Eden placed Jane in her makeshift bassinette and began packing up baby supplies while Gabe put together some snacks to take on the road.
Pacing nervously and peering through the slats at the window every few minutes, it was Charlotte who spotted the group of biters shambling along in the darkness. The awkwardly moving pack was still some distance away, but as they drew nearer, she caught sight of something familiar: a light-colored shirt with one sleeve rolled at the elbow and the other sleeve had unraveled midway down his arm.
“Ohmigod; it’s Chuck! He’s with a pack of those things, and they’re heading this way!” With a hand covering her mouth, Charlotte scurried away from the window.
Gabe and Eden exchanged a glance, and together they responded to the threat. Gabe cocked his rifle and Eden picked up the nail gun.
“Oh, Jesus! Chuck is one of them now!” Charlotte wailed hysterically and began to shake uncontrollably.
“Pull yourself together, Charlotte, and take Jane to the back,” Eden said harshly.
Responding to Eden’s tone that was as sharp as a slap to the face, Charlotte gathered Jane in her arms and rushed to the storage room.
“We got trouble, Leroy,” Gabe shouted.
“How many are there?” Leroy grumbled as he scrambled down the stairs, gripping his gun.
Gabe squinted through the spaces between the boards. “It’s so dark; it’s hard to tell. I’d guess about nine or ten.”
Leroy ran a nervous hand over his face. “We can handle ’em; can’t we?”
“Be a lot easier if Eden had a real gun,” Gabe said, glancing at the nail gun Eden held.
“Oh, hell, I can’t keep running up and down the stairs,” Leroy spat, looking at Eden sneeringly. “Go on upstairs and grab that pistol in my top bureau drawer. It’s inside a cigar box.”
Eden raced up the stairs while Gabe and Leroy positioned themselves at the windows, eyes focused on the deadly crowd that was slowly approaching. But while the two men had their eyes trained on the area directly outside the store, there was an explosion of shattering glass in the back, and Charlotte gave a loud whoop!
Eden galloped down the stairs, pistol in hand, and her index finger on the trigger. Eden, Gabe, and Leroy raced to the storage room and were momentarily stunned to see grayish-colored, rotting hands groping through the spaces between the steel grate.
Leroy began firing rapidly, sending bullets through decaying hands and arms.
“Stop shooting; you’re wasting bullets,” Eden yelled.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Leroy spat. “I’ll waste as many bullets as I want to get those dang creatures off my property!” Looking crazed with anger, Leroy took several more shots until a couple of clicks indicated he was out of ammunition.
While Leroy went behind the counter to get his box of ammunition, Eden led Charlotte and Jane out of harm’s way, and pointed to the stairway. Nodding in understanding, Charlotte bolted up the stairs.
Suddenly, there was the sound of cracking wood and loud splintering. The creatures were ripping the planks of wood away from the window. Judging by the volume of the unholy sounds and the size of the silhouettes outside the windows, the group had doubled—perhaps tripled—surrounding the perimeter of the place, determined to find a way inside.
“Get away from here, you sons of bitches!” Seething, Leroy aimed at the middle window and began blasting away.
“You’re losing it, man. You’ve got to get a grip,” Gabe cautioned. Paying Gabe no mind, Leroy continued advancing, and firing bullets aimlessly.
Within minutes, the wood was stripped from the windows and it was an unbelievable sight when the biters began crashing through the glass. Seeing arms and legs, thrusting through the shattered openings, seemed surreal, and Eden froze. Hearing the shots from Gabe’s rifle snapped her into action. While Leroy fired at anything moving, Eden and Gabe aimed for the creatures’ heads. But there were so many of them, pouring into the store from every available opening, Eden, Gabe, and Leroy were terribly outnumbered.
“Where’s the ammo for this gun?” Eden asked Leroy with desperation in her voice.
“Upstairs! On the shelf in the closet,” Leroy answered, still firing, his wild aim causing bullets to strike walls and display cases.
