The mob did not scream; they did not shout. When they leaped to attack, it was with the ferocity of insanity.
The jiangshi.
“The jiangshi are all over the city,” Dr. Shen translated the newscaster’s report for Danyael’s benefit. “They came up from the tunnels, apparently provoked into anger and driven into the streets by the police assault.”
Danyael stared at the screen as it captured the madness sweeping through the streets. The people injured by the jiangshi’s rampage and left lying by the side of the road stiffened. They clutched their heads as if in terrible pain and writhed for several moments before leaping to their feet, their injuries apparently forgotten.
None of the injured was unaffected. “There aren’t that many psychics—minor or otherwise,” Danyael murmured. The mutated form of shuang kuangxi was transforming psychics and humans, as he had predicted.
A cold horror seized him. Sometimes, the only thing worse than being wrong was being right. He reached for his smartphone. “Xin?”
“I’m busy,” she snapped.
“Do you know what’s happening?”
“Yes, I do. The jiangshi are clawing on the walls of the villa right now.”
“What?”
“They’re breaking in. Damn it, Danyael. I don’t have much time. I have to finish coding this. I have to release my computer worm before they get to me.”
“Shuang kuangxi mutated. It now transforms non-psychics too.”
She paused for a beat. “Do you have any good news for me at all?”
He flipped through the chemical analysis of the two forms of shuang kuangxi. “They have the same active ingredient, so in theory, the amended formula I sent to you should take care of both variants.”
“It only stops people from making the potent variants of shuang kuangxi. It’s not going to fix the exponentially growing jiangshi problem on the streets.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“You can’t go nuclear on Zhengzhou.”
“That’s not my plan.”
“I trust you, Danyael. Don’t screw up. I have to go. I’m running out of time.”
The line went dead.
Running out of time. Danyael glanced at Dr. Shen. “Do you have a car?”
She nodded.
“We have to get to Xin.”
“The villa is twenty minutes away. You won’t be able to get there in time.”
“We’re going. Now.” He snatched up two vials containing the two original and mutated forms of shuang kuangxi and slipped them into his jacket pocket, before ushering Dr. Shen out the door and to the garage. “Take the side roads. Go around the city,” he instructed.
“The jiangshi—”
“I can drive them away if they get too close.”
Dr. Shen nodded. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white. “What will we do when we get there?”
“Buy Xin the breathing room she needs to finish her code and infect the Internet.”
“But if you’re hurt—”
“I was already planning to infect myself with shuang kuangxi. If I’m attacked and injured, the end result isn’t all that different.”
“You were what?”
“We need antibodies against shuang kuangxi.”
“We’ve already tried it.”
“I know; I read your reports.”
“We tried it many times.”
“But not this way. You haven’t tried it on me.”
Her jaw dropped, and she blinked like a bewildered owlet. “You’re…” She glanced sideways at him. The glare of the passing streetlights cast her face alternately into light and shadow. “You’re not kidding.”
“No. I know it’s dangerous—”
“It’s insane.”
“That’s why we have to take precautions to ensure I don’t infect or hurt others until we know if I’ve developed antibodies. You’ve got the facilities at Excelsior to keep me contained.”
“But what makes you think you’ll be able to develop antibodies? The serum is formulated on your blood. More than likely, your body may not even recognize it as a foreign substance. You, of all people, have no defense against it.”
“I realize that.”
“So what makes you think you’ll be able to develop antibodies?”
“Because if an infected person can stave off the madness long enough, the body may develop resistance to shuang kuangxi, including antibodies.”
“Yes, more than likely,” Dr. Shen conceded. “And you think you can.”
Could he? Could anyone’s sanity not shatter beneath the self-inflicted hell of extreme sensory overload? Perhaps only an alpha empath trained to hold on to his cultivated equilibrium in the face of sickness, pain, and even torture. Danyael drew a deep breath. “I think I’m the only one who can.”
“And you are determined to attempt it.”
