Fury: Book One of the Cure (Omnibus Edition)

by Charlotte McConaghy

I don’t know what else to do.

  One day she will hate me; of this I am certain.

  Chapter Twelve

  July 22nd, 2064

  Josephine

  The sharp, tangy scent of rusted steel is in my nose. Bales of hay are bright yellow, like spun gold, shimmering in the light of the fire. And more yellow—long tendrils of hair that belong to a child. I can smell her, can smell her fear.

  It makes me hungry.

  It’s not rusted steel I smell after all—it’s blood.

  *

  I wake, gasping for air. There’s a deep, rough voice speaking to me, and even though mentally it takes me a moment to interpret it, instinctively I know it’s him, deep down in my bones.

  “It’s okay, Josi,” Luke tells me.

  I pull myself to a thorough halt. I’m still and calm. Under the spell of the moon it all seeps into my consciousness, but when I wake I push it all back to where I won’t find it. In my dreams my memories rebuild themselves, but vanish like fog between my fingertips when I try to hold onto them. Some part of me must be saying no—these will ruin you. Leave them be.

  Luke’s warm body is big beside me, his large, square hands drumming a steady rhythm against my spine.

  “Hey,” I sigh. “Did you sleep?”

  “Yep.” He’s lying—I can see the exhaustion settled beneath his eyes. The hollows there are dark like bruises. I reach for his cheek and brush my hand over it gently.

  “Poor darling,” I murmur sleepily.

  “I’m fine,” he argues, sinking further down beside me. We rest our heads on the pillows and look at each other. His hand finds mine and threads its way through my fingers.

  “I was scared yesterday,” I admit. “Of you.”

  “I know.”

  “Because of your cure. Because no matter how close we are or how well we know each other, there will always be the possibility that some switch in your head could flip.”

  Luke nods as though he’s been thinking the same thing. “I can show you how to protect yourself.”

  “What, like fighting?”

  “Self-defense.”

  “No way, Luke. I need to be making myself less dangerous, not more.”

  “It’s a moot point because we’re going to stop your curse.”

  “In less than two months?” I snort.

  “We have the missing person reports now. They’ll help.” His tone is flat, but I can see an edge of desperation in his eyes. I realize that he’s more frightened of the blood moon than I am.

  “Okay,” I agree gently. “Let’s go home and take a look.”

  *

  Luke’s standing with his face nearly pressed up against the screen on the wall. He’s reading down the list of names and dates.

  “Luke, I’m telling you—you need glasses.”

  “I’m fine,” he replies distractedly.

  “Hey—how come you know how to fight? And hack computers?”

  “Huh? Fighting is ’cause of Dad and my brother. They just loved it, I guess. And the computer stuff is all for work.” I can tell he’s too focused on the screen to pay my questions much attention. “What’s this one? There’s an entry on the 19th of September 2060, but there’s no name beside it.”

  “Click on it.”

  Luke presses the date, but it just takes us into a blank file.

  “Weird,” I comment, moving a bit closer. “See if there are any more like it.”

  He starts to scroll down through the missing persons, and we find several more dates without names, all between the 17th and 20th of September.

  “It’s them!” I breathe excitedly. “It has to be! If we can just find out who these people are—”

  “Josi, it doesn’t matter who they are,” Luke cuts in. “You’re looking at this the wrong way. What’s the question you should really be asking?”

  I stare at him, and then my eyes shift to the dates on the wall. I feel like an idiot for not having thought of it—it’s so obvious now. Swallowing, I ask quietly, “Who deleted these from the police database? Who would have enough power, and why would they want to?”

  July 25th, 2064

  Luke

  Josi is seriously on edge, which means that I am too. She’s started grinding her teeth without realizing it, and she gets these awful headaches and sore muscles. She’s warned me about what will happen to her as we get closer to September, but she already seems worse than when I was watching her last year. It means the change is having more of an effect on her body. We have to make it stop. That’s the only answer.

