“Flora?” asked a voice, insistent through the darkness, weighty and serious. “You can’t ignore me the whole time.”

  “Why not?” Flora muttered, stubbornly keeping her eyes screwed shut.

  “Because,” Cecilia stressed the word with impatience, now whining, “I’m bored, and my battery is dead. Please?”

  Flora, sixteen years old, groaned as she reluctantly opened her eyes. She sat far back in the third row of her parents’ Toyota Highlander; Cecilia sat in the middle row, twisting around in her seat to look back at Flora, the dead cellphone in her hands.

  In the front seats, Flora’s father drove, while her mother fiddled around on her phone, the faint glow from the screen making her face look pale and withdrawn, her blonde hair haloed in shadows. Around them, it was still nighttime, with no hint of the sun yet rising.

  “Have they said anything about this sudden trip?” Flora asked, whispering to Cecilia.

  Cecilia shook her head slightly. “No, but Mom’s tracking what time the sun rises, and we seem to be heading east.” She paused, biting her lip nervously. “Listen, I think I know what this is about, but it might seem crazy…”

  “What is it?” Flora asked, sitting up straighter.

  “In bio class today – yesterday?— we were supposed to do frog dissections.” Cecilia leaned in, whispering softly. “But the strangest thing happened. Just as I was about to make the first cut, the frog started twitching, and when I looked around, everyone else’s frogs were jumping around and ribbiting, making these God-awful noises. Some of the kids screamed and ran out and then the teacher sent the rest of us to study hall.” Cecilia looked out the window in the darkness, her eyes distant. “But that’s not even the weirdest part – I got home and told Mom about it, she got really serious and went to talk to Dad.”

  “And you think the frog thing is the reason for the sudden road trip?” Flora asked.

  Cecilia shrugged. “You really think Mom randomly wants to visit a sister she barely talks to? And drive all night without stopping?” Cecilia sighed. “You know Mom, she loves those cheesy tourist spots and taking tons of photos. Besides—”

  “Damn it!” Flora’s mother, Moira, threw the phone down in her lap. “No signal at all.” She yanked open the glovebox and pushed around the contents – a box of tissues, a plastic zippered bag with the car registration and insurance, a bottle of ibuprofen wedged in the corner – then closed it abruptly again.

  “We need to stop and get a map,” Flora’s father, Bran, said; the turn signal clicked on, and he changed lanes. “There’s a rest stop ahead.”

  “No,” Moira said, shaking her head. “We can’t stop yet.”

  “I have to pee,” Cecilia announced.

  “Do we have any snacks?” Flora asked. “I’m hungry. And thirsty.”

  “Moira…” Bran said gently.

  Flora saw her mother’s eyes in the rearview mirror; she looked tired and sad. Moira briefly closed her eyes, breathed in deeply, then opened her eyes again, this time looking resigned. “Five minutes,” she said, reluctantly.

  The car pulled into a small rest stop, offering little more than bathroom facilities and a few vending machines, but most importantly, a giant map of the state of Michigan, each winding road outlined in red, the lakes and rivers in blue, all surrounded by green.

  Moira hurried them all inside, then pressed a few dollars into Flora’s hand. “Use the bathroom, get some snacks and drinks from the vending machines, and then meet us back here.” She looked back at Bran, who was already studying the giant map on the wall. “Hurry.”

  “I will,” Flora said, stuffing the money into the back pocket of her jeans. “C’mon, Lia.” Flora took Cecilia’s hand in hers, a leftover protective habit as the older sister; Cecilia let herself be led away.

  Inside the restroom, Flora stood by the sink, splashing cold water on her neck and face, as she waited for Cecilia to finish. She looked up into the mirror to see Cecilia standing behind her, but something seemed off about her – her eyes looked older, her mouth set in a grim, serious line that was so unlike her. Overhead, the bathroom light flickered, casting blinking shadows between the stalls.

  Something was very wrong, Flora realized. She stood frozen, her hands dripping water back into the bowl of the sink. “I don’t want to do this again,” she stated, though unsure of where the words came from.

