Free The Dead Run by Adam Mansbach

himself the pleasure of smelling sweet young Sherry Richards before he saw her.
    A deep inhale.
    No. No, this was all wrong.
    He smelled Sherry, yes. But only a wisp of her, an echo. Another scent was stronger. It was that of a young man. Not one of Seth’s people.
    A stranger.
    A boy in heat.
    A rescuer.
    Seth turned on his heel, opened his eyes, trudged up the stairs. He was careful to keep the fury he felt from rising through his pores; he’d never betrayed his emotions to his followers, and he wasn’t going to start now.
    Reevus and Buchanan were sitting at the kitchen table when he crossed the threshold. Marcus stood by the counter, dumping fragrant grounds into the coffeemaker.
    â€œShe’s gone,” Seth said quietly.
    Reevus stood so fast his chair fell over backward. “That’s imposs—”
    Seth crossed the room in a flash, grabbed Reevus by the throat, and slammed him to the ground.
    At least this display of incompetence granted the opportunity to fulfill a dictate Seth had thus far neglected.
    On the Day of Reckoning, you shall spill the blood of an impure man .
    â€œAnything’s possible,” he whispered, tightening his grip. Reevus gasped, arms bucking, face shading toward blue, mouth yawning open, tongue lolling. Seth watched for a moment, then clamped down on the fleshy pink protuberance with his thumb and two fingers, and ripped it out.
    Reevus’s howl became a gurgle as blood filled his mouth. Seth tossed the curl of meat behind him. It hit the wall with a small slapping sound and slid down slowly, leaving behind a red perforated trail.
    Seth stood. “You seem to have forgotten my knives, Marcus.”
    â€œThey’re in the car, sir. I can—”
    â€œNever mind.” He pointed at the pinewood butcher’s block on the counter. “Just hand me one of those right there.”
    â€œYes, sir. Here you go.”
    Seth accepted the blade, examined it a moment, then fisted the handle, lunged forward, and sliced a four-inch vent into Marcus’s throat.
    The aide buckled, staggered forward. He grabbed wildly at the table, slipped in the blood geysering from him, and crumpled to the ground.
    Buchanan never moved an inch. His wolf eyes took it all in, darting back and forth in his skull. They were the only parts of his charred, mottled face that looked alive.
    Seth opened a cupboard, unfolded a hand towel, and wiped himself clean.
    â€œFind the Richards girl,” he said, dropping the rag. It landed on Marcus’s chest and instantly turned red. “The mother’s phone line may help. It’s number twelve on the switchboard, in the communications room.”
    â€œOn it, boss,” Buchanan said, and rose. He stepped over the bodies of his colleagues without so much as a downward glance and headed for the door.
    Seth surveyed the mess he’d made and shook his head with sympathy—for himself, surrounded as he was with men of such scant talent.
    But Buchanan was different. Buchanan had never failed him.
    â€œBefore dark please, Marshall,” he said. “It’s important.”
    He almost said more—nearly told Buchanan that a new age was upon them, that a power beyond reckoning was so tantalizingly close Seth felt like he could almost reach out and touch it, and that the girl—
    But Aaron Seth was no fool. He cut the thought short, bit his tongue, and dismissed his soldier.

 
    CHAPTER 8
    T he five of them stood beneath the midday sun and squinted at one another. Directly beneath, it felt like. Ten seconds and you were drenched with sweat, whether you moved or not. Galvan flashed on the fat scented candle he’d once left on the hood of his high school girlfriend’s car, a present she was supposed to find in the morning, on her way to school. By the time she got out of bed, it was a puddle of wax. She’d called him, furious, convinced a rival for his affection had fucked with her ride.
    Thought