  She’s doing a pretty damn good job of pretending she’s fine though. As we drive, Josi sings along to the radio, her off-key alto voice kind of like screeching baboons. It makes me laugh and reminds me of all the things we still have.

  “Where is this place?” she asks curiously, peering around at the chaos of the inner city. On every surface there are bright HD pictures or videos, advertisements of every kind, moving and flashing, attacking your senses. I hate the city for this very reason, and I can see that Josi does too. All the visuals probably can’t be doing much to help her headache. Everything is a button away—every thought, every action, every word or wish or want. I don’t know when we became so obsessed with easy. Everything in the world is designed to create ease.

  Even the cure. The funny thing is that the cure has done the opposite. People are just too stupid to see.

  “Not too much further,” I assure her. “He’s set up in a fairly dodgy area, for obvious reasons.”

  Once I’ve parked we head toward the back alleys. For the last few days since the police station, Josi’s jumped at every sound and neither of us have been able to get any sleep. I’m still on alert. Honestly—the stunt at the station was pretty stupid, even for me. The whole charade of it was ridiculous. I could have used my security clearance to download the files, but I couldn’t let Jean know I had them, and I also needed to procure them without Josi questioning how. Hence involving her in the steal. I won’t make the same mistake again—with that little catastrophe I’ve given away a substantial clue about my skills, and I’m pretty sure she won’t buy the explanations I gave her for long.

  When I think about this whole mess I realise what a complete web of lies I’ve created for myself. Lying to Jean about my continued and distant surveillance of my subject. Making her believe I’m still a loyal Blood agent ignorant of the truth about Josi. Lying to Josi about who I am, what I can feel, and taking her on this wild goose chase to help her discover the truth for herself, without giving away what I know about her in the process. It’s just lies upon lies and I can’t stand it.

  Down some steps there’s a door with metal caging over it. I bang on it as loudly as I can, knowing Harley will no doubt be listening to his music full blast despite the fact that he knows I’m on my way. After about ten minutes of continuous pounding, he eventually opens the door, looking shell-shocked at any evidence of the sun.

  “Luke, pal, how are you? You’re looking as pretty as ever.”

  “Hey, man,” I grin. “Off with the fairies again?”

  “I’ve never been off with the fairies in my life.” He winks and gestures me inside, but stops dead when he spots Josephine. “Well hello,” he says slowly. “Aren’t you lovely?”

  Josephine’s eyebrows arch. She’s unimpressed and it makes my grin widen. Harley is an odd-looking guy. In his thirties, he has wild blond hair and a crooked nose. The glasses he wears for his work are magnifying lenses, and make his blue eyes look huge. He’s forgotten to take them off, as usual, so he’s probably trying to figure out why we look giant and disproportionate.

  “Come on, let’s get off the street,” I suggest as I usher them both inside. The den is almost pitch black except for the eerie blue glow of several beautiful computer monitors. There’s an icon made of shimmering gold, flapping like gossamer wings through one screen and onto the next. Harley’s hacker ID is Wasp. He’s obsessed with them; at the back of the room there’s a larg
e glass container full of wasps. Josephine moves closer to the glass, transfixed by the soft and graceful buzz of the creatures’ yellow, brown and black wings.

  I let her disappear into her thoughts and turn to Harley. He’s staring at Josephine, just as enthralled with her as she is with the wasps.

  “Is she …?” he asks softly. “She’s not, is she?”

  I don’t reply. Although I’d trust Harley with my life, I’m not about to trust him with Josephine’s. The less people who know that she’s uncured, the better. He’s the only civilian apart from my parents who knows I’m a Blood.

  “I have a job for you, man,” I tell him. He blinks and finally turns to look at me.

  “Sure, Luke. Whatever you want.”

  “It’ll be hard.”

  “Don’t insult me.”

