Kane ducked as a machete cleared the top of his head by a centimeter. The attacker was smaller, younger. Kane shouldered him, hefted the kid up, and shoved him off into the air, sending him into another. He stepped aside as a horse blasted by him at a full run. He turned and saw Tabitha with her hands over the other stall latch. The latch was white from the frost, the bluish glow from Tabitha’s hands causing ice crystals to form on the iron. She stepped away and looked at Kane.
“Kane! Hit it!”
He launched a fireball at the latch, the instant heat causing the iron to shatter and some wood to splinter. The horse kicked the door open and sped past Tabitha, Kane, and into the woods.
He looked around. Malachi and Jacks had followed suit. Damn.
“We’ll have to run for the city,” Kane said. “Move now!”
The three of them took off toward the city, putting as much distance as they could between them and the zombie horde. Kane slowed and turned, watched as the zombies gathered and came at them, their faces expressionless. Lifeless.
Something sharp and loud rang out in the night, a sound that stopped all three of them in their tracks.
A gunshot.
Kane looked ahead to the city. It’d come from the city. Christ.
Nick turned to him.
“They’re in the—”
“I know!”
“Kane, we won’t make it on foot. We’re too far away.”
The ground rumbled underneath them. Kane stepped back, held his arm out in front of Tabitha, motioning for both she and Nick to back up as the earth swelled, a lump forming. The dirt broke, split as a hand reached up from the soil. A head. Shoulders. Dreadlocked hair flowing down her back.
Wilhelmina stood in front of them, dirt falling away as she faced the oncoming zombies. She raised her hands, her shoulders hunched as she glared hard at the group. Vines erupted from the ground, wrapped themselves around the attackers. They tried to walk against the plants, their lifeless stares focused on Kane, Tabitha, and Nick. The vines pulled them down, held fast. They began to chop at the ground, trying to free themselves, but more vines came up to replace the cut ones.
Wil turned to Kane.
“Them vines ain’t gonna hold forever,” she said.
Kane stepped forward.
“You shifted me to your cabin before. Can you take us to Charleston?”
Wilhelmina put her hands on her hips.
“Three of you?! You crazy, white man?! Magic have a price! You a damned Magician, and you still ain’t figure that out?!”
Kane was about to argue when Tabitha stepped in between them.
“Kane, I’m fine,” she said. “I’ve had a second to rest. I can get us there.”
“And go into another coma?” Kane shook his head. “No.”
“I know exactly where I’m going, and it’s one shift,” she argued. “Before, I must have hit every inch of Harbor looking for you! A dozen shifts in a row. One shift, I’ll be fine!”
Kane looked over his shoulder. He opened his hearing, the sounds of shouting and screaming coming from the cluster of old buildings filling his ears. They were still a good mile away.
He turned back to Tabitha.
“The edge of the city. Straight line. I want you to rest for a second once we get there.” She nodded, and he looked at Nick and Wilhelmina. “Can you two put your bullshit aside and work together?”
“We don’t have no choice,” Wil said with a grunt. “Soon as you left me, a group of them dead-eyes come at my camp. I done knock ‘em flat and leave ‘em sleepin’.”
“Get Nick to salt water,” said Kane. He nodded to the group of zombies trying to free themselves. “Get plenty of it. Get these guys lucid and ready. We need them.”
Nick looked at Wilhelmina and grinned.
“I can play nice.”
She looked up at him, her lips pursed, her eyebrow raised as she gave a humph.
“Asshole.”
She swept her arm up and they both whipped out of sight.
Tabitha grabbed Kane’s arm. He braced for the cold, the wind. He closed his eyes and waited for the shift.
“Draugalega Ferð—”
The shadows around them rose from the ground, warped the moonlight. A tendril whipped out at them. Kane pushed Tabitha out of the way, took the smack to the chest as another swung low and took his legs out from underneath him. Tabitha slung a frost spear at the mass coming at them, but the black moved to the ground and sped toward her. Kane lobbed a fireball, the flames hitting the ground in front of Tabitha. The mass moved to the side, retreated a distance, came at them again. Kane got to his feet and threw more fireballs, felt the Wendigo squirm inside him from the pain.