“There’s no time to reload,” Gabe said, tossing Eden the nail gun. Gabe was out of bullets also. He grabbed the ax. Swinging upward, he hacked into the head of the thing that used to be Chuck.
Eden watched in horror as the wood that framed the windows splintered and shot out in different directions. With the larger opening available, a legion of flesh-eaters poured into the store. There’s so many of them, she thought woefully. Backing away, she raised the nail gun with a trembling hand. Shooting one or two wouldn’t make a difference. It was over, and as scenes of her short life played in her head, she toyed with the idea of aiming the nail gun at her own head. But what about Jane? I can’t let those things devour my baby.
As Eden turned toward the stairs, Gabe yelled out her name. She heard the ripping sound of fabric as one of the creatures grabbed the back of her shirt and yanked her away from the stairs. The nail gun flew from her hand and clattered to the floor. The sound of Leroy’s firing echoed loudly, but none of his bullets connected with the thing that had captured her.
Split seconds later, she was being pulled down and the thing toppled on top of her. She struggled, tried to throw it off of her, while also preparing for the searing pain of teeth tearing into her flesh. When nothing happened, she used all her strength to pull herself from beneath the creature that lay upon her like a ton of dead weight.
She scrambled to her feet and watched in amazement as the horde of biters suddenly stopped moving. It was as if someone had pushed pause. One after another, they began to drop, hitting the floor like fallen trees.
CHAPTER 33
Bodies littered the streets, giving Frombleton the appearance of a war-torn city. People were out in droves. Some were trying to retrieve their abandoned cars and others were searching for loved ones. Along with the innocents that had lost their lives, all the flesh-eaters were dead—they died last night at the precise moment that Jonas had taken his last breath.
It was nearly dawn when Holland found her way back to Edgemont Avenue. She gave a relieved sigh when she spotted her mother’s Saab. Stepping over bodies, she hurriedly opened the door. In the back seat, she found her mother’s purse and her backpack. After a quick search inside the backpack, her fingers caressed the soft fabric that was wrapped around The Book of Spells. Thank you! Holland took the book out and clutched it to her chest.
The key was still in the ignition, and she got behind the wheel and steered the car onto the pavement, moving slowly until she found a side street that wasn’t cluttered with people and cars.
Driving in the direction of the armory, she passed city vehicles and police cars. On behalf of the vampires, the city employees began the work of cleaning up the city. Holland wondered if the residents of Frombleton would ever lead normal lives again.
She arrived at the armory and surprisingly, the force field was down. Inside the large and vacant building, she found her mother and Rebecca in a dusty cafeteria, sitting on folding chairs and quietly sipping a beverage from thermoses. Oddly, Phoebe was dressed in a caftan and on her head was a turban made of stretch fabric.
“Where’s everyone else?” Holland asked.
“Holland! Thank God, you’re back!” Phoebe sprang to her feet so quickly, she splashed tea on the front of the caftan.
“Good to see you, Holland. You had us all extremely worried,” Rebecca said.
“Sorry. Had something important to care of.”
“Something to do with Jonas?” Phoebe asked, cutting an eye at Rebecca.
Holland swallowed and nodded. She couldn’t talk about Jonas. Not yet. She looked around the large room, and then eyed Phoebe. “Whose clothes are your wearing, and . . . um . . . what’s on your head?”
“This belongs to Reb
ecca; she let me borrow one of her ceremonial outfits last night.”
Rebecca nodded. “Your mom joined in our ritual. She has very strong and positive energy—natural witch abilities. We’ve decided to assist her in realizing her potential,” Rebecca said with a smile. Phoebe, in turn, beamed with pride.
“That’s great, Mom. You’ve always said that we’re from a long line of witches.” Holland glanced around the room. “Where’s everyone?”
“We chanted nonstop for hours and now that the flesh-eaters have been destroyed, we felt it was safe for everyone to go home and go about their daily lives. Your mother and I were waiting for you, and now that you’re here, I guess we should all go home and get some rest.”
