It took far too long to get all the books out in Ghost’s opinion, but finally they were ready to leave. They did so in much the same manner that they’d gotten to the crates and by the time they reached the relative safety of the exit Ghost had decided that either the loading bay actually was completely empty or that anyone who was in it wasn’t interested in seeing if they could survive a random hail of fire long enough to kill them.
Cautiously they stepped out into the sunlight, blinking to re-adjust. Ghost looked to Amber, but she shook her head, the nearby area was quiet even to her elven hearing. They closed and relocked the steel shutters and started to head back to the library. As they walked passed the glass doors with the milling zombies, Ghost did a double-take. Staring at them was a hooded figure who bore a remarkable resemblance to the Necromancer, including the staff he was holding. The hood didn’t bode well. Ghost wasn’t sure what being hit on the head with falling masonry had done to the Necromancer or indeed what on earth he’d attempted to try and fix the damage. The one thing he was sure of though was that he wasn’t going to thank them for it.
There was a moment of stillness. Ghost couldn’t see the eye under the hood, but he could almost feel their malice.
Amber turned, tracking Ghost’s gaze. “Him!” she shouted.
A chain reaction spread through the monks. Those who were facing in the right direction opened fire, followed by the other monks who first fired in the direction they happened to be facing and then tracked around to fire in the right direction. Ghost blurred, sifting through realities, pushing monks aside, moving their weapons high and low and even tripping a few of them up so that they didn’t hit each other. He snapped back to reality, face first in the snow, holding Amber protectively under his right arm.
The glass doors were a mess of bullet-holes and crazy cobwebbed fractures. Although a few pieces had fallen out it was now remarkably hard to see through them. The zombies had erupted into violence, but from what Ghost could tell, so far it was random violence against each other. So far there was no sound of the Necromancer’s staff summoning the rest of the undead. Some of the more enthusiastic monks were advancing towards the remains of the glass doors.
“No, retreat, let’s get out of here!” Ghost shouted at them, but to no avail.
Booted feet and the butts of rifles smashed apart the remains of the doors. Glass fell like rain, splashing apart on the floor.
Next
