Plague World (Ashley Parker Novel)

by Dana Fredsti

  Griff was a predator, the sort who would go in for the kill as soon as he sensed any weakness. I wasn’t about to play gazelle to his lion.

  He frowned, the expression looking oddly out of place, as if he didn’t wear it often. I got the impression he was used to being in control at all times, and didn’t much like it when things didn’t go according to his internal script.

  “You don’t know what I’ve been through,” he said.

  “You’re right,” I agreed. “I don’t. For all I know you ran into a zombie toddler, lost a pinky tip, and won the wild card lotto. I do know that you were safe down here, watching us on video while we all nearly died up on the walkway.” I glared up at him. “You’re not one of us. Now if you don’t mind—”

  I tried shoving past him, but he refused to move.

  “Fine,” I growled. I brought my hands up between us and gave him a two-handed, open-palmed shove in the middle of his chest. I didn’t have a lot of leverage, but what with my wild card strength, it still had enough force behind it to send a normal man reeling backward. Griff rocked back on his heels slightly, a flash of something dark and dangerous in his eyes before it vanished…

  And then he stepped in even closer.

  Narrowing my eyes, I raised my hands for another shove but found myself suddenly slammed against the wall, hands held down at my sides as he pressed up against me, holding me there with his body. His long fingers encircled my wrists like handcuffs and I found myself unable to pull free—an unwelcome reminder that I wasn’t the only wild card in the immediate vicinity. He had the advantage of more upper body strength and a couple inches of height, too. I tried turning both wrists toward his thumbs to break his grip, but he easily countered by tightening his fingers and pinning my arms to the wall.

  He grinned down at me, the expression in his dark green eyes a disturbing combination of anger and enjoyment, along with something not quite… sane, dancing in the background. I’d be lying if I said he didn’t kind of scare me.

  That really pissed me off.

  “You’re gonna want to let go about now.” My voice implied a threat we both knew was empty.

  “You don’t know me very well if you think that’s true.” He pressed against me even harder, taking away the micro-millimeter of space that had still been between us. His body temperature seemed to increase, as did the smell of spice and chocolate. The only way our bodies could be closer would be if our clothes were gone, and that so wasn’t going to happen.

  I looked up at him, keeping my voice as level as possible.

  “You don’t know me very well,” I said, “if you think I’m interested in what you want.” He started to speak, and I added, “And do not tell me I don’t know what I want. You say it, and I will put a world of hurt on you.”

  Once I get my hands free.

  “I wasn’t going to say that,” Griff replied softly.

  “Good.”

  “I was going to say I don’t care what you want.” He kept smiling, the hint of instability now clearly visible in those eyes.

  My stomach clenched and I swallowed, hard.

  I’d gotten used to the feeling of never being quite safe, ever since the zombie shit had hit the fan. But this was different. There’d been a soldier back at Patterson Hall who’d tried to put the moves on me, and I’d slammed him into the ground. He’d been a normal person, though, not a wild card. Judging from the unwanted feel of toned muscles under his clothes, I suspected Griff had been pretty damned strong, even before he turned. I might be able to whomp his ass in a fair fight, but right now he had the advantage of leverage.

  “Have you ever considered trying flowers and chocolates?”

  Both Griff and I jumped as a male voice spoke from a few feet away, where the hallway made a sharp left turn.

  A young man somewhere in his twenties leaned up against the wall in a deceptively casual pose, brown hair flopping over a red paisley bandana tied around his head. Well-muscled arms folded across a white sleeveless T-shirt with a black Darwin fish on the front. Loose-fitting black pants made him look like he was ready to kick-box the shit out of someone. His brown eyes gleamed with manic goodwill as he continued.

  “I mean, I’m all in favor of forced assault and—” He stopped, shaking his head. “No, wait a sec. I’m really not. You need help, Ash?”

