by Kim Faulks
Fire lashed low down in my belly. I was in trouble, and it was more than the gash across my arm. It was something deep inside. Please don't let me die out here…
Damon could help me. Damon would know what to do. I yanked my jeans high, buttoned the waist, and yanked on my jacket.
Muffled amongst the screams of the wind, the faint sound of hooves haunted me. I focused on the towering building in the distance. My breath hitched with a step, and then another. I found a rhythm, timing breaths, timing steps, forcing myself to keep going, past familiar streets, until I’d left the towering office building far behind.
The sound of engines fought the hurricane roar. I stilled, scanning the streets behind me. The Mighty were out here, hunting. There was no Kenya now, and no pact. There was only me, and them...and the ring.
My steps slowed as I flinched with the memory. I’d had it in my hands, the stone smooth and perfect under my fingers, and now...now it was gone.
A weight settled heavy in my chest. The notebook crumpled inside my pocket. I scanned the nearby houses and what was left of the bricked-off buildings, and made for the waist-high grass as the faint sound of engines was carried on the wind.
Get inside. Stay hidden. I gripped the notebook and headed for the rear of the building. A car sat sideways in what had once been lush gardens. Now the place was a jungle, strangled by overgrown vines and hedges six feet high.
I speared through the underbrush, and swung my hand wide as thick cobwebs stuck to my face. The sound of the engines grew louder. I turned and flattened my spine against the side of a building and caught my breath.
Screams were carried on the wind, but they weren't the screams of a woman. They were the howls of a man...one captured in the throes of rage. "She's out here somewhere!”
My stomach tightened, heart thundering.
My fingers skimmed the notebook in my pocket. I dragged out the crumpled pages. Was this what they were searching for? The corners buckled under my fingers. I skimmed the words and turned to the page I’d stared at in the dark, the one lined with a heavy hand--the one desperate to show me the truth.
Blood-shot eyes, bleeding gums...this is the first sign of infection.
Not external...something new...can't tell the others--can't trust. I need someone else, someone not part of the circle...someone new.
Damon.
Chuck.
Kris.
It has to be one of them...it has to be…
Won’t make it…too sick. Maybe one, or two days left.
Harlow…
I stared at the words. Kenya knew what was happening. She knew the disease was being spread, and she knew it had to be one of those she cared about—someone she thought she could trust.
This was why she needed me. I stared at my underlined name before I closed the cover and stared into the brush.
I thought about not going back there, leaving Damon, Chuck, and Kris behind and my stomach hardened. But the dog...the damn dog.
I shook my head, there was no way I could leave her, or them. Three years I’d been alone. Three years with no one but the drug in my veins and the constant ache of loneliness.
You're a fighter, Dad's words filled me, making me take a step closer to the hedge and stare through. You’ve always been a fighter. So fight now.
The sound of the cars was gone now, the wind the only thing I could hear tearing through these streets. I eased to the corner of the brick building and waited.
Movement high up in a window caught my gaze. An old man leaned out, took one look at me, and smiled. He waved his hand, urging me forward and mouthed the words…hurry, go now.
There were good people left in this world, but there were plenty of bad. I’d kept to myself, and the reason still raged true—I couldn’t trust them…couldn’t take that chance, not when life was so fragile.
I stared at that old man, clutched my side, and eased out of the building to the street. Danger lingered in every corner and every window. They could shoot me from up there, and leave me for dead. But there was a bigger danger now driving me.
The danger that this was all for nothing, that any second my eyes would sting, and my nose would bleed. And I’d be next.
Fight, Harlow. Survive any way you can.
Those words haunted me as I passed familiar buildings. I lifted my head, sucked in hard breaths, and watched the brown brick of the hospital sway.
My feet were numb, my side was numb. Pain was a constant, driving my feet forward one slow step at a time. I clamped my arm against my jacket and kept going.
We live in the lab…you’ll understand soon enough.
