Edge of Instinct: Rabids Book 1

by Amy Cook

  “Wait, I didn’t get a chance to thank you.”

  “Just did,” he said with a grunt, watching the streets distractedly, clearly eager to be on his way.

  “But… what’s your name? I mean, a girl’s gotta know her knight in shining armor’s name,” she replied, forcing as much genuine gratitude into voice as she possibly could. He broke away from his vigil of their surroundings, surprise clearly etched across his features. Clearing his throat, he nodded and started his bike.

  “The name’s Harley.” She blinked, emotions rioting within.

  “Harley. Tandy’s son?” He gave a stiff nod before riding off, the darkness swiftly swallowing bike and rider. She rushed inside the compound, shaking with the realization of several things. One, she’d missed her chance at getting Tandy’s number. And two, the small fact that she’d never told Harley where she lived. But the third was the most important and disorienting of them all. The comforting smell of the leather in the car at the shop that had lulled her to sleep all those nights…the smell she’d been missing ever since? It hadn’t been the smell of the leather at all. It had been Harley’s scent, and it smelled sinfully better in person.

  Chapter 17

  Harley

  Harley sat on the cement rubble, cleaning blood off his throwing daggers. Dust coated his hair, showering down on him every time he moved. Blood dripped off his face, though he wasn’t sure if it was Rabid blood or his own. He’d been led on quite the chase, hunting down the group of Rabids that the girl had spotted while wearing his glasses.

  He looked up at the bonfire before him, eyes distant. Killing Rabids is what he did, it’s what he was made for and it came easily to him. Rabids were just empty, soulless husks with brains of mush that wanted intestines for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It was even easier on the conscience to take out Raiders, because they were rampaging psychopathic murderers that took sadistic pleasure in torturing their victims before eating their insides. There was nothing human left in either of them. But it was the nights when Harley got to thinking about the lives they lived before all of this that his profession started to get to him. Nights like tonight. His eyes shifted to the charred remains of his prey as they crackled in the depths of the flames, images of brown eyes rising to haunt his vision. He was tempted to shake that image away, rid himself of the pain it would invoke, but he didn’t. He closed his eyes, breathed in the scent of the fires fuel, and let the images wash over him.

  He’d been doing this for too long to think that there could be anything left of the lives that the infected once lived. To think that there was any hope of saving them, beyond putting them out of their misery and keeping them from spreading the infection that would ruin so many other lives. There was no going back once you got the infection. Your brain changed in a way that was impossible to ‘heal’. The humanity was gone, and in its place was an insatiable monster. He’d seen enough to know the truth of their existence. He’d watched friends turn on one another, boss and employee, nurse and patient. He’d even seen a mother turn on her own child, ripping him apart as though he were nothing more than a thanksgiving turkey. He closed his eyes, letting the thousands of memories scroll through his mind like a bad horror flick come to life. He let each terrified face of the victims sift through his mind, each scream of horror register in his ears. It was a trick Charleen had taught them, when they first joined her in this new existence. You watched the images and you took strength from them. It kept your mind on what was important, on why they did what they did, and the lives they hoped to save in the process. If they didn’t focus on those aspects, this life would drive them over the edge. It reminded him why he spent every night alone, stalking around in the dark. Reminded him why he chose this life, instead of one that could have afforded him a few years of happiness, with the possibilities of a wife and children, and a menial job that he loved to hate.

  His eyes shifted from the bonfire, back to the blood that covered his hands and knives. He was what he was, because there were so few others who could be what he was. There were so few who could do his job every night and survive, stay sane. If that’s what you could call it. He flipped the blade over in his hand, leaning his forehead against the handle, focusing on weathering this current storm. He paused, ears picking up a distant ringing. He searched his pockets and groaned when his hand slipped right through a large tear across the bottom. Cursed Rabids were always shredding his pants. Standing, he used his sensitive hearing to track down the sound.

  “Damn,” he muttered, crouching and picking out the mangled device from the rubble. The flip phone dangled in his hand, held together by only two thin wires. Experimentally he pressed the green button.

  “Harley,” he spoke loudly, dangling the phone in front of his mouth.

  “What’s up, bro. I sensed a disturbance in the force.” Cajun snickered on the other end of the line. Harley shook his head, a soft smile arching the corner of his mouth.

  “Drove by and saw me roastin’ marshmallows, didn’t ya. And no, y’all ain’t gettin’ none.”

  “You’re no fun, you never share.” The smile left his voice. “Seriously though. Rough night?”

  “Rough night.” He sighed a bone weary sigh. “Teenage Raider.” Cajun let out a low whistle, fully appreciating the situation. Rabids never turned younger people, they were seen as too weak and generally a good dessert. Raiders however were becoming more selective lately. Raiders first started showing up three years ago, all adults then. In the last year, younger and younger ones had started appearing. Now, it wasn’t entirely uncommon to find yourself having to put down a fourteen year old kid, like Harley had had to do tonight. The kid had obviously had some sort of trait of strength that the Raiders found enticing enough to turn him, despite his age. So young, so much life yet to live. His savage brown eyes flashed into Harley’s mind again and he winced, shaking his head.

