Bovicide, Zombie Diaries, and the Legend of the Brothers Brown

  * * *

  On the other side of the Tree, Richard chased Mitchell around the emptied space, trampling zombie corpses and closing on the human. Mitchell fired his sidearm over his shoulder, but Richard absorbed the bullets with barely a twitch.

  Not that Skylar had much time to watch. There was a horde of zombies a few feet away that she couldn’t trust to leave them alone. And the Andrastes were still around, mostly battling zombies and wolves, but the islanders couldn’t hold them off forever.

  Mitchell sped past her, his pistol now empty, and it took a few seconds for Skylar to spot what was missing. There was no following werewolf.

  Then she felt the hot breath beat down on her from above. Smelled the blood. Heard the contented, victorious snort behind her. Almost a laugh.

  Richard was behind her.

  She was dead.

  Skylar turned, wanting to face her death head-on, keeping her hands at her sides in a non-threatening way so Richard wouldn’t attack. She knew no one would save her – Mitchell hadn’t realised he wasn’t being chased and Truman was holding off those of the horde who were still attacking – but then she’d never been much of one for being saved. It was enough to face her end eyes open and unafraid.

  It was hard. Saliva dripped from between long rows of sharp teeth. Cruel eyes evaluated where to place the killing stroke. His clawed fingers roamed, keen to begin. His chest fur was already matted with blood. Richard opened his maw to bite.

  And there was a crack of pistol-fire. Skylar dropped to the ground, partly from fear, partly to get farther from Richard, but mostly to give whoever was shooting a clearer target. It wasn’t Mitchell; who had just realised he wasn’t being chased, and Truman was by the zombies looking confused.

  As the werewolf spun away from her toward the shooter, Skylar spied the bleeding hole in his spine. Looking past Richard, Skylar saw a smoking pistol barrel sticking out of the shadows under the trees.

  Richard growled a challenge. The pistol cracked in reply. Its muzzle flash lit up a bulbous head, reddish hair, a beard. Each shot highlighted McGregor’s face as he fought the weapon’s recoil and pulled the trigger as fast as it would go.

  Round after round tore into Richard’s chest, spraying blood. Richard whimpered as he fell. One foot kicked at the sky. He howled sadly for an instant, then lay still.

  Trembling on the ground beside the massive corpse, Skylar caught McGregor’s eyes and nodded in thanks.