Chapter Seven
“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” Her heart pounding out of control, Jemma chased after Griffin as he stalked toward the mansion’s entry. “How did Nettie find me so fast?” She was beginning to feel like a damn walking zombie GPS unit.
Griff pivoted, his expression fierce. “It doesn’t matter. There’s no way in hell that zombie is getting within breathing space of you.”
God, she hoped not. She already knew from personal experience that zombie breath wasn’t exactly minty fresh. “How can you guarantee that? You saw how determined Uncle Harold was to chew my face off—and he used to adore me. I doubt whatever is out there will have the same warm fuzzies where I’m concerned.”
Clarissa hurried toward them, her ponytail bobbing. “I sent Logan out back. Hopefully he can flush the zombie into the open.”
“Good thinking. I’ll take the front section of the property.” Griff started to shoulder past Clarissa, but she grabbed his elbow.
“I need you to stay in the house with Jemma. Logan can manage one zombie on his own.”
Griff ground his teeth. “And if there’s more than one?”
Clarissa’s gaze veered toward Jemma before quickly bouncing away. “Then we’ll really need you here, won’t we?”
That statement seemed to get through to Griff because he slumped against the wall, his fists clenching. A heavy, frustrated exhale gusted from his chest. “Yes. Of course.”
Her expression frazzled, Clarissa swiveled in Ms. Peach’s direction. “Grab Linus’s old Smith and Wesson from the den. Hopefully it’s still loaded. Gloria, you and I will make a run for the toolshed.”
Recalling Uncle Harold’s demise courtesy of the spade, Jemma shuddered. She’d never be able to look at garden tools the same way. Rubbing her arms briskly, she stepped out of Clarissa and Gloria’s path as they rushed toward the front door. Griff’s palm slid around her waist. Small as the gesture was, it still managed to calm her nerves. She leaned into him, drawing comfort from the strength and security that Griff seemed to constantly exude. “I feel like I should be doing something. I’m the reason the damn zombie is out there.”
Griff spun her so that she faced him. His hands bracketed her cheekbones, forcing her to look at him. “None of this is your fault.”
“But—”
“Jemma, I mean it. Let the rest of us deal with this.” Closing his eyes, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. “If anything happened to you…”
She traced the shadow of day-old beard gracing his strong jaw. “Fine. I’ll stay here and be a bump on the log then.”
“Thank you.”
They stood there for several minutes just holding each other. A loud ka-boom thundered outside, shattering the moment and making her jerk in surprise. “What the hell was that?”
Another boom rang out, its noisy rebound echoing through the foyer. “Ms. Peach must have found the shotgun. And the zombie.” Galvanized into action, Griffin barreled through the front doorway. Jemma rushed after him and nearly plowed into the back of Griff as he slammed to a stop. Grasping a fistful of his T-shirt, she caught a flash of movement in her peripheral vision and swung her head in time to see Ms. Peach lining up the sight on an ancient-looking shotgun. Following the direction of the muzzle’s end target, she spotted a female zombie shambling through the thick bank of rhododendrons flanking the drive. One of the shrub’s spindly arms snagged the hem of the corpse’s tattered lace dress, halting her advance.
“Got ya now, you ugly bitch.” Cackling, Ms. Peach fired off another round. The bullet winged the dead woman’s bouffant hairdo, parting it down the middle. Releasing a bloodcurdling scream, the corpse ripped at her snared skirt, tearing the mildewed fabric from her waist. Left only in a girdle and support hose, the zombie lurched forward.
Ms. Peach pulled the trigger again and cursed. “I’m out of ammo.”
Tugging from Jemma’s hold, Griff leapt from the porch. Displaying mind-boggling speed, he hurtled over the hedge of boxwoods before charging at the oncoming dead woman and tackling her to the ground. A dark, bulky shape disengaged from one of the overgrown cypresses. Another zombie—this one male and built like a damn sumo wrestler. The corpse pounced on top of Griff. Terror welling in her throat, Jemma scrambled down the stairway the same instant Clarissa and Gloria came running from the opposite end of the drive. Tossing her shovel aside, Clarissa dove for Jemma and yanked her back.
“Let me go.” Panic clawing like a wild beast within her, Jemma struggled to escape Clarissa’s surprisingly tenacious hold. “We have to help Griff.”
“Logan’s already on it.”
Jemma didn’t know what to make of Clarissa’s statement until she spotted the enormous black wolf bounding through the trees. His ferocious howl renting the air, Logan’s lupine form lunged at the zombie pinned on top of Griff. Snapping teeth and skeletal fingers fought to sink into fur and living flesh. Somehow Logan rolled the male zombie off Griff. Freed of the corpse’s burdensome weight, Griffin snapped the female’s neck before rushing to Logan’s aid. Five more zombies shuffled from the concealment of the dense shrubbery.
“Ah shit.” Grunting, Ms. Peach hobbled down the steps and straightened her spectacles. “We’re gonna need more shovels.”
Jemma stared at the gang of zombies, her heart banging. “We’ll never be able to stop them.”
“No. You will not,” a rattling voice whispered into Jemma’s ear.
She whipped around, almost tripping on her own feet. Other than Clarissa, Gloria and Peach, no one else stood nearby. Certainly no one who might have produced the mocking whisper. Just as she was about to chalk the phantom voice to nothing more than a trick of the wind, a creepy-crawly sensation slithered along the back of her neck. She slowly turned her head toward the porch. A ghostly figure stood at the farthest corner. Despite the growing breeze, neither the woman’s black cloak nor the ratty coils of her auburn hair so much as flickered out of place.
Jemma stumbled backward into Clarissa.
“What…?” Clarissa’s voice trailed off. Jemma glanced over her shoulder to find Clarissa staring at their semi-transparent visitor.
“It’s Nettie, isn’t it?” Not waiting for a response, Jemma shifted her attention to the zombies in the distance. Each corpse had frozen to a standstill, their vacant gazes trained on the spectral vision on the porch. She shivered.
Another whisper unfurled in the wind. “Return home, my pets. You have done well.”
One by one, the zombies slunk into the shadowy woods. Jemma swung back toward the porch and frowned at the now-empty corner. “Nettie’s gone.”
“Of course she is.” Clarissa’s tone held a weary edge. “She accomplished what she wanted.”
Jemma swiveled and blinked at her. “Other than sic a couple of her pets on Griff, she didn’t do anything.”
An almost imperceptible twitch fluttered at the corner of Clarissa’s eye. “Nettie’s aim was intimidation. Obviously.”
Clarissa’s declaration was a little too forced to Jemma’s way of thinking. She opened her mouth to demand further explanation from the coven mistress but became distracted by the loud groan Ms. Peach uttered when the elderly woman stooped and grabbed the discarded shovel.
“Nothing like a little zombie dismemberment to brighten a gal’s day.” Straightening, Ms. Peach tucked her shirt into the waistband of her polyester slacks and set off across the lawn. Jemma jogged after her but hung back as Logan trotted in their direction. He made a hacking noise similar to a cat hawking up a fur ball before shaking his shaggy black head. Up close, he looked even bigger and more menacing. She swallowed and tamped down the urge to duck behind Ms. Peach. Yeah, that’d be real brave, using a defenseless little old lady to protect her from the big bad wolf. “Uh…nice doggie?”