  I took advantage of the distraction and found a weakness in Griff’s grip, breaking free. I followed up by grabbing his right wrist with one hand, simultaneously stepping to the opposite side and yanking hard on his arm while sweeping one foot out from underneath him.

  The thud Griff made when he hit the ground?

  Priceless.

  Gotta love leverage.

  I dusted my hands together and stepped away from my would-be suitor-slash-assailant, and smiled at the newcomer.

  “Thanks, JT, but I’m good. Were you looking for me?” I added, mouthing a silent “yes, you were.”

  JT nodded, not missing a beat.

  “Yup. Tall, dark and grouchy—” He had to mean Nathan. “—asked me to find you. Figured you’d be down here.”

  JT wasn’t a wild card, but he had mad physical skills involving the sport of free running, otherwise known as parkour. As acrobatic and nimble as a spider monkey, he could scale walls that for most people would require ladders, ropes, and pitons. We’d picked him up on our trek through San Francisco—or more accurately, he’d attached himself to our group, clearing a path through a swarm of zombies by creating what had to be the most irritating and effective diversion in history. He crackled with manic energy, was consistently entertaining and annoying, and right now, I couldn’t have been happier to see him.

  Griff, meanwhile, got to his feet in one smooth, angry move, as graceful as a cat and just as conscious of his own dignity. He shot JT a look that promised future pain. JT grinned back, unperturbed.

  Then Griff turned back to me, eyes smoldering with a veritable cocktail of dark promises.

  “You and I are not finished yet.”

  Wowza. Cliché much?

  I could do better than that.

  “Can’t finish what wasn’t started.”

  Okay, that wasn’t quite as immature as “you’re rubber and I’m glue…” but it was close.

  We stared at each other, the theme to The Good, the Bad and the Ugly wafting through my head. My mind and body were still on high alert, fight or flight adrenaline coursing through me, and I really wanted a violent outlet. Specifically my fist colliding with Griff’s face.

  Instead, trying to ignore the rapid hammer-like beat of my heart, I turned my back on Griff in a deliberately dismissive—and potentially dangerous—gesture, and joined JT at the far end of the hall.

  “Lead on.”

  JT linked an arm through mine, and we left Griff glowering at us in the hall where he stood.

  SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA, USA

  He stood on the small bluff overlooking the ocean next to the battery below the lighthouse. Took a deep breath, enjoying the cold air with a slight tang of salt water as the mist swirled around him. His eyes were less light sensitive than they’d been for the first few days after he’d changed, but direct sunlight still gave him a headache, even with sunglasses. He wasn’t sure why—it didn’t seem to bother Captain Drake, Typhoid Mary, or the nut job.

  When he’d first realized he would survive the contagion, he’d assumed he would be one of the wild cards. And oh, yes, he hoped for a chance to deal some old-fashioned military justice to the little bitch who’d caused his infection in the first place.

  Then, when the cravings began, he realized he shared more in common with Captain Drake, and had been given an antiserum to keep him stable. It hadn’t worked, and he’d railed against the arbitrary nature of genetics.

  Then he’d been recruited, and had accepted his new diet. It wasn’t really that difficult. Like his father, he’d always been a meat and potatoes man.

  Besides, humanity fell into two categories, as far as he was conce
rned. There were wolves and there were sheep. Predators and prey.

  No, he had no moral quandary. After all, the alternative—letting the contagion take control, his body and mind rotting as he became another mindless shambling corpse—that was unacceptable.

  He’d been chosen for a reason, by his colleagues and by the Almighty, to help lead the world out of chaos. He hoped Gabriel would eventually come to the same realization. Right now, Drake still fought against the changes. Dr. Albert had instructions to give him just enough of the remaining antiserum to keep him from going past the point of no return, but Drake would have to make the choice soon.

  The good lord willing, it would be the right one. A good soldier like Drake would be of far more use than a loose cannon like Typhoid Mary, although the latter’s lack of special dietary requirements were admittedly an advantage.