Felt a clawed hand wrap around his spine and pull.
The pain sent Kane to his knees as Tabitha hurled another ice spear at the mass.
“Kane,” she called. “Kane! Get up!”
Kane got one foot under him, took a split second on one knee, made to stand. The grip on his spine tightened, forcing a groan, sending him back to the ground.
“Kane!”
He looked up just in time to see a shadowed arm reach out, the end the shape of a fist. The back of the fist connected with Tabitha’s cheekbone, the force turning her body as she went down. She hit the ground solidly and lay still.
The shadows formed over her, peeled away as Richard grinned down at her motionless form.
“Good night, little rabbit.”
The man moved his serpentine eyes to Kane, his grin growing wider as he watched Kane try to get to his feet again. Kane saw himself tearing into Richard, letting blood splash all over him.
This time he didn’t let it bother him.
The Wendigo gave his spine another yank, the pain white hot in his lower back. Kane went to all fours, looked up at Richard.
“I’ll kill you,” he said, out of breath.
“Now, now, piggy,” Richard said. “We mustn’t cause ourselves alarm. The beasty doesn’t like that.”
Kane’s eyes widened.
Richard chuckled.
“I know about him,” he said. “You tried to eat Garrett, but your little rabbit here came to your rescue. Your little frost bunny is special to the Master. He needs her. To make the Yankees understand.”
“Understand?” Kane’s back began to hurt less, the Wendigo loosening its grip.
Richard looked to the group of zombies still trying to free themselves as Wilhelmina’s plants fought to keep them in place.
“I’ll leave you to your friends,” he said. He crouched down over Tabitha’s still form, began to turn to the shadow mass as he moved down on top of her. Kane sprang forward, the Wendigo releasing him entirely. He ran to the spot where Tabitha lay, dove at her, his hands out to grab at Richard. The blackness collapsed to the ground, dissolved away as Kane’s hands hit the grass.
Nothing. Gone.
Kane’s hands closed into fists, gripped clumps of grass, clawed into the dirt. He sat up on his knees, a primal scream at the starry sky echoing around him, the sound making his throat scratched and sore.
He looked to the city, opened his hearing, tried to listen for the sound of Richard or Douglas speaking. Screaming, gunfire, and chaos. There was too much. No way he could pinpoint them. He had to get there.
Had to find Tabitha.
He felt the Wendigo run its hand down his spine from the inside. A warning. Wilhelmina’s potion had worn off.
“Shit,” he said, rubbing his face. He stood, looked around. No horses. The zombies still fought against the vines, but the vines were growing back slower and slower. He had a minute. Maybe less.
And teleportation wasn’t an option. He’d tried it before. Years ago. Back when he’d tried writing spells. It’d been a disaster, resulted in burns that kept him bedridden for weeks.
Something moved in the dark. He opened his hand, another fireball forming in his palm. The shape moved toward him, its head low, ears perked forward.
Malachi raised his head, looked
at Kane, his eyelids arched up in interest.
“Malachi,” Kane said, shaking his hand quickly to get rid of the fireball. He made for the horse, reached up to the saddle, his foot in the stirrup as he pushed himself up and swung himself into the saddle. He set his eyes on Charleston, clicked at the horse, and gave a kick. “Let’s go!”
Malachi took off at a full gallop as the zombies finally broke free. A few threw their weapons at Kane and the horse, pitchforks and knives falling short as Malachi thundered toward the city. Kane squeezed his legs, dug his heels into the horse’s sides. Marshlands, grass, and trees blurring by as the city of Charleston, war-torn and under siege, loomed in the distance.
* * *
Kane pulled Malachi to a walk as he neared the far end of the city, trying to keep to the side where he’d heard the least amount of commotion. Barging in on the main road could be a bad idea. He’d run the risk of being outnumbered and swarmed instantly if the rest of the horde was already in town. He was no good to Tabitha as a corpse.
