The glass beneath her chipped and cracked. She stopped and swung into the nearest ghoul. Then another. Then another. Then another. Blood ran thick down her arms, but her blades found their mark time and time again. The fetid breath of the Turned became a noxious vapor to her. Dead hands searched for her skin. Screeches and hisses filled her ears.
Coyle wasn’t thinking anymore. Survival was the only option her body recognized. Her arms pushed and stabbed repeatedly, and still the things came. Her lungs burned. Her arms were stiff. She stumbled back, and they fell on her. Digging. Clawing. Scratching. Howling.
She remembered her Tesla Fist and squeezed her hand. Nothing happened. The hordes came. And then she knew she was going to die.
***
Fang punched a ghoul with her blade and it dropped in a heap. More were tackling the crew and slamming into the controls. The ship leaned to the side and everyone slid and tumbled. She had to get the bridge clear of Turned if they were to make it safely to the ground. She was tackled again, and a horrible stabbing pain burned into her midsection. She ignored the wound and flipped backward, bashing the heads of several ghouls. Fury filled her veins, and she spun in the air with the ferocity of a hurricane. Her bare fists swung into the creatures. Her blades and arms were soaked with gore. Weakness soaked into her muscles.
Doubt clouded her mind.
***
The ship tilted, and ghouls stumbled aside and fell. Coyle balanced as best she could and watched the monsters bounce and slide off the ship. The ship lurched and she fell backward, twisting and crawling away from the mass of writhing arms. She pulled herself up and wiped blood from her nose. She wasn’t sure how long she could keep this up. Something had to change for the better.
A massive shape rose from the pile, staring at her with dead, bloodshot eyes. Tubes flailed from a contraption on its back. Glowing orange blood seeped from wounds in its skin, from its jagged mouth, from its misshapen eyes and nose.
“Hello, Sherlyn,” Ronan said. “You were probably wondering where I was. Didn’t want you to worry— Oh, my goodness, what a view! Here, let me get closer so we can enjoy it together.”
Knocking aside Turned, the creature roared and lumbered towards her. She glanced at the edge of the skiff and wondered which death would be better.
The ship lurched again, and she skidded to a stop. Massive waves of air rushed past her. She over her shoulder. The spinning propeller blades were too close. She carefully pushed herself away and glanced up. Ghouls pushed themselves up off the dome and searched for her. The Moreci creature slammed his fist into the glass and raised his arm in the air. Long, razor-sharp shards jutted out from his fist and flashed in the light.
“I have something for you, my pretty little sweet nothing. Where are you? Ah! There you are. And here I thought you were powerful enough. Unless you have an amazing trick up your sleeve? But, no. This is where you die, up here in the sky.”
Coyle fought against the tide of panic. Tears blurred away the shapes coming toward her.
***
Fang looked up at the giant horror. His misshapen body. His impossibly long arm and claws. His glowing, aurorium-infused blood splashed and bled and ran all over him. She was unfamiliar with dread, but the sight before her filled her with it.
“Don’t go up there,” Embeth said.
“If I don’t, she’ll die,” Fang said.
“If you do, you will.”
“Promise you’ll be waiting for me, then.”
***
The small ship shifted and plunged. Coyle’s insides trembled as the ship dropped from the sky. Her body lifted off the glass and floated before the ship righted itself and pitched to the side. She slammed into the glass and skidded. The edge rushed closer. Open sky waited to swallow her.
A hand reached out from the broken glass and grabbed hers. She held it and looked. Fang looked back from the other side of the glass. The ship pitched on end, but she held onto Fang with all her strength as her legs dangled in the open air. Turned slid past her and screeched as they tumbled off. The ship rolled again, and she was back on top.
With Coyle’s help, Fang pulled herself out onto the glass roof. They glanced at each other. Their leathers were sliced open and tattered. Blood ran from open wounds and cuts. Their hair was a tangled mess in the wind. They nodded to each other, before facing the beastly Moreci. He opened his torn mouth and roared. Spittle flew from his mouth in red strings.
“Ah, there you are, Fang! So good to see you again.”
“Ronan?”
“You know him?” Coyle asked.
“Long story,” Fang answered.
“The three of us can have a nice, long chat sometime in a cabin with a cozy fireplace. An aged brandy. Dim candlelight. Assuming, the two of you make it out alive.”
“I’m not going to make it,” Fang said. Her body trembled and for the first time, Coyle saw the hopelessness in her eyes. “My head’s cloudy. Can’t think straight. Usually I’m the one who comes up with the plan, but I’m a mess.”
“Stay behind me,” Coyle said. “We’ll find a way. Together.”
Coyle charged and Fang followed, stabbing and slashing anything that got close. Moreci swung at Coyle. She flew back. He grabbed Fang and slammed her into the glass, once, twice and then tossed her aside.
Coyle charged again and leapt on top of him. Her knife slammed into the creature’s skull, but he didn’t drop. He grabbed her, brought her close to his mouth and squeezed. The air rushed out of her lungs. He roared into her face. She tried to twist away, but
