Lumen Graves's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Lumen crouched by the chapel door and watched the two bulbs. One flickered. The batteries were dying, and the dead knew it. In the shadow seams between the beams, a dozen zombies waited. They stayed just past the light, patient. When the bulbs failed, they would rush the door. Lumen had minutes, maybe less. Lumen dug through the supply bag inside the chapel. Wire, tools, a dead flashlight. Then their hand closed on a cold metal block. The reserve pack. A cluster of thick batteries, its charge lights glowing green and red. Weeks ago Lumen had saved it and forgotten. Enough power for hours. But the pack fit nothing they had wired. It needed a fixture. A voice cut through the dark. "You planning to sit there and pray?" A man stepped from the alley into the weak glow. He wore a red headband and no shirt. A long knife hung at his belt. He dragged something heavy behind him with both hands, boots scraping stone. "Found these two streets over. Thought a light freak like you might want them." It was a tall lamp post, four green lanterns branching from its top. Rambo had wrenched it from the ground and hauled it here. The zombies flinched at the sight of him and pulled back a step. "Green glass," Lumen said. "Four lamps." Four beams meant no shadow gaps. No seams for the dead to hide in. "Then wire it," Rambo said. "Fast. Your bulbs are almost done." Lumen ran. They stripped wire with their teeth and clamped the reserve pack to the base of the green lamp. Rambo held the heavy post upright, arms shaking, boots braced against the cobbles. The old bulbs sputtered. One went dark. The dead surged forward, jaws snapping, and Rambo kicked the nearest one back down the steps. "Now, Lumen!" he shouted. Lumen jammed the last wire home and slapped the pack's switch. The four green lanterns blazed. A wide ring of green light burst across the street, no gaps, no seams. It swallowed the shadows where the dead had hidden. Zombies shrieked and threw their arms over their eyes. They stumbled back, fully exposed, nowhere dark to stand. The green glow pushed them to the far walls. Lumen dropped to their knees, breathing hard. The reserve pack's lights read full. The green lamps would hold for hours. For the first time, the light had won a piece of the street. Rambo wiped his knife on his pants. "One lamp," he said. "How many streets you got?" Lumen looked past the green ring. Beyond it, the town stretched black in every direction. Dozens of streets. Dozens of dark corners. One reserve pack. And the dead were already drifting toward the edges of the green, testing it, learning its shape again.