  “But you have to,” Cecilia insisted, sounding more mature than her fourteen years. “You don’t remember that you remember it wrong.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Flora insisted, feeling suddenly mired by the confusing dream logic of realizing it was a dream; her vision swam with vertigo, and she stumbled back away from the mirror, its images multiplying around her.

  “It will,” Cecilia said with a shrug, indifferent to Flora’s distress. “Eventually.”

  Overhead, a beeping sound distantly echoed through the bathroom.

  “Is that…” Flora gripped the edge of the sink for stability, trying to orient herself. “A fire alarm? Or tornado siren?”

  “No.” Cecilia sighed. “It’s you, not willing to face the truth yet.” She smiled, slow and eerie. “This is coming for you, whether you face it or not.”

  “What do you mean?” Flora asked, too dizzy to keep her eyes open any longer; her vision swam even in the darkness.

  The beeping became louder, more insistent, until Flora could hear nothing else. It mimicked her heartbeat, filling her chest and hollowing her out. Then, it carried her off, back into waking.

  Flora woke; the persistent beep continued, and Flora slowly realized she was lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by noisy machines. The blinds were drawn and the light overhead dimmed low. She felt something poking into the crease of her elbow and looked down to see an IV taped to her forearm.

  Beside the bed, Clovis sat close by in a chair. He was angled away from her, slightly hunched over his phone, and she could see his phone’s screen. Curious, she said nothing but watched as he scrolled, then paused on a sales listing for arrows. He tabbed to a different screen, a browser window of a Wikipedia article; he scrolled again, skimming through paragraphs of text. He paused and Flora saw a header: Zombie Weaknesses. He tabbed back to the first screen, scrolled a bit further. Fire Arrows, the next listing stated. Clovis tapped the screen to add it to the site’s shopping cart.

  Flora shifted in the hospital bed, and it was enough movement for Clovis to look up. Relief softened the worried lines around his mouth and eyes. “Hey, you,” he said, tucking his phone into his pocket. “How’re you feeling?” He shifted closer to her, then leaned in; his sudden closeness both intrigued and perplexed Flora, making her stomach flip uncertainly, until she saw him reach across her and press the on-call nurse button on the other side of the hospital bed. He leaned back in his seat and some of the tension eased from her lower belly, but not all.

  Flora shifted again in the bed, trying to take inventory of herself – did she feel any hurt or pains? No – she realized, she was only very tired. She sighed. “I think I’m okay,” Flora said quietly.

  “Good,” Clovis said, with a relieved exhale. “Listen, I’m sorry—"

  A nurse entered the room with a cheery hello, effectively silencing Clovis. The nurse fussed over Flora briefly, checking her vitals and making notes in a small notebook. Clovis watched with worried eyes throughout but said nothing.

  “I know I’m not legally allowed to ask you what happened in the line of duty,” the nurse said as she disengaged the IV from Flora’s arm, then placed a bandage over it. “So, I’m not going to. We ran our usual diagnostics, and you had significantly increased cortisol levels. It’s since returned to normal, but whatever happened put an immense physical stress on your body.” She glanced briefly at Clovis, and then back to Flora. “So, I’d advise you avoid it in the future.”

  Clovis looked aside, chastised, but said nothing.

  “Otherwise,” the nurse continued, sounding upbeat again, “you’re cleared to return to duty.”

  “Thank you,” Flora said. She looked down at her arms in disbelief, wondering how she’d managed to not get bitten.

  “Stay safe, Sister Flora,” the nurse said, crossed herself, then left.

  “What were you after at the storage unit?” Flora asked, as soon as the nurse was out of earshot.

  Clovis deflated back in his chair, his shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry I lied to you and brought you into danger. I didn’t mean to—"

  “Don’t avoid the question with empty apologies,” Flora interrupted. “You used me to get something, and I think I deserve to know what was so important.”

  “I agree,” Father Donovan spoke from the room’s entrance, the door still left open by the exiting nurse. “I think Sister Flora has earned an explanation; I wouldn’t mind one either.” He hobbled in, balancing carefully on his cane. “It’s good to see you are unharmed, Flora.”

