***
Cynthia was pleased with herself.
She had outfoxed the Hoodoo man, had let him come charging right through her ranks, and now he, as well as her father, was now safely behind them.
Her scouts had performed their tasks perfectly, and now no barriers lay between the horde and the town. What was left of the police force was also behind her rear flank, though the sheriff was conspicuously absent. That fact did not worry her, however. She would find him in good time, and then he would pay for what he had done to her.
She had not wanted to see her father, so she had stayed back, away from the road. If she had glimpsed him, she might have experienced a feeling of longing, a moment of weakness which she could ill afford. Now she would be able to concentrate on the task at hand: exterminating the town of the petty fools who had allowed the suffering of her and many others.
The lights of the town were now within sight. The horde was growing anxious; she could feel their eager hunger flowing all around her. Soon, it would be all but impossible to hold their bloodlust in check. She would be forced to release them from the tentative leash upon which she now held them and free them to attack with abandon.
There was the sound of gunfire from behind her. She had left a small group to guard the rear as they advanced. Surely the Hoodoo man was not so foolish as to try and attack them. His group was vastly outnumbered, and his weapons could not kill her minions.
But what if he were that foolish? And, worse, what if he were still dragging her father along? Whatever else happened, no harm could come to her father. Cynthia would not permit it. The others could die—would die—but her father was to remain untouched.
She paused, unsure whether to double back or continue on. A voice, unnaturally loud in the cool stillness of the night, made the decision for her.
“Cynthia!” Dave Baracheck called from the darkness. “Cynthie!”