Something Strange and Deadly (Something Strange and Deadly #1)(84)

I sprang up and sailed through the air. Beneath me, the grave whizzed past. A jagged wooden plank jutted straight up from the overturned soil. My boots barely missed it.

I hit the ground on the other side so hard that my knees popped, but I didn’t stop. I staggered upright and ran.

Then came the sounds of slicing flesh and snapping bones. I risked a glance back.

The corpse had impaled itself on the exposed coffin wood. It wore an old Union uniform—I had seen this Hungry once before. But rather than claw at me through iron bars, it now struggled furiously to gain purchase on the loose soil. Eventually its unnatural strength and desperation would pay off, and it would fight itself free.

I wouldn’t be around when that happened.

I wove around empty graves and towering stones. My breath burned in my chest, but I was so close to Elijah now.

Even if I hadn’t known where in the cemetery he would be, I could have sorted it out by the Dead. The closer I got to Elijah, the more of them lolled about. Some noticed me and adjusted their course to follow, but none were near enough to be a problem.

Yet.

I jumped over more zinnias and hit the gravel running. I was only a hundred feet or so from my destination now.

But it didn’t matter. I’d reached the first of Elijah’s personal guard.

I skittered to a stop, whipping my head about in search of a way through. But hundreds of Dead stood before me—a wall of gray, rotting flesh. It was like the rows of Dead at the Exhibition, except these were so densely packed, I could never hope to pass.

The nearest ones sensed me. They twisted around, their arms rose up, and they lunged. Behind me I knew more Dead closed in. And somewhere, not far behind, a skeletal Union soldier galloped after me.

I was out of options, and with that realization, trembling overtook me.

“Elijah!” I screamed. “Elijah! Help!” My vocal cords ripped with each frantic shriek, and sobs started, deep in my chest. Each moment, the Dead tumbled closer.

“Elijah! It’s me, Eleanor! It’s me!” I screamed as loud as I could, tears pouring down my cheeks. Over and over I shouted my brother’s name. Still, the Dead closed in.

Then they were on me. Cold, stiff fingers dug into my flesh, and all I wanted to do was squeeze my eyes shut and let them have me. I didn’t want to watch their decrepit mouths rip me apart. But I made my eyes stay open. I made myself fight back through my sobs.

Their fingers dug off my blistered skin, and, oh God—it hurt! Their lidless eyes were so close I could see the milky haze where their pupils had once been. Carrion breath, numbing and noxious, rolled over me.

I kept screaming. I pawed at the hands—everywhere! The Dead were everywhere! This was not how I wanted to die! They pressed in on me and clawed at my face, at my chest.

I crumpled to the earth beneath their bone fingers.

“Eleanor!”

After what seemed an eternity, I heard my name.

“Eleanor!”

In a great, convulsing wave, the bodies surrounding me tottered back, and footsteps—sure, living footsteps—approached. “Eleanor, let me help you.”

I whimpered and lifted my head. My scabs were open and bleeding; the bandages were long gone.

“Elijah,” I rasped. Relief shuddered through me. “Y-you heard me?”

He slid a hand beneath my left arm and tugged me into a sitting position. “Yes... And I’m sorry my army hurt you.” He reached out and stroked the side of my face. “You’re bleeding everywhere.”

All my resolve, the clarity of my mission, my carefully laid plans—they all vanished when I gazed into Elijah’s sea-blue eyes. They were the same eyes they’d always been, with or without his spectacles. I didn’t see a monster before me; only my brother. Tender and true.

Tears stung in my eyes. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He whipped his head around and then back to me. “Come. One of the Hungry draws near. We will be safer at the grave.”

He scooped me up with no effort and carried me through the lines of now-still corpses.

We reached our father’s grave. The marble cross that marked it towered high and heavy above me. It was a testament to Father’s good character, to the Fitt name, to our eternal lives in heaven—or so I’d always thought.

Now it seemed sinister. Wrong. There was no heaven here. Eternal life meant waking up as a putrid corpse.

The grass that had once adorned the plot was long gone, replaced by mud and exposed roots. A shovel lay nearby.

I avoided looking at the lip of the burial hole. I knew the mahogany coffin lay within, and I didn’t think I could stomach the sight of my father—or whatever remained of him.

Elijah set me gently on the dirt and knelt beside me. “Do you need anything? Water, perhaps?”

I swallowed. My mouth tasted like blood and tears. “No. I’m all right.”

He eyed me for several long moments. Then he rubbed the bridge of his nose as if his spectacles were still there and misbehaving. “Why are you here, El?”

“I-I wanted to see you. I’m worried. About you. About this.”

He stiffened. “I’m fine. You don’t have to look after me anymore.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Yet as I spoke the words, I realized they weren’t true. I did want to look after him. I wanted him to need me as much as I needed him.