The Native Star by M K Hobson Read Free Book Online Page B

stumbled to a stop, his eyebrows knit mournfully.
    “Miss Edwards, I just mortified two dozen rampaging zombies. I am in no position to magic anything right at the moment.”
    “If we don’t get this opening blocked, there’ll be dozens more in Lost Pine before dawn!” But even as Emily said it, she knew what to do. Running to the foreman’s cabin, she threw open the door. In an open crate, sticks of dynamite lay buried in wood shavings. She grabbed a stick and reached for the spool of fuse cord.
    Running back up the hill, she heard the shrieks of the undead echoing against the black forested hillside; they had reached the mine entrance. Stanton had picked up a heavy mossy branch and was holding them back as best he could, swinging the branch wildly at a clot of zombies that seemed to find this action extremely annoying.
    The man could even annoy the undead! Despite herself, Emily found this rather impressive.
    Digging into her pockets, Emily came up with two handfuls of devivification powder. She flung it at the zombies, but they continued to shriek and scrabble, unaffected. Emily drew back behind Stanton.
    “See, I told you you needed to rhyme.” She held up the dynamite. “Can you light this?”
    “Flamma.” Stanton glanced back, snapping his fingers.
    Nothing happened. He looked confused as he snapped his fingers again.
    “Oh, forget it!” Emily threw the stick of dynamite to the ground. She was about to rummage around in Pap’s satchel for the flint and steel he always kept there, but the instant she dropped the stick of dynamite, the fuse exploded in a shower of brilliant sparks.
    “Ten seconds of fuse!” Emily yelled, kicking the dynamite against the timber brace that framed the mine’s opening. Then she dove under the board sluice, clasping her hands over her head. Stanton, however, remained at the mine opening, apparently determined to keep the corpses at bay.
    “Get clear!” she screamed at him.
    At that very moment, Stanton threw down the branch and gave an exceptional leap—a leap given far greater distance by the energy from the flash and roar of the explosion at his heels.
    After the roar subsided and the last chunks of muddy rock and splintered timber had clattered to still silence on the ground around her, Emily rolled out from under the board sluice.
    The mine entrance was gone, replaced by a sundered wreckage of tumbled rock and twisted trees. Emily listened for the sound of the undead shrieks, but all she heard was her own breathing, heavy and irregular.
    “Mr. Stanton, are you alive?” she called.
    Her answer was a groan from a clump of blackberries a good fifteen feet distant from where the mine entrance had once been.
    “Showing off like that, you deserved to get blown to kingdom come.” She scraped heavy handfuls of red-clay mud from the back of her skirt as she spoke.
    “I’m fine, thank you for inquiring.” Stanton straightened unsteadily. “And yes, I did do quite a fine job of keeping the undead from escaping before the dynamite blew. Thank you for mentioning that, too.”
    Emily leaned against the rough wood of the board sluice as he limped up beside her. One side of his hair stood up like an exclamation point, and his broad forehead was streaked with soot.
    “How are my eyes?” she asked. He squinted at her face in the moonlight.
    “Still black,” he said. “And your hand?”
    “Still got a rock in it.” Emily lifted her hand with fingers spread, then flexed them experimentally. It didn’t hurt, precisely; her fingers felt clumsy and stiff, but her hand felt warm. She held the stone up to the moonlight; it glowed clear through. She could see no bones, no muscles, no tendons …
    She closed her hand over the stone. “So, you’re the great Warlock. Explain what this is.”
    Stanton rubbed the back of his head.
    “Well,” he averred finally, “I’d hate to jump to any hasty conclusions.”
    “Mr. Hart said that the zombies were afraid of it.” Emily said.