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 opening 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.