Her body knew what they’d fallen into before her mind was able to grasp it, to comprehend it. Blood, warm and sticky, spreading in a slow oozing lake across the hall. Her pants and coat were soaked with it, and when her demon heart twitched again she knew it wasn’t just blood, it was Yezer blood, her demons were here and they were being hurt, just like in their home. They should have been safe and they weren’t and that fucking bitch, she was going to get her—
She didn’t think she’d ever felt rage like this before, this bone-deep fury, and it scared her just as much as it elated her, made her feel powerful, more than powerful. Aroused, and that’s when she realized she had hold of Nick’s hand and was taking his energy, sucking it slowly into herself, and if she didn’t stop soon she was going to explode. The sex came from him, but it was the anger that shoved its way into her stomach and flooded her limbs. Jesus, he’s so angry, he’s so fucking hurt and angry—
She dropped his hand as if it had turned into a tarantula and backed away, slipping in the blood and falling against the grimy wall. The lake at her feet still spread; she turned, into the gaping mouth of the doorway and saw, in the faint light through the plastic over the empty window, pieces of her demons. Ears, legs, torsos, roughly stacked like Lincoln Logs against the wall, tumbled across the floor. How many of them, she didn’t know, but they were there, they were everywhere.
Where was Roc? Was he in there, God was he in there, one of those random limbs making the space look like the back room of a slaughterhouse?
She hadn’t realized she’d said it out loud until Malleus took hold of her arms and propelled her away, down the hall, squishing in the blood. “He ain’t there, m’lady, don’t you fret none, he’ll be ’ere soon, you wait an’ see…”
There were no windows in the far stairwell. It was like stepping into a mouth and being swallowed, feeling their way up the steps, moving slowly enough for Megan to start wondering why she hadn’t heard any more explosions in a while, and why Greyson hadn’t yet appeared. Her chest hurt.
The pitted metal railing bit into her hands but she was afraid to let go. Why they’d come armed to the teeth but without so much as a cigarette lighter…but then, they’d assumed they wouldn’t need to make their own fire, hadn’t they? It had never even occurred to her that Greyson might not be at her side every step of the way. Dangerous, that. Her vision blurred and she realized she was sobbing as they walked.
Even over the scuffling of their feet on the steps she heard the sound, a low gurgling rumble, like someone with laryngitis trying to yodel. Something waited for them on the fourth floor, and she thought she knew what it was.
Metal clinked and clanged around her as the men drew their weapons. She still had the gun, tucked dangerously in her pocket. Her palms were so slick it was difficult to get a good grip on it, and it wouldn’t do much good anyway if she was right.
She was. Her father stood waiting when they left the stairwell.
He hadn’t changed since they’d buried him, only two days before—two days, she couldn’t believe how much had happened in two days—but the vague emptiness in his eyes, the way he stood as though balancing on two feet was an effort, were things she’d never seen before.
Nick started forward, his sword raised, but Malleus grabbed him by the arm and muttered something. Megan didn’t hear it. She’d been expecting this, had known from the minute they saw the zombie coming out of the woods at the edge of town, but now the moment was here, really here, and she didn’t know what to do.
She couldn’t walk. She couldn’t move. She just stood there and stared at him, tears running icy tracks down her face. Was there anything left of him in there, and if there was, would he even care?
The thought had barely gone through her mind when he charged. The men leaped forward, trying to catch him, but he shook them off with amazing speed and agility and reached for her, his freezing fingers clutching her throat.
They crashed backward onto the cement floor of the landing. All the breath left her body; her back arched as she tried desperately to inhale, but his fingers tightened around her throat. This was it, he was going to kill her, just like he’d tried to do before, and she couldn’t fight him, she wasn’t strong enough…
She brought her knee up as hard as she could and smashed it into his groin. He might not be able to think and his nerves might be deteriorating, but she was willing to bet even undead men hurt when solid bone was driven into their balls. He howled, a raspy, animal sound, and curled forward. His fingers loosened. She sucked in a huge, glorious breath and actually felt oxygen spread through her entire body.
Too late she realized he was falling sideways, taking her with him to the top of the staircase. Another inch or two and they would tumble back down into the impenetrable blackness.
“Help me!” she screamed, but the words weren’t even out of her mouth when the body was lifted away, when Nick’s hands found hers and he hauled her up so fast she fell forward into him.
The boys were yelling, struggling with the frantic body of her father. Megan remembered well how strong zombies could be, how terrifyingly focused.
Something cracked. She had no idea what it was, but Malleus’s grip loosened for a second, and that second was enough for her father to lunge at her again.
This time she was ready, bracing herself, but at the last second something else happened, something that made her heart—both of her hearts—leap. Roc appeared, and trailing in his wake were four or five of her demons. So few, but enough to get her demon heart moving, to send a jolt of power through her body. It combined with what was left of the energy she’d stolen from Nick in the hall below, and she focused it, focused on it, and put as much of it as she could behind her swinging fist.
Her arm vibrated. All of her knuckles cracked, and she felt two of her fingernails break off at the quick.
Her father—she should start thinking of him as “the zombie,” but she couldn’t, it was her father, it was his body—barely paused, reaching for her again. Nick’s sword came down on his arm, slicing it off, but again, her father didn’t stop.
Megan slipped sideways and lifted the gun, but her fingers were too sore and clumsy to fire it. Malleus and Maleficarum dragged the zombie a few feet away and Nick attacked him again with the sword, its blade black and sticky with rancid fluid.
Her father howled, confusion and pain and anger in what was left of his voice, and Megan couldn’t take it anymore. It probably wouldn’t work, it probably wouldn’t even matter, but there was such a cruel, ironic symmetry to it all as she stepped forward and pressed the barrel of the gun to his head, just above his right eyebrow.
It felt like she should say something, but she couldn’t think of anything to say; she squeezed the trigger and let the gun speak for her.
Its report echoed so loudly in the stairwell and hall she thought it would never stop. Her father’s body slumped forward. The horrible bright light left his eyes, and he became again what he should have been. A corpse. Just a corpse.
The rattles started then, the metal stair railings sounding like a piece of aluminum shaking in the wind. Little snickering sounds, dry scratches and rasps. Her demons were coming, down the stairs from the fifth floor or up from the other floors, alerted to her exact location, and she was crying too hard as she looked at the blurry, messy figure of her father on the ground to care. It wasn’t until Roc touched her hand and spoke to her that she was able to look up.
“…to go, Megan, hurry! Hurry!”