Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“She’s safer here than anywhere else, and her situation isn’t up for discussion.”
Are they talking about me?
“She is human. One of us. That makes her—”
“Your next words will concern Atlanta, Captain, or I will remove your godforsaken tongue.” The ice in Valen’s tone makes me grit my teeth.
The approaching footsteps stop nearby, perhaps 50 paces away at maximum. I can’t see them, but I feel them. I have to hope Valen is too preoccupied to sense my presence. Even so, I stay as still as I can, so much so that one of my thigh muscles begins to twitch.
“Atlanta is your goddamn mess, vampire. Not mine.” The man speaks with vehemence and a tinge of hatred. “We had an arrangement.”
“Your failure to protect your own people is not my cross to bear, Captain.” Valen’s derisive tone is like the work of a scalpel, succinct and precise.
These two are clearly at odds, and I’m not sure what they’re getting by meeting clandestinely, especially if the second man is human. He must be, given the time of day.
A long pause passes between them, one that seems to charge the air with tension. Like the tickle of electricity before a direct lightning strike. “Atlanta is a complete clusterfuck as you well know.” The redhead’s tone is grim. “Tantun destroyed infrastructure. Your own forces have decimated entire sections of the downtown grid.”
“Yes, yes, poor defenseless humans slaughtered. How terrible. Such a shame.” Valen’s haughty reply. “My heart bleeds. Now, the scientists, Captain. What of them?”
“Such a fucking—” The man stops short, silence reigning for a short while, then he says with a tense, even tone, “The two who survived the attack on their way from DC are in a safehouse. That’s all I know. The CDC has been leveled,” he says bitterly. “Your forces made sure of that. No one survived the blast, and the fire ensured the research will never be put to use. Fucking bastards,” the redhead practically spits.
I’m glad I’m leaning against the tree. The idea of the CDC being gone is a sucker punch. It was our only hope of combating the plague. The resources, the scientists, the knowledge—everything within that one building served as the crux of our epidemiological knowledge. For America and for the world. If it’s gone … If it’s gone, we don’t have a chance. All my work—all everyone’s work—on finding a cure, gone. Obliterated. The sheer magnitude of it brings tears to my eyes.
“Where’s the safehouse?” Valen asks.
“That’s classified.”
Valen gives a short, hateful laugh. “Classified by whom, the defunct US government or your hardscrabble little band of doomed humans?”
“You aren’t getting that information. Ever.” Now the redhead has a chill in his voice. “They’re all we have left. The only chance to fight the plague.”
“Gregor is no longer interested in a cure,” Valen says airily. “I can’t say I am, either.”
I fist my hands, anger rising despite the layer of fear covering me, like ice over rapids. Valen will kill every last one of us on Gregor’s orders. He’s made that clear. But he’s also actively destroying any chance humanity has at finding a cure for the plague. And the scientists from DC, the ones he said were attacked? Are they the faces I’ve drawn again and again in my sketchbook? The people whose features I can barely see, whose names I don’t know? I can’t begin to understand what Whitbine has stolen from me, the memories he’s scraped away at until even I can’t reach them. The headache intensifies, but so does my rage. My helpless fucking rage that’s gotten me nowhere, and if I’m not careful, will get me caught.
“We’re going to beat this plague, and then we’re going to kill every last one of you vicious motherfuckers.” The red-haired man says it with such ire that I wonder why Valen doesn’t snap his neck. I know he could do it.
“Ah, two of humanity’s favorite things: blind faith and indiscriminate violence,” Valen sneers.
“We’re done here.” The man, muttering creative curses under his breath, strides past me.
I stare at his back, at the green of his uniform and the small emblem on his sleeve—it’s a ring or perhaps a halo. Do I know him? I feel like I must, but no name comes to mind, no memory.
He takes a sharp left and eventually disappears amongst the trees.
I stay frozen, afraid to move, to breathe. Listening, I wait for Valen to leave. The moments seem to stretch out more and more, elastic and terrifying. Is he still there? He must be gone by now, but I can’t risk it. Can’t move until I know for certain he’s long gone.
I wait.
Another bead of cold sweat runs down my back, tickling my skin in a particularly malicious way. My nose begins to itch. I feel the sudden, urgent need to pee. It’s the same things that would happen when Juno and I would play hide and seek. I could hide perfectly well, it was the staying hidden part I couldn’t manage. I’d invariably give myself up so that I could either use the bathroom, scratch my nose, or both. The stakes here are a lot higher than losing a game of hide and seek, so I force myself to remain still, to barely breathe. God, does he know I’m here? Maybe he does. His hearing and sense of smell might have already given me away.