He nodded. “Intensifying the jiangshis’ madness and driving them to suicide isn’t the right answer.”
Dr. Shen swallowed hard. “It isn’t the right answer, or you refuse to accept it as the right answer?”
“They’re also victims, and there are thousands of them.” He raked his fingers through his hair.
“But if you’re killed…”
Danyael’s smile was without humor. “I don’t have time for that today.”
Dr. Shen’s laughed, a thin and despairing sound. “Accidents happen, and I’ve heard…rumors. What happens if you do die?”
“If I die, it needs to be within a fully enclosed room, or my mind needs to be shielded by an alpha telepath until my powers fade away.”
She darted him a sideway glance. “So, it’s true, then. If you die, the empathic powers unleashed at the moment of your death can drive people to suicide.”
“Yes.”
“So, when Xin said not to go nuclear—”
“It’s probably her affectionate way of saying, ‘Don’t get killed.’”
“She doesn’t know, does she, your plan to infect yourself with shuang kuangxi?”
“No, but if she did, she’ll probably approve.”
Dr. Shen blinked like a startled owl.
“It’s for the greater good.” Bitterness, grounded in experience, touched the edge of Danyael’s voice. “It’s all that matters to Xin.”
“But it could cost you your life,” Dr. Shen protested.
“Whatever the cost. She’ll sacrifice her friends; she’s done it before. She’ll do it again.”
Xin’s fingers flew over the virtual keyboard keys as she embedded the code into her computer worm. Just like a scientist in a laboratory, rewriting the genetic code, altering its purpose. The consequences could be as great, or as disastrous, if poorly executed.
The screams of the injured and dying reached her ears but blended into white noise before her mind registered the sounds. She had to finish the code—
The door slammed.
Her head jerked up, and she stared blankly at her mother before her thoughts refocused into a scowl. “What is it?”
“The jiangshi have broken into the second courtyard.”
Xin peered out of the window. Unmoving bodies sprawled on the stone tiles, blood seeping into the cracks. More jiangshi spilled into the inner courtyard through the circular doors and joined the creatures pounding on the door at the base of the tower. The rhythmic beat of fists against wood was the only sound that drifted upward. The silent charge of the jiangshi was likely the most eerie thing about them.
“I’ve locked all the doors leading up to your study and barricaded them,” Ching Shih said. “But the jiangshi are strong, and many. The doors will not hold.”
As if on cue, the front door of the pagoda collapsed beneath the weight of the jiangshi. Their footsteps vibrated through the tower.
Ching Shih looked at Xin. “How much more time do you need?”
“Probably more than I have.” Xin sat at her desk. Her gaze raced over the lines of code. “Five minutes.” She set her
gun next to her. For when I’ll need it. She shut out the sound of splintering wood and of feet thudding across stone floors. Her heart raced; her mind remained as cold as ice.
She was only vaguely aware of her mother moving to stand in the narrow space between the door and the desk.
Two minutes. Almost there.
The door burst open. She did not look up at the flurry of motion in her peripheral vision. The rank scent of decay and death wafted past her nostrils. She scarcely noticed it.
Someone screamed. It was not her mother.
The sounds of a vicious fight swamped the silence of Xin’s study. Bones cracked and snapped. Startled hisses of pain collapsed into wheezes.
Xin did not look up. One more minute. She tapped in the last line of code. Her gaze darted over the entire sequence. Perfect.
Another scream ripped through the air. Something lunged toward her.
And done. Xin hit a key, releasing the worm into the Internet, as she snatched up her pistol with her other hand. She raised the weapon and squeezed the trigger at nearly point-blank range. The bullet pierced the jiangshi’s head, spraying blood out the back of its skull. Her next shot killed the jiangshi coming in through the door.
Xin turned in time to see her mother knock a jiangshi into the wall with a whirling double kick to its face. Another creature pounced on Ching Shih, but the older woman twisted out of its grasping hands, spun around, and landed a blow on the back of its neck that dropped it unconscious to the floor.