He guided Malachi to an area in the back of a building he didn’t recognize. The neighborhood was empty, the buildings shells and shambles. The reconstruction efforts hadn’t reached this side of the city as of yet. Not the most ideal place to live or take shelter.
The back wall of the brick building was intact, the door burned off the hinges. Kane dismounted, unbridled Malachi, then made his way inside. The front of the building was destroyed, the entrance a pile of rubble. Kane crouched low, looking around the street to make sure there were no zombies searching the area. He reached out with his hearing. A few rodents, some wood creaked. Otherwise, he was alone.
The house. It was likely Richard would take Tabitha there, try to take the main headquarters for the Revolution. Anderson would be a prime target. The leader of the Revolution against the Northern Union Oligarchy would be a bargaining chip Gentry couldn’t deny.
And a Magician. Douglas would have Gentry in the palm of his hand, and the Revolution would be finished.
Kane stood, made his way into the street, keeping his hearing prime in case one of Douglas’s slaves tried to get the jump on him. He heard a crash, something break. A door, or wall. He stopped in his tracks. Where was it? Not nearby. One block? Two?
Another crash. A scream. He looked to his right, heard a woman pleading. Please stop. I’m your wife.
Kane sprinted in the direction of the commotion, focused ahead, took a shortcut between two burned-out buildings. He hopped the remains of an iron fence, took a left. The buildings were starting to look in better repair, the ruins becoming fewer and further in between. Small houses began to clutter the blocks, neighborhoods built outside the inner city for the workers and their families to live during reconstruction now homes to squatters and refugees from the Slave Rebellion.
It reminded Kane too much of Southside Hidden Valley.
A window blew out. Kane lifted his arm as he backpedaled from the house, avoiding the shower of glass. Another scream, the sound of a loud slap. A table overturned. Kane reeled his hearing in and made for the door. He hunched, slammed into the door and into the house in a hail of splinters and shards of wood.
The man struggled with a crying woman, threw her against a bookshelf, then went at her with his hands reaching for her neck. She flailed at him, slapped at his face and hands, screamed hysterically as he closed in.
Kane opened his hand to throw a fireball. Nothing.
Damn it!
He charged the man, grabbed him by the back of the shirt, and hurled him into a wall. The man slid down, then got back to his feet, staring at Kane with lifeless, glassed eyes, his face expressionless.
A memory came back to Kane.
“What the hell does a white man from the North care about a bunch of missing Negroes here in the South?”
“Guster,” the woman shouted. “He my husband!”
“Not anymore,” Kane muttered. He shouted over his shoulder. “Get back!”
Guster charged Kane, reached for him. Kane swatted Guster’s arms to the side and landed a right hook to his face. Guster spun from the blow, went down. He started to get back up again, slower this time.
Kane turned, grabbed the woman by the arm, and led her to the kitchen. A chopping block sat near a water basin, a dead fish on top from where the woman had obviously been cleaning it earlier. Kane looked down and saw a bucket of water with two more fish.
Water. Salt water.
The door opened as Guster rushed in, going after his wife again. Kane grabbed the bucket and hurled it at him in one move. It connected with Guster’s shoulder, sent the man stumbling into the icebox, soaking him in water. He spat and sputtered, shook his head, blinked his eyes as if he’d just woken up.
“Wha…what the hell?” He looked up and saw Kane, rubbed his shoulder where the bucket had hit him. “What’s goin’ on? Ethel, why this white man in our house?”
Ethel fell on her husband, her arms wrapped around him as she wept into his neck.
“You attacked her,” Kane said. “You were under a spell. Do you remember anything?”
Guster shook his head.
“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing after I found some white powder when I was cleaning that fish over there. Thought it was salt.”
Kane looked at the chopping block, cursed under his breath. Damn. Douglas hadn’t just marched zombies into the city, he was creating them on the inside as well.
Richard. Had to be.
Guster looked at Kane.
“Thank you.”
Kane nodded.
Kane!
His ears perked. Tabitha’s voice had come from nowhere, whispered in his ear.
Kane. Help me! Please, Kane!
