Page 28 of Death Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

The next body was near the curb, half hidden by a trash bin. A woman, one shoe missing, hair stuck to her cheek with blood.

My stomach rolled. Rage flared. Not controlled, not elegant, just hot anger that the dead were taking the living as if it were entertainment.

Victor Thornwood stood near the center of it all, tall and commanding, his presence cutting through the chaos like a blade. He wore a tailored black suit that somehow stayed crisp while the world burned around him. His steely eyes tracked the crowd, then flicked toward us.

When his gaze landed on me, it focused, assessing. Then it shifted to Faith and Eve.

“About time,” he called, voice carrying without shouting.

Faith’s jaw tightened. “We came as fast as we could.”

Victor’s mouth tightened too. “We need to get the cameras down. We have too many witnesses.”

Eve moved closer, eyes scanning the street. “We’ve called for Delia. She’s coming.”

Victor’s gaze flicked to the filming mundanes, frustration hardening his features. “Good. Because if this hits mainstream channels, we’re done. They’ll have reporters here by sunrise.”

A scream rose near the far end of the block.

Then another.

Victor’s gaze snapped toward it. His shadow stretched slightly across the pavement, longer than it should have been under the streetlights.

“Incoming,” he said, voice tight.

And then they came.

Three undead figures burst from an alley as if they’d been shot out of a cannon. They moved wrong, but fast. Too fast.

One was a woman in a torn sweater, hair hanging in greasy clumps. Her face was gray, eyes clouded, mouth smeared dark. She ran with jerky speed, arms pumping at stiff angles. Not graceful, not human, but fast enough that my brain struggled to accept it.

The second was a man in work boots, one pant leg shredded. His head snapped from side to side as he ran, as if he were tracking scents or sounds. His jaw hung open, teeth bared. He made a wet, guttural sound that was not a groan. It was a growl.

The third one… I didn’t want to look at it too long. Its throat was torn open, skin flapping as it moved, and somehow it still ran.

Mundanes screamed and surged backward. A few tripped. Phones wobbled in the air, still recording.

Faith moved without hesitation.

She drew a handgun so smoothly it looked like the weapon had been waiting in her palm. She aimed for the lead corpse’s head and fired.

The crack split the air.

The undead woman jerked, stumbled, then kept coming.

Faith fired again, and this time the bullet took the skull at a cleaner angle. The head snapped back. The body collapsed, sliding on the pavement.

“Okay,” I breathed. “Head shots.”

Faith didn’t glance at me. “Always.”

Victor barked orders to his officers, pushing them into a tighter line. “Back them up. Keep the crowd behind the cars. Move!”

Officers shifted, forming a barrier with bodies and vehicles, trying to hold mundanes back. Some listened. Some didn’t. Fear and curiosity fought in their eyes.

Eve lifted her hands and hellfire bloomed.

It wasn’t normal flame. It was brighter, hotter, edged with something unnatural. The heat hit my face from ten feet away.