Darker Than You Can Imagine

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Jiminy Cricket (Dr

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Jiminy Cricket (Dr. Hopper): Wait! Revenge is not the answer. No. It's going to change you (Heart of Darkness).

Emma stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Neal in front of the sandpit. The six zombies that had blundered into the clearing after she'd hooked up to—then hastily unhooked from—the rope were lurching forward at such an ominously slow pace, she wanted to scream. Her previous skirmish had been in a thicket of trees where she, Mary-Margaret, and Mulan could lunge, dart into safety, and attack from behind. This time they'd been forced to make their stand in the open.

Glancing sidelong, Emma noted twinkling lines of fairy dust fanning from Neal's eyes and across his cheeks—tracings of where laughter had creased his face just a couple of hours before. A touch of sparkle still clung to his vintage felt coat, his shaggy brown hair, and the stubble on his chin, but with a frown as grim as his, she doubted he could fly.

"Steady, now," he murmured. "Don't strike until they're so close we can smell them."

Emma nodded. She prayed the horde still racketing around the Lost Boys' camp didn't join them.

In the last few minutes, the wind had risen, ripping the clouds into tatters, letting the waning moon shine through. By its light, she could see the emptiness in the monsters' eyes that confirmed they were corpse-puppets, not people. Despite her near decade in law enforcement, she'd never sent a bullet into something that moved, but if an ogre hadn't crushed her Glock-17 into a paperweight a couple of days after they fell through Jefferson's hat-portal, she'd have kept firing until each gaping face was mush.

No such luck. Any chance of re-arming was another dimension away. Emma had to rely on her lady sword. She tightened her grip on the bumps and ridges of the rose-embossed hilt. The blade was shorter than the weapon she'd lost down the ravine, but she'd honed the edge to slicing perfection.

The enchanted compass felt cold between her breasts. Why hadn't she had the common sense to hand it to Mary-Margret before her mother escaped to safety down the sandpit? According to Hook, Cora already had the means to breach universes to reach Storybrooke. If her zombies snatched the compass, she'd be able to find her way there as well.

"I won't let her get it," Emma breathed.

The first two zombies staggered nearer. From their tattered blouses and bandanas, she guessed they'd once been pirates in Hook's crew. The stench of rotting flesh made her gag. When one hulking cadaver raised an arm to cross cutlasses, Neal whispered, "Now!" and cleaved the skull with one quick swipe.

Riveting her gaze on the second one's decomposing face, Emma recalled her mother's words: A shout gives a strong exhalation on the hit. That increases focus and intensifies the force of the blow. Ignoring the daggers clenched in the zombie's bony hands, Emma shrieked and plunged her sword into the eye. The zombie went limp. Gritting her teeth, she jerked her sword back and forth. The putrid arms flopped like a marionette's, but she couldn't wrench her weapon free. Without warning, the third zombie lunged. When its spiked poleaxe was within inches of her arm, Neal lopped off its head.

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