One down.
Now, only one more to go.
Chapter 23
The third infected had stood there, unmoving, as he watched Mike administer the vaccinated blood into his flailing counterpart. This had surprised Mike immensely. Weren’t the infected ruled by mindless behavior, just with the capacity to hunt better at night? Why hadn’t this one attacked him from behind? It was painfully obvious that he could have ripped Mike into two pieces if he’d chosen to.
Belatedly, Mike noticed the infected being’s red-and-yellow uniform, and as horrified recognition rushed through him, he reluctantly lifted his gaze to meet the colorless eyes dripping with strange fluids.
Those all-too-familiar eyes stared back. But they were no longer dripping with anything.
What’s Tommy doing here?
“I killed one before you came,” a female voice quipped, startling Mike out of his trance. The screamer from the red truck had crawled out to join him. Pointing at a still body slumped on the pavement, she said, “See?”
So Tommy and his cronies had been together all this time. But how had she managed to accomplish such a feat with nothing more than a flipped truck?
Mike was too afraid to take his eyes off his high school nemesis, but he noticed from his peripheral vision that she was tall and very blonde.
“You should get inside the car,” he said slowly, “before things head south from here.”
“My truck’s destroyed.”
“I meant mine.”
The woman snorted. “And leave a gallant hero like yourself to die out here alone? Nah. That wouldn’t be very nice of me.” She massaged her left shoulder, groaning a little. “Besides, I can take care of myself.”
“Oh, really?” Mike’s voice rose, his wide eyes still locked on Tommy. “Then tell me – why did you scream bloody murder, forcing me to risk my life to save you?”
“Because I was in a slight predicament,” she replied calmly. “And you came to save me because you’re a good guy.”
It was Mike’s turn to snort. “Slight predicament, my aunt Fanny.”
The blonde let out a nervous giggle. “You talk like my Nanna.”
Yes, that was the embarrassing outcome when you hung around with weirdos like Trey, Myrtle, and Mr. Rothstein.
A spluttered groan rose up behind them, and both Mike and the blonde whirled around to see the infected being clawing at the air.
“W-water,” he said hoarsely, causing Mike to let out a startled oath. “Neeeeed … water. W-waterrrr …”
So Dr. Miriam Rothstein had been wrong; his vaccinated blood could help the infected, too. That dramatic monologue of hers about dying in unimaginable ways had been just that – pure drama. Mike watched as Scottie McPherson, Tommy’s ever-faithful high school crony, clawed at the air again. He was the one who’d worked as a used car salesman. Probably the nicest of the three, which wasn’t saying all that much.
Before Mike could force his frozen legs to move, Tommy whooshed past him, reaching Scottie in mere seconds.
“Who … who’s there?” Scottie stammered through his cracked lips, incapable of seeing through his ruined eyes. “T-Tommy? Is t-that you?”
One moment, Scottie was still talking; the next, his decapitated head was rolling on the dirt, his mouth still moving. Blood spurted in copious amounts, flowing all over the hood of the car.
Gasping in horror, the brave blonde grabbed Mike’s arm and tried to shove him into the car first. But he shrugged her off. Huddling inside a stationary vehicle wasn’t going to protect them from Tommy; one of them was going to have to stay behind.
He picked the blonde up like she was nothing more than an irate kitten and shoved her into the backseat, slamming the door shut in her indignant face.
She thumped on the window, shouting muffled profanities at him.
There was no time to dawdle with indecision. Judging by what had become of Scottie, Mike knew his blood could help infected beings return to normal, even if only temporarily. And while the idea of giving his blood to Tommy left a foul taste in his mouth, there was no helping it.
It was do or die.
“Hey, surfer girl,” he shouted. “Grab me a syringe from the passenger seat, will you?”
She didn’t need to be told twice, which surprised Mike. No silly questions, either.
Her arm shot out as she rolled down the window, and Mike took the syringe, uncapping the needle. He held it up high in a wordless display of warning.
It was eerie how Tommy’s eyes could follow every one of Mike’s movements. Not like Scottie, whose eyes had been similar to Tommy’s when they’d cornered Mike in the cabin. So why was there a difference now?
Tommy stared at the syringe, and Mike could swear his nemesis was actually thinking. Did he know what was inside? Or maybe he’d put two and two together after seeing Scottie’s transformation. Even so, how was this possible?
Their mindlessness had at least given humans a tiny edge over them. It allowed humans to make strategic plans to increase their survival rate, especially during nighttime when they were at their weakest. But if these monsters could think …
As if to prove him correct, Tommy opened his mouth. “Boy toyyy,” he growled.
Boy toy. That had been one of Tommy’s favorite insults after seeing Ms. Garcia, their twenty-something-year-old history teacher, favor Mike in class. She’d been fairly popular among the jocks, but for reasons unknown to Mike, she’d always paid extra attention to him. She’d even made him stay back after class so that she could give him her number.
Of course, Mike had deleted it as soon as he got home.
Unfortunately, Tommy had known about all this; hence the relentless name-calling and bullying. Even when Mike had explained that there was nothing going on between him and Ms. Garcia, Tommy had bullied and beaten him, sometimes with excessive ardor.
