Ben floated up, his grin gone. “Why aren’t we going to like it?”

I took a deep breath and met his eyes. “Because you need to leave me.”

“No.”

“What!?”

“Are you-“

“I’M A DEAD MAN!” My shout cut them off, and I continued before they could recover. “Even if the mages weren’t going to hunt me to the ends of the earth, the undead will get me first. I’m covered in magic. It’s sticking to me, even with my veil. I’m going to get mobbed, and I need you all to not help me.“

Ben closed his eyes, and his voice broke. “Why?”

Rodgers met my eyes, his own grief stealing his voice for a moment. “Because we can’t help him.”

Ben spun. “If all of us worked together-“

“I still die. You use magic to affect the physical world. By fighting the undead, you’d just draw more of the Hoard to me. And even if I make it through tonight, you can’t protect me from the Clans.”

I shook my head. “Help the town. You don’t need to try and halt the Hoard in its tracks. Just run damage control. With all of you working through town, you can save lives.”

“But not yours!”

I swallowed. “…No. I’m sorry, Ben. This is the end of the line.”

“I- you- Dammit!” Tears ran down his cheeks as he crushed me in a hug. I returned it, my own face wet.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He snapped as he pulled away.

“For asking you to leave.”

Ben’s face twisted with an emotion I couldn’t place. “After all these years, it’s only fair we fulfilled your request, even if it’s to not help you.”

Agatha slipped in next. She said nothing, only holding me. She shook, and her hair writhed around us.

The others piled in as soon as she pulled away.

They quickly said their goodbyes. They knew we didn’t have much time.

They vanished, leaving Rodgers as the lone ghost in the graveyard.

“…I’m proud of you.”

I met his eyes, exhaustion weighing me down. “Thanks.”

He pulled me into a cool hug.

“I love you.”

I chuckled, the sound thick. He had once told me to always make sure you pared it down to the bare essentials when saying goodbye. He was keeping to that.

He pulled away, and his face hardened. “Goodbye.”

I pulled him into another hug, but after that ended, I was left alone in the graveyard.

…Alone.

I sighed and started for my house. I didn’t have much time and while I didn’t plan on making it out of this, I also wasn’t planning on going down without a fight.

I started grabbing guns. I had a fair share, but nothing compared to most Domesday preppers—two shotguns, a handful of pistols, and two rifles, one semi-automatic, the other bolt.

I’d never bothered to get more than that since they wouldn’t help in most cases. An assault rifle without silver bullets wouldn’t do me any more good than a pistol if a Pack of Were’s came for me.

The spooks that a single gunman of my skill could take was a pretty small group.

Fortunately, the lower ranks of undead fell into that group.

Shoot for the head had become a zombie cliche for a reason.

I turned my attention away from guns for a moment. I grabbed a wooden spatula and unveiled myself.

A minute later, I set the new faintly glowing spirit ward down on the counter. It wasn't as strong as the first. I didn't have enough time. But it would still help the others.

My eyes swept over my cellar door. I could try and hide in there. Weaker zombies couldn’t break through a heavy trap door like that.

I shook my head. The weaker zombies, sure, but a fallen vampire or a corpse hound would tear through it like paper.

Still, I might be able to use it as a last stand or something. I pulled the door open with a grunt.

I hadn’t fully recovered from the beatings I’d taken, but at least I wasn’t wincing with every little motion anymore.

The cellar was relatively small, most of its space filled with cans and camping equipment.

My eyes caught on the cans, and I couldn’t tear them away. Cans. Those cans, those little packages, were a clear sign of planning for the future. A future I wasn’t going to see.

I grimaced and turned away.

I had an old tactical vest with loops for ammo mags and whatnot. It was weathered and not the prettiest garment, but it would do.

I grabbed what I needed then marched out my back door.

The trees thickened quickly behind the graveyard, shrinking the clear grass until it was a small circle roughly twenty feet around.

I settled down on the cold grass, my guns and ammo clattering with the motion.

Couldn't be more than a couple of minutes left now.

I closed my eyes and listened. I couldn't hear any wails yet.

I should have been scared, or maybe angry. Angry at the Clans, angry at the Barrow King for shoving us all along this path. Angry at the unfairness of the world.

