Chapter 24

Chased By Shadows

Being located in a vast, lush, forested area where camping spots were aplenty turned out not to be the sole reason of why the thinly populated, quaint town of Oakheart caught the attention of travelers from far and wide, for it had something else to offer for those who were willing to put effort into driving all the way to a place that seemed to be entirely forgotten by the time the winter came peeking around the corner and regained the interest of many yet again as soon as the final day of April had passed, a cycle that had gone on for countless of years, for those who just so happened to not be interested in the lively green nature alone, or perhaps not at all. Darby Allin had been aware of what else Oakheart had in store for anyone who would be more than happy to cough up a couple of dollars for each hair on their limbs to stand up straight and secretly be grateful for how much the medical world centered around psychological health had improved for the better these days for a very long time, pretty much from the very moment their more macabre attraction had opened its doors. And, well, since they were going to pay a little visit to a very specific building when the sun would go down with the hopes of encountering their new pal, he considered this to be the perfect opportunity to get to know a bit more about the history of what went on behind those thick walls when the relatives of the unfortunate bastards (or rather, if some of them were lucky enough to receive any visitors at all) who were forced to call this place their home stepped outside after visiting hours were over.

With the Blackthrone Asylum being only a few miles away down the nearby highway, it would only make sense for a small museum dedicated to forever documenting the harrowing history of the place that was known by many as one of the most haunted asylums in all of the United States to be found in Oakheart, where to this day, people who were unlucky enough to be related to some of the most notorious staff members running the place would often be treated with the occasional quiet, contemptuous glare by some of Oakheart's few locals. Needless to say, Darby and Cora were one of those paying customers who were interested into learning about the horrors that took place in the notorious asylum back when its doors were still open, and it would be easy to imagine that for any poor sap standing in front of these doors, either willingly or forced by whoever bestowed this horrid fate upon them with the delusion that they would be treated with the utmost professional care and compassion, it would be equivalent to standing in front of the very gates of Hell, where the shrill, agonizing screams of the damned could be heard from the inky darkness that was waiting for them. Darby had to admit this, though; he had to respect whoever convinced the people running this town to build this museum to remind and educate anybody who was interested enough of the asylum's dark history instead of simply sweeping everything under the rug and pretend that life was just hunky-dory and nothing short of a bunch of roses at the Blackthrone Asylum before being eventually forced to forever shut down and not to believe a single word that came out of the mouth of anybody who happened to roam those halls, either as a patient or staff member; chalking actual history up to something you'd only see in Hollywood movies could be the biggest insult imaginable to anybody involved with it, if you'd ask Darby Allin.

Their parking spot at the diner was almost immediately taken by an RV with a family of five with their copper-colored labradoodle when they headed off to the museum, agreeing that this was going to be their next step. Darby could notice that Cora was genuinely interested in visiting the museum, quickly nodding her head with slightly widened eyes when he told her about this plan for the remains of the afternoon. Perhaps morbid curiosity was getting the better of her, maybe it was because she too saw the importance of getting acquainted with the history of the location of their newest mission, or it could have been a combination of both. Darby was just glad that she was anything but squeamish about it; living the life of a ghost hunter, this was the last trait she needed in order to keep on living this lifestyle, after all. It immediately became clear that they weren't the only ones interested in soaking up whatever information the tiny museum, which was aptly named Blackthrone Museum, had to offer about the Blackthrone Asylum like a sponge, but some visitors would definitely wish for the knowledge they had obtained by spending one or more hours in here to be tucked away in the darkest parts of their mind as far as possible, now forced to keep on living their lives with the macabre history lesson lingering in the back of their heads, popping up every now and then in their nightmares or on other random occasions.

