A Very Armitage Christmas by Eliot Grayson

Author:Eliot Grayson [Grayson, Eliot]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Smoking Teacup Books
Published: 2020-12-09T18:00:00+00:00

***

Getting to the pack house, it turned out, was the easy part.

I had Nate climb up on my back and hold on, grabbed the machete I’d thankfully brought back to our little house with me, and wrenched the door open, kicking the zombie out of the way hard enough to fling it off the porch and send it skidding into the snow a couple of yards away.

“Hang on,” Nate said. “Let me lock the door again.”

He was right, but I still gritted my teeth at the delay.

When I heard the click, I ran. I beheaded the zombie I’d kicked without so much as a pause, and then took off full-speed for the pack house, zig-zagging around a couple more zombies without stopping to do anything about them.

I needed to get Nate safely behind his wards. Then I’d deal with them. But no fucking way was I risking him in close combat, not when he didn’t have a shifter’s healing abilities and stamina.

The pack house came into view, lit up like the Christmas tree Nate hadn’t had a chance to set up yet. I headed to the back. Matt, Jennifer, and a few others of the pack’s experienced fighters were prowling, mostly behind the wards. Arik crouched down near the back steps, fiddling with a big bowl, a small fire, and a pile of random magic crap in bags and boxes. Luke, who was built like a Mack truck and a lot faster than he looked, along with Andy, who could also hold his own, had gone out from behind the warding line and were heading off to the cottages down the hill. No one had stayed down there for the night who couldn’t take care of themselves, but maybe someone had called and said they had zombies at their front doors, too, and wanted a little backup.

And then I looked away from Luke and Andy toward the decorations I’d put up the night before, and I saw red. Not just the red of that fucking inflatable Santa’s goddamn suit and hat, but the searing blood-red of rage.

Two zombies had made it to the Santa, which sat right outside the warding line.

And the fuckers were trying to eat him! I’d spent nearly an hour of my life putting that fucking thing up!

I stopped for a millisecond, just long enough to drop Nate off my back and safely behind the wards. He let out a startled eep.

“Motherfucker!” I shouted, running for the Santa-eating zombies. “What the fuck!”

I swung my machete hard, turning one zombie into two bite-sized pieces, but I was too damn late. The other bit into the side of the Santa’s leg, ripping a giant hole out of it.

The hiss of escaping air and the zombie’s moans blended together, and the Santa dented, tilted, and deflated, his face morphing from a Christmas grin into a weird, distorted grimace.

The zombie turned to face me, its half-rotted burial gown fluttering and its disintegrating jaws wide open, showing me a set of yellow teeth and a blackened lump of tongue.

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