Immortal Rage

by Jax Garren

  “Why are there six other beds?” Rhiannon asked as she poked around the room, searching for whatever clues her witchy brain could find. Her frown, though, said there wasn’t much. “Who else lives here?”

  Emma’s jaw worked in apparent fury before she spit out, “Prostitutes. Charming’s. The ones he’s mad at, I’d guess. Or the ones he’s phasing out because they’re too old, too used.” All the pallets were devoid of personal touches, lifeless. But there were needles aplenty. In a baggie underneath Dezi’s pallet were tubes of ketamine, prepped and sized for the vet.

  He hated drugs. They’d fucked up his mother so badly she’d lost herself and lost her family. But looking at the squalor of this place, it made sense. Most prostitutes didn’t start working to earn drug money. They started using to deal with their job. If he lived here, he could imagine hope as a thing only found inside a solid high. Yeah, his childhood had been shitty, but there was always worse.

  Bright purple, the same shade as Dezi’s hair, caught his attention. Under the wadded-up clothes Dezi used as a pillow, he found a journal. Purple tape, stickers, and faux jewels decorated the cover in fanciful preteen style, the only spot of life in the dead space. Jazmin’s name was painted across the front in what must have been pink nail polish.

  Emma took it and turned it over, studying the cheerful book. “I think we can safely say the zombies all patronize Charming’s girls. I think we can also safely say the zombies ain’t the victims here.”

  Javier picked up Dezi, the strong woman who’d left this life just to get dragged back in by her family. He didn’t know what to do about the stolen ketamine. If what she’d done came out, any chance she might have for redemption would be over, as far as the legal system was concerned. He couldn’t stomach that. Later. He’d deal with that later. For now… “Somebody gather up the ketamine bottles. We’ve got to get them out of here.”

  “Why?” Rhi asked. “Isn’t that evidence for the police?”

  Emma sucked in a quick breath. “Yeah. And they’ll arrest Dezi.” She started to gather them. “So we’ve found the point of origin. But how did it start? How does it spread?”

  Rhiannon chimed in with, “STD?”

  Javier shook his head and headed out of the shop. “Then why don’t the prostitutes have it? It only seems to affect johns. Like a…” He hated to place blame on anyone but the men hiring twelve-year-olds for sex, but…

  “Like a revenge spell,” Rhiannon filled in for him. “Dezi said that Oscar, who was cursed, was brutal with the girls. Rosalie said her client gave her bad feelings, but she didn’t have time to find out why. Maybe he was abusive too.”

  Javier picked his way down the hall, trying to jar Dezi as little as possible. “So if it’s a spell, how do we stop it?”

  Emma showed up behind him with the other girl, her voice uncharacteristically steely as she cradled the dying girl against her chest. “Why should we cure it? These men are already monsters. Far as I’m concerned, they deserve it.”

  “Because they’re infecting other people who haven’t done anything. I got word before we left that the bite victim from the party clinically died, woke up, and wrecked the room. After killing a nurse, he got out of the hospital, and we don’t know where he is. It’s the third similar case in twenty-four hours, and as hospitals aren’t in the business of shooting people in the head, they haven’t been able to control them.”

  Emma looked mulish enough that it made him pause.

  “Em,” he said softer, “I get why you’re angry. But burning down the world isn’t the solution.” How had he never seen how hurt she was? How furious. She laughed and played silly and made everyone so comfortable. But the wrath-filled look she shot him denied all of it.

  “We’ll find a way to bring down Charming. I promise.” He didn’t know what else to say, so he didn’t say anything, just kept going down the dark hallway toward the window and his car as Dezi moaned quietly. He turned the corner, and the jagged edges of the window stretched up like knives. Or claws. He had to get Dezi through it without hurting her further.

  Motion. A hand grasped for Dezi’s ankle.

  He whirled her away. Burning-hot fingers gripped his hair and yanked him down with staggering force. Without the woman in his arms he’d have had the balance to slide away and face the assailant. With her, he went down backward. He sheltered Dezi as best he could and landed hard on his back. Broken glass cut into him, and he hissed in pain.