Seeing how they only had to pay ten dollars for each to get inside (children up to the age of twelve were lucky enough to get in for free, according to the wooden sign near the checkout, which was stationed by a man in his fifties with a neatly kempt mustache and round glasses for today), both Darby and Cora could easily guess one more reason for those interested into sinister history to come flocking to Oakheart if they had a car with a full tank of gasoline. The wooden floor softly creaked under their feet once they stepped over the building's threshold, which turned out to be more than enough to send a chill through Cora's entire body, cold enough for the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. Damn it, not again. Not another seemingly peaceful, all-American town contaminated with a dark tale that would be associated with the place for years to come, maybe even forever if it was gruesome enough. A broken man who had lost everything thanks to his addiction which led to him haunting the local park of the rather sleepy but relatively calm Green Pines after perishing from an overdose, an unfaithful piece of shit husband stuffing his unconscious, pregnant wife in an oil tank with the assumption of her being dead as a doorknob after tightly squeezing her neck for a minute when the darkness of the night dimmed the bright colors of the flowers in the baskets that decorated the lampposts on Wattson's main street, and now a small town surrounded by eye-catching nature educating paying customers about the unspeakable depravity that once took place in the corridors of a nearby abandoned asylum… it now seemed to Cora Jade that wherever they were going next, there was going to be something horrid in the shadows to turn the seemingly peaceful atmosphere upside down and ruin it beyond repair; the ghost huntress knew from that moment on that she could never look at any town the same way again, always convincing herself that something horrible must have taken place at some point.

In the bright, warm sunlight that shone through the museum's large windows, which practically consisted of one single, huge area with a flight of stairs that was inaccessible for visitors, a couple of dust particles that floated through the air seemed to shimmering like tiny stars. The floor creaked every few seconds whenever the handful of visitors that had entered the building way before the ghost hunting duo did took slow steps, taking in the sight of the preserved relics that were on display inside cubicles of glass that were attached to platforms of variable sizes and lengths and the white, plastic slabs full of text depicting either a piece of history or a description of whatever item that was taken from the asylum before a massive chain was placed around the main entrance's door handles on November 12th in 1987, when the despicable truth of what really went on inside the asylum finally was revealed to the public by a reporter working undercover as a staff member. undoubtedly feeling a mix of shock, disgust and a hint of sadness as they learned more about Blackthrone Asylum's abhorrent history with each passing minute. Every now and then, barely audible gasps and indignant mumbling could be heard. Just like all the others were doing right now, Darby and Cora took their time.

The Blackthrone Museum proved right off the bat to be a treasure trove of tools that by today's standards would be without a doubt considered outdated, but a chilling reminder of the psychological field's harrowing past nonetheless. Aside from their material having visibly yellowed over nearly four decades, the straightjackets that was shown on this display looked still strong enough to prevent anyone from moving their restrained arms; God knows how many poor bastards had helplessly struggled to break free from that thing once it had been put on, and Cora had expressed how she wouldn't be surprised if there had been some unlucky enough to die while wearing a device like this, which was then followed by how she wouldn't be surprised either if they were to encounter some ghosts tonight donning a straightjacket like this one, although she said this with a hushed tone in her voice; Darby had agreed with this.

Then there was another piece of clothing on display a few feet away from the straightjackets that had filled many visitors during the summer with disgust, having remained unwashed on purpose for all to witness the condition its owner had been living in for who knows how long. It was a pair of pajamas that had once been stainless white, slightly frayed and lacking a cord around the waist for the most obvious of reasons, but had become stained with dark brown filth, leaving many to wonder if this was indeed what they thought it was, or perhaps dried up blood… hell, it could have been both for all that mattered. An examination chair had been pried from the asylum's floor and had been hauled all the way to this museum, complete with cracks and holes on the weathered, black leather and straps that had held down many patients in the past.

