Zombie Ever After by Carl S. Plumer Page A

talk more in the morning,” said Alena, entering the room and interrupting the lovers. “We can work out our strategy then. The guest room is at the top of the stairs, first room on the left. Get a good night’s sleep. You’ll need it.”  

Chapter 35

    Donovan trudged tiredly up the stairs with Cathren, his hand on her back, Cathren’s arm around his waist. It had been one hell of a day. One hell of week, actually. Donovan was glad they were together again. Glad that she was alive and safe.  
    They lay in bed, holding each other, for a long time. Even in this joyous moment, though, something ate at Donovan. Their magical reunion. This safe house. It just didn’t feel real. Or permanent.  
    After Cathren drifted off, Donovan lay in the dark, as if listening for burglars. Or ghosts. Or the undead.
    The next thing he knew, he awoke to Cathren gently shaking him.
    “What? What time is it?” Donovan said, realizing he had slept, at least for a little while. The room was still shrouded in darkness.
    “ Shhh. Listen,” she said, staring at the door.
    Donovan propped himself up on one elbow. Then he heard it. An argument. Hushed shouting.
    “You hear that?” she said. “See?”
    “Yes. Quiet.” Donovan threw the covers back. He opened the door and peeked out into the hallway. Night filled the whole house, except for a slight glow downstairs. He padded to the stairwell and peered down. He turned back to Cathren, who stood at the door. “Stay here,” he said, mouthing the words and waving his hand at the ground.
    He took each step slowly, trying without much success to keep the stairs from creaking. When he finally got to the first floor hallway, he noticed a light under a door across from the kitchen. He walked over and put his ear against it. The shouting had stopped. Now, it was only talk and whispers.
    Donovan twisted the doorknob and eased the door open as quietly as he could. It squeaked badly. Donovan stopped and waited. The voices continued. From the sound of the muffled conversation, he figured no one had detected him. He looked down into the basement. The steps were dark, but a light shone from below. He decided to descend the staircase. No gun, no flashlight, no common sense.
    These stairs thankfully didn’t creak. Maybe the joints were so dust-covered, Donovan thought, that the dust and dirt acted as a damper. As he descended, his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. He could see light came from somewhere deep in the basement. It grew brighter with every step.
    At the last corner before he’d be seen, Donovan stopped and listened. The talking continued so Donovan was confident he hadn’t been detected. With great care, he peaked around the corner, and with every part of his being and self-control, forced himself not to gasp out loud.
    Sitting in a small wooden chair under a bare bulb cowered Alena Portanova. A man stood at her left, another to her right, their backs to Donovan.
    Standing in front of the three of them, facing Alena, stood Egesa, the inquisitor.
    Donovan studied the scene as long as he dared. Then he pulled his head back, breathing heavy. They had come for Cathren. The odds seemed bad to attempt rescuing Alena. That was suicide. Besides, his true allegiance was with Cathren. He knew he had to get to her, to get the hell out of this house.  
    Donovan started back up the stairs. Now, while these stairs hadn’t made a sound when he descended them minutes earlier, apparently, the forces involved going down a set of stairs were quite different from going up. They creaked like a motherfucker. Donovan held his hands out to his side as if he walked a tightrope instead of a staircase. But the creaking continued. Out of options, Donovan ran up the steps as fast as possible. He dashed through the kitchen no longer concerned about being stealthy.
    Gun shots flared behind him in the dark.  
    With a plan, Donovan ran upstairs to retrieve Cathren. If he was still being chased, he would keep running