  I smile and pull out my hard drive. He connects it to his monitors and the saved police data pops up. I’ve been staring at it for the last three days, but I need a new perspective.

  Harley’s quick eyes glance over the information. He whistles slowly. “How did you get this, kid?”

  “It’s amazing what people will do for a smile.”

  “Maybe your smile,” he concedes. “So what do you need? The missing entries?”

  I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s spotted them so quickly, but I am. “No—I want to know who erased them.”

  Harley’s eyebrows pull together as he stares at me. “Well I can tell you right now that it would take an extremely high classification. Even higher than your—”

  I hold up my hand quickly and he stops mid-sentence. I gesture to Josephine, who’s too distracted to have heard, but Harley gets my meaning, eyes widening and nodding quickly. “Sorry. Anyway, once information has been entered into these programs, it can’t be removed—it can only get reclassified. If a case is solved, it’ll be filed, but it won’t disappear. These names haven’t been erased—they’ve just been moved.”

  “So can you find them?”

  “Don’t you know me at all?”

  “You’re right. But can you find the people who moved them?”

  Harley rubs his chin and starts tapping things on his screens. He’s coding and recoding and breaking patterns quicker than anyone else could. His cyber crimes are too long and too complicated to list. If he wanted to, he could make the stock market crash and take us into another recession. Or he could steal every cent from all the biggest banks and smash the economy. I can’t think of anything he couldn’t do, but after a few minutes he turns back to me and frowns.

  “Luke, this shit is heavy. Whoever we’re looking for is dangerous. The levels of security and firewalls in place would take a long time to crack, and I’d have to do it without getting traced myself.” He leans closer and whispers, “You could get this information through work, man. Why do you need me?”

  “This is off the books. Work can’t know I’m interested.”

  He leans back and rubs his eyes. “I can try, but—”

  “I can pay you, Harls,” I say softly. “Whatever you ask for.”

  “Luke, that’s not it,” he replies, sounding wounded. “I don’t give a shit about money. I’m just making sure you know what you’re getting yourself involved in.”

  “I know.”

  “Right then. I’m in.” He claps his hands together excitedly. “What a wonderful age to live in.”

  My eyebrows arch and he grins sheepishly. “Well, technology wise, anyway. Does your girl there know about any of this?”

  “The girl knows,” Josephine replies, moving to stand beside me. She’s watching Harley closely, as if she hasn’t decided whether or not to trust him.

  I’ve known Harley my whole life. I knew he was a hacker before I became a Blood, and had to make him a vow never to tell a soul at work about him. It’s a vow I’d protect with my life. Friends aren’t easy to come by in this world. Especially ones who’ve managed to retain a fair amount of their personality, even after having been given the cure.

  Harley grins at Josephine. “I like you. You’re feisty and you’ve got great eyes.”

  Her expression doesn’t change one bit. I try not to smile.

  “How long will this take?” she asks bluntly.

  Harley rubs his chin again. “Not sure. Could be six months, could be a year. Or several. I won’t know until I start.”

  “A year,” she repeats.

  “Man, we need it in a month,” I say.

  Harley chokes on his own laugh. “Christ, Luke—I’m flattered by the assumption, but you’ve got no idea what you’re asking for here.”

  “I know exactly what I’m asking.”

  Harley sighs and presses his palms into his eyes. “Look, all I can say is that I’ll try, but don’t hold your breath.”

  I nod and clap him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Harls. You’re a life saver. Literally.”

  I walk to the door only to find that Josephine is staring at the wasps again. Harley approaches and stands beside her, and I watch them for a moment in the dim blue light. In the corner of my eye, the golden wasp has resumed its exploration of the six monitors.

  “Are you with them?” Harley asks her.

  “With who?”

  “The resistance.”

  Josephine looks at him slowly. “Resistance?”

  Harley shakes his head quickly. “Did I say resistance? I meant something else entirely.”

  Josi rolls her eyes in her most cutting manner. “You’re an idiot.”

