by Mia Strange
The magic left me and surrounded The Bone Man who once again had Phil in tow and was dragging the zombie backward.
“Skye, get over here,” he screamed.
The two were met with a beautiful colored wave that crested before them, then moved in like a tsunami. The Bone Man and Phil were tossed into the air, thrown twenty feet or more into the mouth of the Georgetown Morgue.
“Damn it, Phil,” I heard The Bone Man rage. I turned and watched as they landed, becoming a rolling mass of Zombie Phil and The Bone Man. Phil flattened The Bone Man like a pin in a bowling alley. I shook my head. That had to hurt. Talk about dead weight.
An invisible wall of magic that only I could see slammed in front of them. I could feel the raw power. It felt like the strength of a thousand of Drusilla’s protection wards. And Dru, our Academy’s secret witch, made wards like no one else could.
The Bone Man and Phil were sealed safely in.
I was sealed dangerously out.
The wall of Shades flew in, and landed once again, in front of me.
With The Bone Man and Phil out of the way, I’d like to say I charged the Shades. I’d like to say I ran at them full speed and full of fury. But the truth was I staggered to meet my enemy with a weak war cry and a raspy string of useless swear words.
Phrases from my Pop Culture History Class crashed into my brain. Words like commie—bastards, yellow—livered coward, where’s—the—fucking—beef, and bring—it, sprang from my lips. Which, yeah, made no sense at all. But that’s what fear will do to you. Make you lose your mind. But hey, I liked the sound of the crazy words all strung together, they made me feel better.
They made me feel brave. They gave me strength.
And they sure did the job.
The Shades flew in.
And if I had to wager, they had a sure shot.
8
Chaos Magic, my magic, erupted in a ring of fire around the descending Shades. I hadn’t summoned chaos, not yet. But the fierce, strong magic from the steam swirled violently around me, yanking my own magic to the surface. I wasn’t prepared, and I dropped to my knees, almost passing out. I saw stars. And they weren’t the ones in the sky.
The result of my magic, left to its own devices, was pure and total chaos. There was a reason for the name of my kind of power. And the proof was raging all around me.
The ground shook. Buildings around us groaned in protest as their foundations slid and moved. I could hear the stone in the buildings call to me, to stop. Just stop. Now. Before it was too late.
Bricks tumbled behind me. The pavement cracked and splintered. Gravel sprang up around me like corn popping in a hot pan. And I swear, in my weakened state, I thought I saw the moon wink, there one second, gone the next.
But of course, that was not possible. However, the thick black cloud of smoke from the flames blocked the moonlight for a moment. I caught my breath, raised my head and watched the moon reappear, strong and true. It gave me the strength I needed. I pushed up to my feet once again, dragging my sword with me. I thanked God that this area of the city was deserted, condemned. I knew I couldn’t deal with the worry of any more collateral damage of human lives. Worrying about one, The Bone Man, was enough.
Not to mention Phil.
Who I had never worried about until tonight. Blood loss. Had to be.
I stood wavering on my feet, as the Shades broke rank and separated, showing the dangerous speed they had. But the fire contained them, the orange and red flames licked at their black forms. They started to smoke and smolder and melt.
For the first time I heard them scream.
Unfortunately, so did the zombies.
The dead masses picked up more speed as the screams and my scent reached them simultaneously. Now that the Shades had scattered, they no longer blocked my smell, my very human smell, and it rose on the November wind, carrying it down to every zombie that still had a nose. And for the ones that didn’t? Well just seeing me was enough. My skimpy outfit that I wore on stage, my low corset and the leather miniskirt, enticed them.
All the skin I was showing along with blood dripping down my boots was a feast for rotting zombie eyeballs. Throw in the aroma of living human flesh, and I was at the very least, a human s’more for the first rotting dead on scene.
I drew on everything my weakened body could bring forth. There wasn’t much time. I couldn’t hang on. If my body was still racked with pain, it would have been impossible. Thanking the steam magic for taking my pain, I called on everything chaos to cripple the Shades. I needed to be in control. Right now.