Holland parted her lips to protest, to tell Rebecca that it wasn’t the chanting that destroyed the corpses. It was Jonas! But she kept it to herself. At the moment, it hurt to think of him, and she was certain that she’d start crying uncontrollably if she spoke his name aloud.
“Has school reopened?” Holland asked.
“We haven’t heard anything, so I guess we can assume that they’re still closed until further notice. I’m surprised you’re in a hurry to get back to school,” Rebecca said.
“I’m not. Just curious to find out if things will ever get back to normal.”
Rebecca clasped Holland’s hands. “Yes, life is going to get back to normal. Be patient. Listen, your mother and I were talking. I was telling her about a new member of our coven who’s working with the vampires.”
“Are you serious—there’s a witch working with the vampires?”
“Yes. She was forced into the job and so we’ve decided to take full advantage of her position.”
“What’s the plan? Is she going to expose them to the sun while they’re asleep?”
“No, but what she’s prepared to do can’t be done alone. I need you to do something for us . . . but I don’t think you’re going to like what I’m going to ask of you.”
Holland cut an eye at her mother, and Phoebe dropped her gaze, guiltily. “Uh . . . why won’t I like it?”
Rebecca gave Holland’s hand a little squeeze. “What we need you to do is going to bring up some bad memories. But all I ask is that you trust me. I need you to believe that I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
“I do trust you, Rebecca.”
“Good.” Rebecca released Holland’s hands and stared into her eyes. “We need you—all the citizens of Frombleton need you. We’re relying on you for our survival.”
“Whoa, that’s a lot to deal with,” Holland said, touching her forehead as if to get her thoughts together. “What do I have to do?”
“Donate blood. We need large quantities of your blood.”
“No, I can’t go through that again,” Holland objected. “I was traumatized after witnessing what my blood did to Naomi. And after those witches at Stoneham used my blood for their own deceitful purposes, I’ve developed . . . like . . . a phobia. Listen, I want to help and I’d be happy to add my energy to chants and other rituals, but I’m really not comfortable with anything that concerns my blood.”
“It’s the only way we can defeat the vampires, hon,” Phoebe said in a pleading tone.
“No!”
“Holland,” Rebecca said gently. “This town is at the mercy of vampires. You’re our only hope to overthrow them. Please.”
Thinking about Jonas’s warning about the vampires, Holland grew pensive and finally nodded. “What exactly do you need me to do? Please don’t say you want me to go into their nest and allow a group of them to attack me.”
“No, nothing that dreadful. In fact, you won’t have to be in physical contact with them at all.”
“Okay,” Holland said bravely.
CHAPTER 34
For the fourth day in a row, Bradley M. Jones arrived at the Chandler Mansion, formerly know as the Sherman Mansion, at five in the evening. The vampires would begin waking up in an hour, and it was his responsibility to make sure that the human staff had everything in order. He shook his head ruefully. After all the education he’d acquired and despite his successful law practice, here he was, playing the role of a lackey. His job title was Chief of Staff, though he regarded his position as nothing more than a glorified butler slash accountant.
He walked from room to room, examining the work of the housekeeping crew. The marble floors had been polished to a high shine and everything seemed to be in order. Realizing that Elson Chandler would notice even the tiniest speck of dust, Bradley ran a white-gloved hand along the gold-plated bannister, over tabletops, and picture frames. Satisfied that the cleaning staff had done their jobs efficiently, he pushed a button that would stream classical music throughout the mansion—something that Elson Chandler insisted was the perfect way to begin his evening on the right note.
Next, he checked the kitchen staff. Vera Wesley scrubbed pots and pans, her lips scrunched together in repugnance. Working for vampires was distasteful; no one wanted to be in the mansion but they didn’t have a choice.
On the other side of the room, Ulysses Andrews wore a somber expression as he cut chunks of bread that would be provided, along with a bowl of homemade chicken soup, to the blood slaves that were housed in the basement of the mansion.
