and fierce, driven by the heartbeat of retribution for wrongs past and present.
That's right, Dan. ... I helped you . . . now you help me. . .
Dan was trapped in the darkness, but he was not alone anymore. There was another, as close as his own pulse. Another who had helped him, and who needed his help now.
The Crow’s cries were fading like the moonless shadow of midnight.
Dan Cody would not live in darkness a moment longer.
He would have light.
The Crow screeched, fighting for its freedom as the carrion birds attacked from every quarter, a black hailstorm of pecking beaks and raking talons. So vicious was their assault, so unrelenting, that the possibility of flight—and escape—became a distant dream.
Greasy black feathers swirled down on the dump, turning it into a sea of dark enchantment. Beneath a solid wall of fury, the Crow fought a losing battle as the killer birds battered its weakened body.
Still, the Crow fought. It tore, whirled, bit, gouged eyes. It spit chunks of birdflesh from its beak as if they were scalding red coals, and great numbers of the dark army fell beneath its slashing talons. But the carrion killers were too many, their collective weapons too strong. They were backed by the power of Kyra Damon’s wrath, and that wrath was unending.
The Crow was losing the battle.
Soon, it would lose its life . . . and with it, Dan Cody’s.
The bird cawed one final, frantic plea for salvation.
But the cry, like the Crow, was lost behind a blurred curtain of beating black wings.
The heavy chains that bound the Westinghouse burst as the freezer door exploded off its hinges. Dan Cody moved into the blackness, searching for the light. But there was no silver glow from the stars above to greet him, no constellations glimmering millions of miles away. Only an ebony storm raining from the sky, with slashing wings clapping like thunder.
Carrion crows.
Hundreds of them.
Once again, the Crow’s screams found Dan’s ears.
Crows all around him, but this voice was different.
This voice spoke only to Dan Cody.
I helped you, Dan. Now you help me. . . .
Dan picked up the length of chain that had secured the freezer door. He stepped into the hurricane of birds. They filled the sky, obliterated the stars. Their wings pulsed with the rhythm of hate. Surely a crippled bird and a reanimated dead man could never stand against them.
But so intent were the predators on their wounded prey that they didn’t even notice the man with the solid steel chain until it was too late. Dan Cody moved forward, swinging the chain like a death-scythe, carving a path through tangled thickets of wings and talons. Joints crunched. Backs broke. Wings snapped. And a hundred crows crashed into heaped piles of trash. Shrieks of agony filled the night, but the birds—driven by Kyra Damon’s power— did not flee from the battle.
They turned from the Crow and attacked Dan as one. Cody grunted, moving ever forward, his wounds healing as fast as the bird’s could inflict them, the chain whistling above his head. Its hard steel links battered skulls and snapped bones, but the birds did not turn from their murderous task and neither did the dead man. He moved forward still, crunching lifeless beaks beneath his heavy boots, and above him the chain flashed in the moonlight, slick with the boiling black blood of the carrion birds’ fallen brethren.
Bodies hailed down around the man until he was ankle-deep in feathered corpses.
Still he came on like something unleashed from the gates of hell. The birds pecked ferociously, eager for a taste of his flesh, but the man hardly noticed their attack. With his free hand he tore the crows from his body in impatient handfuls, tossing them aside like crumpled black paper.
The caws grew sparser. The man grew stronger, his heart thudding wildly. He was covered in the blood of his enemies, but he did not care. Fresh sweat stung his eyes, and his muscles burned with exertion, and heat pumped
That's right, Dan. ... I helped you . . . now you help me. . .
Dan was trapped in the darkness, but he was not alone anymore. There was another, as close as his own pulse. Another who had helped him, and who needed his help now.
The Crow’s cries were fading like the moonless shadow of midnight.
Dan Cody would not live in darkness a moment longer.
He would have light.
The Crow screeched, fighting for its freedom as the carrion birds attacked from every quarter, a black hailstorm of pecking beaks and raking talons. So vicious was their assault, so unrelenting, that the possibility of flight—and escape—became a distant dream.
Greasy black feathers swirled down on the dump, turning it into a sea of dark enchantment. Beneath a solid wall of fury, the Crow fought a losing battle as the killer birds battered its weakened body.
Still, the Crow fought. It tore, whirled, bit, gouged eyes. It spit chunks of birdflesh from its beak as if they were scalding red coals, and great numbers of the dark army fell beneath its slashing talons. But the carrion killers were too many, their collective weapons too strong. They were backed by the power of Kyra Damon’s wrath, and that wrath was unending.
The Crow was losing the battle.
Soon, it would lose its life . . . and with it, Dan Cody’s.
The bird cawed one final, frantic plea for salvation.
But the cry, like the Crow, was lost behind a blurred curtain of beating black wings.
The heavy chains that bound the Westinghouse burst as the freezer door exploded off its hinges. Dan Cody moved into the blackness, searching for the light. But there was no silver glow from the stars above to greet him, no constellations glimmering millions of miles away. Only an ebony storm raining from the sky, with slashing wings clapping like thunder.
Carrion crows.
Hundreds of them.
Once again, the Crow’s screams found Dan’s ears.
Crows all around him, but this voice was different.
This voice spoke only to Dan Cody.
I helped you, Dan. Now you help me. . . .
Dan picked up the length of chain that had secured the freezer door. He stepped into the hurricane of birds. They filled the sky, obliterated the stars. Their wings pulsed with the rhythm of hate. Surely a crippled bird and a reanimated dead man could never stand against them.
But so intent were the predators on their wounded prey that they didn’t even notice the man with the solid steel chain until it was too late. Dan Cody moved forward, swinging the chain like a death-scythe, carving a path through tangled thickets of wings and talons. Joints crunched. Backs broke. Wings snapped. And a hundred crows crashed into heaped piles of trash. Shrieks of agony filled the night, but the birds—driven by Kyra Damon’s power— did not flee from the battle.
They turned from the Crow and attacked Dan as one. Cody grunted, moving ever forward, his wounds healing as fast as the bird’s could inflict them, the chain whistling above his head. Its hard steel links battered skulls and snapped bones, but the birds did not turn from their murderous task and neither did the dead man. He moved forward still, crunching lifeless beaks beneath his heavy boots, and above him the chain flashed in the moonlight, slick with the boiling black blood of the carrion birds’ fallen brethren.
Bodies hailed down around the man until he was ankle-deep in feathered corpses.
Still he came on like something unleashed from the gates of hell. The birds pecked ferociously, eager for a taste of his flesh, but the man hardly noticed their attack. With his free hand he tore the crows from his body in impatient handfuls, tossing them aside like crumpled black paper.
The caws grew sparser. The man grew stronger, his heart thudding wildly. He was covered in the blood of his enemies, but he did not care. Fresh sweat stung his eyes, and his muscles burned with exertion, and heat pumped
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