Free Dead Harvest by Chris F. Holm

own."
     
    By the time we made it back to Chelsea, day had evened into dusk and the lights of the city reflected amber in the overcast sky. It felt like we'd been walking for days.
      Though this time there was no fire, no billowing bacon-scented smoke, the front door of Friedlander's building was unlocked. In retrospect, I should've seen that stroke of luck for the warning sign it was. At the time, I was so damn tired, all I wanted was to get upstairs and get some sleep.
      The stairs themselves were tricky. With one hand on Anders' shoulder and the other on the banister, I half-hopped, half-hoisted myself to the top. By the time we reached the third floor, my lungs were burning, my face and neck were slick with sweat, and my chest and good leg ached from exertion. I collapsed to the floor beside Friedlander's door, exhausted. From somewhere down the hall, a dog yapped, driving into my temples like a furry little ice pick. I wished to hell it'd shut up.
      Anders jiggled the doorknob. "Locked," he said. "You got a key?"
      I shook my head. Anders shrugged and took a knee. From his jacket, he produced a small screwdriver and a scrap of metal wire. A bit of fiddling, and the lock clicked home. I pushed myself up off the floor and limped over to the door. This time, the knob turned fine. I pushed open the door and threw an arm around Anders. Together, we shambled across the threshold into the darkened apartment.
      Inside, the place seemed deserted. The lights were off, the curtains drawn; the only illumination was the wedge of light that spilled into the apartment from the open door. My heart fluttered in panic as I opened my mouth to call for Kate, but the word died on my lips as the darkness was pierced by an animal scream. I was peripherally aware of a flash of movement, a glint of metal, and then I was falling. I slammed into the floorboards and skittered across the room, watching as Anders dove for the open door, his arms thrown up to shield his head. Our assailant followed, a cry of raw fury escaping her lips.
      It was Kate, I realized. And as she drew her hands high above her head, I realized the glint I'd seen was a knife.
      "Kate?" My voice had abandoned me, and all I could muster was a hoarse whisper. Anders was backed against the doorjamb – his eyes pleading, his hands raised in defense. Kate brought down the knife. " KATE! "
      At the sound of her name, she wheeled. Too late to stop the knife, but not too late to deflect it. Anders rolled sideways, and Kate drove the knife into floorboards instead of flesh. Her eyes went wide with horror and she released the blade, backing slowly away from it as though it were an animal poised to strike. "Sam?" she said. She sounded suddenly small and afraid.
      "Yeah, kid, it's me."
      "But I thought – I mean, you were gone for hours , and then the door was rattling… I figured they'd gotten you – that they'd gotten you and come for me." She looked me up and down. "God, Sam, you look like shit!"
      I laughed. The effort made me wince. "Lay off the funny, kid – laughing makes my everything hurt."
      "Who the hell is this?" Kate jerked her head at Anders, who was staring up at her from the floor with a mixture of awe and terror.
      "Long story. Why don't you close the door, and I'll tell you all about it."
      She closed the door and helped me up. Together, we made our way to the couch. Anders collected himself from off of the floor and headed to the kitchen. He got a glass of water from the tap and handed it to me with shaking hands before taking a seat on the armchair, as far away from Kate as he could manage.
      I took a sip of water and began to talk. I told Kate of my meeting with Merihem, and about the run-in with our friends in the Crown Vic. I told her of my rescue by Anders, and our subsequent trek across Manhattan. I left out the fact that Merihem claimed there was nothing I could do to save her, the identities of the folks who tried