  Flora sat up straighter. “Father Donovan.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” Father Donovan said as he crossed the room, standing at the foot of the bed. “We have Clerics combing the storage unit lot and the surrounding area for any evidence of where that zombie may have come from.”

  A previously unrealized knot of anxiety loosened in Flora. “Thank you.”

  “Now, what about you?” Father Donovan prompted, looking pointedly at Clovis. “What I can’t figure out is if the zombies were after you or her. So, the big question is: who are you, what were you doing in that storage unit?”

  Clovis took a deep breath to steady himself. “I’m Clovis Jones and I’m a private investigator. I was looking for the sales record for an old artifact to see where it might have ended up. The storage unit is what remains of an old museum that shut down last year.”

  “What artifact, then?” Father Donovan asked, exasperated. “Is it possible someone else is looking for it too?”

  Clovis looked between the two of them then frowned. “It’ll sound ridiculous.”

  Neither Flora nor Father Donovan responded.

  Clovis sighed. “It’s probably not even real anyway. I’m only hunting a rumor.”

  Again, Flora and Father Donovan said nothing, waiting for Clovis to continue.

  Clovis shifted in his chair uncomfortably, their tense silence more effective than any argument. “Fine.” He ran his hand through his hair; a nervous habit, Flora suspected. “It’s a mummified branch allegedly from Tree of Life and it’s supposed to have healing properties.”

  “Tree of Life?” Flora echoed, uncertainly.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  “Who’s your client?” Father Donovan asked at the same time.

  “I can’t tell you that,” Clovis said, addressing Father Donovan. “Confidentiality and whatnot.”

  “Church investigation overrides any NDA or confidentiality agreements,” Father Donovan countered sharply. “It matters whose money is behind this. Could it be related to the sudden increase of undead activity?”

  Clovis shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “I can tell you that my client’s interest in the artifact has nothing to do with any undead or necromancy.”

  “Then why do they want it?” Flora asked.

  “Because.” Clovis hesitated; Flora saw the calculation in his eyes as he looked between her and Father Donovan. “It’s for a sick kid from a rich, desperate family,” he finally said carefully, measuring out each word. “They’re hoping it’ll cure him of his… affliction.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Flora said tersely. “You’re trying to play on sympathies.”

  “I am not,” Clovis retorted, defensively. “It’s why I was at the orphanage in the first place – the kid was adopted from there. I was doing some field research when I found out about the apartment haunting next door and that’s when I called the Church to help.”

  “What’s the affliction?” Father Donovan asked, his tone inquisitive.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Clovis replied shortly, his jaw set at a stubborn angle. “It’s unrelated and I’d like to respect their privacy.”

  “Fine,” Flora reluctantly agreed, still curious but not wanting to push it further. “Could there be a necromancer after this artifact too? If it turns out to be genuine and can heal, what could a necromancer do with that power?”

  “Flora, you said the zombies you encountered looked like healthy, living people, correct?” Father Donovan asked. “With no obvious decay or marks upon them?”

  “Yes.” Flora nodded. “What does that mean, Father?”

  “It means we may be dealing with a necromancer who can already heal the undead,” Father Donovan muttered quietly. “If they could amplify their power with an artifact like this one….” he didn’t finish, trailing off.

  “They could truly resurrect the dead,” Flora finished for him. “Good God,” she whispered as she crossed herself.

  “Indeed.” Father Donovan similarly crossed himself. “I need to bring this up the chain. Flora, go home and rest while I meet with the bishop to see where we go from here.”

  “Yes, Father,” Flora responded obediently.

  “And you.” Father Donovan pointed a finger at Clovis. “I suggest you think hard about whether you want to be involved further. If there’s a necromancer after this artifact of yours, I’d consider telling your client to look elsewhere for their miracle cure.”

  “They won’t give up that easily,” Clovis said, shaking his head. “I’m already too involved in this to walk away now.”

  “I see,” Father Donovan said. “I thought you might say that. I’ll only advise this: if we find this artifact, I can’t guarantee you’ll get to keep it. The Church may decide to assume custody for everyone’s safety.”

