Dora stared at the stadium, now only a crater. She had joined Cathy at a football game there. In the beginning of the zombie plague, stadiums contained the infected. This one had been bombed, but too late.

On the ground, there must be a half a million zombies. Was Cathy one of them? Aimlessly looking for warm human flesh, her soul trapped in monstrous limbo.

“Ready?” shouted Falco.

Dora stood with her broom at the opened door.

Rave gave him the thumbs up. She leapt off and in seconds shifted into raven form. She cawed and did her usual aerial acrobatics. Show off.

Before Dora jumped, Dirk grabbed her and kissed her. “See you before sundown, babe.”

“Sooner,” she shouted and then leapt off. As the plane flew off, she soared on her broom. “Charge.” The cold breeze whipped the hood off her head, sending her long tresses flying behind her like a comet’s tail.

Dora turned to look at the plane, now a distant dot. Rave cawed and circled over a tall building. A place to land. Good. Her airsickness hijacked her stomach and nearly overpowered her.

Dora tightened her grip on the broom handle. “Okay. Witch light speed.”

The broom faltered and slowed to ten miles an hour. Then slower.

Huh? Of all her witchy powers, flight had been her most reliable skill.

Her broom circled as if confused. It dipped.