A whole assortment of surgical tools had been assembled for everyone to see, some of which heavily indicating that the doctors running the godforsaken place didn't consider lobotomy as a treatment that should have been left behind in the Victorian era; according to the plastic slab, one of the leading doctors of the facility saw this as a last resort 'treatment' to the patients who were deemed particularly unruly. Photographs that dated all the way back to the late 80s decorated a section of the wall in the far back of the museum, leaving nothing to the imagination of the shocked visitors; these were the same photographs that had been leaked to the press as soon as possible after they were taken by the infiltrating reporter. One of said photographs showed the image of who turned out to be the youngest patient to be 'treated' at Blackthrone Asylum (a piece of information provided by a nearby plastic slab), a thirteen-year-old boy with a shaven head, only dressed in a pair of white, loose-fitting, cotton pants and with a clear hint of helplessness visible on his gaunt face, unable to leave his room due to his thin left wrist being chained to the iron frame of his bed with a pair of handcuffs. Another photograph indicated that the undercover reporter was present at one of the 'treatments' the doctors (or rather, torturers who just so happened to get their hands on a degree in the medical field that they never should have gotten in the first place) had to offer their patients, one of which being electroconvulsive therapy. The unlucky patient who unwillingly underwent this procedure was a woman in her mid-forties with red hair, whose eyes were this close to popping out of their sockets if she would have opened them any wider, but hell, who could blame her for reacting like this when constant streams of electricity were pumped through her body? Even by simply looking at this documented piece, you could almost hear her agonized screams that were muffled by the plastic mouthpiece that had been forced inside her mouth before she was strapped down in that chair. What went on in the asylum's supposed recreation room wasn't anything better either. Patient of all ages and genders could be seen roaming the large area that seemed to be completely void of furniture or any sort of entertainment to distract them from their predicament, some of them huddled in corners, others aimlessly wandering around with expressionless faces, two of them leaning their foreheads against the wall, the rest lying on the floor that appeared to be just as filthy as their clothes. It should definitely be noted that while some were clothed, or at least partially, others weren't so 'lucky' to have a pair of grimy pajamas to cover their emaciated, bruised bodies, being forced to wander around the asylum's property stark naked.

As if these saved documents weren't gut wrenching and infuriating enough, there were also the diaries and letters written by patients who had been able to get their hands on a pen and paper, even if it was merely a piece of toilet paper they had managed to salvage, all of them hidden well enough so that no staff member could have ever found them, but also interviews given to those who were released after the asylum had shut down. Once they had been used as evidence of the sickening reality that took place behind Blackthrone's door and were used in court to put many doctors away behind bars, and now that they were put on display here in this museum, the contents would horrify and enrage paying onlookers once again. These poor souls weren't even spared from torment when they weren't scheduled for any 'treatments' for that day; day in and day out, some would suffer intense physical and psychological abuse by the hands of the cruel staff, and as for the female patients… well, they were usually the ones who would suffer one other kind of abuse.

It should come as no surprise to anybody that countless patients had met their untimely end at Blackthrone Asylum, either as a result of these depraved 'treatments', the blatant negligence or a leap from the building's roof. And what didn't come as a surprise to particularly Darby Allin and Cora Jade was the fact that it was because of this that it became one of the most haunted asylums in the history of the United States.

It was like time had somehow sped up in the outside world as soon as they had set foot inside Blackthrone Museum, because when the ghost hunting duo decided that they had gained enough information on the asylum's bone-chilling, abominable history and the insight they needed on the location of tonight's mission, they could feel that the temperature had significantly dropped due to the sun having lowered behind the endless rows of treetops. But even before they were met with these lowered temperatures, Cora had decided to put on her jacket while they were still inside, since laying eyes upon those pieces of a past that shouldn't be forgotten for the sake of everyone who was affected by it was more than enough to make her skin go cold. She couldn't help but wonder if Darby had been feeling the same as well, but then again, she wouldn't be surprised if the hardened mindset he had build up during the years of living the life as a professional ghost hunter prevented him from feeling any sort of shock or disgust. Would she be able to pull this off as well one day? Maybe it was a little odd to admit this, but… Cora hoped so, because it was one of those things you would need if you wanted to keep on living the ghost hunter life.

