"We can't hurt them," I said. "They're innocent."
"They might be innocent," said Kingsley grimly, "but they look like they mean business."
They also looked like zombies.
Already many of them were appearing at the cave entrance, compelled by forces they might not have entirely understood.
Edwin was there, and so were his many cousins. There was Tara, too, just behind him. Old and young, all the Thurmans looked confused. Most were shivering from the cold, drenched, unprepared for the weather.
The dark cords that bound them - that cursed them - were all engorged, filled with hate, with venom. The cords pulsated and rotated and twisted through their otherwise beautiful auras.
Somehow, the entity had possessed them all, simultaneously - and it was a heinous, horrible thing to see.
In that instant, Edwin charged, baring his teeth, dashing supernaturally fast through the short tunnel. Kingsley leaped in front of me and, with one mighty swipe of his meaty arm, sent Edwin flying hard into the stone wall to our side.
A dull thud...and now Edwin was slumping to the ground, bleeding from a head wound. He was alive, but unconscious.
Kingsley looked at him only briefly, and immediately turned his attention to an older gentleman, an uncle, who next made his own charge. The result was similar, although Kingsley, I noted, didn't hit the guy quite so hard.
"They're stronger than they look," said the werewolf.
"It's him," I said. "He's making them stronger."
Kingsley nodded as the older gentleman shook his head and picked himself up. I suspected that if all of the Thurmans attacked at once, things would to get very ugly. "Are you sure we didn't step onto the set of a George Romero movie?" he asked.
"Sadly, no," I said.
"I think," said Kingsley, surveying the bizarre group before us, "something else is controlling them, from afar."
"Why do you say that?"
Kingsley reached back for me and took hold of my hand. "Who brought this curse upon the family?"
"Conner Thurman," I said. "Ninety years ago."
"We need to find him, Sam."
"He died," I said. "A long time ago."
Kingsley looked back at me and, amazingly, gave me a sardonic smile.
"That," he said. "I seriously doubt. Trust me on this, Sam. I've seen some weird shit in my time. Granted, the walking dead is about as weird as it gets. But a curse like this needs a primary source. A head, so to speak. And that source - or head - would be Conner Thurman himself."
"He's entombed in the family mausoleum," I said. "Here on the island."
"Find him," said Kingsley, squeezing my hand. "And cut off the head of the snake. And I don't mean that figuratively."
"Jesus," I said.
"Pray all you want, but until Conner Thurman is found and destroyed, this curse will never, ever end - and they will never, ever stop coming for you and your son."
I thought about that as the Thurmans converged together. It was definitely about to get very ugly in the cave.
"I can hold them off, Sam," Kingsley said over his shoulder. "I can do so a lot easier and safer for them if I don't have to worry about you, too."
"But - "
"Go, Sam. Now!"
