“I have a present for you.” Hudson whirled around to face the source of the voice. Diane Weber. Now there was a specimen. She leaned in the doorway of the lab, the light from the hallway illuminating her blonde hair into a glowing halo.
She straightened up and started toward him, a glass vial in her hand. She stopped beside him, carefully setting the vial down beside his microscope.
Hudson looked at the blood-filled vial. “A present?”
Weber smiled, sliding it closer to him. “Take a look.”
“I have rounds in an hour, Diane, I really don’t have time for -”
“Trust me, Jack, you’ll want to make time for this.”
Hudson glanced at the clock again, then back to the vial on the table. He put on a clean pair of latex gloves and popped open the box of sterile slides nearby. Hudson grabbed a pipette and twisted off the cover of the vial. Carefully drawing up a sample of the blood, he grabbed a fresh slide out of the box and slowly squeezed the pipette, releasing a small amount of the blood onto the slide. He laid the pipette back down and quickly grabbed a second slide, placing it on top of the first so that the blood was sandwiched between the two.
Hudson slipped the finished slide into the microscope in front of him and leaned forward, adjusting the dials several times before settling in.
Hudson stared into the eyepiece of the microscope for a full minute before sitting back slowly. He picked up the vial of blood still on the table and looked at it for a long moment before he turned to Weber. “Where did you get,” he held up the vial, “this?”
“Samantha Karolyi.”
Hudson turned back to look at the vial. His grand-daughter... the specimen’s grand-daughter... “How?”
“I drew the blood while I was dressing her wounds. She ran into one of John’s recruits early this morning.”
“And?”
“And the wounds are already starting to heal.”
Hudson ran a hand through his hair. “Do you think she knows anything?”
Weber shook her head. “I don’t think so. It’s lucky she came here, that we found her in time.”
Hudson nodded his head up and down eagerly, barely able to contain his enthusiasm and excitement.
Weber’s tone became more serious as she continued. “Jack, we’re too close now. She’s going to be a serious problem for us.”
Hudson stopped nodding; his face became serious as he held up the blood sample again. “Not a problem, Diane. Samantha Karolyi may be the key to our future, the key to everything.”
8
SAM STEPPED OUT INTO the ambulance bay and pulled her jacket tighter around her body. The air was chilly... cold, actually. She inhaled deeply, relishing the feeling of the cold air as it whisked into her lungs. Her head ached horribly and her stomach... just the thought of being nauseous made her feel even more nauseous. Home... sleep... that’s what I need.
Sam took another deep breath, steeling herself for the journey home. Normally she would take the subway but venturing down there and spending even a half an hour cooped up in a subway car with random people... Walking... yes, we’re walking...
Sam reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She looked at the time and wished immediately that she hadn’t. Sam closed her eyes wearily but opened them again seconds later as her phone began to beep. She looked down at the text message that had just come in:
That body just came in. Said I’d let you know. Ben
Sam sighed. What to do? Walk home and get some much-needed sleep or brave the subway and check out the banged-up bus boy? She reached into her pocket, pulling out her cigarettes. She took one out of the pack and plunged a hand into her pocket in search of her lighter. No lighter. Shit. Is there anything I haven’t lost tonight? Sam reached into her other pocket and found the matchbook that Vincent had left behind earlier. Popping the book open, Sam looked at the number inside for a moment. She peeled off a match, struck it and lit her cigarette. She inhaled deeply, welcomed the pleasantly dizzying effects of the cigarette smoke. Or it could be whatever bug Franco gave me. I hope whatever it was wasn’t serious.
Sam looked at the matchbook cover again... then began to dial the cell number as she walked toward the subway entrance.
FIRST AVENUE & 30thStreet
Vincent Kremer watched as the sun peeked over the buildings and illuminated the shining glass and metal of the cold-looking buildings surrounding him. The city was just beginning to move. Occasionally, an early bus slid by. Taxis roamed the streets with drivers eager to get their last fare of the night before heading home. Brave (or foolish, depending on your point of view) drivers attempting to navigate the streets of Manhattan at the crack of dawn, evidently hoping to avoid the inevitably chaotic traffic that characterized the island.