Instead, I was just tired.

I felt like I'd been holding on to a raft in a storm all my life, and it was finally about to end. Or rather, the storm was finally going to take me.

Either way, it would be over, and I could rest.

I sat there, thinking, and as I heard the first wails in the distance, I sighed.

“…I don't want to die alone." What I wanted didn't matter, not in the face of a Hoard.

I rose to my feet and took a deep breath of night air.

I paused as another thought struck me. "I don't want to die at all."

The words came as a shock, though I didn't know why. It was never death that I'd wanted, but rest, an end to the constant pain and fear—an end to the memories of long-dead madmen and murderers.

Yes, I would rather die than let the Clans take me, but that didn't mean I wanted it.

I let out a bitter chuckle as the wails grew louder. Well, the Clans certainly weren't going to take me. I could consider that a small, spiteful victory when I got torn apart.

I readied my rifle and waited for the first undead to come through the trees.

~<>~<>~

The butt of the rifle slammed into my shoulder, and the zombie's head rocked as it collapsed.

I ejected the magazine and quickly slammed another into place.

The night air rasped in my throat, and the clean scent of pines and soil had been replaced with rot and blood.

Ten bodies lay in the clearing, and more screams were growing closer.

A zombie sprinted into sight, its pale grey skin barely covering its bulging muscles.

I shot, but the bastard jerked to the side. I fired again but missed as it snapped its head over, not even slowing for an instant.

I dropped the rifle to hang from its strap and snatched a shotgun.

A pump to the legs did enough damage to drop it, but that didn’t stop the zombie.

It crawled towards me, pushing with its ruined legs the best it could as it's dirty fingernails raked at the dirt.

Another pump and its brain sprayed the grass.

I saw a flash out of the corner of my eye and shot on instinct.

A dark, four-legged mass bigger than I was staggered back, a bloody hole in its side.

Mangy black fur, a long muzzle filled with jagged blackened teeth, emaciated ribs that stuck out like questing fingers, and sickly yellow eyes that looked at me like I was a thanksgiving feast.

My heart clenched at the sight of a corpse hound, and I fired again.

It tried to dodge, but my first shot had torn something, and it was too slow.

It staggered from the buckshot, then rushed me, not bothering to dodge again.

I emptied the gun as fast as possible, the roar overpowering the screams and wails for a moment.

The corpse hound slid to a stop, its dark nose almost brushing my foot.

The whole time the creature hadn’t made a single sound. Not when it charged me, not when I shot it, not even when it died.

I swallowed. If I hadn’t gotten lucky with that first shot, it would have torn me apart.

I started feeding shells into the gun before another monster could rush me.

I had barely gotten the last one in when a mob broke through the trees.

The zombies, all dressed in torn and ragged clothes, staggered and stumbled, and in three terrifying cases, sprinted for me.

I dropped the shotgun and snatched my rifle.

I wasn’t a crack shot, but I was no slouch either.

Three shots and two sprinters hit the ground.

The last had wrenched to the side at the last moment so hard that it would have torn something in a living human.

I spent three more bullets on them. But they joined the others on the ground.

The other zombies hadn’t even covered half the distance to me yet, and I carefully placed my shots, making sure not to waste ammo.

I checked the mag. I had at least one shot left.

The weaker zombies weren’t much of a threat on their own. Slow, stupid, and not much stronger than the average joe, if the Hoard were made up of them, I would live until I ran out of ammo. Hell, I might be able to funnel them well enough to fight them up close.

But the weak zombies were the least of the undead. Not even mentioning corpse hounds, fallen vampires, ghouls, and the countless other horrors, there were far stronger zombies.

Eventually, something that could eat bullets was going to roll up, and it would be over.

But until then…

I readied my rifle.

~<>~<>~

Screams, inhuman cries, furious bellows. They all pierced the night only to be cut off one by one as her mother tore the monsters responsible apart.

The woman wasn’t in danger. It would take something worse than a Hoard of this size to kill her. But her mother wasn’t killing them faster than they could come.

This wasn’t a small Hoard. The Barrow King had gathered far more than the five hundred they had first estimated.