For a moment, the room was still. Xin’s gaze took in the six jiangshi that her mother had disabled or killed to protect her.
Ching Shih glanced out the window. “They are still coming.”
“I know.” Xin crossed the room to grasp her mother’s arm. A jiangshi had sunk its teeth into her upper arm and torn through flesh and muscle. Shock dug claws into Xin’s chest and stole her breath. “You’re hurt.”
“Did you finish what you needed to do?”
Xin nodded. “Only because you kept the jiangshi from getting to me.” She forced a smile in spite of the dread chilling her body. “I didn’t even realize you kept up with wushu.”
“It served its purpose.” Ching Shih stepped back from Xin. She glanced down at her bleeding arm. “How long do I have?”
Xin swallowed hard. “A few minutes, perhaps.”
“And what you’ve done will stop the spread of shuang kuangxi?”
Xin nodded.
“Good,” Ching Shih said. “You have done well, then.” Her gaze shifted to the gun in Xin’s hand. “You know what you have to do.”
No! Xin’s mind stumbled, clumsy from shock. “We haven’t finished our conversation.”
“Life is full of unfinished conversations.”
“We’ll finish this one. What happened to Ai Li?”
Ching Shih expelled her breath in a quiet sigh. “She died.”
“How?”
“When we arrived at the port of Shanghai, the waters teemed with military police in search vessels. Boats and ships were searched before entering the port; they were searched before they were allowed to leave the port. The fisherman whose boat we were on gestured frantically to a police vessel.”
“He betrayed you.”
Ching Shih nodded. “I struck him and killed him, but the police boat had seen his signal. Their boat approached. I told Ai Li to take you into the water, and I would lead the police boat away, but she pushed you into my arms instead. I dove into the water with you and hid beside the hull of large ships as Ai Li steered our boat toward Shanghai.”
“And then what happened?”
“I climbed on board a yacht that was heading to open water and stowed away for two days until I was certain we were both safe.”
“What about Ai Li?”
“They caught up with her. Even from the distance, I saw the struggle. Their guns swung up, and she fell, not rising again.” Ching Shih pressed the palm of her hand against her temple and drew a deep, shuddering breath.
Not much more time. Xin tightened her grip on the pistol. “And that’s how my mother died? That’s how it all ended?”
Ching Shih shook her head. “It’s where Ai Li’s life ended, but it’s also where your life truly began. When your mother gave you to me…” Her voice caught and ended in a choked sound that could have been the swallowing of tears or a struggle to breathe. Shuang kuangxi was taking effect, transforming her. “Love her.”
“Love her?”
“Ai Li’s last words were ‘Love her.’” Ching Shih raised her head and met Xin’s eyes. “What did I know about mothering a child? Nothing.” Bitterness swamped her voice. “I did all I could. Gave all I could. The lack in your life…I could not be like your friends’ mothers, but I do not know what else I could have done.” Her lips trembled, but she said nothing more.
Xin’s eyes stung, and she blinked back tears. The words spilling from Ching Shih’s lips were sometimes harsh, even critical, and they stood in stark contrast to her actions. Everything she did screamed it. She had kept her promise to Ai Li; she had loved Xin with everything in her.
She had chosen to defend and die for the child—not of her womb, but of her heart.
“I feel it…inside me. Taking over. You must leave.” Ching Shih’s voice quavered.
“You’ve spent your entire life saying that to me.” Xin dismissed the order with a nonchalant shrug. “Aren’t you tired of it?”
Ching Shih jerked, visibly startled by Xin’s tone. “The jiangshi. More will come.”
“I know. But you’re in no condition to run. We’re both out of time.” Xin took her mother’s hand and led her to the couch. She settled against the cushions and tugged Ching Shih down beside her. “You’ve held and supported me all my life, even when we were not together. Let me hold you now.”
“You must go.” Ching Shih’s breath came in short heaves, and her eyes were dilated.
