Death's Shadow (The Demonata 7)

She returns the smile, but shakily. “Perhaps you should leave me here.”

“We’re not leaving anyone behind,” I say firmly. “Except maybe Kirilli.”

He stares at me with a wounded expression. “I hope you don’t—” he starts.

“Not now,” I stop him. My cheeks are dry. I must have stopped weeping at some point coming up the stairs. The ship is slipping further into the water. The angle of the deck to the sea is increasing steadily. Kernel’s at the end of the ship which is rising. If we don’t act quickly, we won’t make it.

“Come on,” I command. “One last push. We can rest once we slip through the window.”

Dervish sighs wearily but staggers to his feet. He reaches for Sharmila. “Wait,” I tell him and glance fiercely at Kirilli. “It’s time you proved yourself worthy of rescue. Carry her.”

“But I have a bad back,” he protests. “I never lift anything heavier than—”

“Carry her,” I repeat myself, “or I’ll cut your legs off, glue them to Sharmila and let her walk out of here on your feet.”

Kirilli gives a little cry of horror. He suspects I’m bluffing, but he’s uncertain.

“I am not that heavy,” Sharmila chuckles. “Especially without my legs.”

“We’re nearly there,” I tell the stage magician. “You won’t have to carry her far.”

“Very well,” Kirilli snaps. “But if I throw my back out of joint, I’ll sue.” He flashes me a feeble grin and picks up Sharmila. I help settle her on his back, then push through the zombies converging on us, lashing out with both my small fists, praying for the strength to stay on my feet long enough to guide us all to safety.

I’m almost fully drained. Only a sheer stubborn streak keeps me going. I refuse to fall this close to the end. It happened before, in the cave all those centuries ago. I almost made it out. I could see the exit as the rock ground shut around it. It was horrible to come up short with freedom in sight. I won’t taste that defeat again.

Deckchairs and unbolted fixtures slide down the deck. Some of the zombies topple and slide too. Extra obstacles for us to dodge. The end of the ship continues to rise out of the water. A few more minutes and the angle will be too steep to climb. We’ll slip backwards to perish with the zombies when the ship’s dragged under.

We catch sight of the swimming pool. The window’s still open and Kernel’s in front of it. But he’s struggling with a zombie. There are dozens around him and the window, separated from them by a circle of magic. But one has pierced his defences and is wrestling with him.

“Kernel!” I cry. “Hold on. We’re almost with you. We—”

Kernel shouts something in response. He tries to tear himself away from the zombie, then reaches for its head to rip it loose—it’s only attached by jagged strips of flesh to the neck. There’s a flash of blinding light and we all cover our eyes, Kirilli dropping Sharmila out of necessity.

When I open my eyes a few seconds later, it’s like looking at a bright light through several layers of plastic. I blink furiously to clear my vision. When I can see properly, I look for Kernel. The circle where he was is still in place. The zombies around it are all momentarily sightless, stumbling into each other, rubbing their eyes. But the window is gone. And where it stood—where Kernel and the zombie were battling—is an ugly swill of tattered flesh, clumps of guts, fragments of bones and several pints of wasted human blood.

THE ONLY WAY

Stunned, I stare at the spot where Kernel and the window were. I’m not sure what happened. Where did the explosion of light come from? Are those the remains of Kernel and the zombie, or just one of them? Did Kernel slip through the window before it closed or did he perish here, the window blinking out of existence along with its creator?

“Is he dead?” Dervish roars, smashing the nose of a zombie which was about to sink its teeth into my skull.

“I don’t know.”

“Sharmila?”

She shakes her head uncertainly.

Dervish doesn’t bother to ask Kirilli. He glances around, desperation lending a wild look to his already strained features. “The lifeboats,” he mutters. “We have to get away from here or we’ll be sucked under.”

“But—” I begin.

“No time,” he barks, staggering towards the nearest lifeboat. “Come on. Don’t stand there gawping.”

Kirilli moans and stumbles after Dervish, picking up Sharmila without having to be told. She punches weakly at a couple of zombies, not much strength left. We’re all firing on our final cylinders. Only the promise of escape keeps us going. But I’ve thought of something Dervish hasn’t. Escape will be more complicated than he thinks.

Dervish is working on a lifeboat when I reach him. He doesn’t have the magic to release it, so he’s having to manually lower it over the side. Kirilli is helping.

“We had a safety drill a few days ago,” Kirilli boasts. “Leave it to me. I know what to do. If we pull this lever here…”