Page 30 of Death Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Leaped.

My stomach dropped. That was not normal. That was predatory.

Faith pivoted and fired mid-motion, shooting it through the head before it could land on her.

The corpse hit pavement with a sick thud.

I stared at it, breath shallow. “They’re learning.”

Eve’s gaze flicked to me, fear and fury flashing. “Or someone is escalating.”

Tegan’s phone buzzed again. She answered quickly, voice tight. “Spencer. Where are you?”

A pause, then her shoulders loosened a fraction. “Good. Hurry.”

She ended the call and turned to Victor. “Delia’s coming to wipe witnesses.”

Victor’s mouth tightened. “Thank god.”

“I don’t think god is taking calls tonight,” I muttered.

Nishi shot me a look that suggested I should shut up and fight.

I did. Mostly.

Another undead sprinted toward a group of mundanes near a storefront. One man stood frozen, phone raised, filming, his face lit by the screen. His mouth was open, but no sound came out.

I ran.

My boots slapped pavement. My lungs burned. My age made itself known in my joints, the familiar complaint of a body that did not like sprinting for fun.

The undead reached him first, grabbing his shoulders, jaws snapping.

I slammed a force push into its side. It flew off him, crashed into a newspaper box, metal clanging loud.

The man blinked at me, shaking.

“Move,” I snapped. “Go behind the cars. Now.”

He didn’t move.

Faith appeared beside me like a bullet, grabbed the man by the back of his coat, and hauled him backward. “She said move.”

He stumbled, finally obeying.

Eve’s fire burst again, catching the corpse I’d shoved before it could recover.

More kept appearing.

From alleys. From street edges. From behind dumpsters. One dropped from a low rooftop, landing with a crack of knees, then still ran.

Nishi swore under her breath, then shouted to her hunters. “Sweep the perimeter. Check the drains. Check the doors. Anything open that shouldn’t be.”

Victor’s officers tightened their line, trying to keep mundanes back. Some officers shouted for people to put phones away. Nobody listened. A teenager held her phone steady, face pale, whispering into it.

“It’s like… zombies. I swear. If I die, tell my followers I loved them.”

I wanted to smack the phone out of her hand and then immediately apologize for it. Both impulses were strong.