My mess. My magic.
I invoked every emotion, every setting, every sound that played against the Shades. I called on the darkest part of my magic, the part I kept hidden and private. The part I wasn’t proud of. I brought forth the memory of the crematorium, the excruciating pain, the smell of burning flesh, the snap, crackle, pop, of baking bones and melting organs. I pressed every horror into the Shades. I spared them no mercy.
Yes, they may have been human once, and they died a horrible, unfair death, but adding mine and The Bone Man’s into the mix would be pointless. Even adding Phil would be pointless. After all, he had a career on stage. For a zombie, he was famous up and down the rails.
And God only knew that if I died, I wanted to make a point, even if it was simply that I had fought the good fight before becoming a main course. In the world I lived in, that at least made some kind, of morbid sense.
As for the Shades, there was nothing remotely human left in them and that’s what made them so evil. All that remained were shells of revenge and hatred and more death. And really, in what was left of this gray, smoldering world of ours, who needs them? Not me. Not anyone.
And now they had to get out of my way, to melt or die, or do whatever—the—hell Shades do when they are no more. They really needed to do this, to just get gone, so that I could deal with the army of dead coming my way. After all, I could only multitask so much before I collapsed and died. Why couldn’t they cooperate and curl up in little ghost balls and roll away?
My chaos flames shot forty feet into the air, threatening the eves of the Morgue, which was so not good. I had no intention of losing control of the fire and risk burning The Bone Man and Phil alive. But the flames threaten the Shades even more, so for the moment, I didn’t try to stop them. My ears rang as the screams of the Shades increased ten—fold, now piercing, earsplitting…heartbreaking.
The zombies loved it, and moved in.
The magic in the steam, as if frightened too, withdrew once more; leaving only enough of a trail behind to keep the seal on the morgue secure. The Bone Man and Phil were still trapped inside. Safe for now.
I was left with my raging Chaos magic that swirled and sparked around us. It slammed into deserted buildings, shattering windows, sending out shards of glass to mix with the rain.
Forced to my knees, I dropped the blade, cowering under my trembling, crossed arms. I covered my head, only vaguely aware of the pavement grinding into my flesh as it pierced through the leather of my boots.
The Bone Man shouted behind me, and I knew without listening to his garbled cries that he wanted out. He wanted to save me. He knew what I did. That even under the best of circumstances my Chaos magic was dangerous to everyone. To me.
Even with guidance and tutoring and the infinite patience of Dr. Dark, I was just now learning to harness my magic, to control its awesome power. But I was a long, long way from finding the finesse, that ‘magic’ core within me, to be truly magical. Magical like Dr. Dark.
So, for now? I was just walking destruction. Plain old bad news. The wrong kind of girl.
I was danger. I was chaos. I was to put it bluntly, no fucking fun.
I twisted around and met The Bone Man’s eyes as he pounded futilely at the shield. He loved me in spite of everything I was. He was good. And I would save him. I would. Because he was so worth it, this tall, gentle giant of a guy, that was my best friend.
The Bone Man was special. He had to go on. He had to live. Not only for me, but for the world. This world needed him, needed his kind. We had to remember, to always remember what we, as a society did. So that when the time was finally right, and Dr. Dark and our Troupe of misfits rebuilt our world, we could make sure that it never happened again.
It was our bloody history that made The Bone Man one of only a handful of what the Gov termed ‘Albinos’ left on the entire planet. When our world began to crumble and die, when the birds fell from the sky by the thousands, when the fish floated belly up in our oceans, everyone was scared.
The rumors first came out of Africa. People with albinism were considered good luck, their bodies brought protection from evil, the power of invisibility from the rotting dead.
What utter shit. I couldn’t bear the thought of The Bone Man having to live in a world such as this. After our dead began to walk, laws were changed for people like him. And not enforced.
Possession of their bones brought insane amounts of gold.