  He shook his head. Typhoid Mary was a disappointment, although the name fit perfectly. He could—and had—spread the disease in his own special way. Why he’d suddenly chosen to clean up after himself was still a source of mystery and irritation. Still, if he did what he was told on his current assignment, he’d be worth the time and money invested in his creation.

  The same couldn’t be said for the nut job.

  What was the man’s name? John… or Jack? He dismissed it as unimportant. “Nut job” would do. A fascinating case, mind you, but only a civilian, and a weak-minded one at that.

  The man had been bitten, and then trapped in a cabin with his wife and kid. The wife had nursed him through the fever, like any good helpmate would, and been repaid by becoming her husband’s next meal. He wondered briefly if the nut job—Jake, that was his name—if Jake had retained enough of his own humanity to kill them first. He hoped so. No parent should watch her child die, and no child should witness such violence against his mother.

  He couldn’t imagine giving into his cravings with that kind of single-minded lunacy. Still, if not for his own strength of will, and the grace of God, that could have been him.

  He shrugged. No time for such pointless musings. He had a job to do, and new concerns had been brought to his attention. The vector was no longer contained to Walker’s vaccine, or contact with the carriers’ saliva or blood. It had mutated and, according to Dr. Albert, gone airborne. Quarantine efforts were laughable in the major cities. How could you enforce something that drifted on the wind?

  It didn’t trouble him as much as it would have before his own change. Watching the video feeds from around the world gave him a strange sense of satisfaction. Looking at all the sheep running around bleating as they were slaughtered. He felt no sympathy for them now. He was different.

  Better.

  But still, what his new colleagues—he refused to think of them as his superiors—had planned as an easily controllable weapon, to be wielded with knife-like precision, had turned into the contagious equivalent of an atomic bomb.

  At first they had everything under control, and had little interest in an antiserum or a cure. But now that the slim modicum of control had been lost, their strategy had to be rethought, plans reconfigured. They couldn’t count on geographical barriers to keep them safe any longer.

  A cure was needed… but it had to be kept out of the wrong hands. Hence the acquisition of Dr. Albert and Captain Drake. The loss of the doctor’s notes and samples had been a blow, but he had another ace or two he hadn’t yet played.

  Not everyone deserved a cure. Most of the world’s population didn’t. And wasn’t that the point of this whole exercise, to cull the sheep to a manageable number? True, more would be culled than originally planned, but with a cure, enough would be left to do the grunt work.

  “Sir?”

  A soft voice spoke behind him. His aide, Sarah.

  He turned, noting with approval how the crisp fabric of her uniform was creased just so, its fit utilitarian and just short of too attractive on her athletic build. Her white blonde hair, cut short in a style both practical and suited to her elfin features. Sarah knew how to walk the line. A good girl, with a strong military tradition in her background.

  Her father had served in the same battalion with him, under his command. A good soldier who had given his life in the line of duty. He had felt an obligation to the widow and daughter, and had made sure they’d been taken care of. Thus, it seemed only natural to take Sarah under his wing when she went into the military, following in her father’s footsteps.

  If his condition frightened her, she never let it show.

  Sarah would be kept safe from the wolves.

  “Sir,” Sarah repeated, “they’re waiting for you downstairs.”

  “I’ll be along shortly,” he said.

  Let them wait, he thought. One of these days I’ll show them who’s really in charge.

  As if on cue a gentle chime sounded—his cell phone. He pulled it from his pocket, and his scrotum contracted when he saw the caller ID. Instantly he despised his own weakness. Fear was not to be tolerated.

  Still… his mouth was dry as he took the call.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  As soon as JT and I walked far enough away to get out of earshot, I turned to him.

  “Thank you,” I said sincerely.

  He nodded. “I’m sure you could have handled it on your own, but why should you have to, right?” He looked back. “Guy’s a prick.”

  “That he is,” I agreed, still breathing rapidly.

  JT looked at me.

  “You okay?”

  “Sure, I’m fine,” I said.