Boy toy. So … not only could Tommy speak, which was already shocking on its own, but he could remember the past. As much as Mike hated to admit it, this could only mean one thing.
Some of the infected beings were evolving, the same way he and Mr. Rothstein were experiencing improved physical abilities.
This did not bode well for them. At all.
Tommy swiveled his head to stare at Mike, opening his mouth again. “Come back for you.” He spat out the words, almost painfully, and then disappeared into the trees before Mike could register the meaning of what he’d said.
The message was pretty clear: this wasn’t over, not by a long shot.
“Is he gone?” the blonde asked, poking her head out the window. Incredulity filled her voice.
Mike slumped against the door. “I guess.” Now that fighting to live was no longer a top priority, he leisurely assessed their surroundings. “What’s with the fire?”
She bowed her head. “I drove over here to bury my friend, who died from the infection. I was advised to cremate him to stop the infection from spreading.”
“So you came out here alone, in the middle of the night?”
“Well … when you put it that way –”
“Are you stupid or what? And who’s the fool who sent you to do this by yourself?”
She pressed her lips together, as if to stifle a rising retort. But the expression on her face was one of reluctant agreement.
This time, Mike took her whole appearance in. She had a lovely face – big cornflower blue eyes and hair on the verge of going platinum blonde. Probably lightened from the summer sun, he thought, clearing his throat as he glanced away.
“Listen,” she said, sounding awkward, “I need a ride home. My brother and friends are waiting for me.” She gestured toward the truck. “And as you can see, my truck’s completely wrecked.”
“Not my problem.” He was being a total dick, but he couldn’t help it. After all, he had almost died because of her.
Then again, it wasn’t as if she’d escaped unscathed, either. Mike noticed the piece of dirty cloth wrapped around her hand, and how much
blood had still managed to seep through despite her efforts to stem the flow.
“Oh … okay.” She frowned to herself. “Well, I suppose I could just walk home. But I’ll take the last syringe, if you don’t mind.”
This night was just full of surprises.
“You know, something occurred to me when Scottie began asking for water.” He stared down at her. “While I was shocked to the core, you seemed unsurprised. Care to explain?”
“Not until you tell me how you know his name,” she shot back.
Ah. That was a stupid slip up on his part. “Easy. We went to the same high school.”
She looked doubtful. “Really? But the way you rammed into him –”
“I rammed into an infected,” he reminded her. “It was only later that I recognized who he was.”
Tense silence fell between them, and Mike tapped on his thigh impatiently.
“Well?” he barked in frustration. “Are you going to tell me or not?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, no. Listen, mister, I just met you. And yes, I’m grateful that you saved my life, but I still don’t know whether I can trust you. So, please understand.”
Her polite but stubborn response only served to increase his suspicion.
Damn it, she’s hiding something important. But what?
Mike glanced up at the moon, listening to the buzz of nearby cicadas. Strange that they were out in full force late at night. Was it because of the intense summer heat? Or the bright moon?
Feeling calmer than before, he decided to try a different tactic. “I’m Mike, by the way. Mike Weber.”
The blonde hesitated for a moment, then offered her own name. “Casey Miller.”
“Casey …” Mike trailed off, taken aback. It sounded strangely familiar. As he racked his brain trying to figure out why, the answer came in the form of Dr. Miriam addressing her father in the video file.
Eight volunteers, she’d said.
Lance Davis, Kiara White, Esther Kim, Juan Hernandez, Casey Miller, Mason Iwaki, Mike Weber, and Felipe Vargas.
Casey Miller.
Finally, he understood why she’d been so adamant about keeping her secret.
“Why are you smiling like that?” she demanded suddenly, looking creeped out.
His smile widened, and he didn’t care what he looked like. “It’s nothing. I’m just glad I found you sooner than expected, that’s all.” And with that enigmatic reply, he slipped into the driver’s seat.
“Buckle up, Ms. Miller. I’m taking you home.”
Chapter 24
Trey wondered what was taking Michael so long.
He lay there and listened to Aaron’s and Myrtle’s frightful snores, neither annoyed by nor sympathetic to their sleep apnea. His father had snored as well, forcing his mother to seek rest elsewhere. An insensitive habit that had occurred more frequently as time went on and a new, younger beau arrived on the scene.
My poor father.
He turned his attention back to Michael, who had left the premises four hours ago. Trey had watched from the office window as he drove away in a black Maserati GranTurismo. If another had caught him sneaking out in the middle of the night, they might have feared he was running away. But not Trey. He had absolute trust in his guardian that he would return by morning at the latest.
Feeling restless, he clambered to his feet and headed straight for his luggage bag, which Michael had placed against the farthest corner of the wall. He unzipped the top just enough to extricate the windup music box that had once belonged to his father.
The music box that contained a gift of tremendous sacrifice.
With great care, Trey lifted the wooden lid and listened as the box played a simplistic, out-of-tune rendition of “Greensleeves.” Inside was a small syringe filled with what his father had drunkenly described as a “vitamin shot that would protect Trey from evil.”
