"Almost there," she said, and indeed the trees that marked the outer edge of the Swamp stood a darker shadow against the angry sky. The wind here was not so fierce, though it still sighed in the trees, and the thunder was loud as ever.
Eyes appeared in the trees, bright animal eyes, followed shortly by the pale dead eyes of a few exploring zombies. They melted through the shadows as though appearing out of nowhere, staring at him and at Sharley. One of them--Sarah, often a ringleader in their explorations outside the Swamp--cautiously approached, reaching out one pale dead hand to touch Sharley's, just as pale and just as dead, and turned questioning eyes to Spocklar. The gash at her throat meant she couldn't speak, but one of the others spoke for her.
"What the hell happened?" he asked, shocked. All the zombies had felt the change in the weather, in the entire world, but hadn't known why--all they knew was that the Other was pissed about something, and if Sharley had somehow died, that could only be it. "Sarah, go get Mama. Right now."
Sarah needed no second bidding; she was off into the gloom as fast as her little bare feet would carry her, squishing through the damp undergrowth. The little cadre of zombies seemed as stunned as Spocklar had been; like him, they'd believed nothing could possibly kill Sharley, mortal or not. They also knew that Azarael, who already scared a lot of them, was going to be livid beyond imagining--and a pissed-off Azarael was a terrifying thing indeed.