  “Boy, or girl,” Cajun asked carefully.

  “Boy,” Harley replied with some small amount of relief. It was no secret that putting female Rabids down was more difficult for Harley than boys. Because it was also no secret that Harley had a messed up childhood which had screwed up his line of thinking in the girl department. Harley could practically feel Cajun nodding in his own relief on the other side of the phone.

  “Doing alright, then?”

  “Fine.” He immediately regretted how quickly he bit the word out. Cajun wasn’t going to leave it alone now. “How’s y’all’s sweetie pie pooty wooty snookums?” Harley mocked, trying to move the subject to a different avenue before Cajun could pick him apart in the emotional department.

  “You think you got it bad. Blood Moon’s tomorrow you know. The woman’s about to eat me alive because I ate her last Reese’s.” Harley smirked. Blood Moon was basically just the Foundation’s way of saying a female of their kind was on their period. Of course, being on your period for a female of their kind, especially Charleen, was a whole lot different than it was for a Clean female. Charleen had every right to be on edge and they both knew it.

  “So, Greer says he saw you riding around with a girl on your motorcycle an hour ago. I told him he was losing it and sent him to Med.” Harley rolled his eyes. Greer loved snitching on everyone. So the sight of Amiel riding on the back of his bike was likely a huge ticket to heaven for the guy. Harley was renowned for his aversion to anyone touching his bike, much less riding on it. No one had ever ridden on it but him in the four years since he’d built it. Not even his own brother. He still wasn’t entirely sure how he could explain his decisions tonight.

  “Greer’s an idiot.”

  “No denying that one. The guy was one lollie short of Wonka even before the change.” He paused. “So…he was lying then?” Harley hesitated to answer for one moment too long. “He wasn’t!”

  “Pop’s girl got herself into trouble, I had no choice.”

  “Ohhh. Did Amiel nearly become a meal?” His brother snickered at his lame joke, then waited eagerly for the rest of the story.
There would be no rest until he had it, so Harley went ahead and caved.

  “Weird,” Cajun muttered. “Why would she let a group of punks take her down, when she can obviously hold her own with the Rabids?” Harley wanted to know the same thing. He’d told Cajun about witnessing the girl’s ability to take down Rabids with his own eyes. True to his word, he’d been keeping an eye on the girl for his Pops, which meant following her home every night from work. Which also meant he’d seen what happened the night she’d disposed of three Rabids, saving her red headed friend. He hadn’t believed a word of it before, but it was just like his Pops had said. The little termite knew how to kick Rabid butt. He’d taken a big risk, letting her face the Rabids the way he had. He’d intended to jump in and rescue her, but then the screaming started and despite his promise to his Pops, he’d let it play out. The whole scene had weirded him out; the screaming, the personality transformation, and crazy methods of death dealing. She really did like to use her helmet. But the part that weirded him out most was the big part of him that had been impressed, and even a little disappointed that he didn’t get to watch her kill more of them. He sighed. So why had tonight been any different? What could she gain by behaving like the defenseless little suburban chick she appeared to be?

  “Good question. Kept waitin’ for her to get up and kick ass, but she just sat there starin’ at me with them big water works eyes.” Cajun snickered

  “I don’t know, bro. Just one more mystery to add to her file I guess. Good thing we got deputy dog stalker on her trail.”

  “Shut up,” Harley growled.

  “Aww, you know I’m just teasing, Harl,” Cajun placated. “Look, I gotta go before the lioness over here bites my head off. But hey, Harley…” Cajun hesitated, clearly trying to find the best way to word his next statement without rubbing Harley’s hair the wrong direction. “This life sucks, bro. We have to do some pretty screwed up stuff sometimes, because there’s nobody else to do it. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t put your brain in the blender, know what I mean?” Harley grunted his agreement. Cajun hesitated before going on.

  “But here’s the thing. As awesomely amazing and tough as we are, we are still fundamentally human. It’s what makes us able to do what we do. It’s also what drags us down. Unless we do what we can to keep that humanity intact. Now, I know how you are about stuff like this, ‘caveman, grunt, uggh’ and all that shizzery,” Harley rolled his eyes, “but sometimes you’ve got to talk these things out with someone, Harley. I’ve got Charleen to talk to now, when things get too dark. And she talks to me. But you, you don’t talk it out with anyone man.”

  “You’re such a girl.”

  “Shut up, I’m serious.”

  “I’m talkin’ to you, right now ain’t I?” Harley growled, running a hand through his hair.

  “You give me the bare minimum and let the rest fester. That’s not what I’m talking about. It takes the edge off, yeah, but it doesn’t alleviate the worst of it.”

  “Sure.”

  “Look, all I’m saying is eventually keeping all that bottled up inside is gonna kill you. Maybe not physically, but it will kill your humanity. And we know what happens then.” They were both silent for a long moment. They knew all too well what happened then. They’d had to be the ones taking care of the problem on more than a few occasions.

  “Hearing me out here?” Cajun asked quietly. Harley released a bone weary sigh.

  “Yeah. I hear ya.”

