I focused on the target, took note of the wind direction, and released the arrow.
It punctured the blond man’s chest, and he stumbled back. As I reloaded, his lips drew back in a cruel snarl, revealing over-sized canines.
My pulse rocketed through my body. “Fangs!” I screamed hoarsely, and found Jesse’s eyes beside me. “I saw fangs. They might be able to heal themselves.”
Goddamned fucking Drone. He’d bitten others? Was this his assembled army? Oh God. An army of superhuman blood-suckers.
“They’re not dying,” someone called out.
Jesse released another of his black and red feathered arrows then thrust his chin over his shoulder, shouting, “Hit them in the head!”
Where was Michio? Was he involved? My blood buzzed with the hum of his presence. But it wasn’t his hum, was it? It was the hum of hundreds like him.
Die, die, die, I chanted soundlessly, but the blond fucker I’d hit climbed to his feet, ignoring the arrow in his chest, as he raised his crossbow.
Fuck. I waited for the breeze to still and fired again. The arrow sliced into his head, and he dropped to the ground. I reached for the quiver, anchored the next shot, and aimed at a horde of approaching men, firing at the fanged faces.
Darwin’s barking muffled from the van across the street. The coppery scent of blood tickled my nose, and the cries of wounded men pierced my ears.
My teeth sawed the inside of my cheek as I sighted a black man. He snarled with a mouthful of sharp teeth and swung an ax at a slower, fangless man.
Inhale. Exhale. Shoot.
My shot burrowed directly in the fanged man’s ear, and he collapsed to the ground. I grabbed another arrow.
Roark’s sword flashed beside me, and a decapitated head bounced off my boot. Blood drenched the matted hair, and fangs pressed against dead lips.
They all had fangs. They’d all been bitten.
The sword whistled out of sight as Roark’s footfalls scuffed behind me, his grunts alerting me that he was hewing down anyone who approached my back.
I fired arrow after arrow, keeping at least one of my senses locked on Jesse and Roark. They glided around me, remaining out of my firing path yet close enough that I could track the rasps of their breaths.
Everywhere I looked, men fought in a wild fury of bows, guns, and knives. And so many fell. Our men. The other men.
I released the next shot and killed a young, pale guy with black hair. How far away had he traveled? What had led him here? Had he been truly evil and deserving of death, or was there something more manipulative at play here?
I still couldn’t sense the Drone or any of his aphids. Around me, the asphalt, broken curbs, and overgrown grass glistened in red. The sight of so much death magnified the ruination of the sagging, neglected houses I’d once called my neighborhood.
The skin on my fingers abraded with each arrow I launched. Adrenaline soaked through my body. My muscles trembled. My breaths tightened, and my lungs strained and burned.
“Evie, you’re almost out,” Roark shouted behind me.
I reached for the quiver, and sure enough, I pulled the last arrow.
How many men did we have left on our side? Not nearly enough to take down the hundred or so fangy ones blurring around us.
I wouldn’t die here, not if the prophecy was accurate. But Jesse and Roark? The thought of them lying on the ground and staring back at me with sightless eyes was enough to re-energize my mind and muscles with determination.
Anchoring my final shot, I inched toward a heap of nearby bodies. I could collect five arrows there and a few more beside the car in the driveway next door. And I still had my arm sheathes.
“Evie?” Jesse fired one after another, his neck craning between shots to look for me.
“I’m at your seven o’clock.” About thirty feet from him and Roark, I bent down and plucked the feathered shafts, planting my boot on the skulls to pry them free.
“I’ll get her,” Roark shouted, but as he turned, five men charged him.
I trained the arrow on the closest one and let it fly. The man’s head kicked back in a spray of blood. I snatched another arrow from the skull beneath my boot as Roark swung the sword, lopping the head off the next one, then another—
“Evie.” A steady, achingly-familiar voice whispered over my shoulder.
I stopped breathing and whirled, stumbling over the bodies.
No one was there. A few yards off, a man I recognized from our crew fired his crossbow in the opposite direction. But no Michio.
A low, glowing hum trembled through me, the warm sensation stronger, more powerful than I’d ever felt. It lit up every cell in my body and slithered around my bones from head to toe.
I scanned the vicinity, my gaze darting in every direction. “Michio?”