BITTEN Omnibus Edition (Books 1-3): The Resurrection Virus Saga

by Tristan Vick

  The sudden interruption had broken the spell that she was slowly getting sucked into, and she decided perhaps it was better simply not to know. She turned toward the yellowish-orange and white corgi, who looked up at her with those big brown eyes; it quickly turned and then darted out of a second doggie door in the garage side entrance that led to the outside.

  Leaving the unfortunate family behind, she tore herself away from the dreadful scene and fled the garage, following the little dog outside. It obviously knew where it was going.

  PART 2

  JAPAN

  THE GREATER TOKYO AREA

  Z-DAY

  3

  The Girl with the Bamboo Sword

  Yokohama, Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan

  Saeko Sakaguchi was Tokyo’s female kendo champion and ranked second overall for the sixty-first All-Japan Inter-High School Championships. A senior in high school, she was the first eighteen-year-old to go undefeated for all her regular season matches, and the only reason she didn’t currently hold the top spot was because of a withdrawal she took due to technical difficulties when her armored chest plate’s back strap snapped off and couldn’t be refastened.

  To her, kendo was more than just a sport. It was a way of life. The word kendo literally meant “Way of the Sword” and was based on kenjutsu, which was the strict, religiously observed swordsmanship of the samurai warrior class of feudal Japan. She always thought she would have made a kick-ass samurai.

  Saeko was driven to succeed like no other. She always aimed to be the best there was. Admittedly, much of her motivation grew out of the pent-up rage she had accumulated growing up. It was bad enough that she had to watch her father relentlessly abuse her mother when she was too helpless to do anything, but seeing her mother just sit there and take it—like her father’s personal punching bag—made Saeko furious at both her parents.

  Rage filled her, and she hated her father for his violent temper and lack of control and she hated her mother for her weakness. Worse than all this, she hated herself for her cowardice. If only she had stepped in and said or done something. If only she had been brave enough to stand up to the monster standing in her living room.

  She recalled the day her father, having had too much potato brandy, went too far. He crossed a line that never should have been crossed. As she watched her mother crawl through her own puddle of blood toward the kitchen counter, Saeko vowed to run away from home and leave the whole broken mess behind her. She never did though. Something within her, some semblance of empathy, wouldn’t let her leave her mother alone with that monster. Five months later, after a drawn-out life of accumulated miseries, her mother died of throat and lung cancer, and her father sent Saeko to live with her aunt and uncle in Yokohama.

  Saeko knew he wasn’t trying to protect her from himself. Someone as cruel as he was wouldn’t have such a well-developed conscience. She knew that he merely wanted her out of his hair and out of his life. And she was fine with it. There was no love lost between them.

  Yokohama was Japan’s second largest city, located in Kanagawa Prefecture and constituting part of the Greater Tokyo Area, just south of Tokyo proper. From her aunt and uncle’s house on the outskirts of the city she could see Mount Fuji looming in the near distance. Its fuming peak pierced the low-hanging clouds as it burped out its thermal indigestion of smoke and effluvia on an otherwise pristine, misty morning.

  Saeko quickly shoved the memories of her unhappy childhood out of her mind and grabbed her bag from off her bed then ran downstairs. She called out, “I’m going to school early to get some practice in,” and headed out the door before anyone could reply to her.

  It was only a short twenty-minute train ride and a fifteen-minute walk to school. She enjoyed riding the trains early in the morning and seeing the faces of the regulars. While on the train she could catch up on homework or take a cat nap, or usually both.

  Darting into the two-car JR train, she quickly found an open seat and made her way toward it. There was an old man slumped over on the bench across from her, an office woman at the other end checking her cellphone and a couple of junior high school boys slumped over, sleeping on the bench seat. At 5:30 A.M. Saeko could beat the morning rush hour. Come 6:00 though, and people would be crammed into the train tighter than stuffed sausages.

