Page 28 of The Undead

He lunged at Adam so quickly that I didn’t even-see him move, and Adam didn’t even try to avoid the blade. Shorty sank it in hard up to the handle, a nasty gut wound. Adam reached down and carefully pried Shorty’s fingers off the handle, then pulled the knife back out and broke the blade in two with his fingers. There was no wound, no blood. As Shorty backed up to run, Adam grabbed his neck in one hand and lifted him off his feet.

Adam’s reflection vanished from all the mirrors as his eyes went completely crimson. Shorty tried to scream, but couldn’t.

It seemed like a good time to move, while the remaining two had their disbelieving eyes fixed on Adam and their fearless leader. I reached out to grab my captor’s knife hand, but he whipped his head around and cut blindly as soon as he sensed my movement.

“Michael!” Adam shouted as he saw the knife move. I jumped back, but the edge caught my outstretched hand across the palm. There wasn’t any pain, only a brief cold tingle, but without taking my eyes off my enemy I saw red spattering the floor as it dripped. Adam swore softly and dropped Shorty, where he lay across his broken-armed friend with his head at an unnatural angle. Before Adam could cross the space, though, my opponent lunged again, and my shoulders hit the back mirror of the cul-de-sac.

The knife point paused after just scratching my chest, suspended by Adam’s hand around the blade. He had reached over the kid’s shoulder to grab the knife, and now he pulled upward and behind him. The kid, unwilling to release the knife, followed it in an uncontrolled arc that ended against the facing maze wall with a final sounding snap.

Adam stood there, facing me, and I realized that he was looking down at my hand. The blood on my hand.

Like a sleepwalker, he slowly reached down and took my hand in his. I couldn’t fight him, partly because of the drugging effect of his close presence, partly because I’d just seen the result of fighting him in this state. He bent his head, and I felt his lips touch my slashed palm.

“Adam,” I whispered, shaking. He didn’t move. I could fed him swallowing, draining me of my life and my will, and it took every ounce of strength I possessed to try to pull my hand away. He held onto it without an effort, but he froze and stopped drinking.“Adam.No.”

A shudder went through his body, and I felt the steel strength of his fingers slowly relax. I pulled my hand free and clenched my fingers over the slash. He looked up at me, and I looked into his eyes and saw a genuine emotion there.

Anguish.

There was a red smear of blood on his lips, but he lifted a trembling hand and wiped it away.

“I didn’t mean …” His voice faded, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Michael. I’m sorry. You should get someone to look at that, make sure no muscles were cut.”

I couldn’t speak. Behind him I saw the one kid still standing, staring, and as Adam realized what I was looking at, he turned, too. The kid’s face went absolutely ashen. He turned and ran, stumbling over bodies and slipping in a pool of vomit beside his broken-armed friend. That one was still drooling on his blackFUCK YOU I’M FROM TEXASshirt, but he slithered up the wall and ran, too. That left two kids lying there, very still. Very dead.

The air was thick with the smell of cotton candy, vomit, and feces.

Adam turned back to me, and his eyes were wild. I took a step back from what I saw. Adam saw it and slowly straightened.

“Come on,” he said. “If they don’t get the cops, somebody else will.”

“Get away from me!” I yelled, and tried to push him away. It was like pushing a boulder.

“Keep your promise,” he said flatly, and turned and walked away. He stepped over the bodies as if they weren’t even there. I listened for his footsteps, but there weren’t any I could hear.

I ran out in a blind panic and vomited as soon as I reached the cool outside air. Fairgoers shifted courses to avoid me as I retched over the railing. Nobody asked me if I was okay. After all, I was in Dallas.

“Let me get you out of here,” Adam said at my elbow. I spun in a blind panic, ready to hit him to force him away from me, but before I completed the move he was out of range down the ramp. “The two who got away will describe you, Michael, we’ve got to go. Come with me.”

“Go to hell” I whispered, and felt the world ripple around me again, either from shock or blood loss or simply rage. “You killed two of them, Adam. Doesn’t that even matter to you?”

“Yes,” he replied evenly. “It means that I just let two witnesses go, and they’re going to talk. It matters a hell of a lot to me. Don’t feel sorry for them. They’ve already beaten at least one person to death tonight.”

I froze, staring. I didn’t have to ask the question. He shrugged.

“I smelled it on them. I know what death smells like, it’s my job. They liked it; tonight probably wasn’t the first time, either. Don’t you dare preach morality to me, Michael, until you’ve seen the other side.” Adam’s eyes glinted briefly behind his glasses, and he shrugged again. “Think what you want. I’m going. Are you coming with me?”

“No,” I said. He looked at me in silence, then put his hands in his pockets and strolled off down the midway. I was left staring blindly ahead. On the painted canvas opposite me was a sign advertisingGIANT MAN-EATING SHARK. The eyes of the shark were a livid hellfire red.

I got in line for the roller coaster and rode it until I was numb. I didn’t see Adam anywhere.

My car started on the first try when I finally walked back to it. Go figure.

Chapter Six

Fidelity

At least this time I remembered coming home. I woke up fully aware of where I was—home in bed, again, with dawn striping through the half-closed miniblinds. The morning looked quiet and peaceful, and it was easy to lull myself into a sense that the night’s events had been just a disturbing dream that would wash away with a hot shower. That feeling held for about a full minute, and then I stretched and winced at the pull in my wounded hand.

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