“Hurry along, Ulysses. Mr. Chandler wants them fed at five-thirty precisely,” Bradley prompted. Ulysses nodded grimly, and then began filling crude metal bowls with soup. The head cook, Franklin Haddock, opened the oven door and peeked in on the rack of lamb and baby red potatoes that were part of the menu that was planned for Mr. Chandler’s esteemed guests. Tonight was special; tonight Mr. Chandler would be wooing state officials.
In the dining room, Sharla and Gretchen, two attractive women in their late-twenties, clad in formal maid’s attire, prepared the long, formal table that could accommodate up to eighteen guests. The centerpiece was a simplistic yet elegant bouquet of bright yellow orchids. The table was set with crystal glasses, silver utensils, and bone china from Tiffany & Co. Nothing but the best for Elson Chandler’s family and guests.
With Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” playing in the background, Bradley took the stairs that led to his office that was situated beneath the basement in the sub-basement. He bypassed the basement level as quickly as possible, cringing at the whimpers and cries of the people that occupied cages like animals. These unfortunate humans were kept on the premises to provide warm blood for the vampires as well as other cruel pleasures.
Had Bradley not accepted the job offer, his own daughter, Tessa, would be among the flocks of human beings that were packed inside cages.
Adjourning to his office, Bradley sat in front of the computer. On the monitor, he checked the household expenses for the week, noting that Mr. Chandler paid less for the upkeep of this nineteen-thousand-square-foot residence than Bradley paid to keep his small law office afloat. The free labor that Mr. Chandler enjoyed was criminal. But it seemed there was nothing anyone could do. The vampires had staked their claim on the town of Frombleton and though it was unlawful, the citizens went along like sheep, terrified of the consequences if they objected or voiced a complaint with state-level government officials.
And now that it appeared that Mr. Chandler would soon have state officials under his thumb, the future of the entire state looked glum.
There was a soft knock on Bradley’s office door. He glanced at the clock. Too early for the vampires to be pestering him, he noted with relief. “Come in,” he said, expecting to see Ulysses or one of the maids. He was pleasantly surprised to see Tanya Fluegfelder; her mass of red hair, pert nose, and pretty face were a delight to the eyes. It was a shame that she, too, had been forced into servitude to these ungodly creatures.
“Good evening, Tanya,” Bradley said, unable to keep a smile off his lips. He rarely saw Tanya. She had an office on the second floor in Mr. Chandler’s vast library—organizing his books, Bradley had assumed. She performed other services for the vampires, but Bradley wasn’t exactly sure what
her duties entailed. He’d heard a rumor that she was romantically involved with that cowboy, Travis. Feeling a stab of jealousy, Bradley wondered if Tanya’s feelings for the vampire were sincere.
“Nice music,” Tanya said, referring to a Mozart piece that was now playing.
“Mr. Chandler has good taste in music.”
“His library is rather extraordinary also. The Frombleton Library pales in comparison to his extensive collection of rare books.” Tanya toyed nervously with her fingers. “But . . . I didn’t come down here to talk about books; I need to ask you a favor.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m invited to Mr. Chandler’s dinner party, and I need to go home and change . . .” Tanya paused and looked away embarrassedly.
“That’s not a problem as long as you’re finished categorizing your books or whatever it is you do on the second floor.”
“My librarian duties are complete.”
“Well, then run along and glamour yourself up—not that you need much help in the beauty department.” Bradley sighed inside. Tanya was too lovely and demure to be involved with that crude cowboy. He wondered if they were intimate . . . sexually. He frowned at the thought.
“I usually serve the chilled blood to the vampires when they rise, and I was wondering if someone else could do that tonight. All they have to do is carry the blood trays up to the second floor and leave them on the table near the top of the landing. The vampires come out and help themselves, and Ismene personally serves Mr. Chandler.”
“Then I’ll send Sharla and Gretchen upstairs with the trays.”
“Thank you. The glasses have already been filled, and the trays are in the fridge.”
“Very well. I’ll pass on the information.”
“Thanks, Mr. Jones.”
“Call me Bradley. Please.”
“Thank you, Bradley,” Tanya said and produced a smile that reminded Bradley of flowers and sunshine and all that was still good in a world that would soon be dominated by vampires.
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