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The shadow zombies begin clawing and biting at anyone near them.
“Crap!” yells Allison. “She got away.”
“This isn’t supposed to happen!” Lindsey flails her arms. “Quentin doesn’t do zombie apocalypse stories. This is so out of genre. There aren’t supposed to be zombies in Frostmarch.”
“Ice walkers?” asks Tammy.
Lindsey sighs. “Okay, fine. But those are specific kinds of undead creatures unique to this world. They’re not zombies.”
“Sure they are.” Tammy frowns. “He just doesn’t call them that. Except for being frozen, they’re the same damn thing as zombies.”
I jump down from the table, ice blade poised, and lop the head off the nearest zombie. “I don’t care what they are or what anyone calls them. They’re undead and they’re attacking people.”
Kingsley dashes over and tackles a lurching zombie. After crushing the man’s skull to paste, he helps himself to the broadsword on the man’s belt.
Can’t blame the big guy. If I were a giant dog, I wouldn’t want to bite zombies either. And wow, these things must be really evil if he doesn’t want to eat them. After all, his resident dark master prefers putrid flesh. Oh, maybe these zombies aren’t rotten enough for him?
Eww. Just… eww. I kiss that mouth. Gotta stop thinking about his unusual dietary habits.
And yes, he goes through an inordinate amount of Listerine once a month.
Meanwhile, Tammy stays on the table tossing small green lightning bolts at zombies. Allison is not taking this seriously at all. She’s making finger guns like a wild west outlaw and shooting her yellow energy bolts at the zombies. Admittedly, these things are pretty non-threatening to us.
But... they’re fast for zombies, faster than humans should be, though not as fast as vampires.
Anthony plays goalie, blocking any zombie going for Tammy, Allison, Lindsey, or Damon who remain standing on the long table. I fight my way across the room to Sansha, who’s still curled up on top of her brother, sobbing.
I slice down two zombies going for her, then prepare to say something comforting her over the loss of her brother… only he’s not dead. At least, he doesn’t feel dead to me. I lean closer, staring at him. Yep. He’s still got mental energy in that head of his. So, only unconscious.
“C’mon.” I pull her to her feet. “Your brother’s fine, just passed out. You have a clear path to the table. Go! I got your brother.”
Sansha pulls it together enough to sprint over to the table my team is standing on. Damon grabs her reaching hands and pulls her up while I carry Elden over.
“Roldon, too.” Allison points.
I spin to look at him. Sure enough, he seems to be in the same state as Elden, out cold but alive… and there’s a zombie swarm going for him. Eek. I zoom over there as lightning bolts from Allison and Tammy flash on either side of me. My sword claims three zombies, the girls get seven. I’d grab Roldon and drag him over to the table, but the crisis appears to be over. There aren’t any more zombies moving around.
Partygoers cluster together on other tables, chairs, and even cling to bookshelves as if still afraid of touching the floor. I’m rather grateful the stuffy rules of high society prohibit children from attending these sorts of parties. This world has no therapists.
“Wow. How did these two survive the fog?” Allison squats atop the table to examine Elden like a paramedic, only she doesn’t even have a CPR certification. “He looks fine.”
“Plot armor,” says Lindsey. “All the nobles who are significant to the story can’t die to random events. They can only die when Quentin decides it’s time to kill them off.”
Kingsley tosses his sword to the floor with a dull clank, then walks over to us. “I thought he wasn’t in control here?”
“Exposing Nesanth just now probably weakened her hold on him,” says Allison. “I bet he’s fighting her in his mind now. He’s going to gradually regain control of this world… unless Nesanth kicks Demetria’s butt and gets to concentrate on him again. As long as the two of them are fighting, it’s going to give Quentin the opportunity to crawl out of the mental oubliette she put him in.”
“Wow, big word,” says Anthony.
“I know what oubliette means.” Kingsley frowns.
“Great. ’Cause I don’t.” Tammy pokes him in the side.
“It’s another word for prison.” Kingsley traces a box in the air. “Usually a deep, dark pit where someone gets thrown to die… or be alone for the rest of their life.”
“Lovely.” Tammy cringes. “Why are humans so cruel?”
Allison sputters. “Right?”
