Chapter 9 (Anna’s Point of View)

  I moved through the block of cottages the way a surgeon slips a scalpel between ribs—slow, precise, ready to sever whatever twitched. The dawn bruise had faded to sick yellow daylight, exposing row upon row of abandoned family homes. Vinyl siding flapped like loose skin; wind moaned through cracked windows with a sound uncannily like fevered breathing. Here and there children’s toys lay half?buried in weeds: a plastic truck melted to slag, a headless doll cradled in crabgrass. Perfect hunting ground for valuables—gold lockets, wedding bands, rolls of damp cash.

  My new boots thudded on a warped porch. Inside I found only collapse: framed photos buried in plaster dust, a jewelry box smashed open long ago. Nothing but tarnished earrings and a cracked crystal perfume bottle. I pocketed the earrings—silver still bartered well—then ducked through the rear door into a tangle of alley.

  That’s when I caught the smell: sun?ripened carrion, wet copper, and the sour tang of old gastric acid. Roamers. Close.

  I drew an arrow, nocked it to the bowstring, heart drumming. Fifty feet ahead, two shapes shuffled from behind a toppled chain?link fence. Their torsos twisted on ruined hips; gray flesh sloughed in ragged sheets. One wore what might once have been a postal uniform—now only scraps draped over a ribcage chewed bare. The other dragged a length of intestine that dangled like a pink noose from its abdomen.

  They locked milky eyes on me.

  I exhaled, loosed the first arrow. The shaft hissed through still air and punched into the mail?roamer’s left eye socket with a dull whupp. It staggered, head jerking back; thick black ichor spattered the picket fence behind it. But these weren’t fragile stage?ones—both lurched forward, limbs jerking with fresh hunger.

  I dropped the bow, yanked the short sword free, and charged.

  The mail?roamer lunged. Close up its breath reeked of fermented meat and soured stomach bile. I stepped inside its reach, drove the sword point up beneath the jaw. Cartilage parted with a wet pop; the blade speared through palate into brain. Viscous fluid—dark as crude oil—splashed across my chest. The corpse collapsed, jaw clattering on asphalt, but its fingers still twitched like blind maggots.

  The second one—Intestine?Drag—swung its arm. Yellowed nails raked my bicep, scoring fabric but not skin. I twisted, planted my left boot on the loose gut coils trailing behind it, and heaved. The thing lost balance, pitched forward. Its forehead met the pavement with a crack, scalp tearing wide to reveal clotted tissue.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  I straddled its twitching back, teeth bared, sword raised. One brutal downward stab—steel punched through cervical vertebrae, met gritty resistance, then slid wetly home. The body jerked once, then sagged under me, intestines twitching like stranded eels.

  Silence fell—except for the high whine of flies converging on fresh carnage. My breath misted in the cool air, hitching with adrenaline. Now for the pearls.

  I rolled the first corpse over. Its jaw hung by a single tendon, arrow still quivering in the eye socket. I knelt, swallowed back bile, and jabbed two fingers beneath the base of its skull. The flesh was warm—horrifying reminder that undead rot keeps a sick heat. I parted tissue until my glove brushed something smooth inside the tendon forest: the pearl. Thumb and forefinger pinched; resistance like tearing a grape from skin. It popped free with a soft schck, leaving a strand of oily viscera dangling.

  The sphere glowed faintly—opalescent, as if lit from within by rot’s own candle. I wiped gore on the corpse’s uniform and slipped the pearl into a cloth pouch.

  Intestine?Drag came next. I carved a window of flesh at the nape with my belt knife. Sludge oozed out—blackish?green, thick with stringy clots that stank of sewer methane. Gag reflex clawed my throat, but I wedged fingers deeper, searching. Nails scraped bone, slipped over sinew, then—yes—another pearl: slick, hot, pulsing under my touch. I yanked; tendrils of ligament came with it like snapping rubber bands. A spray of congealed blood patterned my sleeve.

  I sat back on my heels, chest heaving, pearls dripping ichor in my cupped palm. Two more for trade. The smell rolled over me—raw offal, copper, rot, stomach acid. My eyes watered. Flies mobbed the corpses, drowning in viscous fluid.

  I wiped the pearls on a scrap of the roamer’s ragged shirt, then sealed them in the pouch, knotting it tight. My hands trembled—part victory, part revulsion. Sweat cooled on my spine.

  A quick survey of their pockets yielded one crumpled wallet (empty), three quarters fused by stomach acid, and—miracle—a slim gold wedding band wedged on the mail?roamer’s skeletal finger. I pried it loose, pocketed it. Gold meant nothing to roamers; to Joshua, it meant U?Haul rentals and power?tools.

  I wiped my blade on the dead man’s sleeve. The steel shone again, marred only by a faint marbling of black gore near the hilt. I picked up my bow, retrieved the arrow from the mail?roamer’s skull with a grisly crunch, and stepped back.

  The alley felt quieter—like the city held its breath after bloodshed. I glanced up: rust?eaten fire escapes zig?zagged overhead; a tattered children’s kite fluttered from a railing, its fabric sticking wetly to brick. The breeze shifted, carrying the stench of open sewer mixed with damp moss—a reminder of the cracked storm drains nearby. Somewhere farther east, a single gunshot barked, then echo?fractured into nothing.

  I wiped sweat from my lips, tasted salt and copper. Another block searched, another pair of pearls earned. Supplies awaited. And somewhere beyond these rooflines, that burnished copper door would open again—soon, I prayed—with Joshua on the other side carrying peace offerings of plywood and coffee.

  I checked my bearings, tightened pack straps, and headed deeper into the neighborhood—eyes peeled for any glint of jewelry in the wreckage, ears tuned for the next shuffle of undead feet.

  Because every pearl cost blood, and I intended to pay the price.