His men made way as Donté approached. His boots tracked a path through the blood-drenched deck. He gazed down at the pale features, already
beginning to change, the zombie gray spreading across his expression. Hollowed cheeks, eyes that reflected the inner struggle to fight the virus of
zombie control already beginning to take hold of him.
And there was no cure. Nothing to stop the spread of living death about to claim its next victim. Except for one. Donté stroked a hand through the
sweat-slickened white-blond hair of the lovely young man, once so eager to join the vampire's crew.
He'd not spoken a word of English when he was first brought on board the Night Stalker. His native language was Dutch and he'd been aboard
one of the Dutch West Indies ships. He'd provided Donté with the coordinates of his ship and the Night Stalker had managed to track them down.
Bits and pieces of Gordon's ship floated on the water, They tracked Zoleil's zombie ship only a short distance more. Yet, Zoliel had once again
escaped.
Donté's men had seized the cargo and then set the ship ablaze after tossing the dismembered zombies into the salty sea. Young Gordon had been
horrified at his first encounter with Zoliel's zombie crew. Some of them had been men he'd served with and known for several years. The young
man had escaped the zombie infestation once. But not this time.
Gordon clamped a hand around Donté's wrist. "Do it, Captain. Do it quickly. I-I'm not afraid."
Donté recognized the statement for the lie it was. The boy feared just as all men did, especially knowing the zombie virus already spread through
his body.
"Aye, lad, I'll make it as quick as I can. A moment of pain and it will be done. We've no priest aboard the Night Stalker to ease your way--I hope
you've made your peace as best you can."
"You've been a good captain to serve, sir. Vampire or human. I don't regret joining you." The corner of his bloodless mouth quirked upward. "I just
wish it could have been for longer. I wanted to take more of the bastards with me."
"Aye, lad. Now close your eyes."
"No, sir. I'm not a coward. Do what you must."
"You've served me well, Gordon. You'll be missed."
Gordon slid a glance past Donté. "You boys have a drink on me when I'm gone." There were low murmurs among the crew offering him Godspeed
to the other side wherever it might lead.
Within that space of a second, as Gordon's attention was on the crew behind him, Donté pulled back his arm, and like a shot, punched through
Gordon's chest and latched onto his warm, beating heart. Before Gordon was fully aware of what was happening, Donté ripped the heart from his
flesh.
Gordon's eyes widened and then Donté saw the sparkle of life ooze from them, watched them go dull and lifeless.
The heart still beat against the palm of his hand. The living dead. He held the organ until the rhythm altered. He knew what he had to do. Slowly,
he rose from Gordon's side and walked across the deck. He held his arm out, crushed the heart and then opened his fist. He watched as the
mangled organ was swallowed up by the surging black sea below.
"Cap'n?"
Donté didn't turn to look at Jupiter. He watched the angry, hissing foam lap at the ship's hull. The sea hid so much. If he thought too deeply about
the number of ships and living dead that he and his crew had destroyed it would drive him insane. But then, could he say he wasn't insane
already?
"See to your duty, Jupiter. Handle him gently. He was a brave man and deserves to be treated well by those of us who remain."
"Aye, Cap'n. We'll see to the deed."
It had been a long night. Yet another bloody bounty to add to the many. He felt the tears slide down his face. Too many dead and still it went on
with no end in sight. Perhaps he'd been out to sea this trip for too long. He needed to return to Noctra. He needed rest.
His gaze turned to the sky. The first wisps of a new dawn were just beginning to emerge along the horizon. It was time for him to return to his own
ship, to the cabin that served as his coffin in daylight.
Donté heard his men behind him. The soft murmur of voices as they bent to the task of dismembering one of their own. With zombies they could
take no chances.
Donté remembered the first zombie he'd killed. It was on his Uncle René's plantation in St. Domingue in 1796. He remembered the horror of it. Of the
first taste of Zoliel's madness on his uncle's plantation. Of his own lover who had warned him about the witch doctor's plans. He remembered little
of how he'd made his way to Tortuga after the uprising on the plantation. Mon dieu, the horror of it. Even now, some seventy-five years later, he
could still taste the fear and revulsion of what had taken place on that terrible, blood-curdling night.