On the first landing we came to, there was only one zombie. I pulled the trigger on the crossbow and the mechanism fired with a soft twang, the bolt taking the zombie between the eyes and pinning it to the wall. It convulsed once and then sagged, what was left of its life leaking out of it and down the paisley wallpaper.
A quick check of the rooms on that level showed nothing. I Tracked the kids; they were still here, all bunched together. Dread slid through my heart, the sick knowledge that we were about to see twenty-plus kids in a state of half decay and worse. Fuck. I tried to shake it off, but the feeling clung to me.
The next stairwell down was empty, and then we were on the landing of the second floor. The kids were across the landing behind the second door on the left.
Of course, that’s when that bitch of a Necromancer sprung her little trap.
And we’d walked right the fuck into it.
24
Zombies poured out from the other three doors, climbed the stairs from below us, and forced us back the way we’d come.
I shot three in the head in quick succession, but it was too tight of quarters for the crossbow to be as effective as it could be. Booting the closest zombie in the chest, I slung my crossbow over my shoulder and pulled my two swords.
“Stay on the stairs,” I yelled, catching Pamela out the corner of my eye doing as I told her. At least she listened.
Then it was all limbs and bodies being hacked, and I wondered if the flood of rotters would ever end. There were too many for me to take on, more even than had been at the police station.
“Rylee, let me help,” Pamela said, the terror in her voice obvious.
“Not yet,” I grunted.
Three more decapitations and I’d made a little room around me, though with the pile up of bodies, it wasn’t much.
Time to bring out the big guns.
“Anne Tolvay,” I shouted as I spun, taking the arm off a zombie reaching past me to Pamela. “I have your daughter, Brittany!”
An unearthly howl rent the air and the zombies shuffled to a stop, their mouths hanging open, eyes vacant.
“Quick, Pamela. Get behind me so she can only see the dress. Keep your face hidden.”
Pamela leapt toward me, grabbing my belt for balance. I jabbed one sword into the body of the nearest zombie so I could reach back and hang onto Pamela. Just in case.
The door opened and Anne Tolvay stepped out, her cheeks streaked with tears. Her bun was in complete disarray, and her clothing looked like she’d been wearing it for weeks, maybe longer.
She leaned to see around me, gasping at the glimpse of her daughter’s dress. Her hands flew to her mouth. “My precious Brittany,” she sobbed. “Come, come to mama.” She had a heavy Russian accent, but her English was perfect. I might as well have not been there, as she reached out to Pamela.
“Anne,” I said, keeping my voice low. She didn’t respond. “Anne!”
Her eyes jerked to mine. “Who are you? And why do you keep me from my child?”
The zombies came back to life and started toward us. “They will kill Brittany,” I said, slashing, taking a zombie off at the waist, viscera spilling out and causing other zombies to topple like a macabre game of dominos.
“They will never harm my daughter.”
Shit, this was not going as I planned. I had to get her to stop.
“Then I’ll kill her myself!”
Anne screeched and Pamela clung to me. I gave her a squeeze and she relaxed.
“Do not harm my daughter, please. I’ve been looking for her. I will reward you greatly if you give her back to me.”
The madness had completely taken Anne’s mind, and if I hadn’t experienced the loss of Giselle’s own lucidity, I might not have felt as I did. As it was, I didn’t want to hurt Anne, even though she’d hurt so many people.
“Send the zombies away. Then we can talk.”
Anne clapped her hands and shouted something in Russian, and the zombies shuffled down the steps one at a time like perfect soldiers. The thought that she, Anne, could unleash the undead on a city gave me a shiver. There was no way the humans would survive if that ever happened; it would be just like all their movies depicting the end of the world, one full of rotters.
Anne stood across from me, worry lines etched in her forehead. “Please, I just want to see her, to make sure she’s okay.”
Oh boy, time to throw the dice. Very slowly I pulled Pamela out beside me as I whispered, “Keep your head down and if you have to talk, keep it short and sweet.”
Pamela gave the slightest tremor of her head acknowledging me, and then I lifted my eyes to see the Necromancer’s reaction.
Her hands were palms together in front of her lips. “My sweet babushka.” She lowered her hands and her faded blue eyes lifted to mine. “What do you want of me?”