  Charming rose above him, his face spiderwebbed with black veins. The zombie reached for Dezi, focus intent, like even in death he remembered her. Or maybe just because she was human. Javier ducked and rolled, slicing more jagged glass across his back as he did whatever he could to keep her safe.

  “Javi!” Emma’s voice was a panic. Rhiannon yelled something in Gaelic. A spell? If so, nothing happened.

  He flipped up to standing and turned his back as the zombie lunged. Its skull connected with his spine with bruising force. Its teeth snapped and skated across his back, but he didn’t think it pierced his skin.

  “Fuck it. Move!” Rhiannon yelled as she grabbed a giant gun from Emma’s holster.

  Javier ran. Booming ricocheted through the room as Rhiannon unloaded the barrel at the zombie. Bullets punched it backward with shots to the shoulders, stomach, and finally the head. The thing collapsed.

  Bullet echoes calmed, replaced by harsh breaths and Dezi’s soft moans as everyone stared at the zombie, waiting for it to get back up.

  It didn’t.

  Emma broke the silence. “Did it bite you?”

  “No.” He straightened up. The teeth hadn’t pierced him; he was sure of that.

  The problem was, it didn’t need to pierce him. Glass had already done that. If the disease transferred by saliva, it was entirely possible that…

  He stared at the zombie, the furious, mindless monster, as dread made him cold. Fitting that a boy who couldn’t control his anger should turn into a raging beast. He turned to Emma. “Shoot me if I turn. I’ll do the same for you if you want.”

  “What?” Rhiannon yelled.

  But Emma just stared at him, eyes going wide as she slowly nodded. “It didn’t bite you.”

  “No. But we don’t know what’s going to happen over the next twenty-four hours—what we’re going to face—and I want this absolutely clear. If the lines start crawling, put a bullet in my brain before I turn. You saved me before when you made me a vampire. If it comes to it, save me again by taking my life.”

  Slowly she nodded. “Same here. If I get infected, take me out.”

  He nodded. “I’m going to put her in the car, then I’m coming back. I need those bullets.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Back in Javier’s office, the bullets had been washed and the cleaning water split into different test groups. Ballistics cytology was a relatively new field, but evidence had been found before in bullet grooves. The biggest obstacle was that Javier didn’t know what he was looking for. With direct immunofluorescence testing, he had to make a guess at what caused the disease and apply a fluorescent antibody that reacted to that guess. If he’d guessed right, the antigen bonded to the cause and glowed. If he’d guessed wrong, it didn’t reveal anything, and he’d wasted a sample. He had enough wash for so few tests. But was it a virus? If so, which one? A bacterial infection? A triggered autoimmune response? A parasite? A magical something that he had no test for? He stared at his collection of antigens and thought through all the things they knew so far. Feeling almost hopeless, he grabbed a few potentials and painted the slides, hoping somehow something would pop.

  More reports of violence chattered on Rhi’s phone, local social media a bubbling cauldron of zombies in action. While a few reports were on the west side, most were coming in from the east. His side of town. He stuck the first slide under. Blood. Clothing fibers. The antigen bonded with nothing, giving him no little glowing dots that defined a cause. Dammit.

  “I don’t want to cure this,” Emma sa
id again. “Those dipshits deserve it.”

  Another slide. More blood. Bone fragment. No glow.

  “What if Javi has it?” Rhiannon spoke fast and light, then giggled nervously. A sure sign she was bordering on hysterical. “What about other people those dipshits are biting?”

  “Javi don’t have it. It’s probably an STD anyway. Assholes having sex with the girls get it. We don’t know that guy at the party got it from Ramsey. He coulda gotten it on his own.”

  “You’re right. We don’t know that.” Javier’s fingers shook as he placed the third slide under the microscope, wishing he knew what he was supposed to look for. “Men that would do what’s been done to Dez’rae and the others are monsters, and this is poetic justice.” A monstrous world that ended as the true faces of men were revealed. He caught Emma’s gaze and held it, trying not to look as despairing as he felt. “But the world has no justice. ‘Because it’s right’ isn’t a reason why anything happens. Case in point, everyone in this room. We can’t allow an epidemic—it won’t stay with those who ‘deserve’ it.”