Anger flared for a second, but the heat was fleeting and cruel, leaving me sad and fragile. Kenya knew what she was getting me into, and still desperation drove her.
What was one life when the rest of the city was at stake?
Kenya believed Pestilence didn’t just live amongst us…I lifted my gaze to the corner of the hospital and the path that would lead me to the lab. She believed he lived in the lab.
The heady thud of my boots echoed, my reflection trapped in the glass. Blood soaked through the front of the green surgical shirt. I kept my hand steady and hit the button.
Metal ground under the force until my arms shuddered and my hand slipped. Darkness ate away the edges of my vision as I shoved through. The hallway was all I saw, numbness was all I felt.
My knees trembled as I stumbled for the front door to the lab. Movement rushed from the other side of the glass…wide eyes greeted me. Damon’s face reared. His lips were moving, but I couldn’t catch the sound.
I couldn’t catch anything as the darkness swept in, stealing the light…stealing everything, and I dropped to the floor.
15
A warm wet cloth slid over my hand. My fingers throbbed, slow and steady. The rush of a breath, hard and fast anchored me. I focused on the sound and dragged in a breath through my arid mouth and felt my chest tighten. A cough ripped free, hard, deep, sounding raw, and the burn followed.
“Good, you’re awake.”
Damon’s voice filled the room. Shadows and light closed in. I couldn’t make out the shapes…and still the wet cloth skimmed my knuckles and carried over the backs of my fingers.
“That’s enough now, Angel. She’s amongst the living.”
My heart thundered and the blur closed in as Pitt gave a wine. I licked my lips, swallowed the tiny bit of moisture in my mouth, and whispered. “You gave my dog a name.”
The dark blur moved close, pale skin came into view, blood-shot eyes followed. Eyes brimming with crimson…he was sicker…much sicker. The table shuddered under his grip. “Yes. I did. Pitt was an atrocious attempt—actually, I refuse to call it an attempt, more like a placeholder.”
His voice was filled with venom but his smile…his smile gave him away.
“Placeholder sounds about right. Angel, huh?”
“She seems to like it,” he murmured dropping his gaze to stare at the floor.
A warm tongue greeted my hand once more, and for a second I just lay there, breathing…touching the warmth of a friend.
“Where is she, Harlow. Where is Kenya?”
He shattered the illusion in an instant, drawing me back to that place and those people. He waited, but the words seemed to be too cruel. I turned my head and looked away. I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t let him see my failings.
“Who?”
My throat tightened, the lump wedged tight as I forced a hiss. “Lost Boys.”
“Figured. Someone rogue, or was it Miles, that sadistic sonovabitch? I’ll kill him the next time he comes here. I’ll cut his fucking throat so fast he won’t know he’s bleeding all over my goddamn floor.”
The table shuddered with his rage. I wanted to tell him that he wouldn’t be cutting anyone soon, or even healing. Any day now he wouldn’t be doing anything at all.
Blood seeped from underneath his nose to splatter on the stainless steel bed. Damon glanced at the mess and
then lifted his hand. “Sorry ’bout that.”
I wanted to trust him. Wanted to find the notebook in my jacket and show him the truth. But his name had been listed along with all the others.
And that meant Kenya had a reason not to trust.
The dog whined, and my vision sharpened. I gripped the bed and pulled myself over to the side to see her standing beside him…as though somehow she was urging me to trust.
Those brown eyes seized me as she lifted her head. She was an angel, sent from whomever to be here in this damn moment. I clenched my jaw and closed my eyes, the damn dog trusted—now it was up to me. “My jacket…in the pocket.”
“What about it?”
“Kenya’s notebook. You need to read it.”
His brows furrowed before he turned and moved to the side. I could hear the rub of leather and the thud of the book. Any minute now, those words would register, and then he’d know the real reason I was here.
The sudden catch of breath filled the room. I wiggled my fingers, desperate to feel the warmth and the strength of someone I loved. And she came, rubbing against my fingertips and nudging the palm of my hand with her nose.
