Written for #MenageMonday
Sondra’s hair lashed her face as the wind climbed with every word of the spell.
In the distance, the creatures kept coming, pushing through a gale strong enough to stagger even her.
The blue moon lit the dead, an army of corpses that refused to stay buried, defying every law of nature she knew.
Behind her, the survivors huddled in the town hall. Even now, she cursed herself. If she’d revealed her powers sooner, maybe they wouldn’t be here.
Or maybe we would.
They hadn’t trusted her. If she’d admitted she was a witch, they might have thrown her back into the ravine where they’d found her. So she’d called herself a doctor instead, using herbs and healing to earn her place.
The ravine was the town’s only entrance. They’d blown the bridge and stationed sharpshooters along the cliffs to pick off anything that crossed. She still considered it a miracle they hadn’t shot her on sight.
The wind clawed at her robes. Raymond’s stare burned into her back. He blamed her, and he wasn’t wrong.
Her spell had been meant to make the ravine impassable. Instead, it flattened the land, carving a clear road straight to town.
“My mama always said I could botch the simplest spells,” she’d said. “But I can fix this.”
“I can too,” Raymond had replied, nodding toward the gallows.
“Give her a chance,” his daughter had said, the only voice he ever listened to.
Outside the hall stood a monument to two Dobermans, heroes of some long-ago attack.
They would be heroes again.
“Rise, great warriors,” Sondra called into the storm. “Rise and fight. Multiply. Divide. Conquer. Leave no dead alive.”
The spell was crude, stripped of poetry, just commands.
The ground shook.
Concrete split. Bolts screamed free. Stone dogs tore themselves from their pedestals.
Two became four.
Four became eight.
“Attack.”
As one, the pack surged forward and slammed into the advancing dead.
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