He still couldn’t believe she had called... and that she had called so soon. Incredulity, fear... he’d grown to expect these reactions from people faced with the reality of LV, and she had been wounded in the altercation in Battery Park. Considering how she probably felt right about now, his face should be the last one she wanted to see... unless, of course, punching him in the face, or some other degree of violence, was the intention.
She’d done all the talking:
“Meet me at First and 30th in half-an-hour. What did you call him? Sick Boy? He’s at the City Mortuary right now, just came in. I hope you have that silvery shit in a syringe ‘cause if you try to shoot him in the Medical Examiner’s office, I will have to kill you. Half-an-hour. Be there.”
And then she hung up.
Vincent had stared at his cell phone for a long while afterward. She was in this now and, with her exposure to the virus, guaranteed she would need him around to keep her alive... if he didn’t have to put her down first, and he really didn’t want to do that. So, he had taken out his kit, slipped on his gloves and loaded up a punch-syringe of the “silvery shit.”
And here he stood, syringe in pocket, waiting for the attractive young woman. Vincent took out a cigarette and some matches. It would be easier to focus if she wasn’t so pretty. Agitated by the thought, Vincent snapped a match as he attempted to light a cigarette. You’re not here for her, you’re here to find him. Hopefully, before they do, but if not, at least in enough time to help his family. Vincent took a drag off the now-lit cigarette, inhaling deeply before blowing out a cloud of smoke and chilled breath. More information would have been nice. Like an address. Then I wouldn’t be wandering around a city of eight million plus people trying to find one man. So many people, so many sounds and smells... it could have been a quick and easy process anywhere else, but he had to live in New York. Vincent took another drag. He didn’t want to involve her any more than she was, but he was running out of time. Although... she was a cop, so maybe she could –
“You’re early.”
Vincent whirled around. He’d been so lost in his thoughts she’d snuck up on him. Not good. Speaking of not good, she looked very not good. Her face was pale and drawn, dark circles shadowing her eyes, her arms clasped tightly around her body. Her breathing was deep and deliberate, as if she was trying to keep from throwing up or passing out... maybe both. She was still pretty, though.
“Not by much.”
Sam nodded slightly, looking around at the buildings. “We have to walk a couple of blocks, okay?” She started to walk, her pace steady but relatively slow.
Vincent maneuvered himself to the outside nearest the street and fell into step beside her. Sam smiled softly at that. “My grandfather does that.”
The two had been silent for about half a block before Vincent said, “How do you know he’s there?”
“Who?”
“The boy.”
“A friend of mine works graveyard in the mortuary. I asked him to let me know when the body showed up.”
“This friend is male?” Vincent winced inside as he said it. He could feel Sam’s gaze turning on him and, hoping to distract her from everything that ill-timed and -worded question implied, quick
ly followed up with an equally unfortunate question. “Is he trustworthy?” Sure, creep her out and then offend her by implying her friends are not to be trusted... Oh my god, Vincent, what the hell is wrong with you?
“We grew up together.” Vincent relaxed somewhat at that... if it had offended her, she wasn’t showing it. Sam continued, “His father was a deadbeat, his mom was a drunk, so Benny spent his time with me. Plus, having a 17-year-old girlfriend is great street-cred for a 12-year-old boy.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Name-only. Kept him from getting beat up. Benny’s a little... different.”
Vincent’s eyebrows shot up as the realization dawned. “Oh, I see.”
Sam stopped walking and turned to Vincent, her face serious. “No, no, no, you don’t see. Ben isn’t gay, he’s just... Ben. You’ll see.” Sam started walking again and Vincent quickly followed.
They approached the building, which housed the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner (OCME). Vincent reached for the door and pulled it partially open.
Sam stopped, unable to squeeze through, and looked up at Vincent. “Problem?”