  Harley chuckles. “That I am.”

  I’m about to call out for her when she asks abruptly, “Why wasps?”

  Harley folds his arms and smiles. “They don’t die when they sting.”

  *

  It’s silent in the car as I wait for her to say it. I know her too well to expect her not to bring it up.

  “You heard him too, right?”

  “Yeah, I heard him.”

  “A resistance.” She sounds wistful and delighted and disbelieving all at the same time. “I told you that’s who the men on the train were.”

  “Could just be a rumor,” I warn her. “Harley’s a bit of a wacko.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “He’s an old uni friend.”

  “Who also happens to be a world class computer hacker.”

  “Right.”

  She sits back in her seat and I can see her brain starting to whirl. She’s piecing it all together—I can see it. Something in my own heart ratchets up—something like fear but also like excitement.

  Josephine

  A resistance. I wished for it, and assumed it must exist, but I didn’t know until now. I feel like crying with an insane hope I can barely contain. The idea of other uncured people gives everything a new sense of meaning, of possibility. The world doesn’t seem so cold or so lonely anymore.

  I don’t know where they could be hiding, or how they’ve survived, but I want to find them. Right now, it’s all I want.

  July 30th, 2064

  Josephine

  I wake in the middle of the night to find myself alone. Blinking in the darkness, I pull on my dressing gown and pad into the living room. I can see Luke standing outside on the balcony, the glass doors closed behind him. He’s on the phone, and the side of his face looks tense. I watch him for a moment, curious. His hand jerks in an odd way, his brow heavy over his eyes.

  I go back to bed and wait for him to return. He doesn’t come for a long while, and when he does he slides back under the covers and runs a hand over my hair. I don’t know why, but I pretend to be asleep and eventually I hear his breathing deepen.

  I lie awake, his hand gesture from the balcony replaying itself over and over in my mind. I can’t put my finger on what’s so strange about it. I don’t even know why I think it’s strange.

  And then, near to dawn, it finally occurs to me.

  In that simple hand movement, Luke looked angry.

  September 14th, 2065

  Anthony

  “So
did Harley ever get to the bottom of it?” I ask. I have to try and infuse a certain level of disbelief into my tone so that she doesn’t feel too encouraged to keep spinning this fantasy, but the truth is I’m getting sucked into the story.

  “Does it look like he got to the bottom of it?” Josephine snaps, and the suddenness of her temper is a kick to the teeth. I forget, every single time, how swiftly it can come upon her, seemingly triggered by nothing.

  She sits up and licks her lips like she does when she’s preparing herself. “Have you called Luke yet? There’s only a day or so left.”

  “Not yet. I will.”

  “Have you made preparations for me? For Maria?”

  “I told you, there are no other rooms available.”

  Josephine closes her eyes and I can see the rise and fall of her chest. When she looks at me again, her strange eyes are blazing with fury and impotency. “You’re such a coward,” she whispers. “Sometimes I hate you more than I’ve ever hated anyone.”

  My heart falters.

  “I’ve tried,” Josephine says. “I’ve tried every day for the past year to convince you of something, but you refuse to listen. I thought coming here was a good idea—I thought it would keep people safe, but it seems I was wrong. The blood I spill will be on your hands, Anthony. I can’t do anything more.”

  I don’t know what to say. I feel sick and ashamed, even though my rational brain is ordering me not to give in to emotion. She is a mentally damaged patient, for god’s sake. She is not a woman who understands the truth of reality. She is not someone who can manipulate me with a story she made up.

  “I need to leave,” she adds flatly. “I can’t stay here anymore if you refuse to isolate me.”

  I clear my throat. “Leaving won’t be possible, Josephine. Not at this juncture.”

  “I came here of my own free will!” she protests. “I can leave whenever I want!”

  “Actually, that’s not the case. Because you have professed aggressive thoughts and feelings, you are now required to remain in our care until we can effectively treat you.”