“She thought…she thought it was me?”
My chest ached with those words. “No, I don’t think she did. But she couldn’t rule you out, either. It has to be someone. Someone that had close ties with the Lost Boys, someone who had close ties with the three of you.”
“Jesus…Jesus Christ. Just when you thought you knew someone. Just when you thought you’d shared it all, then they go and write in a goddamn book about you. She could’ve come to me. She could’ve asked. I would’ve told her the truth. I would’ve told her anything she needed to hear. I’m not the one spreading the damn plague.”
I dragged my hand higher and gripped the bed. My other hand went to my stomach and the thick dressing covering half my stomach. “And if she’d gone to you, and you convinced her that it wasn’t you, then what? You’d both suspect Chuck…or Kris. How long do you think it’d take for either of those to wear you down, and meanwhile, whoever is really doing this is going to carry on. Only now he’s smarter, he’s hiding his shit. He’s changing the way he gets this out there.”
Pain snarled as I eased a foot over the side of the bed and followed with the other. It was a different kind of pain, like a savage animal with a belly full of food, too tired to hunt.
“Easy,” Damon warned and came closer. “Took me three damn hours to stitch you together. You don’t want to be lifting, or stretching, or doing anything for a while.”
I stared into his blood-filled eyes. There was no time for rest, no time for anything—for me, or for him. I hated myself, hated that I was using the last damn moments of this man’s life to help me. “Miles is convinced it was someone here, and if it wasn’t you, then…”
“Then is has to be Chuck. It’s not Kris, the damn man is a vicious sonovabitch, but he wasn’t always like this…it’s the work…it’s the years of trying, always trying. I never thought I’d say this, but without him…without his work, what remains of humanity is doomed.”
He was so sure. He glanced at the book in his hand and then at the door. He was so damn sure. “Chuck’s been my best friend since college. I never thought.”
“Then we have to find him. We need to end this before anyone else is infected. It’s a different strain, isn’t it?”
Damon’s shoulders curled, as though he was carrying the weight of the entire world. One slow nod was all I needed. “I didn’t notice, not at first. But this one is faster, it’s more aggressive, killing the host in days… not weeks.”
I swallowed hard, carefully tightened my muscles, and slipped from the bed. My jeans were gone, boots beside the bed. “My clothes…”
“The jeans were a mess. They had to be burned. But your jacket survived.”
Relief washed through me. When this was over I was going home—nails scratched the floor as Angel neared. I stared at her, remembering how the hounds snarled and lunged against the Lost Boys’ compound fence, and changed my mind—no, we were going home.
“What is this?”
The question dragged me from those perfect brown eyes to the object in the middle of his palm. I glanced at the open pocket of my jacket, and then to the shine of the massive emerald stone.
Damon lifted the ring closer. “Jesus, which jewelry shop did you break into to steal this?”
I pressed my palm against my side and crossed the floor. “None…it’s nothing.”
But it wasn’t nothing. It was a ring given to me…a ring with significance. What that significance was, I didn’t know. I snatched it from his palm and closed my fist. “My book…my Bible. Where is it?”
He turned his head to stare at my bed. “Right where you left it. I thought you’d want it close. You seem to be quite attached.”
I followed his gaze, to see the black leather peeking out from underneath my pillow, and made for the bed. The jolt was instant, searing through my fingers as I dragged the Bible free. It was a weapon, but one for my soul.
“You were calling for it in your sleep, you know,” he murmured. “Your dreams seemed to be quite…intense.”
Damon turned to stare at me as I shoved it into my pocket. Intense wasn’t the word he wanted to say. Heat burned, searing my cheeks. I gripped the waistband of my pants and yanked it higher. The sweatpants rode too low, and without the feel of denim against my skin, I felt too damn vulnerable.
“Chuck. Where is he?”
There was a twitch at the corner of his eye, a tell of betrayal. I glanced at my gun on the counter and steeled my spine.