  “I understand,” Clovis said. “My client might have an opinion, though.”

  “I look forward to hearing it.” Father Donovan shifted his weight, adjusting his cane around him; he spoke to Flora as he ambled away. “Albert was discharged home earlier. He’ll be on desk duty for a while, but I’ll catch him up on what’s going on. He has much more field experience and may have more insight. I’ll have him reach out to you tomorrow about the next steps.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Flora called out as Father Donovan left the hospital room.

  “I’ll step out so you can get dressed,” Clovis said, standing up from the chair. “Then, I’ll take you home.”

  “I can just take a cab,” Flora said. “You should go home and get some rest.” She looked at the clock on the wall: 4:01 AM. It had been a very long night for him, Flora thought.

  “I just want to make sure,” Clovis said.

  “Make sure what?” Flora asked, now curious.

  “To make sure you’re safe,” Clovis said, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “You scared the shit out of me back there, and I…” he hesitated a moment, then continued more quietly, “I just need to know that you’re okay before I leave you alone.”

  “All right,” Flora agreed, surprised by the comment. “You can take me home.”

  Immediately, some tension went out of Clovis as he sighed – he looked relieved again. “Good,” he said, a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth. “I’ll let you get ready, then.”

  “So, what happened?” Flora asked as they made their way through the hospital parking lot, looking for Clovis’s car. “After I… uh, fainted.”

  “I called 911,” Clovis explained as they hurried along, huddling into their coats against the chilly wind. “The police showed up at the same time as the ambulance. The paramedics took you while the police took me. I was cuffed in the back of a cop car when a call came in. Said we were all with the Church and told them not to interfere with an active investigation. The police let me go – in fact, one drove me home so I could get my bike and meet the ambulance here.”

  “Bike?” Flora repeated, uncertainly.

  They stopped in front of an old motorcycle; Flora could not tell the brand as it seemed an amalgamation of different parts. “Yeah. Real nice of them, huh?” Clovis remarked as he handed her a helmet. “Another thing: I saw Father Donovan there – I didn’t know who he was at the time – arguing with the security guard about getting the footage from the cameras.”

  Flora looked down at the helmet and frowned. “So?”

  “So, he was there awfully fast.” Clovis sighed. “Does your car have a tracker? Or your phone?”

  “My phone,” Flora confirmed, pulling the phone out to look it over. “Clerics’ locations are monitored back at the office, as are all emergency calls. If a call comes in that’s at the same location as a Cleric, the Church gets involved to make sure in case it’s supernatural in nature.”

  “I see,” Clovis said. He threw one leg over the bike and settled on the seat. “You coming?”

  Helmet still in her hands, Flora hesitated.

  “Still up for spontaneous and stupid?” Clovis asked; it was the same question he’d asked her last night at the diner; it seemed so long ago.

  “Sure,” Flora said with a smile as she put the helmet on. A bit awkward, she climbed on the back, shifting until she settled comfortably.

  “Hold on to me,” Clovis warned as the engine roared to life.

  Flora slipped her arms around Clovis’ waist and leaned in, her cheek pressed against his back as she held on. When the bike took off suddenly, she tightened her grip.

  “I’m fine, really,” Flora insisted, not for the first time, as she slid her key into the apartment door’s lock, clicking it neatly into place. “You don’t have to walk me in.”

  “Humor me? I just have a feeling that something is off, and I just want to confirm everything is safe,” Clovis said, standing behind her. He glanced over his shoulder briefly, down the hall, then back to her, radiating nervous energy as he shifted between his feet.

  “If you want,” Flora said as she pushed the door open, then stepped inside. “You’re free to check the corners for any stray zombies, but somehow I don’t think—”

  “Wait,” Clovis interrupted her, then inhaled deeply. “Do you smell that?” he asked as he began to look around the floor, in search of something.

  Flora sniffed the air, then frowned. “No, just the air freshener.” She watched as Clovis opened the kitchen garbage can lid, and peered in. “C’mon, now. It’s not that bad,” she protested.