  Hands on her hips, she glared at him. “I ain’t saying this because of my deep faith in justice, asshole. Don’t you tell me the world ain’t fair. I’ve known that for longer than your great-great-great-grandparents been alive.”

  He would stay calm, even if she’d called him an asshole and her terrible grammar was grating. At two hundred years old, she should have learned “isn’t” by now. He looked down at the slide. Brain material. And…

  Nothing. Fuck.

  “’Sides, this is magic. I don’t know what you think you gonna find under your microscope.”

  He slammed his fist into the desk, anger getting the better of him. “Magic is science! It follows rules.”

  The door slapped open, and on that asinine proclamation, Dr. Hansen strode in. Javier straightened up and gave him a deferential nod, hoping somehow he hadn’t heard.

  Dr. Hansen’s pale face was already red in anger. Clearly he thought there was a bigger problem than his subordinate believing in magic. “Two!” the man yelled. “You’ve called in two emergencies in two days! Do you not recognize we’ve got an epidemic on our hands?”

  Javier’s shoulder tightened in the need to escape the wrath of an older man. He held himself in place. Dr. Hansen wasn’t going to hit him. “We’re a hospital, sir. I was under the impression treating injured people was our job.”

  “But at what cost? Have you no respect for our staff?” Pale hands swept up and down in cutting motions that came nowhere near Javier.

  Still, he tracked the motion, reminded of broken beer bottles slicing the air. His elbows jacked backward with the memory of being held in place.

  No. This was an office, and he wasn’t a kid anymore. “These two patients aren’t violent. They’re dying from maltreatment.”

  Hansen got that pained look powerful men assumed when they wanted to seem compassionate while saying something that was anything but. “They’re prostitutes. One has a venereal disease and the other was beaten. It’s a tragedy. But what do you expect from their lives? We’re shutting down unusual cases and referring them to the CDC. We have to protect our staff.”

  Emma’s voice was cold, her accent toned down, and her grammar more precise. “If their medical needs are on point for their lifestyle, how are they unusual cases? I think what you mean is, you don’t help whores.”

  Hansen’s color rose before he looked Emma up and down. His gaze changed from wary to dismissive as he likely noted Emma’s blonde hair, scuffed khakis, and ruffled blouse whose once-bright crimson had faded to dusty red. Those sorts of things mattered to him. In a glance, he’d cataloged her potential, and she’d come up short. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  Emma looked down, properly quelled. She was a vampire, dammit. What was she listening to him for?

  Javier’s fingers tightened on a book, something to hold on to so he didn’t lash out. “Emma is a volunteer with Empower Austin. The girls you’re turning away are teenage sex trafficking victims. She’s helping investigate the source of the disease.”

  Hansen’s gaze turned to the microscope as his shoulders pulled back in revulsion. “You think the prostitutes are spreading it?”

  “There’s no connection between the prostitutes and the disease.” That Javier could prove with science.

  “But there could be,” Hansen stated with finality. “We need to send them to the CDC.”

  Of course he would find a way to twist things.

  The door burst open again before Javier could come up with a response. Another doctor strode in, brandishing a tablet with a map on it. Two women in scrubs followed him with panicked expressions. “Dr. Hansen, there’s rioting a few blocks south of here. Police are setting up barricades. We need to call in staff; we’ll be overloaded in triage.”

  Emma sucked in a fearful breath. “Barricades? That ain’t riots out there, that’s zombies, and they’re locking folks in with them?”

  “Zombies?” the head doctor scoffed before shaking his head. “A neighborhood quarantine will minimize damage.” He looked up. “We need to set up a quarantine in here as well. Separate the unusual cases from police and other regular injuries.”

  Javier couldn’t stop the growl in his voice. “What if a police officer is an unusual case?” But separating the infected from everyone else wasn’t really what Hansen had meant.

  Rhiannon paled, hands shaking as she turned her phone to them. “Jav, look at the map. The barricades…” She trailed off, waving her phone so insistently he couldn’t see a damn thing.

