again. “The virus started in mutie land,” she confirmed. “I guess if you’re already a mindless zombie, it can’t hurt too much, can it?”
It was a poor joke, and Luniel didn’t smile. “But it does hurt, from what I’ve heard.”
“Yeah.” Her lips squeezed tight. She’d seen enough virus victims to know what they went though. Ravenous hunger, enough to make them chew their own bodies for food. Rotting skin, flesh turning to pulp. Blood clotting as it pumped, organs liquefying, eyeballs bursting red.
But before that was the worst. They still looked normal, no lesions or popped veins. But their minds twisted, their impulses turned homicidal and they developed a taste for raw meat.
Specifically, human flesh. More specifically, uninfected human flesh that was still alive.
Manhattan’s victims liked to spread the disease. They were compelled to, so fiercely they’d die in the attempt. And they used all their still-human wits and cunning to do it.
Luniel’s gaze didn’t waver. “We’ll put a stop to it, Morgan,” he said, his voice steady and hard. Damn it if she didn’t want to believe him. “We’ll find Quuzaat and get rid of him.”
“And will that help?” The virus was already wild. Surely killing one…creature couldn’t stem the tide of death? Even if that creature really had started it. But she had to go along with this, even if it was just to prove this Quuzaat didn’t exist and wasn’t responsible.
Then again, if Quuzaat wasn’t responsible…how to cure the virus? Killing a demon seemed easy—at least, it would be with Luniel on her side—compared to developing a cure or a vaccine, when so many people were already at risk or infected.
She could almost wish this demon was the cause. If it wouldn’t mean everything she’d ever believed was misguided.
Worse than misguided. Arrogantly, perilously wrong.
She sighed. You could do your head in thinking about this.
Luniel grinned, feral and dangerous, and her pulse skipped. “Will it help? One way to find out.”
They got off the subway at 116th Street, where dusty fluorescents were broken above blue-painted columns, and spray paint colored the white-tiled walls along the dim platforms. Ripped bill posters flapped in the breeze as the train rumbled on. Luniel ushered her towards the steps, avoiding sleeping vagrants. Broken concrete stuck jagged where last summer, a bungled suicide bomb had blasted a hole in one wall and no one had bothered to fix it. Someone had hung a wreath of wildflowers there, now withered and dry.
At the top of the steps, midnight breeze blew in from the river, bringing the coppery smell of blood. The moon shone, casting red shadows. Old apartment blocks loomed like skeletons, broken windows coated in dust, red neon advertising a halal deli. Garbage lined the alleyways, and security screens were pulled down tight over the sidewalk store windows. A coffee vendor’s wagon hunkered in a dim pool of light on the corner, and the guy inside rested his shotgun openly on the counter.
The gang of Aryans had gotten off at their stop, and stood by the green-fenced steps, inhaling some drug from a plastic crusher and passing it around. One gave her a sloppy grin, nudging his friends.
Luniel tugged her closer as they sidled past, beneath rippling virtual advertising for cell phone plans and home security. Sirens ebbed and flowed, and the air stank of smoke. “Walk with me.”
She tugged away, the broken pavement scraping beneath her shoes. She’d lived in Babylon ever since her student days, and she was used to the occasional guy bothering her, or racists calling her dirty names because her dark coloring made them think she was Latina or mixed race. “I’m okay. Let go.”
“Tell me you weren’t born yesterday. If you look like my girlfriend, those guys will leave you alone.” And he dropped his muscled arm around her shoulder and leaned to whisper in her ear with a showy smile. “Is it such a
It was a poor joke, and Luniel didn’t smile. “But it does hurt, from what I’ve heard.”
“Yeah.” Her lips squeezed tight. She’d seen enough virus victims to know what they went though. Ravenous hunger, enough to make them chew their own bodies for food. Rotting skin, flesh turning to pulp. Blood clotting as it pumped, organs liquefying, eyeballs bursting red.
But before that was the worst. They still looked normal, no lesions or popped veins. But their minds twisted, their impulses turned homicidal and they developed a taste for raw meat.
Specifically, human flesh. More specifically, uninfected human flesh that was still alive.
Manhattan’s victims liked to spread the disease. They were compelled to, so fiercely they’d die in the attempt. And they used all their still-human wits and cunning to do it.
Luniel’s gaze didn’t waver. “We’ll put a stop to it, Morgan,” he said, his voice steady and hard. Damn it if she didn’t want to believe him. “We’ll find Quuzaat and get rid of him.”
“And will that help?” The virus was already wild. Surely killing one…creature couldn’t stem the tide of death? Even if that creature really had started it. But she had to go along with this, even if it was just to prove this Quuzaat didn’t exist and wasn’t responsible.
Then again, if Quuzaat wasn’t responsible…how to cure the virus? Killing a demon seemed easy—at least, it would be with Luniel on her side—compared to developing a cure or a vaccine, when so many people were already at risk or infected.
She could almost wish this demon was the cause. If it wouldn’t mean everything she’d ever believed was misguided.
Worse than misguided. Arrogantly, perilously wrong.
She sighed. You could do your head in thinking about this.
Luniel grinned, feral and dangerous, and her pulse skipped. “Will it help? One way to find out.”
They got off the subway at 116th Street, where dusty fluorescents were broken above blue-painted columns, and spray paint colored the white-tiled walls along the dim platforms. Ripped bill posters flapped in the breeze as the train rumbled on. Luniel ushered her towards the steps, avoiding sleeping vagrants. Broken concrete stuck jagged where last summer, a bungled suicide bomb had blasted a hole in one wall and no one had bothered to fix it. Someone had hung a wreath of wildflowers there, now withered and dry.
At the top of the steps, midnight breeze blew in from the river, bringing the coppery smell of blood. The moon shone, casting red shadows. Old apartment blocks loomed like skeletons, broken windows coated in dust, red neon advertising a halal deli. Garbage lined the alleyways, and security screens were pulled down tight over the sidewalk store windows. A coffee vendor’s wagon hunkered in a dim pool of light on the corner, and the guy inside rested his shotgun openly on the counter.
The gang of Aryans had gotten off at their stop, and stood by the green-fenced steps, inhaling some drug from a plastic crusher and passing it around. One gave her a sloppy grin, nudging his friends.
Luniel tugged her closer as they sidled past, beneath rippling virtual advertising for cell phone plans and home security. Sirens ebbed and flowed, and the air stank of smoke. “Walk with me.”
She tugged away, the broken pavement scraping beneath her shoes. She’d lived in Babylon ever since her student days, and she was used to the occasional guy bothering her, or racists calling her dirty names because her dark coloring made them think she was Latina or mixed race. “I’m okay. Let go.”
“Tell me you weren’t born yesterday. If you look like my girlfriend, those guys will leave you alone.” And he dropped his muscled arm around her shoulder and leaned to whisper in her ear with a showy smile. “Is it such a
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