  “It’s not that,” Clovis said, closing the lid. “Something smells like… rotten meat.”

  Flora felt a cold shiver run down her spine, remembering the smell of the zombie woman’s body and how much it clogged her mouth and nose. She tried to shrug it off. “Let’s check all the rooms then,” she agreed quietly. “Just in case.”

  Clovis was already on the move, looking around corners and under the table and chairs. Flora went to her bedroom and flipped the light on. Nothing seemed out of place, including the laundry she’d left unfolded in a pile on the bed. She knelt beside the bed and looked underneath but saw nothing but a box of off-season clothing and dust.

  “Flora!” Clovis shouted from another room, his voice higher than normal, sounding alarmed.

  Flora scrambled up off the floor and out of her bedroom, to find Clovis at the entrance of her office. He stood tall in its doorway, blocking her sight, although his face was drawn and pale. “Do you have a bucket you can fill with soapy water? And gloves?” he asked, hands braced on the doorframe. Flora tried to look around him, but Clovis moved to block her view. “No, you don’t want to see it.”

  “What is it?” Flora asked, rising on her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder.

  “A dead bird,” Clovis answered flatly. “Broke your window and, um.” He hesitated. “Made a bit of a mess.”

  “I’m not that delicate,” Flora said, arms crossed over her chest, chin set a stubborn angle. “I’ve fought zombies, I think I can handle a dead animal.”

  Clovis stood firm for another second longer, then moved inside to allow Flora to enter; she followed him into the room.

  Flora saw, first, the broken window, then the shattered glass strewn and black feathers across the carpet. Roughly in the middle of the room was a disheveled pile. Flora looked closer and saw it was a large crow with splintered shards of glass glittering through its bloody wings and body. The beige carpet beneath was stained dark, nearly black, the blood starting to dry in small flakes. Its guts spilled from its belly, trailing behind the bird as a distended purple rope.

  “Good Lord,” Flora muttered as she crossed herself. She covered her mouth and nose with her hand. “I smell it now.” She swallowed hard, trying to chase away the taste of it; cloying and rotten.

  “I’ve got this,” Clovis said, as he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it aside. “Can you grab a garbage bag?” he asked as he started rolling up his sleeves. “And a lot of paper towels.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Flora said, moving closer to the bird. She knelt beside it and frowned thoughtfully. “This doesn’t make sense.”

  “What do you mean?” Clovis asked as he crouched beside her, his arms braced on his thighs.

  “I haven’t been gone long.” She glanced at the clock on the wall: 4:26 AM. “But this looks like it’s been dead for a while.”

  “Smells decayed, too,” Clovis grimly confirmed. “Why would someone throw an already dead bird through your window?” He stood, then, and stepped carefully around the broken glass as he moved crossed the room to the window. Mindful of the bloody jagged edges of the window’s remaining glass, Clovis carefully peered out. “You’re too high up for that anyway, unless you pissed off a flying demon or something.”

  “I don’t know.” Feeling suddenly weary, Flora blinked, and the shadows in the room seemed to swim around her. The stink of the dead bird intensified, now with the underlying note of freshly turned soil. “I must be tired,” Flora murmured, more to herself than to Clovis. She stood up, resigned to the grim chore ahead of her. She looked down at it, frowning again – what did this mean?

  The shadows, inky and flowing, appeared to collect around the bird. Flora rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms, convinced she was seeing things, her eyes perhaps too strained from the night’s events. She blinked to clear her vision. When she opened her eyes again, she saw the bird, now wreathed in shadows, twitching with small, jerky movements.

  “Flora!” Clovis called out just as the bird twisted its head to look at Flora. The crow’s beak opened wide as it sharply cawed, loud and echoing in the small room.

  Flora stumbled back as the crow flapped its wings, rising off the floor in a chaotic whirl of feathers and shrieking caws, more viscera spilling from its opened belly, dangling midair. Flora raised her arms protectively around her head in time to block its sharp claws and beak as it launched itself at her. Luckily, she still wore her coat, the material proving thick enough to protect her.