'So, what do you think?' the ghost huntress asked. 'You think we should be heading out by now?'

Looking at the sliver of sunlight that was barely visible behind the treetops, Darby nodded. 'I think so, yeah. We could still explore the area before night falls, see if we can find a trace of Malakai somewhere there. If we do, we can come up with a plan. I'm certain we can take that fucker down with the right strategy.'

'Let's not forget about the ghosts.' Cora said. 'At a place like that, there will be plenty of them for him to turn into his minions. Perhaps we could take them out first before he can infect them?'

'Sounds like that could work.' the blonde ghost hunter replied while giving her a little nod. 'Better safe than sorry, no? Besides, someone has got to put those poor bastards to rest. Come on, let's get going. The sooner we get there, the better. And it's not going to be a long drive when we use the highway.'

Cora silently agreed with everything Darby had just said when she followed him back to the van. Only a few seconds after they got in, the engine thankfully roared as usual without any issue and they drove off, being the last two customers to leave Blackthrone Museum. They both didn't feel the need to mention having dinner at some point after they were done, because honestly, when you know you're probably going to have to fight for your damn life at an abandoned building that was teeming with ghosts that could very well be infected by the powers of someone who had his eyes set on you with most likely nothing else but ill intentions, you wouldn't feel one shred of hunger, no matter when exactly had been the last time you have eaten anything. As they drove away from the museum's parking lot and soon enough leaving the summertime hotspot that was Oakheart behind in the rearview mirror, Cora found herself completely occupied with numerous thoughts, all of them centered around their newest mission. As much as she wanted to trust Darby's gut feelings and wanted to assume that Malakai could be there given how important Darby must be to him and this was the closest location that was crawling with ghosts her traveling companion could have thought of, she knew that there was still that one chance. That one chance that they would come all the way for nothing and wouldn't find anything that indicated their mystery man's presence, and thus making all of this a complete waste of time. How damn frustrating that would be if that were the case, especially for Darby… But as they drove down the long strip of road that split the woods in two, Cora managed to convince herself that perhaps they would still get something out of this, should Malakai not be there after all. If there were still ghosts in their Wanderer phase wandering around on the property, then chances were they were mentally stable enough to answer some questions she would cook up for them, for they could maybe have some very useful information for the ghost hunting duo; it would be better than nothing, she thought to herself. But hell… what were the odds of finding a mentally stable ghost at a goddamn asylum? Slim to none, when she thought about it. And let's not forget about the ghosts who were unable to move on during the 36 years after Blackthrone closed its doors, having beyond a shred of a doubt shifted into the Mindless phase, with the sole reason of being unable to unleash their fury upon the innocent being the fact that they were locked away inside the asylum and were unable to leave the one place where they had perished. Oh yeah… no doubt they were encounter a good amount of them, Cora figured. But if she could take on a whole swarm of Infected, then she sure as fuck could take them on as well.

She was absolutely convinced of that.

'What the hell…?' Darby suddenly wondered out loud when they were only one kilometer away from reaching the highway and saw something unexpected blocking the road ahead of them. They didn't know this, but their van wasn't the first vehicle that the middle-aged officer donning an orange vest who had been standing near the tall, digital road sign ever since the early afternoon had turned away; when he saw the man gesturing at them to stop, Darby lowered the speed and pushed his foot onto the brake when they were close enough.

'Evening, officer.' Darby said as he slightly stuck his head through the lowered window. 'What's going on?'

'You folks gotta turn around and take a detour if possible.' the man replied, radiating with a faint odor of sweat drowned out by cheap body spray. 'The highway will remain closed for the rest of the day until they're done investigating the place, which should still take a while.'

'How so? What happened?'

The blonde ghost hunter quickly noticed the surprised frown that formed on the officer's sun-kissed face. 'You haven't heard about it? There had been a massive pile-up in the morning involving multiple vehicles. It was bad. Really damn bad. Bad enough for the whole highway to be closed down. I suppose you ought to be damn lucky you weren't driving down there in the morning… You've got to take a detour to wherever you're going, sir.'