A fallen vampire sprinted at her mother from the side, screaming at the top of its lungs. It’s clothes hung off it's emaciated frame, and it's greasy hair trailed behind as it ran.

The woman side-stepped, and while she didn’t seem to be moving quickly, her fist went through the monster's chest before it could swing.

Alder couldn’t survive this. There were too many. He would die.

Unacceptable.

He had chosen to stay behind because of the Clan. Because he would draw more undead.

Because she wasn’t strong enough to protect everyone.

She clenched her jaw. Helpless when Bobby needed her, helpless at the Straits, helpless as she watched Alder thrash and rant.

And now. Now she was helpless, useless. Just sitting here, waiting for him to die.

“Meow?” Blair looked down at Jack, and the cat stared back, his luminous green eyes blinking up at her. Her hand tightened around her phone.

Helpless.

The phone cracked. Blair spun from the cat and stalked towards the door.

She couldn’t take Alder here. She couldn’t endanger the others. The chances that anything in this Hoard could kill her mother were low, but she couldn’t be everywhere at once. It would only take a moment of distraction for a powerful undead to kill one of the others.

But that didn’t mean she could abandon Alder.

She marched out the front door, ignoring the others as they stared. Her own Pack was further inside, safe behind the older pack members. She was grateful for that. They would have tried to come with her. And this wasn’t a task for those under a hundred.

She stepped outside, and the smell of rot and death slammed into her. She shook her head and kept going.

Rull glanced at her, and Anika opened her mouth to speak, but Blair ignored them. Her mother never stopped fighting, but her voice came out clear, not even close to winded.

“Get back inside.” It wasn’t a request.

The force of her Alphas words almost stopped her in her tracks as her Bond quivered.

“No.” Blair kept walking.

Her mother snarled and vanished. Every undead in a hundred-yard radius died. Blair could barely catch flickers of movement before her mother appeared in front of her, her face set with cold fury.

“Get back inside,” she repeated.

Blair felt her eyes bleed to red. There were arguments she could make, sound reasons for why Alder dying was bad for the Pack. About how having their Voucher die would look. But that didn’t matter anymore. Only two things mattered.

A debt was owed. And she didn’t want him to die.

“A Northwoods repays their debts.”

Her mother's face twisted, and she spat, “You would abandon and endanger your Pack-“

Blair cut in, her voice harsh. “That’s not how the undead work!” Her mother knew that. She was grasping at straws to keep Blair here.

“I will draw some away. And you are more than enough.”

As they argued, more undead flooded up the hill. Blair smelled ash and char, as well as something dark and oily. There was a reason the lady Northwoods hadn’t been moving that fast the entire fight. Aside from the energy costs, it increased her magical footprint tenfold.

“I am not discussing this. Go inside.” Her magic spiked with the last word, and Blair staggered. The force of Adela’s Will slammed into her like a collapsing house. It pressed against her mind, her body, her magic.

The Bond trembled inside her at the attention of a greater predator, demanding she submit.

Blair’s rage compressed into a single point.

She would not be stopped.

Blair pulled at her Bond, drawing more power. At the same time, she pushed against her mother's Will, trying to break the Clash.

The night air started to tremble, but it wasn’t enough. She was too weak. Helpless.

She pulled harder, wrenching more power from her Bond than she could safely handle. Her body surged with power, the magic strengthening her muscles and bones at an incredible rate.

Her mother gasped and cut off the Clash.

“What are you doing, fool!”

Blair spoke in a growl. “I am saving Alder, and you aren’t going to stop me unless you want to see me Fall.”

Adela vanished as she killed the incoming wave of undead.

She reappeared in front of Blair, furious. “The man wants to die! Do you not understand that? He asked me to leave him there!”

“Too fucking bad! I don’t care if he wants to throw himself into the fucking Deep Wood. I’ll pull him back out!”

Blair drew even more power from her Bond and had to fight to keep from shifting. “And if you try to stop me, I’ll fight you until I go Feral!”

Adela’s stone front broke as she closed her eyes. Strong undead rushed up the hill, screaming and groaning as they desperately sought their prey.

Adela opened her eyes, and for once, her ancient mother looked old. Old and tired.

“Go.”

Adela vanished, and as she tore apart the undead, Blair ran.