CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The god of death lifted up one of its arms and pointed a sharp finger at me. A deep, gravely voice reverberated out of its translucent body. “Bring them to me.”
That was the signal for Ros to sweep me into his arms and spin on his heels. He raced up the street and I looked over his shoulder at the square. The army of people were no longer shambling zombies. Their eyes were ablaze with an unnatural black fire, and they moved like Olympic sprinters.
Fortunately, Ros moved pretty fast himself, even with the dead weight that was me. We kept one step ahead of the mob as we raced up the gentle incline to the outskirts of the village. The tendrils lashed out at us from either side of the street, and some of them grazed my shoulders and Ros’ legs. Their sharp twigs
