Chapter 29

Regina’s head snapped up as Dashiell said this and turned to follow the aim of his gun. A mist had sprung up from the damp ground, cloaking the region in a gray fog. There was virtually no light as the fog rose to blot out the stars. With no moon visible, that left Dashiell and Regina in an eerily dark world, where sound was magnified.

“Regina,” Dashiell whispered, his voice echoing loudly, “can your snipers see through this?”

“Depends Dash,” came the reply, sounding farther away than he knew Regina to be.

“On what?”

“On whether or not zombies show up on night vision goggles.”

The whole time, Dashiell had been scanning the scene with his eyes, looking for the telltale signs of movement in the mists. And he was straining his ears to try and isolate the shambling sound he could hear coming from all around them.

“Stay where you are, Regina. I’m going to try and offer us some protection.” So saying, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a handful of salt. He dribbled it out upon the ground, walking in front of where Regina was last standing and then circling around a large area.

Salt was a universal spell component, especially in circles of protection. And since salt was supposed to send zombies back to their graves, he had high hopes it would repel them.

He was about halfway through the circle, behind Regina, when a ghostly hand reached out of the mists and clamped onto his arm. Its grip was like cold steel, even through the protective spells woven into the jacket. Dashiell cursed loudly, causing Regina to spin around with a cry.

“Regina, watch your back!” The mists had started to swirl, revealing a circle of undead figures in various states of decomposition closing in on the pair. Dashiell turned his attention back to the zombie that had latched onto him, bringing his gun up, pressing it into the soft, melting flesh of the forehead and pulling the trigger.

The thing’s head exploded in a fine grey spray and it fell heavily to the ground. Dashiell’s exaltation was quickly quashed as he noted that the iron grip did not let up with the death of the zombie’s mind. Instead, it reverted back to its more natural state, the metacarpals still locked firmly on his forearm.

The unexpected weight jerked him off balance and he flailed his gun arm wildly to keep his balance. He failed and went down on his left knee.

Shots rang out from Regina’s gun as she rotated checking her nine, twelve and three o’clock, covering her half of the circle, sending a variety of the undead back to their graves.

Dashiell slammed the wrist of the hand holding his arm with the butt of his gun, but had to break off as another zombie reared up out of the mists. The zombie was moving its mouth toward his left hand, open wide, a rotting stench flowing from its gaping maw.

With a flick of his wrist, Dashiell hurled the last of the salt in his fist into the creature’s face, a good deal landing in that tooth-filled chasm.

The creature kept coming.

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