'Gotcha. Thank you, officer.'

But as soon as he had rolled his window back up and steered the van away, the blonde ghost hunter let out an audible groan of mild frustration, mentally slapping himself on the forehead for not having turned on the radio at some point during the day. 'Fan-fucking-tastic.' he mumbled afterwards, picking up some speed when they drove into the opposite direction.

'Is there another way to Blackthrone? Or was that really the only way we could have gotten there?' Cora asked.

'Nah, I could think of another road we could pass through. But it's going to take us longer than I would have liked. Fuck's sake, what a timing…'

And so they drove back into the woods outside of Oakheart, only this time, instead of going straight back to the small town that possessed knowledge of one of the psychiatric field's most shameful events in its history, the blonde ghost hunter took an exit on their right that would lead them further into the woods. Perhaps it was due to the fact that the sun was lowering more by each minute or that not a single car had passed them by while they were driving down this road, because a strange feeling had begun to creep up in the pits of Cora's stomach, telling her that it seemed to be just the two of them, taking right and left turn every now on the stretch of empty road that had been constructed on numerous hills, all while being surrounded by a seemingly endless sea of tall trees, only breaking through them for short periods of time when the van made its way up a hill. The guardrail that had been built along the edge had given many travelers some sense of safety while making their way through here, assuring them that there was thankfully something that would prevent their vehicles from crossing that dreaded edge one way or another and plunging into the green pits below. That sense of safety should have also been felt by Cora, and while it did to some degree, the skin underneath the denim sleeves of her jacket still grew cold with the thought of them crashing all the way into the depths that grew darker with each passing minute behind the long, continues, iron strip of guardrail. This must have been the same road some of those poor saps who were brought to that asylum had traveled back in the day, she thought to herself. This must have been one of the last things they must have seen and experienced before they were shoved into a straightjacket right after the heavy doors behind them had closed and no help could be expected from whoever brought them here, having long driven off back towards the heavily wooded hills. Could any of those remaining ghosts remember this? Perhaps this was a rather silly question, but still…

Just then, almost 30 minutes after they had been turned away from the highway that had seen an explosion of death and chaos earlier this day, an unwanted sound she had become acquainted with near the end of the morning emerged from underneath the hood, promptly snapping the ghost huntress out of her thoughts and her companion's eyes to slightly widen with surprise. The clicking noise was quickly replaced by loud sputtering, having come back with a goddamn vengeance, which made the car slow down more and more, despite Darby's attempts to gain speed by pressing the gas pedal over and over again.

'No, no, no, fuck! You gotta be fucking kidding me!' Darby angrily exclaimed as he rapidly moved his foot up and down. Another four-letter word escaped past his lips when the van came to a halt in a corner that curved to the left. A hint of that same frustration instantly sparked over to Cora, who couldn't help but whisper a different four-letter word under her breath.

'What the hell? It had been working fine when we drove off earlier!' she said. At that exact same moment, she suddenly began to wonder if this in some way Malakai's work; as absurd as this may have sounded, it almost didn't sound as that much of a stretch.

Darby loudly breathed in through his nose and slowly breathed out while tightly clenching the steering wheel, obviously in an attempt to calm himself down. And it did work to some degree, because his voice had grown somewhat softer when he began speaking again.

'We're going to get to that asylum. We're going to get to that bastard.' he said with a clear hint of determination in his voice. 'Hold on, this is going to take a little while. I'll be right back.'

Without waiting for a reply, the blonde ghost hunter opened his door and got out, immediately heading to the back of the van. The slightly damaged toolbox saw the light of day once again and Darby walked into the direction of the front of the van, now entirely fixated to get it back on the road again as quickly as possible. The hood was popped open yet again, and so Darby got to work.

