Love in an Undead Age, A.M. Geever [best contemporary novels txt] 📗

Pinched, terrorized faces looked down from the balcony to where Miranda stood, waiting for the Faith Walk to begin.

You’re a bunch of fucking sheep, she thought contemptuously. So many of you and only one of him. You deserve the whack job for being so spineless.

Almost immediately she saw the reproachful frown, the disapproving shake of the head, that her scorn would elicit from Father Walter. No one deserves this, she thought, closing her eyes.

Picture a meadow, a lake, any place that isn’t here… Take a deep breath.

It did not help. She did not feel any calmer. Blood still sang in her ears and thrummed under her skin, reminding her just how alive she was now that death was so close. As if she needed persuading that her job was to survive, to live.

I’m finally losing it, she thought, looking up at the balcony again. Calm? Now? Father Walter was always telling her to take a moment, to center herself, to think first. She could imagine the sparkle of mischief in his hazel eyes, hear the indulgent sigh of his voice: Miranda mo ghrá, if there’s anyone with more talent than you for ending up in the thick of it, I’ve yet to meet him.

Fury that she might never see Father Walter again rushed to the surface. How was she supposed to imagine a meadow that didn’t include Delilah chasing a rabbit? The stab of pain that leaving her dog in this sick, savage place produced was too painful to bear. What was the point of knowing Mario still loved her? What could calm offer her that anger could not? She and anger were on intimate terms, so familiar it was indecent. It would be the familiar that she would fall back on. The familiar is what any frightened animal falls back on.

She peeked over her shoulder at the archers lining the wall behind her, one for herself and each of her companions. However things played out, whether the archers would come to their aid or enforce their compliance, this was going to be the most memorable Faith Walk in New Jerusalem’s nasty little history. Either they escaped, which seemed fantastical as she inspected the fresh blood stains on the uneven ground and tried to ignore the doors on both sides of the building creaking under the press of the zombies that would soon spill through them, or they went down fighting.

The only thing Miranda knew for sure was if they didn’t make it out, neither would Jeremiah. She would cower close to the creep and use the dagger hidden in her splint to slit his throat. She could beat a guard or an arrow, just. If Jeremiah was going to snatch away any chance at a future worth living, make every painful sacrifice for nothing, Miranda was determined that he would never enjoy a second of it.

In the center of the pit stood the man of the hour, the God-fucking-All-Father, droning on about God’s—so, therefore, presumably, his—Judgment.

Christ Almighty, can we just get on with this?

Doug caught her eye. He stood two people to her left, three once the Prophet joined them. Even now, he winked at her, triggering a rush of gratitude. He was so fucking cool, the best friend she could ask for. Seffie was immediately on her left and wound so tight Miranda was sure the slightest touch would cause her to explode.

He puts the women on either side of him. He’s pathetic.

The Prophet stuck Mario next to Doug, on the end, the most vulnerable spot on the line. The tiny flicker of affection in his brown eyes filled her own with helpless tears. Despite everything, she still loved him. She could admit it now, if only to herself. As usual, her timing sucked.

Connor squeezed her right hand. She squeezed his back. Beside Connor stood Mike. Since Mike’s size and strength posed the most obvious physical threat, the creep put him on the other end of the line.

“What does it say about me that I feel better down here on the ground, surrounded by zombies than I do up high?” Connor said softly.

The tiniest of smiles stole across Miranda’s mouth. “That you need to work on your threat assessments.”

“We’re going to be okay, Miri.”

“He’s cutting this awfully close. If he’s doing anything at all,” she added under her breath.

Connor, Doug, and Mario were sure that they would escape and be able to take the Prophet as well. Whatever Finn had planned, they were convinced it would work. Miranda’s confidence in Finn had eroded with every step toward where she now stood. Being in a zombie pit was not her idea of a clean getaway.

A wave of nervous murmurs spilled down from the balcony. The Prophet walked toward them, his greedy golden eyes undressing Miranda with frank anticipation. She searched the balcony one last time. No sign of Finn or Dalton. Whether their absence boded well or ill, she had no idea.

Jeremiah stopped in front of her and proclaimed, “Is there anything you wish, Sister Miranda?”

It took Miranda a moment to figure it out. When she did, her bark of laughter silenced the nervous voices above. In the quiet that followed, she could hear the zombies outside moaning.

“The Maiden’s Privilege?” she blurted, her voice carrying through the hush. “You’re fucking delusional.”

Jeremiah’s face darkened. “You dare mock your God All-Father?”

Miranda raised her voice. She wanted everyone to hear. “The first guy I fucked was Oliver Mattheson. I was sixteen and he was…” she purred the next word suggestively, “imaginative.”

The Prophet’s body vibrated with rage. “I shall enjoy breaking you!”

Miranda looked sideways at Seffie, eyebrow raised. Are you ready? Seffie’s infinitesimal nod answered. Yes.

Miranda turned her attention back to the Prophet. “I might have slept with you the other night to get that serum. The only intimate act you’re going to get out of me now is when I kill you.”

Miranda’s cheek exploded in a white flash of pain as the Prophet backhanded her.

“You will be silent!” he roared.

His arm cocked back, telegraphing the punch. Still dazed from the first strike, she couldn’t get her arm up quickly enough to block. His fist rammed into her eye, snapping her head backward. Silky blackness seeped along the edges of her vision. She fell as bright points of light glowed against her eyelids. The madness in his golden eyes burned like an inferno. He dragged her to her feet and took his place in line between her and Seffie, clenching her hand in his vise-like fist.

“Brothers and Sisters, My Children,” the Prophet called out, raising his hands high. “Watch as We walk in the ways of God’s terrible Judgment among the Hollow Men! Unbelievers and blasphemers shall perish, surely!”

Miranda held her breath as she blinked to clear the vision in her left eye. Nothing happened. No distractions or explosions, no sign of the cavalry coming to their rescue. The Prophet stepped forward, so they did, too. Behind them, Miranda heard the creak of the archers drawing their bows.

If this asshole fractured my eye socket, I’m going to murder him.

The first set of doors opened. The rank smell of rotting flesh burned Miranda’s nostrils, even from thirty feet away. The zombies lurched into sight from both sides of the building, but in far greater numbers than the last Faith Walk. The human line kept moving forward as the zombies reeled toward them, fuzzy with flies.

A cold, sticky sweat soaked Miranda’s body. Her heart thrashed against her sternum. The zombies were twenty feet away now. It had been years since she had faced one unarmed. She looked over to Doug for the signal, but he kept his eyes forward as he walked.

He’s trying to let Finn make the first move, she realized. A scraping sound ahead. The second set of doors were opening.

The Prophet’s eyes widened. “It is too many, too soon,” he said. “It will be over too quickly!”

Fuck this, Miranda decided, when a strangled gasp above caught her attention. A second later, the Captain of the Prophet’s Guard thumped to the ground in front of Connor, an arrow piercing his throat. Blood gurgled and foamed at his mouth. The Prophet stopped short, staring at the man in disbelief.

Miranda ripped her hand from the Prophet’s. She stepped into him and smashed her elbow against his Adam’s apple. He staggered back, stunned and gagging. Seffie felled him with a ferocious, bone-popping kick to the side of the knee. He writhed on the floor, hacking and groaning.

“I need him alive!” Miranda shouted over