Page 145 of My Undead Love Life

Keith scanned the area, his rifle up now. “Someone maintains this.”

Mad’s gaze swept the tree line. “Or something automatic does.”

Before any of us could react, a sharp crackle burst from somewhere close. It wasn’t the radio. It came from the ground but sounded like it came from everywhere at once.

“Well,” a woman’s voice chimed, bright and almost delighted. “You all look terrible. About an hour away from death, if you came from the city this morning, of course.”

We froze. Everyone’s weapon came up. My katana slid free in one smooth motion despite my numb fingers.

“What?” Luck blinked, turning in a circle. “Excuse me, disembodied voice?”

“Where…” Mad searched everywhere, eyes narrowing.

“Frostbite risk, dehydration, elevated stress responses, and oh!” The woman paused, and I could almost hear her smile. “One of you is favoring your left leg. That would be you, shovel boy.”

Luck looked down at himself. “Rude.”

I frowned. He was limping, and I hadn’t noticed how badly. Guilt twisted in my stomach.

“Also,” the voice added, “the redhead is losing fine motor control in her right hand. That’s probably concerning, given her use of a sword.”

My grip tightened around my katana. Or tried to. My fingers barely listened.

Keith looked at my hand sharply. “Spencer.”

“I’m fine.”

The woman hummed through the speaker. “That is exactly what people say right before becoming fascinating medical emergencies.”

“I don’t like her,” Oxi said.

“I kind of find her amusing,” Luck muttered.

“You would.”

Mad stepped forward slightly, placing himself between the grass-door and the rest of us. “Who exactly are you?”

The wind howled over the empty fields.

Almost playfully, she said, “Someone offering you shelter.”

Keith frowned. “Why?”

“That is usually the intelligent question,” the woman replied. “Congratulations, rifle boy.”

Luck made an offended sound. “He gets rifle boy? I got shovel boy?”

“You are holding a shovel,” Oxi said

“And he is holding a rifle,” Mad added.

“Yes. You’re both very observant.” She hummed.

Mad turned back toward the hidden speaker, wherever it was. “Why help us?”

“Because if you stay out there for another hour,” she said matter-of-factly, “two of you will collapse, one will panic, one may keep their life and lose their fingers, and one of you will make a very noble, very stupid attempt to carry someone else through a whiteout.”

Luck looked between them. “I want to know which one panics.”