Page 3 of Dark Obsession

The coppery taste of adrenaline sat in the back of Demetrius’s throat, and his heart pounded. “Driveway.”

“Had a feeling that would be your choice. Let’s go, but keep an eye on that side door. Anything could be waiting to jump out at us.”

Wind rushed down the street as they crossed, riffling their clothing and scattering dead leaves around their boots. The house’s shadow stretched across the ruins of the driveway into the line of scrub trees that separated the property from its better-maintained neighbor.

They didn’t use the flashlights as they moved into the shadows, not wanting to give away their positions just yet. Another cloud moved in front of the moon, and the night around them deepened. Blood roared in Demetrius’s ears, and his breathing was shallow and fast. Fragments of concrete crackled and crunched beneath their boots, like walking on thousands of teeth.

Sudden memories flashed through his mind as he contemplated what unnatural thing haunted this street. He and Amelia and Eileen driving around to the back of the Hollow Leg and finding a vampire feeding off a cook, blood running down his neck. The possessed tree chasing them through the Parson’s Pines independent living neighborhood. The nix that had shape-shifted to look just like Cody in order to lure him into the pond, holding him under as his lungs screamed for air.

He blinked, and the memories receded. Demetrius drew in a slow, quiet breath. They were better prepared for anything now, more focused. More connected as a couple.

A new breath of wind shook the branches of the trees and tossed around more leaves. But underneath all of that, Demetrius heard…something.

They reached the back corner of the house and paused. The yard behind was a narrow band of overgrown grass and flat dirt. Recent thunderstorms had left it muddy and dimpled by tracks. A generous line of trees—stunted oaks, catalpas, and a couple of hemlocks—pressed against the rusted and drooping chain-link fencing, a weak attempt years ago to fashion a yard. In several spots the chain-link lay on the ground, the poles standing alone like rust-pitted markers. Branches creaked and soughed.

Neither of them spoke or used their flashlight. They stood side-by-side, studying the area.

A shadow shifted behind a fallen section of fence, moving against the press of wind.

Demetrius adjusted his grip on the wooden stake and lifted the spray bottle of garlic water. He met Cody’s eyes and tipped his head to the right. Cody nodded then mouthed be careful to him.

He mouthed back you too, before sliding away along the back of the house. A drip landed on his head from the gutter overhead, and he flinched. Hooking the trigger of the spray bottle into his pocket, he wiped away the water with a grimace.

Another shift within the trees. They’d grown close together on the other side of the fence, sucker branches protruding all up and down the trunks, making it difficult to see. Several plastic bags fluttered and snapped, forever tangled. Demetrius saw a figure move behind the bags, and he grabbed the spray bottle again. Holding the stake low and ready to strike, he moved onto the mud. From the corner of his eye, he saw Cody do the same, angling toward him. Each squelching step sounded loud. The mud sticking to his soles made his feet feel heavier, clumsy. He licked his lips and adjusted his grip on the stake, the rough wood solid and familiar against his skin.

When he was a few steps from the fallen section of fence, the moon came out again, lighting up small areas between the trees. He sensed more movement from within the trash trees until the figure stopped. Clouds stole the light once more, and the shape vanished into the darkness.

To his left, Cody swore under his breath.

Demetrius took another step closer, his boot sinking into the soft ground.

Branches snapped as their prey lurched out of the trees. Thin, bony hands reached for him as it moaned, a plastic bag fluttering around its scrawny throat. Demetrius raised the spray bottle and shot it in the eyes.

The thing kept coming, moaning louder, mouth a dark maw of jagged teeth, the bag rustling and snapping.

“Demmy!”

Demetrius tried to move back, but his foot slid in the mud and he stumbled. Hard, sharp fingers grabbed his upper arms and a gut-wrenching stench washed over him, making him gag.

“Zombie!” he choked out.

He had no room to maneuver within the zombie’s grasp, so he stabbed the stake into its stomach. It had no effect, and an even worse smell enveloped him as it leaned closer. Bile rose in the back of his throat, and he pulled his head back, turning his face away to evade the fetid mouth. He pushed against the stake. It sank deeper into the body, providing no leverage. His boot slipped again.

Panic darkened the edges of his vision and his breathing was too fast and shallow. He turned side to side to break the thing’s grip, but it held on tight.

The crack of breaking bone sent a shudder through the zombie’s body, and Demetrius felt it travel up his arms. Something cold and wet splattered across his face, and he turned his head. The fingers tightened briefly on his arms before going slack, and the zombie fell back. It slid off the wooden stake Demetrius still held, leaving it dark and slick with foul-smelling gore in the moonlight.

“You all right?” Cody still held his own wooden stake, now caked with brain matter and dark blood. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and his eyes were wide as he looked him over. “Did it bite or scratch you?”

“I don’t think so.” Demetrius lifted each sleeve of his polo shirt, and Cody clicked the flashlight on, checking for broken skin.

“All clear.” Cody switched off the flashlight and pulled him in close, arms tightening around him like he would never let him go. “Demmy…”

“I know.” Demetrius pressed his face into the open V of Cody’s shirt and breathed in his smell. His body responded as it always did, but underneath the heat was something deeper, steadier.

“Thank you,” he said, then he placed a kiss in the soft hair, his lips brushing against one of the scars before he stepped back.

They stood close to each other, staring down at it. Just over a year ago, a chemical spill had reawakened bodies prepped with formaldehyde and buried in one of Parson’s Hollow’s two cemeteries. The outbreak had eventually been stopped, but containment was ongoing, and every now and then a zombie would shamble into someone’s yard or get hit while crossing a road, but it had been at least a couple of months since the last sighting. In life, this zombie had been a man, and he’d been buried in a suit and tie. The clothing was filthy and shredded after more than a year of exposure, the skin hanging off his frame.