  The train doors swooshed shut and then the train jolted, rocked, and then pulled away from the station. Saeko made it to her seat and sat down, stuffing her school bag beside her on the bench, then looked out the window. She watched as the early morning panorama of the city scrolled by. It all seemed so peaceful somehow.

  4

  Life Interrupted

  Yokohama, Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan

  After a short walk to her school from the train station, Saeko arrived a full two hours early. She wanted to get a full workout in the school’s dojo before her 8:00 A.M. class. For the past couple of years, she hadn’t missed a single practice.

  She was considered tall for her age. At one hundred and seventy-two centimeters tall, Saeko towered over most of the boys at her school. This caused her to duck under the wooden sliding doors of the dojo as she stepped inside, carrying a heavy duffel bag. Turning toward the bright red circle on her country’s flag, she bowed stoically and then spun on her heels and tossed her duffel bag onto the wood floor. Pulling her hair back, she tied it into a ponytail and then knelt down, unzipped her bag, and began unpacking her gear.

  She had worked hard all summer and would make fifth-dan this fall. She’d be the first female senior, and the first senior on the honor roll, to ever achieve fifth-dan.

  After dressing, Saeko tugged on her metal breastplate, pulled the face guard over her head, and picked up her bamboo sword, called a shinai. Or as she called it: Bringer of Pain.

  Gripping her shinai tightly, Saeko sauntered to the center of the empty dojo and raised the trustworthy bamboo sword high above her head. Quickly, she brought it down with a powerful swipe. In a split-second she raised it again, leapt forward, and screamed a ferocious, “KIAI!”

  From the side of the room came the muffled sound of clapping. “Bravo,” the voice jeered. “Maybe this year you won’t lose the championship to Mami Komiya like last time.”

  Saeko composed herself, and then took in a deep breath and turned toward the unwelcome nuisance. Through the metal bars of her mask she glared at the bleached-haired delinquent who stood in the corner of the room, leaning up against the wall like the world’s biggest douchebag. Shinji Terajima.

  Shinji thought he was too cool for school, and wore a purple track suit with a lime-green dragon stenciled on it. It had tacky gold stripes down the sleeves and pants legs to boot. It was the sort of thing gangster thug wannabes always wore.

  As far as Saeko was concerned though, Shinji Terajima was the unfortunate crotch-fruit of two people’s immeasurable mistake.

  His dad was local Yakuza, while his mother was a trophy wife who had once made a name for herself as a semi-famous model; she still got guest appearances on popular variety television talk shows, and for this reason Terajima thought of himself as some pretty hot shit. But Saeko wasn’t impressed with things like power and wealth and took no interest in him, which drove him mad.

  In Terajima’s distorted reality, nobody ever said no to him. He always got what he wanted. Always. But she was the one girl who had said no. She was the girl he couldn’t have, the girl who wouldn’t fawn over him and lose her mind every time he shot her a lewd glance or groped her ass.

  It wasn’t hard to guess why he was here. He was probably still sore because she had turned him down when he asked her out the week before. She hadn’t been surprised at his attention after she had won the first place title and was suddenly the most popular girl in school.

  The way he asked her out was so lame, though. He’d casually sauntered over to her at lunch, flicked his blond bangs out of his dumb face, and said, “You’re school royalty now. How about you be my queen?”

  Saeko wanted badly to
knee him in the balls in front of everyone, but instead she simply replied, “Not interested.”

  Terajima scoffed, turned to his rat-pack of mindless followers, and said, “She doesn’t know what she’s missing,” and groped his junk. His sexist joke received the canned laughter of his idiot worshippers and then he sauntered away with that goddamn ridiculous walk so full of cocksureness that it came across less like self-confidence and more like full-on retardation—as if he’d been dropped one too many times on the head as a baby and now all he could do was waddle around with his pants half-down like an idiot.

  Saeko hated the fact that nobody else seemed to see what a joke Terajima was, but that was high school life for you. The only thing people cared about was maintaining the status quo. There was the in-group and the out-group, and Terajima fancied himself the gatekeeper.

