‹ Prequel: A Good Run
Status: 2 of 7 volumes. Active.
The White Doe
Thirteen
That night, as the colonists finished packing and lay down in small clusters of family groups around the bonfire in the center of the encampment, a familiar voice was raised outside the palisade.
"Ho, good folks of the City of Raleigh! A lost lamb has wandered home!"
The hairs on Eleanor's arm stood up. She had been lying beside the fire, Virginia asleep in her cradle and she turned at the sound of her husband's voice. Fear gripped her heart and for a moment she couldn't breathe. Then air rushed into her lungs and she lurched to her feet, screaming, "Master Bailie! No! Don't let him--"
The gate swung open.
Ananias stood there, grinning. Blood covered his neck and stained his shirt black in the flickering firelight. His teeth were sharp and as his eyes met hers, they lit up as with an inner fire of their own.
He did not come alone. Behind him stood several dozen Walkers and like a tidal wave, they poured into the encampment.
Though her heart was breaking, Eleanor Dare was the daughter of a Watcher and she knew what she had to do. She dove for the fire and snatched a stick from its heart. It burned her hand.
She reached for her child and steeling herself against her daughter's screams of pain, branded the girl with a cross on her perfect, pale forehead.
Tears in her eyes, Eleanor whirled to face the thing that had been her husband. She stabbed forward with the sharp piece of wood, but the Walker was quicker.
His hands grabbed her wrists and squeezed.
Eleanor cried out as the bones snapped and the stick fell from her hands.
"It's not so bad, my love," Ananias whispered, lowering his mouth to her neck. "It's sweet... So hot and sweet..."
Amid the shrieks of the dying and the victory cries of the killers, one sound rose up into the night sky more piercing than any other: the treble, thin cry of a wounded and terrified infant.
"Ho, good folks of the City of Raleigh! A lost lamb has wandered home!"
The hairs on Eleanor's arm stood up. She had been lying beside the fire, Virginia asleep in her cradle and she turned at the sound of her husband's voice. Fear gripped her heart and for a moment she couldn't breathe. Then air rushed into her lungs and she lurched to her feet, screaming, "Master Bailie! No! Don't let him--"
The gate swung open.
Ananias stood there, grinning. Blood covered his neck and stained his shirt black in the flickering firelight. His teeth were sharp and as his eyes met hers, they lit up as with an inner fire of their own.
He did not come alone. Behind him stood several dozen Walkers and like a tidal wave, they poured into the encampment.
Though her heart was breaking, Eleanor Dare was the daughter of a Watcher and she knew what she had to do. She dove for the fire and snatched a stick from its heart. It burned her hand.
She reached for her child and steeling herself against her daughter's screams of pain, branded the girl with a cross on her perfect, pale forehead.
Tears in her eyes, Eleanor whirled to face the thing that had been her husband. She stabbed forward with the sharp piece of wood, but the Walker was quicker.
His hands grabbed her wrists and squeezed.
Eleanor cried out as the bones snapped and the stick fell from her hands.
"It's not so bad, my love," Ananias whispered, lowering his mouth to her neck. "It's sweet... So hot and sweet..."
Amid the shrieks of the dying and the victory cries of the killers, one sound rose up into the night sky more piercing than any other: the treble, thin cry of a wounded and terrified infant.