  Javier grabbed it. “Shit.” Emma looked over his shoulder, and her face went slack in recognition.

  “Dr. Reyes,” Dr. Hansen said, ignoring everything but his own directives. “Since you’ve already been exposed, I’d like you to head the staff inside the quarantine.”

  “What?” Emma asked. “No way. You can’t stick him in a room with a bunch of zombies!”

  “They’re not zombies,” Hansen insisted. “Reyes?”

  “I can’t,” Javier said, handing the phone back to Rhi as he stood up, looking frantically around him for anything he needed to grab, but his mind was blanking. “I have to go. The barricades—”

  Hansen stepped in front of him, as if he’d physically block his path. “I’ve allowed your odd hours and other odd requests. Now we need you to accommodate us. You can’t walk out in an emergency situation. It’s all welfare and illegals in that radius. We’ll be here for policemen and other emergency workers who need us.”

  Javier finally looked at his boss, his body shaking with the rage of a thousand slights, culminating here. “My grandfather was an immigrant. Illegal, even. And my mother lives in your district of unconcern. I’m getting her out.”

  “Your mother lives…” Dr. Hansen’s mouth opened and closed a couple times before he demanded, “You can’t go storming a police barricade. Who do you think you are?”

  “She’s not answering,” Rhi announced, ignoring Hansen completely. “She’s probably not home yet. I’ll find her—we don’t even know where to go at the moment.”

  Javier headed for the door anyway. Dr. Hansen got in his way again, like he would physically stop him. Javier’s hands itched to toss him to the side. He clenched his fists. He was civilized. Not a monster. “Out of my way.”

  Hansen, living in his fantasy world of safety and order, kept blustering, like anything he said mattered. “If you leave this place, you’re fired, Reyes.”

  Javier leaned in close, feeling dead inside and yet still so full of rage. “You say that like a threat. Guess what? I’ve been fired before for doing what anyone else would do in my situation. I’m a Mexican foster kid who grew up on welfare; getting fired for no reason comes with the life.”

  He took a step forward, and Hansen backed up, eyes going wide as Javier kept talking, pouring his anger out with truths he usually kept quiet. “I have to be smarter than you to overcome everyone’s idea that I
’m stupid. I have to be more punctual and more reliable because everyone’s waiting for me to be lazy. I have to be more honest because people analyze everything I say for lies. I have to be better than you in every way to earn half your privilege. And I am. I am better than you. In every way.”

  Hansen was still in his path, so he knocked shoulders in passing. He had to get out. The door handle was cold, but he was numb inside. Everything he’d worked for—so fucking hard for—was in this room.

  He walked out of it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Emma whooped a “Yeehaw!” It was an idiotic phrase, but she couldn’t help it. Javi’d finally lost his shit, and he’d done it beautifully.

  Dr. Hansen sputtered protests about not being racist, while the other employees shrunk away like they’d melt into the cabinetry.

  Rhiannon stared after Javier, jaw open in shock. “Was that my brother?”

  Emma touched her shoulder. “Grab our stuff and meet us in the car. I’ll get him. Gimme a few minutes to bring Rambo’s, uh”—what did Javier call it?—“frontal cortex back online.”

  Rhi nodded and collected notes willy-nilly while Emma escaped out to the hallway. Immaturity took over, and Emma flipped off the door to Javier’s ex-office. Hansen was a douche. Javi was better off without him.

  The brown devil marched down the hall, his steps a little too quick for a human, then he turned to a wall, elbow back like he’d punch it. Okay, maybe he’d lost it a little too much.

  Hoping nobody saw, Emma rushed to him vampire fast and grabbed his hand behind his back. His skin was hot to the touch, blood pumping fast and warm through him. A sound of rage that was barely human accompanied a jerk against her hold. Energy crackled inside him, needing somewhere to go, like the last of his restraint had been siphoned away with the willpower it’d taken to leave without punching Hansen.

  Hansen had deserved a good punch. Or three. But Javier was her fledgling, and she was responsible for him.

  Her smile wiped clean at the contained animal jerking against her. In a way, Hansen had won. Javier had lost himself to wrath.