  It was no secret. Saeko detested Terajima with every fiber in her body, and the hate ran down to her very bones. Now here he was, on sacred ground, her dojo, taunting her and rubbing her recent defeat in her face. “What do you want, Terajima?” Saeko sneered.

  Terajima crouched down, flicked the choppy bleached bangs out of his eyes, and smirked. “I was just wondering why you’d rather spend all your time here when you could be spending your time with me instead.”

  “I wouldn’t hang out with you even if we were the only two people left alive on the planet,” Saeko replied with the most artificial smile she could conjure.

  Terajima stood up, put his hands in his pockets and swaggered up to Saeko.

  Locking eyes, he engaged her in a staring contest. Suddenly he feigned an attack to see if she’d flinch, but she held her ground. Annoyed that she had nerves of steel, Terajima grabbed the bottom of Saeko’s face guard and flipped it off. Saeko’s eyes lit up with rage, but she kept herself contained.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, asshole?”

  “Cool your jets, princess. I just wanted to see what your hot, sweaty face looked like. That way I’ll have a better image of your sex face when I’m masturbating to the thought of you taking it in the ass later tonight.”

  Saeko clenched her jaw and gritted her teeth. “You have two seconds to take that back, or I swear I’ll...”

  Terajima raised his hands defensively and interrupted, “Or you’ll what?”

  “Or I’ll smash your smug face in so hard you’ll be shitting out your motherfucking teeth for a week.”

  “Ha, ha. Good one,” Terajima chuckled, not taking her threat seriously.

  Saeko’s mind raced a million miles per second. Her rage burned like a wild fire inside of her and ate up what remained of her patience. As her fuse whittled down to nothing she contemplated all the pros and cons of doing something she might regret. On second thought, no—I won’t regret it.

  And without a second’s hesitation Saeko did what she had been longing to do since Terajima brought his ugly face in her dojo. She head-butted him so hard he crumpled to the ground like a bowling pin getting clipped by an unforgiving bowling ball crashing into the impact zone. In this case, the impact zone was Terajima’s face.

  Pushing himself back up to his feet, Terajima looked dazed and confused as to what had exactly happened. Feeling numb from the neck up, he reached up and touched his nose, instantly sending the sting of what felt like a thousand hot needles right through to the back of his skull. He yelped from the sharp pain. Staggering to stand upright, he steadied himself and then looked down at his blood-soaked hand. “You bitch!”

  Blood gushed out from his nose as he stumbled toward Saeko, reaching out to grab her by the neck. As he reached for her, she easily swatted his hands away and kneed him in the balls, forcing him to the ground again.

  This time Terajima landed on his knees, cupped his crotch with both hands, and groaned. As he coddled himself, he reached up, pinched his gushing nostrils shut and, with a nasal whine, said, “You stupid cow, you’ll pay for this!”

  “Son of a Yakuza or not,” Saeko growled, “nobody talks to me that way.” She reached down and picked up her shinai. Slowly, she raised it above her head. She was about put him back in his place. “Sorry dick-bag, but today you picked the wrong girl to mess with!”

  Before Saeko could smash in Terajima’s face, an angry voice boomed, “SAEKO!”

  Saeko froze. Spinning around, she found her kendo sensei standing in the entrance of the dojo, wearing a stern expression on his face and glaring at her scornfully from across folded arms.

  5

  The Master

  Yokohama, Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan

  “What is the meaning of this?” Master Iwasaki stood in the dojo doorway with his arms crossed firmly over his chest and a disapproving scowl pressed onto his face.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” Saeko said in a barely audible whisper.

  Wagging his finger at her accusingly, Terajima whined, “She broke my fucking nose!”

  “Watch your language!” barked Iwasaki sensei, putting Terajima in his place. “This is a dojo. A place for discipline. A place for mindfulness. I do not tolerate disrespect here. This is as close to hallowed ground as you’ve ever been, Terajima. And if you think for one minute you can defile it with your foul words, then you have another think coming to you.”