“He’s cool, right? All of this could be a bit much for —”
“You mean werewolves, melting bodies, viruses that turn you into animals?” Sam smiled and shook her head. “No, he won’t think any of this is weird at all.”
“THE COOLERS”
“You’re listening to New York’s number one rock station... Here’s a little something off the request line ...” Ben turned the radio volume up as the oscillating guitar-chord intro of “How Soon Is Now?” by The Smiths began. He glanced at the clock on the wall... almost eight o’clock... He looked down at the piles of books, study guides and notebooks covering the counter in front of him. Hopeless... absolutely hopeless... I’m going to be stuck in this tomb for the rest of my life. Ben lowered his face into his hands – Careful now, don’t smear the eyeliner! – and groaned.
After Sam left, the night had dragged. There had not been a lot of bodies coming in the past few nights. The lack of traffic to the mortuary, and the smatterings of conversation with those bringing in bodies, was beginning to wear on him.
Ben glanced at the radio. Ordinarily, he would be jamming out to this song, swinging his air guitar, pounding percussion with a pencil on the counter, but now – Ben sighed. Not feeling it. What was really getting to him was Sam. Seeing those scratches on her back earlier had made him worried enough, but when Sam’s partner, Lenny, showed up about an hour later, he really started to get concerned. Something was definitely up with Sam... and it was connected to these bodies.
Heroin girl wasn’t the first girl that had been brought in with so much dope in her veins, or the first body for that matter. She was the first one that hadn’t inexplicably disappeared during his lunch break, though.
The disappearances were bad enough, but the stuff with their paperwork was... odd. Whoever was taking them out made sure that, as far as the Medical Examiner’s office was concerned, they didn’t even exist. Had never been there. Hell, they could still be walking around somewhere. Ben smiled at that. Watching too many zombie movies, man.
The automatic doors down the hall buzzed an alert that they were opening. Ben turned down the radio and pulled out the logbook. One more body before he could go home and sleep...
The mortuary doors opened, and Sam walked in. Geez, she looks terrible! Ben quickly took in the appearance of his friend: the pale, almost gray cast to her skin; the dark circles under her eyes; the bent posture as she clutched at her abdomen. She looked like she was in pain, or about to throw-up, or both. Ben opened his mouth to speak but stopped short as a man followed Sam in. “This area isn’t open to the public, you know.”
Sam waved her hand dismissively. “He’s cool. Ben, Vincent. Vincent, Ben.”
Vincent nodded a greeting. “Where’s the body?”
Sam grimaced. “You could say ‘hello’ first.”
“Fine. Hello. Where’s the body?”
Ben looked back and forth between the two before he finally turned to Sam. “Sam, who is this person?”
Sam winced and gripped her stomach tighter. “Hard to explain. Just take us back, Benny, okay?”
Ben hesitated before he reached for a pair of gloves and stepped to the side to raise the counter. “You know, you could have gone home and slept,” he said quietly as Sam stepped through the opening.
Sam smiled at that. “Are you implying that these dark circles don’t go with my ensemble?”
“Well, now that you mention it...” Ben smiled back at her, the smile fading into a frown as Vincent swept by. “What’s the hurry?”
“Like I said, hard to explain. Well, actually, it’s pretty easy to explain, but it’s probably better if you just... observe.” Sam took a deep breath and forced herself upright. “Okay, let’s do this. Which drawer?”
“This one.” Vincent pointed to a drawer halfway down the wall, two drawers up from the floor. “Definitely this one. Open it up.”
Ben hesitated, glanced at Sam. She nodded, “Go ahead, Benny, open it.”
Ben slipped the gloves on and grabbed the handle, turning it with a ‘thunk’ and swinging the door open. He pulled the drawer out, the rollers grinding as he did.
Sam winced at the sound. “Remind me to bring you some WD-40 or something next time I come in, okay?”
Ben threw her a glare as he reached for the body bag zipper. He noticed that Vincent-guy moving his hand to his waist and caught the light reflecting off the silver gun holstered there. Ben pulled the zipper along its track, easing it down to just below the collarbone and pulling open the body bag.
