“How? Voorhees…”
“Yeah, I know. I’m a cripple. Well, I’ll be goddamned if that stops me. Seems like I’m the only one who gives a shit about what’s wrong with this town.”
“You’re not.” She touched his hand. “But you can’t just storm in there and arrest everyone. They’re protected. Even if you could prove it… it’s going to take something else.”
“I do things by the book,” Voorhees said. “Give me my damn clothes.”
He quickly dressed himself, no regard for her presence, and felt his way back out into the hall. “Where do you think you’re going?” Halstead yelled.
“I’m going to work,” he shouted over his shoulder. “You can help me or you can stay out of my way!”
He pressed against the wall and moved forward. Couldn’t tell if there was a damn thing in front of him. All that talk about the other senses compensating for loss of sight was bullshit. He was a cripple.
She took his arm. “This way to the stairs.”
She led him through a door and held onto him as they slowly descended. “Thank you,” he said quietly.”
“Don’t thank me,” she replied. “I don’t deserve a partner like you, you know that?”
He patted her hand. “Yeah, I’m a pain in the ass.”
When they entered the squadroom, he heard voices fall silent. Halstead led him to his desk, and he sat down.
“Well, I’m back,” he announced. Still no one said anything.
Casey’s wheelchair, crossing the room. The S.P.O. cleared his throat and said, “I think Halstead told you you’re on leave. Why don’t you go home? Were you even supposed to leave the hospital?”
“Your breath smells like candy,” Voorhees said.
“What?”
“Officer Voorhees really wants to work this case,” Halstead said. “Even if it’s only from his desk—”
“Not your call,” Casey interrupted. “Voorhees, Halstead will take you up to your quarters.”
“What’s your game?” Voorhees asked. “Are you part of it, Casey? Is that why the killer came for you? Taking care of loose ends?”
“What in God’s name are you talking about? Halstead, get him out of here!”
“You want me out, Casey, you take me out.”
“Don’t make me suspend your pay!”
“You think I care about—”
Two desks behind Voorhees, unseen to him, but horrifyingly clear to everyone else — Killian rose from her chair with a guttural moan. Her dead eyes locked onto Gulager, and she ran at him.
Gulager fell backwards over his desk, swinging his baton wildly. Ernie threw a chair into Killian’s path. She jumped it and headed in his direction. “Oh God!” he cried.
“What the hell?” Voorhees yelled, standing. Had a fight broken out?
“Killian’s turned!” Halstead said, drawing her baton and catching Killian in the mouth. The undead went down hard, smacking her head against the floor, but rose unfazed and grabbed Halstead’s arms. They staggered back into Voorhees. He fell to the floor.
“Help me!” Halstead screamed. Voorhees heard her baton clatter on the floor. Everyone was shouting now, in a panic, unable to act. He yanked open the top drawer of his desk and grabbed something from under a pile of papers.
“Where is she, Halstead?” he yelled.
They had fallen onto his desk. Killian had Halstead pinned and was trying to bite her wrists. “She’s right above me! Your twelve!” Halstead screamed.
Voorhees reached out with his left hand. He touched Halstead’s hair, her arm. He followed it up to Killian and seized her by the hair.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, and swung the widowmaker.
It cleaved Killian’s face in two. Halstead swung her head to the right as gore spilled from the yawning wound.
Killian stumbled off of the desk and stood in the aisle, the two halves of her skull slowly pulling away from one another, her gibbering silenced. She swayed, then dropped with a thud.
“What the FUCK?” Ernie yelped.
Voorhees set the widowmaker on his desk and swallowed a deep breath. Adrenaline coursed through him. Casey grabbed his trembling arm and said, not without a bit of awe, “You killed her.”
“That’s what widowmakers do,” Voorhees said.
““Look at this,” Halstead gasped.
“What is it?” Voorhees asked.
“In Killian’s desk… it’s a knife, made from bone.”
“It was Killian?” Casey exclaimed.
“She must have accidentally cut herself,” Voorhees said.
“Maybe it wasn’t an accident,” said Halstead.
“God,” Casey sighed. “Assassins. Terrorists. There must be more to this.”
“We’ll find out if there is,” Voorhees said.
“All right,” Casey said. “You can have your desk after it’s cleaned up.”
Halstead picked the brains from her coat. “I’d better get to the hospital.”
“You’ll have to be quarantined.”
Voorhees caught Halstead’s hand as she passed him. “You’ll be okay.”
“I know,” she said. He heard the smile in her voice.
Twenty-Seven / The Blood of Angels
“Who was I?” Adam asked the woman in white.
“In all honesty, I don’t remember,” she said. “But does it matter? You’re still you.”
“So I’ll never know?”
“What would it affect if you did?”
Adam was silent for a moment. They were seated in the front room of the cottage, before a crackling fireplace. Outside, snow was coming down in torrents.
“I dreamt of her again,” he said. “She was frozen… she looked pale as a corpse. I don’t think these things have come to pass, not yet — but I feel powerless.”
“Adam, that is your power,” the woman in white said. “Precognition. You can till save her.
“You should go,” she said, standing up. “I don’t want to keep you any longer. Just trust your instincts. You’ll find her.”
He nodded and rose to stand beside her. “Thank you for everything.”
A window shattered somewhere in the house.
Adam snatched up the scythe and strapped it onto his forearm. A terrible feeling permeated his being; he felt weighed down, weak, and suddenly he knew it was the Omega’s presence. For the first time he sensed the ties that bound them, the ties that had allowed the rotter to stalk him across the badlands for months.
This time with the woman in white had awakened his mind, brought dormant abilities to life. He wondered if she was clairvoyant too; had she known where to find him? Had she seen all this in her mind’s eye?
“It’s the one who attacked me,” Adam whispered to the woman in white. “You have to get out of here.”
“You said something else was driving him,” she breathed. “What did you mean?”
“I mean he’s not like the others.” Adam edged toward the door leading to the hall. “There’s something inside him, controlling him.”
“Adam.” She caught his shoulder and turned him to face her. “Sometimes the dead are angry. Sometimes they don’t understand why it was their time. They blame God, or they blame themselves… sometimes they blame Death.”
Just as he began to realize what she was saying, the Omega leapt through the front window with a horrendous crash, landing right behind them. Icy air blasted their faces as they whirled to face him. The woman spun, fire blooming in her open hand; the Omega swung his shovel down and hacked it off at the wrist.
The woman screamed. Adam swung the scythe into the Omega’s leg. The rotter responded by slamming his shovel into Adam’s gut. He kicked his legs in agony as he was lifted off the floor. Pulling the scythe free, he slashed the rotter across the throat. Black blood sprayed from the ragged wound.