Hunters
an excerpt

The dead man dragged himself through the streets. The cold cobblestones shone with the dampness of morning, and were stained with the blood of his life. His one good arm reached out. Grasp, Drag, slide. Grasp, drag, slide.

The streets of Barcelona echoed with his exertions. Every scrape, every rasped breath rebounded off the dark, foreboding buildings. Gargoyles stared down at him, empty eyes and gaping maws warding off evil.

Hah. cough, cough.

They do not know what evil is.

The shadowed recesses of doors and alleyways mocked him, taunting with the promise of safety and aid. He knew no place was safe. Only the church could save him. If he could reach it.

If he could survive that long.