  With perfect comic timing, the adrenaline chose that moment to rush out of my body, leaving me weak and shaking. A wave of nausea slammed into me with the suddenness of a runaway elevator. Black spots swam in front of my vision, I dropped into a crouch, and put my head down on folded arms, breathing deeply as I concentrated on not passing out or throwing up. I felt JT’s hand on my shoulder again as he hunkered down next to me.

  “You gonna go all 3-D yawn on me?”

  “No,” I managed to say. “Just a little nauseated.”

  I took another deep breath, and then a few more until the feeling subsided.

  Better now.

  I stood up on slightly shaky legs, wiping cold sweat from my brow. I liked how JT let me use my own steam to stand, but stood close enough to help if I needed it. For a manic adrenaline junkie, he wasn’t so bad.

  “You do realize,” he said, “that ‘nauseated’ actually means that you make other people sick. The correct phrasing would be ‘I feel nauseous.’”

  I gave him a look, briefly reconsidering my previous evaluation.

  “Thanks, Encyclopedia Brown.”

  He grinned. “Technically that should be Dictionary Brown, but I take your point.”

  “Thanks,” I said again, this time meaning it. “For showing up when you did. That was just so not what I needed about now.”

  “You gonna tell someone about Mister Fifty Shades of Asshat?”

  I shook my head. “Not unless he pushes his luck a second time. Too much other stuff to worry about.”

  JT frowned. “Not so sure that’s a good idea.”

  I sighed. “While I’m all about anti-harassment in the workplace, we’re short on wild cards, and I’m gonna have to work with him. Besides,” I added grimly, “I can pretty much take care of myself.”

  “Having seen you in action mode, that much I know.”

  JT’s tone was appreciative without being sleazy. “I noticed he didn’t try anything when you were armed.”

  “Good point.”

  We continued walking down the hallway toward the elevator bank.

  “You know him long?”

  “Hell, no.” I got angry all over again. “He was one of the personnel down here watching the video feed while we fought… and Mack died.”

  Suddenly JT sprinted toward the elevator doors, and I tensed. He ran up them and flipped over to land on his feet like Donald O’Connor in Singing in the Rain, with as little effort as I used to get out of
bed. In the short time I’d known him, I’d gotten used to his random use of any available surface as a launching pad. The man had enough energy to fuel a rocket ship.

  He resumed his place at my side as if nothing had happened.

  “Hmm,” he said. “That’s strange. There’s got to be something else going on. Because seriously, that dude acts like an ex doing the whole time-for-a-restraining-order routine.” He gave me a quick up and down. “And while you are undeniably hot in a Xena-kick-my-ass-and-make-me-breakfast kind of way, if he just met you, that’s not enough to warrant the vibe he’s putting out.”

  “Kick your ass and make you breakfast?” Yes, I am easily distracted.

  “You know what I mean—”

  “No, I really don’t.”

  “Classic warrior-woman fixation by your average nerd. Finding a glorious kick-ass goddess who can take out an Uruk-hai horde, looks good in a chainmail bikini, and will make you chocolate chip pancakes after a night of amazing sex.”

  I stared at him. He grinned back at me.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not your average nerd.”

  The elevator doors opened. He must have hit the button with his feet.

  “No, I don’t think you are,” I agreed, stepping into the elevator. He followed, leaning casually against the back of the car as the doors slid shut.

  “So what’s next?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “Bad guys took your boyfriend and that dude who looked like a ferret. I assume there are plans to go after them. Any idea where they went?”

  “According to the microchip in Gabriel’s arm, San Diego—”

  “Wait.” JT held up a hand. “He’s got a microchip?”

  I nodded. “All the wild cards do.”

  “Makes sense.” He nodded. “Easier to track you all in the wild.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Seriously?”

  He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t they want to keep tabs on their most valuable assets?”

  “What do you mean, ‘they?’”

  JT looked at me. “Why don’t you tell me?”