  With its wing beating rapidly, the crow hovered in place over Flora, taking swipes at her arms and shoulders. Something from above smacked into the crow, sending it flying against the wall; it hit hard, then fell to the floor, still twitching.

  Flora looked up to see Clovis, with one of her maces in his hand, standing over the bird. Without hesitation, he swung the mace up and brought it down on the crow’s head, its brain squishing out on either side of the weapon’s head.

  “Are you okay?” Clovis asked, mace and bird abandoned; he touched her carefully by the elbow, guiding her away from the gruesome scene.

  Flora, wide-eyed and pale, didn’t answer.

  Out of the office and in the hallway now, Clovis turned Flora to face him. “Flora,” Clovis said her name carefully, summoning her attention. He put a hand on either of her shoulders, holding her in place. “I need you to keep it together just a little bit longer, okay? We need to get out of here and fast.”

  “Oh… okay,” Flora responded slowly.

  Clovis took one of her hands in his and held it. “C’mon,” he said gently, pulling her along. “Let’s hide you somewhere no one would expect.”

  Somehow, Clovis managed to get Flora, still dazed and mostly speechless, on the back of his motorcycle. The trip was a disorienting blur of lights and shadows as she clung tightly to his back. She was still stunned even after they’d arrived at the destination – a group of apartment buildings, all surrounding a shared parking lot.

  It was only when her phone started ringing that Flora became alert again, blinking through the confusion. She fumbled to get her phone from her pocket; Albert’s name flashed on the screen.

  “Hello?” Flora answered uncertainly.

  “Flora? Are you home? I’m on my way over with something,” Albert’s voice seemed so distant. “I know it’s early, but we need to talk right now.”

  “I’m not home,” Flora said, blinking hard again as she looked around. The distant streetlights and passing car headlights made everything bright and blurry in the darkness. “I’m… somewhere.”

  “Where are you?” Albert asked, sounding unusually alarmed.

  “There was an undead crow in my apartment,” Flora explained, clarity finally clicking into focus. She stood up straighter and squared her shoulders. “I think someone is targeting me.”

  “Come to the office,” Albert offered. “Or tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you.”

  “I—” Flora started to answer, but Clovis put a hand on her arm, drawing her attention to him. He shook his head emphatically and mouthed the word no. “I’m somewhere safe,” she said instead.

  “Flora? Just tell me where you are,” Albert asked, sounding strangely desperate.

  “I’ll call you later, Albert,” Flora said. “I really need to sleep.” It wasn’t a lie, at least; her eyes felt so heavy.

  “Flora—” Albert started to protest, but Flora disconnected the call, cutting him off.

  “Albert’s my partner,” Flora said Clovis, guilt churning in her belly. “I trust him.”

  “Well, I don’t. Or Father Donovan,” Clovis countered, his hands in tight fists at his sides. “You’ve got a potential necromancer on the loose who seems to have a big problem with you, and I think someone close to you is telling them where you are. Twice now, there’s been zombies where you are.”

  “Three times, actually,” Flora corrected him. “I had an encounter a few nights ago. It’s how Albert was injured.”

  “See?” Clovis said. “I’m not saying it’s Albert or Father Donovan, or even someone in the Church, just to be cautious until we figure out what’s going on.”

  “We?” Flora asked carefully.

  “Yeah.” Clovis smirked. “I can’t figure out if you dragged me into this or if I dragged you. All I know is that we’re both involved in this now.”

  “Yeah.” Flora peered into the darkness, trying to make out a nearby street sign. “Where are we?”

  “My place,” Clovis said. “Turn your phone off so it can’t be tracked – damn, I should have done that first.”

  “Your place?” Flora asked.

  “I can take you to a hotel instead, if you prefer,” Clovis offered. “I didn’t mean to assume, I just think it’s better if we stick together for now.”

  “No, you’re right,” Flora agreed as she pressed in the phone’s power button. “We should lie low until we know what’s going on.”

  Briefly, a message flashed on the phone’s screen, with Albert’s name:

  Call me! Urgent!

  Then the phone’s screen went black.