Reconstructionist 1: favourite scene

“She’s found us,” Kett said.

Something shifted in the air around me, stirring the strands of hair that had loosened from my French twist. It wasn’t magic. Or, rather, it wasn’t magic I’d ever felt before.

I straightened, following Kett’s gaze back toward the main path. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently, Garrick blood runs true.”

The grass to my immediate right heaved upward, dirt churning and wooden shards thrust to the surface as the occupant of the grave wrenched itself free of its earthy confines.

I stumbled back, slamming against Kett and bruising my left shoulder.

The corpse pulling itself free of the grave was fresh enough that it still had hair and sinew attached to its graying skeleton. Then the sod and soil churned to our left. A thick-boned arm thrust free of the ground, clawing forward as it dragged a head and upper body into the night air.

Both zombies homed in on us. With the crypt behind us, our only clear route was back toward the main path.

“Oh, Jesus,” I whispered. “Oh, mother of God. Please, Lord.” 

Nothing like a zombie rising to convert a witch to Christianity.

“Don’t fret,” Kett said, patting my shoulder awkwardly. “I doubt she can raise more than two or three at a time.”

Jesus Christ. I was cowering against a vampire like some damsel in bloody distress.

I pushed away from Kett. He let me go.

I was a witch. Witches didn’t cower in the face of magic. I was a Fairchild — whether I wanted to be or not. Fairchilds didn’t hide from the darkness — 

The earth churned above four more graves. And those were only the ones I could see in the intermittent moonlight.

I sidestepped the nearest zombie to my right, zigzagging through the corpses freeing themselves from their graves all around us as I ran for the main path.

Kett moved with me.

We were past the last row of headstones, four or so feet from the pavement, when something grabbed my ankle.

I shrieked despite my resolve as I almost went down. Kett caught me. I twisted to look behind me. I was held fast by a rotting arm. A zombie had grabbed me even before wrenching itself free from its grave.

Looking back was a mistake. Dozens of zombies had freed themselves from the earth and were shuffling their way toward us. Still more corpses in various stages of decay were pulling themselves from their final resting places.

Kett snapped the arm holding my ankle in two, then flicked the severed limb back behind us. It slammed into the bony forehead of the walking corpse nearest us. The zombie’s head snapped back with the force of the blow, bone splintered. The vampire had broken its neck with a flick of his wrist.

The zombie stumbled, but it kept moving in our direction.

Kett was smiling. Actually smiling. Not smirking, not curling his lip, but a full-on, joyful, thrilled smile.

“Stop smiling!” I shouted.

He laughed. A breathy, rushed, eager laugh. He sounded human. Specifically, he sounded like a human who was about to do something incredibly stupid.

The sound chilled me through. “Smiling and laughing isn’t appropriate in this situation!” I yelled, completely losing my own connection to what was appropriate.

Kett picked up a headstone as if it weighed nothing to him. He tossed it up in the air.

I cranked my head up, unable to do anything but watch as the vampire went mad in a graveyard teeming with zombies.

The stone flew straight up, appeared to hang in the air above us, then spiraled down straight for my head.

“Hang on,” Kett murmured against my craned neck.

I threw my arms around his shoulders. He spun, taking me with him. Outstretched bony fingers brushed my cheek.

We stopped spinning.

The headstone crushed the zombie that had been about to grab me.

Kett threw his head back and laughed again.

Jesus. It was a game. The vampire was … playing.

I was going to die.

I had fought, then bargained for my life at the tender age of sixteen. I’d earned my emancipation, protecting myself from anything or anyone who could possibly have hurt me in any way since then.

And now I was going to die in the arms of a deranged centuries-old vampire, eaten alive by zombies.

– excerpt from Catching Echoes (Reconstructionist 1)

Last night I sent this scene to the narrators I’ve called back for the Reconstructionist audiobook auditions. And, listening to these exceptionally talented narrators reading it reminded me just how much I love this moment between Kett and Wisteria!!

Coming soon to a pair of headphones (earbuds?) near you. I mean, they have to be near you … otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to hear anything through them. Never mind. You know what I mean!