Blood Magik: A Cold Day in Hell (Book One)

22: Holy Assemblage! (A Reunion of Priests)

He used his three-tone vision to search for the red of blood, and his nose to smell for flesh. He used his hearing to listen for the sounds of insects feasting on what would be the leftover carcass of a young woman and searched his racing heart for the hope she might still be alive.

There were no sounds of ants eating human bodies or splashes of blood on walls – but there was a smell... It wasn't Alex. But whatever it was, it was definitely rotting...

Desi came in a few seconds after him, felt around for the light switch and flipped it on. With Marty so intensely focusing his senses, the lights pummeled his retinas with a blinding flash.

"Ahh...fuck..."

He instinctively threw his hands over his eyes, protecting them from the shine, and his outburst made Desi assume the worst.

"What? What happened? Is she dead?"

"...It's bright..."

"What?"

"The lights."

"Oh...sorry..."

"...s'alright..." He shook his head under his palms. "I'm just not used to...being like this..."

"You...you mean...like a zombie?"

He lowered his hands and let his eyes take in the glare.

"I wouldn't slap that title on me just yet..." He looked back at her to give his eyes something to focus on. "Or maybe I would... But... I'm still—"

"Myyyy herooo..." A familiar, masculine voice interrupted him with a childish tone.

Marty snapped his head toward the taunt. Even before he saw the undead face of his ex-teammate sitting in an easy-chair in the corner, he knew who was waiting for him by the smell of his cheesy sense of humor. Mac had sunk into the chair as if it were his throne, his bright white Priests jersey conveniently camouflaged by its compilation of cemetery dirt.

"What the f—"

"Who's yur friend, Marts?"

Marty didn't waste time sympathizing for his teammate who'd obviously been turned. In a flash, he had his giant hand clenched around Mac's throat, lifting him several feet from the ground.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Mac?! WHERE'S ALEX?!" His eyes screamed with green fury while Mac clawed at the grip on his esophagus. "Answer me, goddamn it or I'll rip you open from mouth to nuts!"

"I..." He tried squeezing his voice through the death-grip on his neck. "I don't know... I... I was looking...for you..."

Marty fought through his anger and found a pinch of fleeting calm, temporarily believing his ex-friend's words. Or at least hoping they were true. He looked deep into his black, apathetic eyes and hardly recognized him.

"Why?"

Mac gestured toward Marty's grip for him to maybe loosen it a bit so he could respond. Marty hesitated, but got the impression Mac wasn't someone he couldn't handle if it came down to it. So he set his dead friend down and relaxed his hold.

Mac rolled his head around as if to make sure it was still attached and kept his arms raised to show no aggression. "What do you mean 'why?' ...Yur my captain. Yur one of us."

Marty wasn't following.

"The fuck're you talking about? We're dead." He searched Mac's eyes, trying to gage his sincerity. "This isn't a game, Mac. I'm not yur captain anymore—"