“No. You must not be alone. Not now.” Xin drew Ching Shih’s head against her shoulder and stroked the still-black hair. The deep shudders of her mother’s body vibrated against her. “It’s all right,” she murmured. “Hold on to me. Keep your thoughts on me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” Xin whispered and turned her head to press a kiss to her mother’s hair.
The shuffle of bare feet against stone drifted up to her. The jiangshi. The second wave was coming up the pagoda steps. Xin glanced at her Glock. She had fifteen bullets left. Thirteen for the jiangshi. One for her mother. One for herself.
The first jiangshi burst through the door. The first bullet tore through its chest, but scarcely slowed it. Her second shot took out its face, and it dropped to the floor.
Two more jiangshi took its place. Behind them, Xin saw a blur of faces etched with madness. She locked her heart to the confusion and bewilderment in the jiangshi’s eyes. It’s just like target practice at the range. Shadow outlines.
Ching Shih clung to Xin’s other arm. Her shudders became more violent, and she jolted at each gunshot that went off close to her ear.
Ten...Eleven…
Two more jiangshi dropped, but the horde showed no signs of thinning or slowing. Xin clenched her teeth as Ching Shih whimpered, the sound edged with panic. Almost out of time. Her finger tightened on the trigger twice, and a jiangshi reeled to its knees before toppling sideways. Twelve…Thirteen…
Her mother’s face was slick with sweat, her skin cold and clammy. Xin pressed her cheek against her mother’s for the last time, and then set the muzzle of her gun against Ching Shih’s temple. Her finger tightened—
Xin’s mind jolted, her mental shields trembling against a devastating blast of psychic power.
Their minds unprotected, the jiangshi froze for the single instant it took their sensory overload to spike into suicidal insanity. Several jiangshi threw themselves from the open window, plunging nine floors to their deaths. Others smashed their heads against the walls, pulping skin and flesh, even c
racking bone, until they collapsed, dead.
Danyael appeared at the top of the stairs over the tangle of dead bodies. Relief washed across his face as he sprinted to Xin’s side. He pushed her gun aside. “It’s all right. I’ve got it.” He knelt in front of Ching Shih and placed his hand across her forehead. His eyes closed, and his breathing steadied and slowed; he was reaching deeper within himself—anchoring instead of destabilizing, channeling peace instead of pain.
“She was injured by a jiangshi.” Xin’s voice trembled. Oh, God. She had almost killed her mother. She had been moments from committing suicide. Their brush with death shuddered through her. Force of will shoved it to the recesses of her mind. “Can you heal her?”
Danyael’s face tightened. He opened his eyes and met Xin’s gaze. “No, but I can stabilize her until we find the cure.”
“But there is no cure.”
“Not yet, but there will be. I’m working on it.” He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
Dr. Shen appeared a moment later. Her face paled at the sight of bodies piled in the study, and she sagged against the wall for support. Her gaze locked on Ching Shih, who lay unmoving in Xin’s arms. “Is she…?”
“She’s resting,” Danyael said. “Let’s get her back to the lab. She’ll need to be restrained or placed in a safe room until we have an antidote.”
“How long before you have the antidote?” Xin asked.
“Given how fast shuang kuangxi acts, I’d say, ‘Quickly or not at all.’”
“How many hours?”
He drew a deep breath and exchanged a glance with Dr. Shen. “Twenty-four to forty-eight hours,” Danyael said. “Once we have the antibodies, we can identify the chemical formula and mass-produce it.”
Dr. Shen nodded. “Excelsior’s manufacturing facilities can easily handle it.”
Hope bubbled to the surface, but logic—too deeply ingrained—could not be shoved aside. Xin’s gaze shuttled between Danyael and Dr. Shen. She knew Danyael too well. His psychic shields contained his emotions, but the despair in his eyes betrayed him. “What aren’t you telling me?”
He averted his gaze. “I don’t need to tell you that it’s easier to kill than to heal. Death will cut off the chain of violence and infection. Keeping the jiangshi alive while we try to find the cure is risky.”
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