What followed next was many trips back and forth to the passenger's side and the hood and strings of colorful words after each failed attempt. It seemed that even though he could still remember on how exactly he had fixed the issue back at the Cedar Hills, it was no longer the answer of getting the engine to work again, so right now it was all a matter of trial and error, all during the worst timing imaginable. Cora wasn't planning on sitting inside the van this whole time, so she got out to stretch her legs for a bit and breathe in some of the fresh air of the approaching evening, knowing that there was nothing she could do to help Darby right now. But as many more minutes passed by, the number of failed attempts grew and the sky grew darker, Cora noticed that she was dearly hoping, almost to a level that could only be described as desperate, for Darby to get the van working. Birds had been singing in the treetops a little while earlier, but by the time the sun had fully hidden itself far below the trees, all of them had fallen silent, with crickets scattered everywhere in the green abyss having filled in their roles and playing their hearts out for what was going to be the whole evening. And that nagging, lightly unnerving feeling that was telling her that it was just her and Darby on this road, far away from civilization? Well, that feeling was only strengthened during these past minutes, because ever since they were stranded here, Cora hadn't seen one single vehicle passing them by. The town of Oakheart almost felt like a distant memory; walking all the way back there in an attempt to find someone who could fix that damn engine or at the very least tow this van away for repairs would definitely take more than two hours, maybe three at most. All she could do now was waiting for the engine to switch on again after Darby was done tinkering on it, which was without a doubt frustrating, but while staring at the view ahead of her, Cora managed to keep her cool.

By the time the sky had taken on a greyish purple hue, Darby asked her if she could grab the flashlight and stand next to him, since he couldn't see a damn thing anymore. It was the very least she could do to help him out, so of course she grabbed it from the back of the van and shone its bright light upon the exposed parts and the pain in the ass that was the engine. More tinkering and trips to the passenger's side followed, with Darby often muttering about how he didn't get it and wondering how the hell is this possible, but nonetheless, no amount of failed attempts in this world was going to refrain Darby Allin from keeping on trying. But in between these attempts, he did find a moment to reassure his traveling companion.

'This shouldn't take long anymore, I can get it to work any minute now…' he told her, even managing to curl the left corner of his mouth into a small smirk despite the frustration that had built up inside. Cora had given him a small smile back before shifting her attention back to the engine.

But right when the blonde ghost hunter went to work again with a wrench, something began to feel different. No, it wasn't the mutual frustration getting less tense, nor the crickets down below falling silent, neither the wind that made the trees briefly sway and rustle; it was something entirely else. Despite wearing her jacket, Cora could feel it all the way in her bones, causing her to look up and stare off into the darkness that had started to form on the road behind them with no nearby lamppost to drive it away, almost entirely obscuring the asphalt. No layer of fabric could protect her body from the piercing cold that made it seem like the air around them had been entirely frozen, causing every single hair on her arms and neck to stand up straight. Her eyes slightly widened when she saw the air that escaped past her lips formed a small cloud before disappearing in the blink of an eye. This didn't make sense… there was no way the temperature could promptly drop like this; no summer evening should feel like it had somehow turned into a freezing winter night. She had become familiar with this kind of coldness, she had felt it many times during these past days, but the last time she had felt it with this intensity was at… oh dear God. Cora may have not noticed it herself, but when the realization struck her, she instantly held her breath, her eyes remaining wide while darting from left to right. The clinking and clanking of Darby's tools had fallen far behind on the background. The Cedar Hills Motel. Before they had cleansed the whole place, it had been cold enough for a thin layer of ice to form on most surfaces of the building; she was convinced that if she were to shine the light into the direction of the trees that she could spot some freshly formed frost glistening on the pines. And that feeling of her and Darby being the only two souls on this road? Well, that feeling had disappeared from the moment the freezing cold had kicked in. Cora could practically feel their gazes burning into their bodies despite their lack of these organs, for they could still sense them nonetheless. Hundreds of these gazes, or so it felt like to her. Lingering in the shadows behind them. Cora's hand slightly trembled as she shone the wide, cone-shaped light of the flashlight onto the darkened corner they had passed moments ago.

