Free Would-Be Witch by Kimberly Frost

glimpse some body part of hers, the swampy smell of decay choking me. Then her gnarled black hand thrust out and grabbed Stucky Clark’s beefy arm. There was a bone-cracking pop, and Stucky wailed.
    I propelled myself forward, raising my voice. “Go now and peace do keep. Return at once to your sleep.” I tossed the passionflower potion, splashing it on the pile.
    The room sucked all the air from my lungs, and I dropped to my knees, gasping, trying to pull some breath back in. I couldn’t. I was dying, suffocating for real. My mouth moved, screaming soundlessly for help, then everything went black.

Chapter 7
    I woke up, shaking and wet. Zach knelt over me, looking a way I’ve never seen him look. Scared.
    “What in the holy hell?” someone behind him said.
    “Talk to me, darlin’,” Zach said.
    “I’m all right,” I croaked. I cleared my throat and shook my head, seeing an empty bucket near my feet. Someone had doused me with water.
    “What happened?” I asked. “Is she . . . Did she . . .” I wanted to say “Did she go back to ground?” but I couldn’t ask that. I didn’t know who was listening.
    I clutched Zach’s arm and pulled myself up. The room spun around me, and I would have fallen backward and cracked my head on the floor if he hadn’t grabbed me. He clutched me to him. His body felt warm and good against mine.
    “I’m getting her out of here,” Zach announced, standing up and cradling me to him.
    “You are not. We’ve got a quarantine situation here until I hear different,” the sheriff said.
    “Quarantine?” I said in a raspy voice. My throat felt like I’d been gargling glass shards. I looked over Zach’s shoulder and saw that the Glenfiddle workers, my friends and neighbors, were all laid out in a row.
    “Oh!” I screamed. I killed them. I’m a murderer. Oh God, I didn’t mean it. Please, no. Tears welled in my eyes. “They’re all dead. Oh, no. Oh, no.”
    “They’re not dead.”
    “Not dead?” I sobbed.
    “No, it’s some kind of fever. That damn Doc Barnaby dug up his wife, and her rotting corpse must have been infected with something. Only the good Lord knows which dumbass moved her body here, but whatever she’s got, they’ve got, too.
    “How did you get here?” I mumbled. Did I do this? Did I give them all a sleeping fever? Sweet Jesus, how am I going to undo it?
    “Your cat showed up at the station. Tore my damn shirt, too. And then took off, and I figured I’d better see where you were at. I followed him here and found this mess. The sheriff saw me drive by the cemetery and came out to have a look. And now we’re all probably infected.”
    “Dr. Barnaby dug her up first,” I said, playing along. “He’s fine. Maybe some people are immune.”
    “Or maybe it just ain’t hit him yet.”
    “Well, he’s been at home, walking around in his yard. If he’s infected, so’s my block. We could go to my house.”
    “I don’t think so.” Zach carried me to the door.
    “Sutton?” the sheriff said.
    “I’m just getting a little air. Not going anywhere, Sheriff,” Zach said.
    “What the hell’s wrong with this cell phone?” the sheriff snapped, hooking it to his belt. He followed us out to the prowler.
    “Try your radio again,” the sheriff said.
    The sky seemed to sizzle overhead. I stared up, and a fat rain-drop hit me on the forehead. A buzz of dizziness swirled around me for a second and then was gone. I felt a whole lot better than when I’d first woken up. Spell-casting takes a lot out of a girl, I decided.
    “What’s wrong with your police radio?”
    “Don’t know. It went out ’bout half hour ago when the sheriff tried to use it. His isn’t doing jack either.”
    A streak of lightning lit the sky. Zach’s chest muscles tensed, then rain poured down.
    “Great,” Zach said, backing up to get under the silver and burgundy Glenfiddle awning. He set me down in one of the old rocking chairs that the smokers use when they take a