His main occupation had been biohazard cleaning, where he was required to clean and sanitize crime scenes, labs containing potentially infectious materials, and meth labs. On days off, he had undertaken other menial jobs to make sure Trey and his mother lacked for nothing.
But six months ago, his agency had sent him to work at Deen & Blatt Pharmaceuticals on a sporadic basis. During these late clean-ups, he had gotten to know several of the leading research scientists, one of whom had been Aaron’s daughter Miriam Rothstein.
As the months progressed along, his father had begun drinking heavily. And during his drunken episodes, he would mutter about shredded documents, deaths, and experiments gone wrong, occasionally frightening Trey and his mother.
But the one that had frightened him the most was when his father would nurse a drink as he sat facing the wall, whispering to himself about stealing “one from the ten.” None of it had made any sense to Trey.
Until now.
He closed the music box and quietly stepped out of the office. Choosing the adjacent office, he entered the smaller space, wrinkling his nose as he headed straight for the windows. The lack of ventilation gave him claustrophobia, and Trey pushed the windows open to allow fresh air to circulate and lessen the staleness of the air.
“Better,” he said to the empty room. Standing beside a window, he opened the music box again and carefully lifted the syringe with his trembling thumb and forefinger.
Trey was no fool. Aaron and Michael may have thought they were being careful around him, but Trey had overheard and witnessed enough to know that his friends had both received the vaccine. In Aaron’s case, it was a given – his daughter was one of the leading scientists responsible for the vaccine’s existence.
He held the syringe up in the air, watching the moonlight reflecting off the clear liquid. This was also the reason for his parents’ violent fight that had led to her ultimate death. Trey had deliberately left this part out during Michael’s interrogation in the trailer. And why shouldn’t he? He was under no obligation to tell Michael everything, especially something so personal. The fact that his beautiful mother had sought to take the vaccine for herself before leaving, and the drunken tussle that had then taken a violent turn in the dingy bedroom, was truly no one’s business.
Trey vowed to take this painful detail to the grave.
He wrapped his fingers around the syringe protectively. This vaccine had come into his possession because of his father’s sacrifice. Ramone James Long had been willing to steal, and even kill his own wife, for the sake of his son.
It went without saying that Trey would guard this final gift with his life.
“Whatcha got over there, cowboy?”
Startled, he hid the syringe behind his back and regretted his actions immediately. He might be considered a genius, but his actions were still very much that of an awkward boy. If only he could be cool and calculating like some of the professional adults he’d met.
“It’s my father’s music box,” he said in a disgruntled tone.
Myrtle stepped into the office. “Well … that’s nice, but I wasn’t talking about that.” Her lips spread into an oily smile. “Whatcha holding in your hand?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why the secrecy?”
“There is no secrecy. I simply don’t enjoy conversing with you.”
“Ouch,” she said dramatically, clutching her chest. “That one hurt. But you know, Tran, I’m the only one here who actually cares about you. Not like that pretty-looking pedophile who ran away like a coward in the middle of the night.”
So she was aware of his absence.
“You know, I’m getting mighty tired of all these secrets,” she continued, stepping even closer to Trey. “I cook all these nice food for you people, but what do I get in return? Nothing. You leave me out of important conversations. Like last night.” Her cheeks bloated outward, reminding Trey of an angry toad. “Those two were up to no good, and you know it. And why was the old man drawing the pedophile’s blood out? What were they up to?”
That one had puzzled Trey as well, but he
remained quiet, unwilling to take the bait.
When he didn’t respond, Myrtle sighed and jangled a set of silver keys in his face. The keys to Aaron’s RV.
“I’m leaving,” she said smugly, “and you might as well come with me. The pedophile’s not coming back, and good riddance.”
“What about Aaron?”
“What about that old geezer? He’s useless to us.”
“Some would say a child is just as useless.”
She lowered her chin, staring at him through her lashes. “Children still have some value. Like trafficking, for instance.”
Funny how she would rail against Michael and falsely accuse him of pedophilia, when she was the true abomination here.
“You may leave if that is your desire,” he said, edging closer to the window. “I will stay behind with Aaron.” And Michael when he returns, Trey added silently.
“Sure, if that’s your desire,” she said in a mocking voice. “But in exchange, you’ll have to give me what’s in your hand.”
Trey affected a bored tone as he placed the syringe back in the box and closed the lid. “There’s nothing here that would interest you. It’s just an insulin pen my diabetic father once used.” When she seemed unmoved by his made-up story, he added in annoyance, “I brought it as a keepsake to remember him.”
“Well … that’s a nice tale of woe, Tran. But I’m all cried out.” She extended an open palm toward him. “Now, give it to me when I’m asking nicely.”
“It has no value to you,” he insisted.
She barked out a harsh laugh. “You really take me for a fool, don’t you? You and your perverted friends. But I know that thing has value. Drugs will be all the rage now, don’t you know? People will kill their firstborns to get their hands on ‘em!”
The woman really was a fool. To reduce a rare vaccine to mere drugs … it truly was a pathetic sight to behold.
When Trey stubbornly clutched the music box to his small chest, Myrtle strode toward him and smacked his face. Stunned, he teetered sideways but kept his death grip on the box.
Fate Page 17
