Broken (Otherworld 6)

A shape passed that distant door, and I tapped Clay's arm, redirecting his attention. He nodded, and we split up again, heading for that far door.

I made it there first and glanced around the doorway to see a figure obscured behind a sheet of opaque plastic hanging from the ceiling. Clay tensed but, after a deep breath, I shook my head.

"Nick," I mouthed.

I cleared my throat, so I wouldn't startle him. Zoe pulled back the plastic and waved us over. Nick was on her other side, hunched down, trying to pick up a scent.

"Don't bother," I said. "She went down this hall. I can smell her already."

"So can I," he said. "It's the other one I'm trying to pick up."

"We were wondering when he'd show up."

Nick shook his head. "I don't think it's a zombie. I didn't smell the same--"

"That's because we've only killed him once so far. He's not as ripe as she is."

Clay waved us to silence. "Let's concentrate on the one we have--the one that's getting away as we stand here."

We followed Rose's trail to a door that opened into an outdoor construction zone. This site was empty, someone having apparently decided current events were sufficient grounds for a mass personal day.

Tarps flapped in the breeze, against the distant roar of the streets. Clay tapped my arm and gestured to a security van parked off to the side. I nodded as he alerted the others.

Zoe shook her head and whispered, "There's no one here. I can tell."

I bent to pick up Rose's scent, winnowing it out from all the others. Once I found it, I started forward, weaving around piles of building material.

Within ten feet, we hit a spill of some kind, as if someone had dumped building chemicals--hopefully by accident. The trail became indistinct, the smell of rot more apparent on the air than the ground. Clay and I headed around the piles of material in one direction, while Zoe and Nick took the other.

I finally picked up Rose's scent again, but only got about twenty feet more before I lost it behind trailers stacked with lumber. When I bent, Clay waved me up.

"You shouldn't be bending so much. Can't be comfortable. I'll take a turn."

As he crouched, I heard the crunch of stones underfoot. I motioned to Clay, but he'd already stopped, head tilted, following the noise. He grabbed the edge of the trailer and swung onto it. I followed...with more heaving and clambering than "swinging."

By the time I was atop the trailer bed, Clay was on the lumber pile. He looked over the other side, then helped me up. As I scrambled to the top, a fair-haired head bobbed from behind a truck. A man stepped out. Thirties, maybe nearing forty, and small, though that was probably the fault of my vantage point.

The man was dressed in slacks and a dress shirt. An office worker cutting through the empty construction yard. Then I noticed his pants were an inch too short and his shirt was too large in the collar and long in the sleeves. Not as ill-fitting as the bowler-hatted man's clothes, but enough to make me take a second look. In that look, my gaze slid down the overlong sleeve...to a semiconcealed knife in his hand.

"Zombie?" Clay mouthed.

I took a deep breath, but he was downwind.

"Can't tell," I whispered.

He was below us--about a dozen feet away. Decent positioning for a jump. As Clay crouched, neither of us moved or said a word, but the man stiffened, and his gaze swung up and around. He caught Clay before we could backpedal.

The man's face paled and his eyes widened. I shifted, and the man's gaze shot my way, as if he hadn't noticed me there before.

"Oh, thank God," the man murmured in a soft, British-accented voice. "It's you." He lifted a hand to shield his eyes as his gaze turned to Clay. "Yes, yes, of course it is. I should have recognized you as well, but--" His eyes closed and he shuddered. "Dear God, my heart. When I saw you up there, I was certain I'd run straight into a trap, that you were another of those--" He shuddered again. "--those things."

"Things?" I said.

"That...Those..." He faltered, as if he couldn't find a word. "The man and the woman. They--" He took a deep quavering breath. "I'm sorry. Just give me a moment."

He lifted his hand. The knife blade flashed. Clay dropped, ready to leap, and the man nearly fell backward, arms going up to ward Clay off.

"D-don't--I mean you no harm. Please--"