Melancholy: Book Two of The Cure (Omnibus Edition)

by Charlotte McConaghy

  “Medical supplies.”

  He reads the file projected from his tablet – Mom’s info, along with the fact that she’s a registered nurse.

  “Says here your son’s a fugitive,” the cop frowns. Goddamnit.

  “So I’m told.”

  “When did you last speak to him?”

  “Is it really your job to be questioning me?” she replies calmly. “You’re a traffic cop. I answered every question I could about my son when the Bloods interviewed me last year.”

  He blinks, then nods. It might have offended him once upon a time, but now he simply understands the words as true. He considers her, long and slow.

  Behind me, Dad tries to speak through Hal’s hand.

  The cop hears it and looks at the back of the van, frowning.

  I hold my breath.

  “I’ll have to check the van in any case,” he says apologetically.

  “I’m in a rush – there was an emergency this morning and I need to get the blood supplies to the operating room.”

  “Won’t take me a second, ma’am.”

  I sigh inwardly. He seems like a nice bloke. I squeeze the trigger and fire a bullet straight into his thigh. It takes him a few seconds to react, as he has no idea what’s happened or where the sudden burst of pain has come from. Falling to the ground, the man wails.

  “Drive,” I tell Mom.

  She revs so hard the engine roars, then takes her foot off the clutch way too fast and stalls the car.

  “Move over,” I say and she does so quickly.

  I wriggle into the driver’s seat and take us straight through the checkpoint, setting off an alarm in the process. The cop fires his gun six times and I feel one of the bullets hit our back tire.

  Two police sirens whir behind us, but I’m not worried about cops. I’m worried about the fact that it won’t be long before the Bloods join the party. Turning right, I feel the tire skid and lose some of its rubber. It’ll be a miracle if it lasts until we get to the tunnel.

  “Train’s in ten minutes!” Hal shouts.

  Uh-oh. I skid into oncoming traffic and then jump a median strip to get to the right side. A traffic cam takes a nice, blinding picture of us as we speed past. A third police car swerves to chase us, and I can feel the steering go because of the blown tire.

  Thankfully the subway tunnel looms and as I approach it I spin the car to block its entrance, making sure the back door opens onto the stairs. I’m not about to roll my vehicle down these steps a second time.

  “Will and I’ll cover,” I announce because Will’s the best shot and makes the smallest target. “The rest of you get these bodies down into the tunnel.”

  From our windows Will and I start firing at the cop cars, fast as we can.

  Hal has Ben over his shoulders, leaving Pace and Josi to carry Dr Shaw between them. Mom and Dad have managed to get Shadow below ground. It seems like we might just make it.

  Until in the distance I see a sleek black car arrive and my heart sinks.

  “Go, mate,” I tell Will. “I got you.”

  Will ducks his head and sprints around the van for cover. I take out three policemen crouched behind their car doors who are too stupid not to keep popping back into my line of sight.

  When Will is safely below I round the van, bullets raining over me. One takes me through the upper arm, another grazes my ear, a third ricochets into my big toe. I keep moving. There is no time for pain, there is time only to stop those Bloods from getting into the tunnel. I fire three rounds into the oxygen tanks in the back of the van, then another two into the engine.

  It takes about four seconds to make a popping sound, then the car bursts into violent flames.

  I am already sprinting down the steps. Here comes the tricky part. Getting two bodies onto a moving train. Josi and Will have decided they’re going to jump on at one end and get the doors open wide. The rest of us will wait at the other end of the platform so that by the time the first carriage reaches us we can swing Ben and Dr Shaw straight in and then grab whichever carriage we can get a hold of.

  It’s impossible to count the number of things that could go wrong.

  And that’s when, of course, the two Bloods emerge onto the platform, having managed to get past the flaming van.

  The moment slows as I take them both in. Everything inside me blisters; adrenalin pumps through my body and I reach calmly to harness its strength and speed within my limbs.

