I have to get there quick, before she drifts too far. The longer I wait, the deeper into the dark she’ll go. It usually takes about seventy-two hours before a soul is beyond reach, and seventy-two hours isn’t enough to regain all my energy, not after what I just did for Rockford. If I wait and try to gain some of it back before I rez Cathy,she could be too far away in the Vague. Or her murderer might move her body somewhere else or worse—cut her apart and take the pieces to different locations.
Whoever arranged this knows me. Knows what I can do. Understood how to drain me to the dregs so I couldn’t interfere with whatever scheme they got going on.
Cathy.
Drops start spattering my windshield. I peer through the slashing wipers and the hammering rain. The road is dark and wet now, black and shimmery as the Vague. I’ve always wondered where the souls go after their time in that limbo is done. Do they just vanish into the depths of Nothing, or is there a destination?
I finish the burgers and gulp down the soda. Then I turn on the radio and sync up my recovery playlist, ignoring the missed calls and texts from Hindley. I got a bunch of songs whose rhythm seems to scratch the itch just right after a tough resurrection. If I were a scientist, I’d probably look into it more, figure out how the sound waves resonate with my necromancer energy, but as it is, I wouldn’t know where to start, and I don’t care to explain it. I crank up Nirvana’s “Come As You Are” and lean harder on the gas.
By the time I reach the end of the playlist, I’m almost there.
The road to Old Sheldon Church is like a tunnel to hell. The trees hunch over it, their gnarled branches meeting at the peak like snakes planning to swallow each other. Their trunks are yellowed in the beams of my headlights. Rain pelts through the boughs, slicking the black pavement.
Before I reach the church, I pull to the side, onto gravel, and throw the truck in park.
Whoever planned this knew I might come for Cathy. Which means this could be a trap.
I’m the guy who always took it on the chin and didn’t fight back, who toughed it out because he couldn’t see any hope. But Cathy changed me into someone willing to fight, not just for her but for myself. I don’t like hurting or killing people…but by god, if anyone tries to stop me from getting to her, I’ll drop them on the spot.
I leave the truck, easing the door shut instead of slamming it. I keep to the darkest shadows of the trees, my steps muffled by the pouring rain and wet grass. The trees are mostly bare by now, but it’s the South, and the undergrowth is still leafy, so I’ve got some cover. Unfortunately, that also means I’m noisier, so I try to time my movements with the biggest gusts of wind and sweeping rain.
As I get closer to the church, a figure moves in the darkness ahead. He’s hiding in the shadows, too, but he’s got his back to me, far as I can tell. Waiting.
A twig crunches nearby, and I almost leap into action—but I hold myself still.
It’s another man, approaching the first. “Hell of a day,” he mutters. “First that guy in Augusta, now this watchdog shit? I’m soaked, man.”
“Hey, I don’t mind the rain. We all needed a shower after that job,” chuckles the first man. “Never seen so much blood shoot out of one guy.”
These guys came from a murder in Augusta, where Rockford lives. And now they’re here, watching the graveyard where Cathy’s body lies? It can’t be a coincidence. I’d bet my dick they killed Rockford. Which means whatever I do to them is justified.
A vicious, glorious rage swells inside me. I’ve never had the chance to test my strength on someone who really deserved the pain. These guards are a fucking gift, just the outlet I need.
The burgers I ate renewed my strength but not my necromancerenergy. Lucky for me, beating up some assholes doesn’t require necromancer shit. Even if I’m dizzier and weaker than usual, I should be a match for these bastards.
“I’m going to check the road,” says one of the men. “If nothing happens in another hour, I say we leave.”
“I’ll back you up on that, but Aaron’s a stickler. He’ll want all four of us to stay the full eight hours we were paid for.”
“Aaron,” the first man scoffs derisively. He walks off toward the road.
As soon as he’s far enough away, I leap forward, clamp my hand over the second man’s mouth, and drag him backward, against my chest. When his hand moves, mine darts to his hip faster and seizes the gun he was going for. I throw it with all my might into the bushes, still gripping his face so tightly I can feel his teeth through his cheeks. He’s trying to scream through my palm, so I wrap my other arm around his throat and squeeze.
His hands are flailing, elbows jabbing, trying everything he can to damage me. I’m unmovable. A fucking rock.
Within three minutes of losing his air supply, he softens and goes lax. I wait another count of ten to be sure he’s really gone.
The first guy is coming back. He sees me there in the shadows and apparently thinks I’m his buddy because he says, “Saw a truck parked a ways down the road. Think we should check it out?”
I greet him with a thunderous punch to the face. It’s a weaker blow than I could usually manage, but it does the trick. Throws him off-kilter long enough for me to punch him again. But my foot slips on the slick grass, and I go down to one knee.
He pulls a gun. Desperately, I grab his wrist, wrenching, twisting—he drops the gun with a shout of pain, and I use his arm to pull myself up. A blow to his stomach and he doubles, but then he’s backup and smashing a fist against my cheekbone. I grab his shoulder, sidestep, use it for leverage while I stomp on the back of his calf at an angle, right below the knee. Saw the move on TV, and it fucking works—there’s a crack of bone, a sharp give of the leg. He screams in agony. When he goes down, I kick his head as hard as I can for good measure, and judging by the resulting crunch, he won’t be getting up again.
Tremors run through my body, and I brace myself against a tree.
I killed both of them.
It’s for Cathy. For Cathy, I’d do anything. Carve out my heart. Soak my damn soul in blood—
