“I am sorry, but I only know what I am told by those that call on me, and none of your descendants have called on me. Now decide because jocelyn is rapidly running out of time. It is unlikely she can find anyone else to help her before it is too late.”
“Okay. I’ll do it. Thank you, archangel, for doing your part.”
“You are welcome. It is my job, but you are welcome.”
Jocelyn’s apparition stood next to Clarence, who was crouched at the side of a house across the street from the supermarket. Clarence shivered in the cold wind despite the heavy leather jacket he wore. His shovel and shotgun lay on the ground. While Jocelyn had scouted out the area and encountered no draugar, she feared she missed some, or that some might wander into the area. Unsure how much time she had left, she sacrificed thoroughness for expediency.
<This is it,> Jocelyn thought at Clarence. She pointed at the shadowy parking lot, about three-fourths full of cars.
“Where?”
They didn’t want a flashlight to attract attention, though one bulged in Clarence’s pocket, so they only had the light of the moon to guide them. <I’m buried in a median strip, but behind a car, so they shouldn’t catch you digging. But if you’re not careful, they might see you approach.>
“Who? The people who buried you?”
<Yes.> She pointed at the supermarket. <The two survivalists, or gang members, or whatever they are, are in front of the market. They are on lookout.>
Jocelyn was still angry at the survivalists for what they had done to her, and what she wanted to do was kill them all, but that did not seem possible.
First, she needed to escape that grave.
“If I crawl, they might not discover me—if they buried you far enough away . . . Do you even know where?”
<I have an invisible cord that can bring me back to my body. And I think I’m far enough away. You can crawl, and I will travel underground, except for my hand, which will guide you to my grave. I have surveyed the area from above and observed no zombies.>
She led the way while he crawled behind, holding onto the shotgun and shovel. They shielded themselves from view behind cars whenever possible.
She hoped no draugar would appear. She wouldn’t see them coming if they did.
Jocelyn contemplated that the survivalists probably would have defeated her rag-tag gang had they remained and reassured herself that persuading them to leave the supermarket was the right call, although she did not know if they now fared any better.
They were all doomed.
No, she shouldn’t think that way. Saving humanity would require overcoming overwhelming odds against them. Think positively. One step at a time. Slow and steady wins the race.
They reached the proper island. <Right under your feet. Don’t worry about hitting me with your shovel. I can heal, and you’ll probably hit the body on top of mine anyway. Now, my body may appear dead, but I won’t be—my heart rate and breathing are slow. I’m guessing the affliction has somehow put my brain in a state where it needs a little air but not much, because the archangel said I will die soon if I don’t get some fresh air, though I’ve survived several hours so far.>
Clarence began digging, his shotgun off to the side on the asphalt in front of a car’s tires.
<No. Not there. Go forward . . . > Jocelyn guided him to her feet. She had him dig out Daryl feet first and then pull him out. This proved difficult, but he managed, as not much dirt covered Daryl.
<Now turn me over.>
He did as she went back into her body. Once turned over, she gasped for air, flooding her lungs.
After coughing for some time, she realized she lay on top of Joe’s body. She extricated herself from the grave with Clarence’s help.
“You’re real,” she said.
He stared bug-eyed at her. “And so are you.”
She nodded. “I suppose I am at that.”
“You weren’t sure this would work, were you?”
“No.”
“Which part?”
“All of it. I’ve never tried the astral projection where I communicated with someone . . . I was concerned it might all be an elaborate dream.”
She was disoriented, dizzy with a headache. As the fog in her mind lifted, the telltale tingling on the back of her neck returned. She looked around and spotted some draugar coming toward the parking lot. They weren’t in any hurry, probably because they hadn’t sighted Clarence yet, as a light truck blocked their line of sight. But then they spotted him.
Shit.
“Clarence, listen to me carefully. A bunch of zombies are walking this way. Pick up the shotgun and run home. I’ll follow right behind.”
He blinked finally. “What did you say?”
She repeated all her instructions. “Now nod if you understood me.”
He nodded, appearing to have his wits about him again. He placed the shovel under the car near him and picked up his shotgun, pumping it slowly.
“Okay. Ready! Run!”
Chapter Forty-Four
Day Ten
Seventy-two years old, Clarence ran for his life. Although in decent shape for his age, he was unsure how to pace himself. When he saw the zombies in the way of his front door, he stopped short, almost falling in a skid.
There were too many to count.
“Go around the back!” Jocelyn, right behind him, yelled while panting. “I’ll hold them off!”
He ran by one only fifty feet away, arcing around it and racing into his side yard.
Jocelyn did not understand how she would hold off the draugar from attacking Clarence, but there were too many for him to handle on his own.
The tingling on the back of her neck continued.
The draugar followed Clarence to the back of the house. Thankful the survivalists had ignored her multitool, Jocelyn pulled the knife out from it and threw it at the lead draugar, hoping to hit
