She knew Clarence had little hope unless he got into that safe room, but Jocelyn now had her own draugar to contend with. And she was without a weapon.
She ran back toward the front of the house, wishing that the draugar would not attack her. The tingling resumed as she reached the front door which was ajar and risked a glance back but didn’t see the draugar anywhere.
Pushing through the door, she raced toward the rear of the house. The back door came into view as she ran through an opulent and large living room.
Clarence appreciated his luck that he had left the back door unlocked for the cleaning woman on the day the apocalypse hit—and he’d never ventured out of his safe room to lock it.
Then again, he was being pursued by zombies amid an apocalypse, so how lucky was he, ultimately?
He knew if he stopped to fire at one zombie, the other ones would get to him, so he dropped his shotgun. Now he had the steps and the screen door to contend with, and it used up precious time, but he couldn’t help that. As he turned the knob on the main door, he heard from behind him the screen tearing. Once inside, he spotted Jocelyn in the living room racing toward him. He turned around and slammed the door onto the arm and a foot of a zombie.
The zombie pushed forward anyway.
Clarence pivoted back to face Jocelyn, but something struck him in the back and he propelled forward, landing awkwardly on the flat of his hands. Excruciating pain erupted in his left wrist and he cried out. He lay on the floor, waiting for the inevitable.
Jocelyn panicked. The lead draugar had burst into the house, the others probably not far behind. She had no weapons, nothing to defend Clarence and herself with. She desperately wanted to stop the draugar from attacking Clarence while the draugar straddled him and grabbed a hold of his head.
The draugar let go, stood up and walked toward Jocelyn. He didn’t run. He walked.
What the fuck?
Get away from me!
Now the draugar turned around and started to walk away from her.
Did it obey her?
Clarence got up, alternating looking at her and the draugar. She formed a thought that the draugar should pat itself on the head.
It was astounding. That was exactly what the draugar did.
The tingling continued.
All draugar, come in and not attack anyone.
Soon all the draugar filed into the living room. None of them were in a mood to attack.
Jocelyn and Clarence were both secure in the safe room. Jocelyn had “commanded” the pack of draugar to stay where they were. She still experienced the tingling in her neck, but by now she had gotten used to it.
Her third-eye center, thigh, and knee itched as bullets wormed their way out of her.
Clarence sat down on his bed, gritting his teeth through pain. “You’re the Alpha Male. You direct this zombie pack . . . and you saved my life. Thank you.”
“And you saved mine. And since I got you into this mess in the first place, I figure I owe you a lot more than you owe me.”
“Well, you’re right about that.” He gave a wry smile. “Still, you’re a powerful person—you can astral-project, you can survive being buried for quite some time . . . and now you command zombies.”
“There is one more thing I need to tell you about. But first let’s take care of your wrist. How bad is it?”
“I’ve got a first aid kit.” He pointed in a general direction and she spotted it on top of his bookshelf. “This is probably just a bruise, at worst a sprain. I need you to help me wrap it.”
While she wrapped his wrist, she said, “I see a lot of my grandfather in you. He had convictions, a strong sense of right and wrong, and nothing could influence him away from that sense. In the end, you know you’re doing the right thing in helping me.”
“Are you trying to flatter me? Because you’re succeeding.”
Jocelyn grinned, but then changed to a more serious expression. “Look, you’ve had to take in a lot tonight, but I need you to understand one more thing.”
“Uh-oh. And what is that?”
“I possess a sword. A special sword. One blessed by the Archangel Michael centuries ago and passed down the generations to me. It was forged to help me fight zombies, and it allows me to cut heads off in one blow. I hope you can believe that.” She looked up into his eyes.
“A sword. Centuries . . . hell, after what I’ve seen tonight, I suppose I’ll believe anything you say.”
“I hope so, because I need to get it back.”
“Where is it?”
“The survivalists must have taken it. I can probably locate it through astral projection, though I’m not sure of that.”
Clarence shook his head. “Say you find they have the sword. They seem . . . resourceful. How are you going to get it back? You and what army?”
She smiled. “My army of zombies!”
Chapter Forty-Five
Day Ten
Marty peered into the moonlight through the back door of the supermarket. A lone house across the street was wedged between a pot shop and some other store behind a sign illegible in the darkness. Up the street, to his left, to the east, he heard and saw flashes of gunfire, from only a few blocks away.
The gunfire was closer now. Whoever was fighting the neo-Nazis was advancing. But who?
If it was the military, Marty and the others might want to join the battle, but not with only one handgun. They could all die before they even reached the good guys.
Besides, how would the military react to the swastikas on their foreheads?
Both