He looked at Guster.
“Do you have any kind of military training?”
Guster nodded.
“A little. Not much. I can shoot, that’s about it. Was a firefighter at one point.”
An idea formed in Kane’s mind. He nodded.
“I’ll take it. I need you to do something.”
Chapter Nineteen
Kane made his way toward Market Street, following the cries and chaos of war. He turned the corner and stopped, the smell of burning wood and the sight of the market on fire taking him by surprise. Some citizens fled as the zombies torched the place, attacking anyone who came near them. Others tried to fight the entranced slaves. The slaves were merciless, cutting down people with curved scythes and hatchets as they walked away from the fires and ruin that was once Charleston’s economy.
A man lunged at Kane, his eyes dull and his face stoic. Kane sidestepped the swipe from the scythe, shoved the man’s arm away, and landed a jab to his nose. The man staggered back, then came at Kane again as if nothing happened. Kane grappled him, used his own momentum to drive him face-first into a brick wall, then slammed him to the ground. The man lay still, but Kane didn’t give it long before he woke up. He took off toward the far end of the market where groups of people were trying to fight back the zombies.
Tabitha. Had to find Tabitha.
He saw her face in his mind’s eye, her eyes pleading, her lips moving, chanting her prayer over and over.
“Óðinn langt-flækingur, veita mér visku…”
“Odin, far wanderer, grant me wisdom…”
She’d said it over and over when they’d arrested her in New Chicago. She’d be saying it now.
Cracking.
His chest swelled in anger as he began to cast. The Wendigo gripped his spine again, squeezed. A warning. No magic.
“Fuck you,” Kane muttered. “Aspectu aethereo.”
The world waved around him, rippled like water. Kane felt the Wendigo release him, recoil and writhe in pain. It was growing in him, its moods and senses becoming more familiar.
More known.
He pushed against the demon, his sight fanning out. People fighting their own, running from crowds of cursed loved ones, friends and neighbors.
Wilhelmina’s words echoed in
his mind.
“Him die, you die.”
Kane pushed his hearing out instead, the ability not nearly as painful or taxing. Too much noise. Couldn’t pinpoint-
Another gunshot. Kane shook his head as his sight faltered. Everything went to normal, the spell failing.
The gunshot. It’d come from Anderson’s house.
Tabitha.
He took off at a full sprint, plowed through a crowd of slaves heading in his direction. Kane didn’t look back to see how many he’d knocked down, how many were already up and chasing him. It didn’t matter.
He was at the Battery. More shots fired. Kane saw Derricks in the distance, backing away, a blunderbuss in his hands. He fired into the sky again, shouting at a group coming toward him to back up.
“Derricks!”
“I said stay back,” Derricks shouted, aiming the blunderbuss at the group as they advanced. Some of them carried spears. Others carried rakes and knives.
“No!” Kane shouted. “Don’t kill them!”
Derricks looked over his shoulder at Kane, then back at the zombies that moved toward him. He backed his way up the front steps of Anderson’s house. A few slave zombies turned and began toward Kane. Kane tried to throw a fireball, but his hands had gone cold. Four zombies had turned to come at him. He rushed them, caught the first one in the chest with his shoulder, sent the man flying back into the other three. Kane ran past them as they clambered to get back on their feet. He hefted himself over the railing, joined Derricks on the steps as the zombies drew closer.
A window blew out as a zombie went sailing through it. The man hit the ground, began to get back on his feet. A shout. The sound of a fist connecting with a face. Bone cracking.
Wilson?
“Ma’am, behind you!”
“Get out of here, Wilson!”
Kane flinched at the sound of something breaking. He and Derricks looked at each other, then took the front steps two at a time and hit the front doors with their shoulders. The doors gave, and they were in. They closed the doors behind them as the horde reached the stoop. Kane and Derricks pressed against the doors as the attackers tried to push them open. Kane looked off to the side, saw a large board mounted to the wall next to the door frame. He looked to the opposite side, saw the board rest on the wall.
Gaslit Armageddon (Clockworks of War Book 2) Page 20