  With that, Iwasaki sensei marched over and picked Terajima up by the arm. He began to escort Terajima out of the dojo. Only two people in the world could get away with speaking to Terajima like that, the principal and Iwasaki sensei. Nobody else would dare try due to the fear of having to answer to Terajima’s father, a real-life Yakuza gangster. But Iwasaki sensei had been teaching kendo for forty-three years and also happened to be Mister Terajima’s mentor. If anything, the gangster’s brat son knew his father respected Iwasaki too much and wouldn’t dare challenge Iwasaki head-on for fear of bringing his father’s wrath down upon him.

  As the kendo coach, Iwasaki sensei had a commanding presence, a self-restraint, and a stoic imperviousness to the social woes of adolescent teenagers. He treated each student as an adult in such a way they felt obligated to act like one. That was the sort of power Iwasaki sensei commanded.

  Before leaving, Iwasaki paused in the doorway and looked back at Saeko with a face so full of disappointment that she thought her heart would break. Iwasaki sensei was the only man she had ever respected. He was the only one who seemed to understand her. The only one who knew of the fury and the rage burning inside her that needed to find an outlet lest it consume her body, mind, and soul.

  “Saeko,” Iwasaki sensei began, his voice mellowing. “I expected more from my star pupil. This undisciplined act of violence will not be tolerated. Do I make myself clear?”

  Bowing her head in shame, Saeko answered, “Yes, sensei.” Keeping her head bowed as a sign of, if not remorse for her improving Terajima’s face, respect for her teacher, she reflected on the fact that Iwasaki sensei only spoke the exact words necessary to make his point. No more. No less.

  Pointing over at the pool of blood coagulating on the floor, he added, “I want you to clean this mess up before I return.”

  “Yes, sensei,” Saeko answered apologetically.

  “Serves you right,” Terajima said triumphantly, as Iwasaki sensei gave him a tug on his arm, dragging him out of the dojo.

  Saeko looked up and watched Terajima trudge behind Iwasaki sensei with his hands in his pockets. Just before they turned the corner to enter the main school building Terajima turned around and flipped her off and gave her a taunting wink. In her culture, the middle finger meant “die” and implied that was all that you were good for. The complimentary wink was just Terajima’s psychosis shining through. He delighted in tormenting others and he was hell-bent on making her his next victim.

  Once they were both out of earshot, Saeko mumbled, “Goddamn arrogant, cock-sucking asshole.” Cursing like that made her feel better, but she knew she hadn’t seen the last of that dildo-for-brains.

  Saeko shuffled over to the supply closet and looked around
for some cleaning supplies. But it was too dark to see anything, so she flicked on the small overhead light and startled when she saw a girl staring back at her. She almost screamed out, but caught herself just in time to realize it was only her own reflection that was staring back at her.

  The mirror above the sink was dirty, and the corners were cracked. Terajima had riled her up more than she’d thought. He had a way of getting under her skin, but that just showed how much of a no-good parasite he really was.

  Saeko sighed and inspected her facial features. She didn’t see what all the fuss was about. She looked like a regular girl. Not ugly, but certainly not gorgeous either. She was athletic, in peak physical condition, and had a sharp jaw-line with an aquiline nose that complimented the roundness of her Asian face. But she didn’t want to be popular. She couldn’t care less what others thought of her.

  But thinking about Terajima’s words disgusted her. All he could do was think of her as the next notch on his belt. Just another tally on his list of girls he had defiled. And now he had his twisted little heart set on her. The thought of it sickened her and made her stomach crawl.

  Having gathered up the supplies, Saeko went back to the puddle of blood and stared at it. Before she soaked it up with an old mop, she spat in it. As far as she was concerned, that was the most respect the little dick-weed deserved. As she cleaned Terajima’s blood off from the dojo floor, suddenly she heard a strange, inquisitive voice call out to her.