'Cora, what the hell are you doing?' Darby asked, having just finished tightly twisting one of the many parts in place. 'I might still need that li-'

'Darby…'

Now he felt it too, the sheer cold crashing onto him like an avalanche, and the sight of the horrified look on his traveling companion's face was enough for the blonde ghost hunter to fall silent. He looked up, staring into the same direction as she did, looking straight at the sight that was revealed thanks to the flashlight. Many people would drop whatever they were holding if they were overwhelmed with shock and terror, but instead of dropping his wrench to the ground as if his hand had gone numb, Darby Allin instead squeezed it until his knuckles paled. Just like Cora, he was unable to look away from what was coming straight at them.

Just like their brethren at the motel, these Infected screeched at the top of their lungs as their cover had blown, mixed with infuriated, bloodthirsty howls, gurgling and growling without ever quieting down, their mouths having permanently opened wide to emit these bone-chilling sounds. wildly clawing and stumbling their way towards the ghost hunting duo like a pack of rabid animals that had been starving for days on end. Countless pairs of antlers were pointed right towards them, every one of them sharp enough to be used as weapons, to pierce through their bodies if they were given the chance. Their massive numbers caused black, thick, tar-like liquid to be spilled over the asphalt, as if one or multiple oil trucks had crashed and been tipped over on this very road. They had only a few seconds to look at them, but both Darby and Cora could clearly see that there was something different about the emaciated, grotesque, elongated bodies these Infected had obtained upon mutating beyond return; some of them had steering wheels sticking out of the black liquid, others had been impaled with shards of glass of variable sizes, some limbs torn off with brute force while some of them barely hanging on by thin, oozing threads of flesh, countless fractured faces that made their new appearance all the more terrifying to look at, numerous of burns peeking through the black liquid that ran over their bodies, all collectively spreading a god horrid stench of infection mixed with what could only be described as gasoline. This was not the exact number of Infected they had fought against at the Cedar Hills; these were way, way more, causing them to form a horrifying tsunami of black liquid and countless arms and antlers.

And this tsunami of Infected was coming right at them.

There were too many of them.

Too fucking many.

'Get in the van, get in the van, get the fuck in the goddamn van!' Darby exclaimed as he slammed down the hood, speaking these words in such rapid succession that they had formed one long, single word. For a few horrible seconds, Cora's feet had remained glued onto the asphalt, refusing to move for an inch as her sight remained glued at the towering wave of howling Infected, but as soon as Darby's voice sank into her, she regained enough sensation in her feet to get moving, now fueled by nothing but sheer adrenaline. They ran towards the van as fast as they could, with Cora nearly tripping over her own feet before she could touch the handle of the passenger's door. As soon as they flung themselves inside, all focus was set on the key near the steering wheel.

'Please God, please, please, please work…!' Cora hoarsely whispered, barely audible enough for Darby to hear. This was it, this had to be it. Either the engine would immediately be fully activated upon the key being fully twisted, or fate was going to throw them the most relentless of curveballs and leave them stranded at the hands (and antlers) of countless Infected. Cora could feel her heart pounding in her head when she watched Darby twist the key while hissing out a throaty 'Come on…!'; had he twisted it any further, it surely would have snapped off in the entrance. The ghost huntress never thought in her entire life that she would be this goddamn happy to hear a vehicle's engine roar.

'Go, go, go!' was all she was able to scream; just as the drenched fingertips of the Infected at the very front of the wave could touch the van's back doors, Darby stomped onto the gas pedal with full force and they jolted forward, causing the tires to screech even louder than some of the mutated ghosts. The abandoned toolbox was quickly swallowed up by a mass of black liquid.