  They raise their Glocks toward us and I am already firing two guns and two sets of bullets smash through their hands. Their respective weapons go flying and by the time I hear them clatter to the ground I have already shot one man through the neck and am approaching the second.

  He’s a Blue, more deadly than his Red companion. He reaches me before I can get off another shot and knocks the gun from my grip. My second fires wildly into the air but I allow my hand to let it go. This needs to be close and fast; I can hear the train approaching already.

  I slam my fist into his face and feel his nose break. He doesn’t react, instead lifting his knee and extending his foot in a beautiful kick that cracks straight into my broken ribs; I must have been favoring my right side. Pain splinters through me and I let him punch me once, twice in the cheek. Letting someone hit you does a couple of things. It can be an insult to mess with his head. Or it can be a trap. Because when he hits with his right you can hammer a heavy left into his unprotected kidney and drop him to the ground. Like I do now.

  I turn in time to see that the train is rushing past. Josi and Will are already on and I catch a glimpse of the others all jumping or being hoisted on in a tangle of limbs.

  They’re going to make it.

  But so is the first Blood, the Red I shot in the neck. He has his hand held to the wound, staunching bright spurts of blood, and he’s launching himself onto the train.

  I sprint after him, leaping onto the very end of the last carriage. As the train whooshes into the tunnel I stumble into the aisle and run after the Blood. I spot him up ahead, so with two fingers I whistle loudly and he turns. He’s young, probably only about twenty or so. A new recruit.

  “If I were you,” I say, “I’d throw myself off this train right now.”

  “You can kill me,” he replies, “but they’re going to find you, one way or another.”

  “Not if I find them first.”

  I meet him in the section between the cars. The doors are still open and the noise of the tunnel is intense. He punches, a quick left jab. I dodge once, then again for his follow-up blow. Can feel myself smiling. “Who taught you to box?”

  Instead of replying he comes at me again, right, left, right. I haven’t yet raised my hands – it’s rude of me.

  “You try to hit me with your right, you’re pretty much giving me a whole lot of time to dodge,” I point out.

  I swerve out of the way of another blow. He’s trying to angle me toward the open doors, but it’s simple enough to maneuver him around again.

  “If I punch with my right it’s a different story.”

  “Why’s that?” he breathes.

  “It’s an insult, see? ’Cause I’m gonna hit you even with the extra warning.”

  And with that I swing a huge right, hammering it into his jaw, and even with all my words of caution it’s still too fast for him to block. Blood spills from his mouth, along with several teeth. He’s tough – he shakes it off and faces me once more, still bleeding from the bullet through the side of his neck. His blood loss will hit him in a second and he won’t be able to keep fighting.

  But I’ve lost all focus. My mind feels abruptly as though it’s underwater; everything has become agonizingly slow. Because the smell … the scent of his blood has caused something to erupt inside me. I can feel the smell on my skin, it’s an electric prickling. My teeth ache and my mouth floods with saliva.

  What the fuck is going on?

  The boy hits me, a body blow to my chest and another to my shattered ribs. I don’t feel the pa
in because I’m swimming and tingling and I can see the smell now, making thick heavy shapes in my head. It’s dark and smooth, draping me in a veil or coating me like paint sinking through the levels of my brain.

  I am on the ground, I realize abruptly. The sound of the train roaring through the tunnel is a drill in my skull and I can still smell the blood as the boy rolls me toward the opening. The blood smells so strong I think I’m going to gag it’s taking up every inch of my body and permeating every one of my pores and I can’t get rid of it I can’t and it’s trickling down my spine –

  And just like that the world drops out from under me.

  *

  Josephine

  “Where is he?” I demand. “Where’s Luke?”

  Everyone in their various states of dishevelment looks around. There is no Luke.

  “The Bloods,” Shadow wheezes. “He was fighting two.”

  I turn and sprint down the train. I saw him fighting, but I also saw him run toward the train and jump. He must have made it. I will find him down the end. I will.

  But what I find instead is a black-clad man between the carriages, his back to me. I draw my gun and aim at him. “Hey!”

