Strange Trouble by Laken Cane

her then.
    Looked at her with rage and distrust. And hatred.
    “You shouldn’t have brought me back,” he said. “Fuck you for
the evil that made you bring me back.”
    Z, whose weakness was women. Who would never have hurt any female. For Rune, he would happily have died. But now, he
looked at her with hatred.
    She pulled back in shock. “Z.”
    The crew’s sadness was so thick she could have taken a bite
from it.
    “What has happened?” Ellis asked softly, confused,
disbelieving.
    Rune swallowed and turned away. “Go home.” There were no
guarantees Rune could defeat the witch. No guarantees Damascus might not decide
to invade River County even if Nicolas was no longer there. “Go home and
protect the city.”
    Marta took her hand. “It is time.”
    “Rune,” Strad roared, and strode toward her. He yanked her
away from Marta, pulled her into his arms, and held her like he’d never let her
go.
    Not ever.
    She kissed him, gently. “I won’t be long, Berserker.” I
swear it. I swear it.
    I will not leave my crew.
    “Take care of Z,” she whispered, her lips touching the soft
warmth of his ear.
    And she pushed out of his arms.
    She’d rather have stayed there forever than face whatever
hell was waiting for her.
    Once again, Marta took her hand. Eagerly. “Come, darling. Do not worry,” she told the crew. “It is not yet her time to
die.”
    But no one believed her. Not even Rune.
    She would change, she knew it. Change in unimaginable ways.
    And wasn’t change a form of death?
    Wasn’t it?
    She felt them behind her, watching her as she walked away.
She had to put them from her mind and trust that they’d drive the fuck out of
Rock County, rejoin the humans, and leave the Others to their battles.
    She put her free hand to her stomach, trying to caress away
the anxiety. But that wasn’t ever going to happen.
    Too bad the zombies couldn’t eat her fucking memory.
    “Where is the witch?” she asked Marta.
    Marta held Rune’s hand as if she might run away should she
let her go. “She waits in the Camp.”
    “This is not going to be fun, is it?”
    Marta half smiled. “I don’t believe so.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Let’s run.”
    She didn’t want to use her speed to get to hell quicker, to
leave her crew behind. But she nodded, and with the strange vampire woman
guiding her, sprinted toward the Camp.
    The ground flew by in dizzying flashes of darkness. Marta
led her out of the town, out to where the woods were deep and dotted with trees
skinny and starving for color.
    The limbs reached for her, as did the arms of zombies they
flashed by, but nothing could stop the run of a vampire in full speed.
    Or whatever she was.
    And finally, they reached the Camp.
    She stared up at the high fence, curled on top with razor
wire and laced with silver. Through the wire she spotted small, squat
buildings, arranged haphazardly around a tall, dark structure.
    The tall building was where the witch waited.
    Rune could feel her there, could smell her.
    The Camp smelled like rotten boiled eggs.
    The area inside the fence was barren and bleak, with no
trees or plants to soften the sterile landscape. Tall pole lights bathed the
ground with a cold illumination. Nothing moved, breathed, or cried.
    “Is it abandoned except for the witch?”
    Marta’s voice was grim. “No. No, it is not.”
    “Why hasn’t she taken you?”
    Marta pressed her lips together and was silent for so long
Rune thought she might not answer her. But finally, she spoke. “Damascus is not
interested in me. I am nothing to her.”
    “What will she do if she gets Llodra?”
    “She loved him, as much as one like her can love. She was—is—obsessed
with him. He was her entire world, and he ran away.  If she manages to
find him, she’ll take him back and for eternity, he will be her animal.” She
glanced at Rune. “You hate Nicolas, but if you knew what he had lived through,
and what his life would be like if the witch took him again, you would