The blonde ghost hunter didn't lift his foot for a millimeter as they sped over the road, his hands tightly clenched around the steering wheels that a thick vein became visible on his right hand and his eyes occasionally shifting between the view ahead of them and the rearview mirror. It was to be expected, but the swarm, no, the army of Infected weren't simply going to stand still and look down at the ground in defeat like a bunch of crestfallen toddlers that had been denied a bag of candy as soon as they had taken off; they continued to crawl after them with astonishing speed, stumbling over each other as they did so; some of them had even resorted to keeping up with the chase by running on all fours, and combined with the antlers that had grown through their eye sockets, they now truly resembled some kind of demented animal that could only exist in the worst of nightmares. Never in his whole life did Darby have to focus this much on trying not to lose control while driving along a corner, knowing damn well that if he would risk lifting his foot from the gas pedal that the abominations behind them would reach them in no time. Every now and then, the tires would produce a loud, hollow screech as Darby steered the van along the corner's curves, all whilst Cora kept an eye on the tsunami of Infected behind them in the reflection of the side mirror. They weren't going to give up, no way in hell they were planning on doing that… they would only stop as soon as they would get their elongated hands on them, she knew. If her heart was going to pound any faster inside her head, it sure as hell would cause it to explode into many pieces of gore and bone chips.

'We gotta get rid of these bastards, so you'd better come up with an idea!' Darby said without looking at his traveling companion; he definitely must have thought the exact same thing. 'I'm a little busy at the moment, as you may have noticed.'

'No problem. I know what to do, Darby. Just keep driving, I will hold them off!'

Not waiting for him to answer her, Cora lowered the window and carefully stood up, holding onto the upper part of the now empty frame with her bandaged hand as she leaned her upper body out of the window as far as she could, facing the relentless wave of Infected. A heavy stream of cold wind rushed past her head with so much force that it was almost painful on her ears, causing her hair to nearly obscure her sight. This was going to be pretty fucking dangerous, she knew this damn well, but it was the only option they had. She quickly brushed some strands of hair out of her face with her lower arm before she aimed her open palm at the mass of black liquid, distorted screeches and antlers. A fiery cloud of fire painlessly burst through her palm, but the scorching stream couldn't reach far enough to burn the Infected at the front, not with the distance between them that had thankfully remained the same this whole time. She had to come up with something else, fast. But Cora didn't have to think long about her plan B. As the van kept on speeding down the road, she quickly left behind a trail of fiery orbs on the asphalt like some sort of breadcrumb trail, trying to spread them across the road as much as she could. The orbs remained perfectly in place, only starting to move when they detected the incoming presence of the Infected, instantly flying into their direction and striking them with full force, spreading a bright, orange glow that was casted upon nearby trees and guardrail as they exploded. Distorted screams of pain erupted from the wave as soon as this happened, coming to a prompt halt for there had been enough fire balls planted on the road to keep them at bay… for now, at least.

Noticing that she needed to catch her breath, Cora slid back onto her seat. 'There. Think that should be enough?' she panted, convinced that there was no way Darby could not have witnessed the series of fiery explosions in the rearview mirror, let alone being deaf to the unholy screeching of Infected being burnt to a crisp.

'Probably not, try doing it again as soon as they get clo-'

Just then, a figure they had come to recognize very well manifested itself from the darkness, revealed by the headlights of the van, standing so still in the middle of the road that he could have been easily mistaken for a statue; one glance at the impeccably neat black suit that didn't show any wrinkles was all that Darby needed to see who had just appeared in front of them, entirely unfazed by the dangerous speeds the vehicle had reached.

Damn, I knew it…

That was the last thought that went through Darby's head before Malakai Black curled his mouth into a small but sinister smirk and made a sweeping gesture with his hand, causing a massive blur of black energy to knock the van straight through the guard rail and into the shadows below the hill, causing the whole world around the blonde ghost hunter and his companion to violently shake to no end; Cora's screams were barely heard above the crunching of thick wood, shattering glass and scraping metal.