  He twists quickly, spots me and raises his hands. My feet carry me closer, but I can’t get too close in case he has any ideas about snatching the gun from me.

  A merciless creature lurks in my chest. She is graceless. My mind is an ocean of roaring hungry teeth and all I can think is where where where where.

  “Where’s Luke?” I try to keep the trembling from my voice.

  The Blood is young. He has a baby face, and no hair in sight on his chin. His lips are split and swollen, and there is blood trickling from his mouth and neck.

  “Where?”

  “He’s dead,” the guy says tonelessly.

  “Bullshit.”

  “Rolled him right out the door.”

  The creature in my chest screams, wild and abruptly free. I take two steps closer, raise the gun and shoot the boy in the head.

  Turns out I can hit a man three feet in front of me. His skull splatters over the wall behind him and he drops.

  My ears ring painfully and all other sound warps into a rushing hiss. Lowering the gun, I am no longer trembling. I walk forward and stand over the body. His eyes stare sightlessly at the ceiling; they are cold and empty but they are not as cold as my body and they are not as empty as my soul.

  I don’t know what makes me turn my head. But I do, and so I see four fingers clutching onto the edge of the train carriage.

  In an instant I’m at the side and there I see him. Hanging from the exterior door handle with one hand. His grip is like iron when I reach for his wrist.

  “Luke!” I scream.

  He can’t talk, hammered as he is by the oncoming rush of wind and the gravity dragging him backwards. I have no choice but to offer him my left hand, the one with the broken wrist, as I need my right to grab hold of the railing inside the carriage.

  “Reach for me!” I shout.

  He swings his free hand toward my outstretched one, misses once, twice, three times. His arm drops and I can see his fingers slipping on the handle.

  “Keep trying!”

  With one mighty effort he hauls his arm forward and grabs my hand. It snaps my wrist instantly, the bones too brittle from only just having healed. Pain eclipses all else and I feel nausea roar through my guts. A shriek is torn from me and I cut it off by biting down on my tongue so hard that I taste blood.

  He starts to let go – I can feel him.

  “Don’t you dare!” I yell. “Hold on!”

  I am woozily trying to work out how I can pull his weight inside when I feel hands take hold of me and wrench me backwards. Luke is hauled inside and crumples on top of me.

  Spots dance before my eyelids. There’s a howling in my wrist and a flood of darkness.

  “Josi?” Hal and Pace are staring down at me. I don’t know how long I have been lying here.

  They help me to sit up and I look at Luke, sprawled against the wall. He’s holding his side uncomfortably and the second I meet his eyes I get a fright. “There’s something wrong with me,” he says.

  It sends a chill over my skin because I have never seen him look so scared.

  In the corner of my vision I can see the body of a dead boy.

  *

  We are quiet on the train ride home. Claire has set and bandaged my wrist, which hurt so much that I vomited and we had to move carriages to get away from the smell. Now we’re all sprawled together in the one carriage, nursing our wounds and injuries, and sinking into an exhausted stupor.

  Luke is staring vacantly out the window, and I can see how spooked he is by whatever happened at the end of the train.

  I’m too numb to be spooked.

  When Dr Shaw finally stirs I realize we haven’t discussed what we’re going to do with her. She’s tied at wrists and feet, and she struggles groggily. “What … Where am I?”

  Luke’s still off in his own world so I guess it falls to me to explain, since I was the one who wanted to kidnap her in the first place. I move to crouch beside her. Claire is giving her water and trying to soothe her.

  “You’re on a train going west,” I tell her.

  “West? Then you’re …”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve been kidnapped by the resistance?”

  “Yes.”

  She slumps back down, looking a bit defeated. That’s when she clocks Ben lying not far from her. Dr Shaw lurches up, her eyes widening in terror. “What’s he doing here? Why did you bring him?”

  I glance at the others, but they look as confused as I feel. “We rescued him from you,” I say, thinking it obvious.