Fisherman wove their hair into nets. People wore their fingers and toes for necklaces. Every body part was accounted for; then exploited, bartered, traded, sold. The genocide crawled out of Tanzania and seeped across the border into Kenya. It spread into Europe, until at last it reached the shores of the US. After a few intense years of savage hunting, it became apparent that nothing worked against the dead.
I looked down at my sword, and tapped it once hard enough to cause sparks. Well, something worked. Still, the genocide was for naught.
That’s when Dr. Dark found him. And the rest of course, is Troupe history. Oh, there were other shows— other circuses and vaudeville acts traveling the rails. But it was ours, our little show that housed the last Albino on US soil. And were the only ones that would give our lives to protect him.
Holding my side, I turned around to face my fate. And to secure his. Once again, the sharp slice of pain threaded through my body. The raw, take—my—breath—away pain was back. But the wall of fire distracted me. The Shades were ablaze, engulfed in colors of red and blue and orange. All nine of them were literally going up in flames.
“They’re burning, they’re burning,” I could hear The Bone Man screaming behind me. “Now dial down the magic, Skye. Let me out. Let me help you.” He pounded on the wall of magic. It sounded like thunder. But the wall didn’t budge. It wouldn’t. This new magic, the steam magic, was strong. Bold. It wouldn’t be pushed around.
The Shades’ screams echoed around me. I pressed my hands over my ears and squeezed my eyes shut. The Shades had burned once in their miserable lives, who was I to make them burn again?
Guilt, remorse and regret, slammed into me with the force of gale winds, and my magic, now in full chaos swirled around and around and around. I felt the vibration down to my bones as surrounding buildings shook and bricks rained down on the fire. The Shades shrieked and I opened my eyes to see them now as white, hot flames shooting into an inky black sky. Their smell hit me full on. They smelled of decay, and rot, and death. I held my stomach and tried not to wretch.
I watched with a morbid fascination I was not proud of as they turned to glowing cinders, and then at last, to ash.
The magic stopped with their last ghostly breath.
They were gone. But I knew I didn’t have time to be relieved.
The ash blew down the street covering the first ranks of the zombies in soot. For a moment it looked like it was snowing tiny black flakes. The ever—present steam mingled with the Shade’s remains. The approaching zombies now looked dark and dripping and hungry. Always hungry.
I struggled to get to my feet.
Impossible.
I fell onto all fours and hung my head against what I knew was coming.
The Shades may be gone, but so now was my magic, lost to the November winds. I could never harness it, never fully control it, never own it. All I could do was believe in it, and let the Chaos magic take its course. And sometimes, like tonight, it turns into gray magic, magic that hovered on doing good, like saving us from the Shades. Dr. Dark had always told me there was much more to my magic than I could imagine; that my power had yet to be realized.
That it was me.
I was the special one.
I wondered when he found The Bone Man and Phil, and yes, he would find them, would he be pleased that it was me that had saved them? Even if it meant I was gone?
Behind me the wall of magic held. My fellow Troupe members were safely tucked behind it. The Bone Man would live. Phil would, well go on for now, eating raw chicken and wearing flannel. I’d take it.
I raised my head to the on—coming threat of the dead and realized I wasn’t as frightened as before. Soon I’d die. This much I knew as I finally collapsed in a heap of blood and pain and tears on the pavement. And if I didn’t bleed out in time and “reanimated” in tones of gray, so not my color, I knew The Bone Man would put a stop to it. Fast. It’s not like he needed two zombies in the show.
Nope, he’d cut off my head, stomp on my heart, carve out my brains, and just for good measure, he’d set what was left of me, on fire.
I sighed as I rolled over on my back. The Bone Man was such a good friend. I could always count on him to do the right thing.
Closing my eyes, I gave up, because really? What choice did I have? The pain had roared back, the bleeding, like the antique toy energizer bunny The Bone Man kept in his railcar, just kept on going.
