Valkyrie was the first up. She grabbed a massive meat cleaver from the worktop and hurled it. The back of the cleaver smacked into the zombie’s head and bounced off. She hurled another knife and this time it was the handle that hit. Sanguine stood, fixed his sunglasses, looked around for his straight razor and saw the zombie reaching for him. He yelped and ducked, but it grabbed his jacket.

Valkyrie ran up behind it, whacking a frying pan into the back of its knee. It went down and Sanguine pushed the hand that had grabbed him into the wall. The wall solidified and the zombie moaned, trapped there.

Valkyrie and Sanguine stepped away, well out of its reach, and looked at each other, and for a moment it was merely in appreciation of a job well done. And then it turned to something else.

Sanguine swung a punch and Valkyrie ducked under it and thrust her shoulder into his gut. He grunted and fell back, but grabbed her as he went, throwing her to the floor. She rolled and hit the wall as he stooped for the straight razor, but a flick of her hand sent it spinning away from him. He growled and kicked her as she lay there. She folded her body around the kick and lashed out with one of her own, catching him in the side of the knee. He yelled as he went down. She got up and jumped over him, but he snagged her ankle and she fell.

Valkyrie rolled and came up and Sanguine sprang at her. She tried flipping him over her hip, but he was too big and too heavy. She turned into him and his hands gripped her throat. Her elbow shot up between his arms and found his chin. His head rocketed back and his mouth hung open and his grip loosened. She punched a fistful of shadows into his chest and Sanguine was flung backwards. He hit the wall and dropped to the floor. The trapped zombie reached out for him, but it was just too far away. It moaned again.

Valkyrie heard Miss Nuncio scream and she ran out of the kitchen.

31 BILLY-RAY

31
BILLY-RAY

S anguine lay there for a bit, waiting for his brain to kick back into gear.

Moving slowly, he picked himself up. He figured two, maybe three ribs were broken, thanks to the girl and that damned ring of hers. He tried not to dwell on the fact that he’d had his hands around her throat, but had failed to kill her. He was already angry enough as it was.

He found his razor beneath the stove. His ribs bit into his side when he bent to retrieve it, but when it was in his hand again, he felt better.