  “Tie him up!” she cries, scrambling away from him. “Quickly!”

  “He’our friend,” I point out. “Not to mention a sickly old man.”

  Ben starts to wake. He moves a little, groans feebly.

  Dr Shaw looks straight at me and whispers, “You stupid girl. You have no idea what you’ve done.”

  And it hits me the second before he opens his eyes: the bleeding gums and fingernails I noticed when we found him. The paper-white skin. The nagging fact that he was in a research facility.

  Ben Collingsworth looks at me, and his eyes are the deep, blood red of a Fury. I know it in the moment before he lunges at me with a rabid snarl of hunger.

  Chapter 13

  February 12th, 2066

  Josephine

  I have never been to a zoo. They don’t exist anymore; most animals are dead, and all the birds extinct. But I have imagined them, seen them on television, read about them. Which is how I know that what we have in the dark science lab on the very east edge of the settlement is a caged animal.

  I stand on the other side of the glass and I watch him in there. Pacing his cage back and forth, gazing pitilessly out at me. There doesn’t seem to be any humanity left in his red eyes. Is Ben Collingsworth still inside that body somewhere? If we have souls, then what has happened to his? Did it flicker out when this was done to him? Or did it shift into something else entirely?

  Quinn, Raven and Dodge all arrive to join me at the glass. Last to enter is Luke, who’s had his superficial gunshot wounds tended to at the infirmary; I had to have my wrist re-set and cast this morning too, despite the fact that I can feel it healing on its own. We gaze in at the beast, who is really just a very old man dying of heart failure.

  “I’d like to study it,” Dodge says. He sounds excited. “The implications are many.”

  “The implications are – ” Luke starts.

  “We don’t discuss implications,” Quinn interrupts him. “We discuss facts.”

  There is a long silence as we watch Ben’s lips curl to reveal his sharp teeth and bleeding gums.

  “We’ll have to feed it,” Raven points out. “If you want to study it.”

  “It eats human flesh,” Quinn points out.

  “He’s not an ‘it’,” I snap. “H
e’s a man.”

  “He was a man,” Raven replies.

  Ben screams abruptly, throwing himself against the glass as if to break it with his body. I flinch and try not to look away but it’s too awful.

  “That’s no man,” Raven murmurs.

  I wish I could disagree with her, but I can’t. The creature in that cage is an animal or a monster, or something in between.

  And when I look at him there is an all too familiar reflection gazing back at me.

  *

  Quinn asks Raven and Luke to go and question Dr Shaw and find us some of those facts he’s so keen on. He stands with me for a while after they’ve gone, and we watch Ben in silence. For the first time I feel curious about what this man thinks. It seems odd to me, suddenly. Quinn is the leader of the resistance and I don’t know what he believes about anything. Except corporal punishment.

  “When did you leave the city?” I ask.

  “Twenty years ago.”

  “Why?”

  He takes a moment to consider the question, arms folded over his thick chest. “I was grieving,” he shrugs. “Sixteen years old when my parents died in the first wave of sickness. The second wave took my four younger sisters. The wall was built but I didn’t know how it was supposed to fix anything. You can’t build a wall against death.”

  He turns to face me, his blue eyes sharp.

  “I came out here to die,” he admits simply. “Instead I found Shadow, and then we found a prison, and we both decided to just … live a little longer.” Quinn pauses, remembering. “It was a graveyard out here. So many dead. An Underworld.”

  “How did the others come?”

  “I went back for them,” he replies, “when the cure was first announced.”

  It strikes me as incredibly brave, being the first of a kind. The first to save himself, and then to go back to save more. And at only sixteen years old.

  “And the resistance?” I ask. “When did the fighting start?”

  “Do you know who gets named ‘resistance’? Those who disagree.” Quinn shakes his head. “I never chose that name for us. I never wanted to fight. I wanted to escape. I wanted the fury I deserved when life took everyone I’d ever loved from me. It was Shadow who wanted to fight. He had a different kind of grief in his heart, a different kind of fury.”