He looks even younger laying here than he did on the street. Sam felt her eyes growing moist, as she looked at the kid that Vincent had dubbed “Sick Boy.” He didn’t look sick now; didn’t even look dead, for that matter. His face was clean and smooth and, though the pallor of death was certainly upon him, he looked like he was resting. Resting in peace...
She glanced over at Vincent in time to see him remove a syringe from his coat pocket. Filled with about 10cc of a silvery viscous liquid, the needle was heavy-looking and big... really big. “You really need that much needle?”
Vincent held the needle up and pushed the plunger lightly. A dewy bead of the silvery liquid formed at the tip. “Yes, I really need this much needle.” He pulled the zipper on the bag down further, exposing the central part of the kid’s chest.
Vincent looked up at the young man standing on the other side of the body. “Ben, right?”
Ben nodded, his eyes wide and focused on the massive needle between them.
“Ben, I would highly recommend that you take a step back.” Vincent positioned the needle just above the heart. “In fact, you may both want to stand back.”
Vincent looked up expectantly, watching as Ben backed away several steps. Sam moved more slowly and not quite as far. Vincent heard her breathing change, each breath coming more quickly. Her senses were beginning to sharpen already, part of the natural progression of the virus as it changed her DNA, but it would only serve to make this entire experience more difficult. She could probably smell it now, the thick metallic odor of the liquid in the syringe that would have been so innocuous before but now spelled death in mere moments.
I should have told her to leave. Vincent raised the syringe up... Too late now... and plunged the needle into the chest of “Sick Boy,” the liquid flowing out of the syringe and into the body.
A low grumble emanated from the throat and chest of the body and he started to shudder, not as violently as Franco had convulsed, but enough to rattle the drawer he was resting in.
Crazy as it sounded, Sam thought she could hear the liquid as it moved through the kid’s bloodstream. His eyes opened, and she could see they were empty, flat and black, like the eyes of a shark. His jaw clenched from the strain of the convulsions, his teeth grinding and gnashing. It seemed to go on forever then stopped as quickly as it started. The kid’s
body went still. The only signs of his ordeal were the bits of silvery foam near the corner of his mouth. Seconds passed and the body began to melt.
Sam exhaled with a sigh and turned to see how Ben was doing. He had been quiet throughout; frozen, staring at the body unblinking. He appeared to be in shock. “Benny? You okay?”
“That guy was dead. I know he was dead.” Ben blinked, turning his gaze on Sam. “Why did the body do that?”
Sam leaned against the wall and nodded to Vincent. “Would you like to field that one, Obi-Wan?”
Vincent slipped the cap onto the needle, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He held up the syringe, the silvery liquid inside catching the light. “Allergy to mercury. Fatal weakness for those infected with the Lycanthropic Virus.”
Ben watched the body melt away into a pool of shivery silver liquid. He swallowed hard, then blinked rapidly as he turned to Vincent and spoke quietly: “I thought you were supposed to use silver.”
“A common misconception. Most folktales left the ‘quick’ out, went with the silver. The mercury destabilizes the viral structure, resulting in anaphylactic shock. It reacts with the DNA, destroying the host.”
Sam let out a soft groan, bending over double and clutching at her stomach. “I don’t feel so good,” she said, her voice low and hoarse. She quickly turned and ran out of the room.
Ben watched after Sam until the door swung closed; he turned back to stare at the stains of blood and silvery liquid in the drawer that had been the kid. When he spoke, it was quiet and careful: “She’s not okay, is she?” When Vincent didn’t answer fast enough, Ben looked up, his tone becoming more urgent, “Is she?”
Vincent looked at the remains of the kid and for the first time in a long time – too long – felt badly for someone other than himself.
Do I tell him the truth, or tell him something to make him feel better... to somehow reassure him about the fact that his friend is turning into a werewolf isn’t something to really worry about? Vincent looked at Ben, noting the concern behind all that eyeliner and dramatic sweep of hair. Concern... and fear.
The Bloodline Series Box Set Page 7
