right in the head. Black liquid splatters everywhere—the walls, the floor, my shirt. The urge to wretch is strong, especially when I see what’s left of its head roll off its body.
“Give me a gun,” Bram barks from the door with bloody knuckles. He’s sweaty, his clothes are in tatters, and his hair looks like it’s been through a hurricane.
I toss my spare semiautomatic across the room and watch Bram storm the barricade, firing quickly without hitting much. He practically needs to be on top of one of the undead to kill it.
“Let me try,” Lucan shouts from the other side of the barrier.
Bram tosses him the weapon. The result? The same. Until they run out of bullets.
My jaw drops. Have these wizards never thrown a punch or used a gun?
“Fighting like a human looks easier on TV,” Bram grumbles.
Then he scrambles to me and grabs my shoulder, shutting his eyes. Is he praying? That’s all well and good, but right now, shouldn’t we all be fighting?
More Anarki have arrived, Bram’s voice is a boom in my head. Too many to fend off. The soulless humans are bloody impossible to kill with magic. We must leave!
More? There were already too many to overcome, and no one magical can fight them.
“Marrok!” Bram motions him over.
He darts toward the door, his bare feet sloshing through the slimy black liquid covering the ground.
Suddenly, Lucan vanishes. Duke follows suit.
This must be that tactical retreat Marrok spoke of. I approve.
Bram wraps his arm around me. A moment later, Marrok charges through the door and clambers over the barricade with at least three dozen Anarki behind him, all trying to get their hands on me and the diary.
“Hold tight to that book!” Bram shouts. Then he grabs Marrok’s forearm and mutters something.
Suddenly, I see nothing but black. The ground beneath me drops away. I’m falling, falling…my stomach pitching and rolling, hollow as if I’m on a roller coaster with a steep drop.