I couldn’t summon magic. I couldn’t see the steam and the magic hiding there, I couldn’t see The Bone Man to tell him goodbye.
All I could do was shut my eyes, and wait.
Wait for the first bite.
9
I don’t know what I heard first.
The roar of the crowd, that being the insatiable hungry, zombie crowd, or the roar of the steam.
But I sure knew what I felt first.
Hands.
Cold like ice, clammy and slick, the hands reached out, pulling and tugging at my hair. They yanked hard at my scalp. The gash on my head opened all over again. The moans and grunts and growls of the dead were all around me now. Reaching. Touching. Pulling.
I choked back a scream, reached for the blade, and made one last effort to save my life. Using all my strength, I twisted, swinging the blade from back to the front, and back again. I ended up kneeling in my own blood.
Pain screamed through my body, and I screamed back. I saw a clump of my long hair in the grasp of a zombie and I screamed even louder. Not from the pain, but from the fury I felt at having my hair pulled out. I was such a girl sometimes, and it just infuriated me that if I died and became reanimated, I might not only be a zombie, but a bald one. I know. Ego.
Using The Bone Man’s blade, I swung hard, chopping off the zombie’s hand. It dropped in front of me along with a thick lock of my hair. I pointed the blade at the creature’s rotting throat. “That will teach you that hair pulling. Is. Not. Nice.” I severed his head.
The monsters were all around me now, closing in, close enough to grab, pull and bite. It was the bite radius that worried me the most.
I managed to stand, and swung the blade in a hard, tight circle, mowing down the closest monsters. I sliced into torsos and necks, fingers and limbs. I chopped and diced and jabbed, and all that effort bought me all of twenty seconds.
As if on a switch, the moans of the zombies were drowned out by the sudden roar of escaping steam. Steam that enveloped me, blanketed me, and for a few precious moments, hid me from the hands and teeth of death.
It was then that I heard the wheels. Felt the vibration on the ground beneath my knees. The pavement crunched under the weight of what was coming my way.
A loud whistle, a train whistle born of steam and echoing iron, rang through the night. The familiar sound, low and longing, sounded like a call to home.
And it was.
Reaching up and dialing in the lenses on my goggles once more, I squinted into the damp mist toward the sound.
/> I dared to hope.
I dared to pray.
I dared to believe what my eyes and brain were trying to tell me.
They were here.
Please God, let it be so.
A tall iron whistle mounted on top of a railway car materialized out of the fog and mist. Brilliant colors flew from the mouth of the whistle. The magic had returned, riding in like some wild west cowboy from a past long gone. And along with the magic, came company.
Living, breathing, human company.
It had been one hell of a long night, but at last they were here. Members of the Traveling Troupe Academy of Dr. Dark were here. Riding to my rescue.
Not on a white horse, but in an iron railway car called The Madison. Even better.
Not all members were here of course, someone had to stay behind and man the home fires, or in our case, the home boilers, but still, some were here. And some? Well, that was more than enough.
The brass and iron railcar moved through the fog and steam, it’s distressed iron glowing under the light of the moon. The iron car was part of our railway system. Small and light, Dr. Dark had made the car mobile, able to detach from our train with ease. The railcar had its own boiler and steering. With reinforced steel and iron, and specially made wheels that worked on and off the rails, The Madison took us deep into the bowels of any city we visited. She protected us in our ‘investigating’ endeavors. Okay. Our urban spying. But tonight? She rode in on steam and magic and the courage of our Troupe.
Tonight, she rescued.
I’d never been so glad to see the railcar in all my life. And the tears streaming down my cheeks proved it.
Maddie may not be with us anymore, but her namesake, The Madison, her railcar was. A gust of wind circled, and I felt Maddie’s presence all around me. I looked up, and could see her smile pressed into the surface of the moon. I felt her invisible arms fold around me, and I could feel the touch of her fingertips, stroking and smoothing my matted, blood—soaked hair. A whiff of cinnamon and spice passed through the air. Maddie’s fragrance.