“He’s where he always is at this time of the day, picking vegetables for dinner.”
I tried to picture Chuck as the bad guy, tried to melt that cruel mask across his wide smile. His laugher filled my mind, shocking and infectious. I stepped close and palmed the Sig.
“I can’t…I can’t go out there.”
I nodded and grabbed my jacket. There was no back-up in this world, no 911 to call when the shit went down. There was only me, only the words of my father inside my head to keep me alive.
Angel gave a whine and padded close, and I had a new guardian, one who had my back. I glanced at the shaved patches of hair and the dark stitching exposed, even if she was hurt herself.
The Calling filled me, carving deep in the marrow of my bones. The pain eased, pushed aside by purpose. “It’s okay. I think I’m meant to do this. It’s why I’m here.”
I eased my arms into the jacket and shoved the gun into my pocket. The ring sat heavy in my palm. I unfurled my fingers as I stepped toward the door. I’d left it there in the cold and the dark—I’d left it behind.
And yet here it was.
Angel trotted behind me as I made my way along the hall to the front door. The atrium was in the middle of the hospital, but as soon as I stepped outside the doors, I felt the difference.
Heat and moisture filled the space. I dragged in the humidity and headed toward the front of the hospital. Wide corridors let me see what was coming. One hand clutched my gun, the other reached for my pocket and drew the Bible free.
He might not know what he was doing? The doubt started finding cracks in the wall of determination. I swallowed and strode past what had once been the foyer and headed toward the heart of the hospital.
If he was spreading the plague, then he knew. He worked in a damn lab, for Christ’s sake. The light seemed to darken, hope flared inside me for a second and then spluttered like a dying flame as the image of the four horsemen filled my mind.
This wasn’t just any man I was hunting. This was evil—this was hate.
This was Pestilence.
My hands shook as I caught a glimpse of green. Long rows of fertile vegetable beds filled the mammoth space. Plastic sheeting covered the entrance, and beads of moisture clung to the inside, slowly dripping toward the floor.
But inside it was an ocean of green. I punched the Bible through the openi
ng and shoved. Angel was on my heels, sniffing the heady, rich scent.
Every inch of this place was filled to the brim. Towering stalks of corn crowded the edges, ripe red tomatoes, peppers, and a bed of herbs so thick and lush it’d make a horticulturalist green with envy.
I drew my gun free and stepped around the bed. “Chuck.”
My hair stuck to my neck. Sweat gathered on my forehead. My heart was thundering, filling my head with the roar. I gripped the steel to still the shake. “Chuck, you in here?”
Silence crept sharp talons along my spine.
“I know you’re in here. There’s no more hiding now. I want to understand what you’re doing. I want to help.”
Darkness shifted through the thick leaves of what looked like a banana plant. I wrenched my gaze high. My heart lunged, slamming against the inside of my chest. “I’m here to help you. You can’t keep doing this…”
The scrape of a shoe echoed. The muzzle of the gun bounced. My world narrowed in, slicing through the plants and the heat to that shift on the other side of the room.
Thick, wide shoulders came into view. He had his back to me, hunched over an empty garden bed.
“Your hands, Chuck. Show me your damn hands.”
Steady now, Dad’s voice filled my mind. Take it slow. He’s gonna rush you, so you need to be prepared.
One hand dropped to his side, fingers extended—palm empty. Blood coated his fingers, bright and fresh. He swayed, shoe scuffing the ground as he turned. Pale skin was no longer pale. Blood rushed in a cascade from the savage slice across his neck.
He lifted his hand and slapped the wall. His eyes were wide, filled with shock and surprise. His lips parted, but his words were nothing more than a hiss.
There was no knife. I dropped my gaze. My pulse throbbed along my temples.
No blade.
No weapon.
He took one slow step toward me, and then dropped to his knees.
His fingers curled as I rushed forward, clawing, grabbing, dragging me down as I reached for him. His blood smelled rich and sweet, filling my nose, making my stomach clench tight.