  “So…I’m just saying…since you already bit the bullet and saw the girl face to face and she didn’t run away screaming…” He paused for what he deemed an appropriate amount of time for a reply to his joke.

  “Ha ha,” Harley supplied half heartedly

  “Thank you. Now, back to serious matters. Maybe you should finally give the girl Pop’s number, and I don’t know, be her friend.”

  “Just like that.”

  “It’s friendship, Harley, not rocket science.” Harley sneered, but said nothing. “Look, I’m not saying you have to take the girl out shopping and watch movies while painting each other’s nails. Just that, well, would it really be so much torture to have someone to talk to at the end of a rough day, and actually have them care?”

  “I’ll think about it, cupcake. Go appease your girl before she castrates ya. I’ll talk to ya tomorrow for the hunt.” Cajun laughed on the other end, before offering a stage whisper of fear.

  “I’m serious though, man. If you don’t hear from me in twelve hours, expect to find me gutted.” They hung up, and Harley sat quietly watching the last of the fire burn out. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled his Pop’s card out of his wallet. Flipping it over he ran a thumb over the girl’s number. A friend. A friend. He tried the word out in his mind a few times, trying to get his head around it. He had to admit, he was a bit dysfunctional in that area of life. He honestly couldn’t remember having a friend outside of his brother and his dad. Ever. And it had taken him a long time to warm up to his brother. Charleen, he supposed, he could count as a little more than an acquaintance at this point. They had a lot of similarities in the dysfunction department that kept them from actually being what he’d consider friends. Not to mention the dynamics between her and his brother made things edgy there too. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. So what was he supposed to do? Text her or something? He looked down at the mangled cell phone in his hand. Calling or texting was out of the question for now.

  Harley was slightly annoyed at the feeling of relief that fact stirred in him. He tried to reassure himself that he wasn’t a pathetic hermit, that he just liked his privacy. Was that such a bad thing? He looked back at the fire, recalling the conversation he’d just had with his cautiously concerned brother. His particular brand of privacy, a.k.a. isolation, wasn’t a bad thing…unless it sent him over the edge. With a growl he tossed what was left of the phone into the hot embers. Glancing at the skyline he realized sunrise was just around the bend. Ensuring he had all of his weapons he headed for his bike.

  Things had definitely been putting more of a strain on him in the last few months, and he couldn’t blame it all on the girl. He’d been feeling the strain for a long time before she came along. Gritting his teeth, Harley made a decision. He’d grab the girl’s bike, make a few mods to it, and take it over to her so she’d have a ride to work. From there he’d play it by ear.

  Chapter 18

  Amiel

  She rubbed at her neck for probably the hundredth time that morning. The dumb thing burned and itched like poison ivy. Her delicate skin bore an ugly fat bruise all the way around from Tall Dude’s chokehold on her, and his sleeves must have been made of wool or something because it had rug-burned the crap out of her. Yet despite that, she found herself in far too cheery of a mood to be normal under such circumstances. Who would be so happy just eight hours after being violently attacked? Yet more often than she cared to admit, she’d found herself smiling down into a bowl of pancake ingredients, thinking about the events of the night before. Well, mostly about the last half of her work shift.

  Okay, she was drooling over Harley. Could a girl really be blamed for that? Yeah, she really could. She had just met the guy for goodness sake! She shouldn’t be obsessing about a man she just met. Sure she’d been eagerly wishing for the chance to meet Harley ever since the first night she slept in his car. And yeah, he saved her life, was a gentleman that protected her bike with a mini bug zapper thingy, and took her to get gas on his bike, and then let her have fun with his funky glasses. But that was no reason to get all gooey over him! Giving herself a mental slap she went back to mixing up the pancakes. He really did have the most amazing smell though.

  “Miss Amiel?” The buzzer on the wall startled her out of her dangerously declining thoughts. Clearing her throat she went and pressed the button that allowed her communication with the gate guards

  “Yes?”

  “You have a visitor, ma’am.” Amiel froze, wondering who could possibly be visiting her. No one knew whe
re she lived. Her blood ran cold as she pictured Malinda standing outside the gates, hells wrath chiseled into her features.

  “Um…who is it?” she asked timidly.

  “Some guy in a pair of aviators. He won’t give a name.” Her heart went from the bottom of her stomach to lodge in her throat in an instant. The grin was spontaneous and she quickly buzzed out.

  “I’ll be right down!” She barely remembered to grab her keys before she ran out the door and locked it. She lost pretty much any amount of decorum she’d gained in the neighbor’s eyes as she stampeded down the stairs. Once outside she forced herself to walk in a slower, more ladylike fashion. No reason to scare the guy away. She wanted him to be her friend, not to have him run the other way when he saw her careening toward him with a crazy gleam in her eyes. But despite her efforts at playing things on the down low, she couldn’t deny the bright smile that stretched her face the moment she saw him casually leaning against a postal box, scowling at the gate guards, aviators firmly in place. Especially when he had her bike parked right next to him, gleaming in the sun.

  “You know this guy, Miss Amiel?” one of the guards asked gruffly as she approached. She smiled at him, patting his arm consolingly. The guys on guard here always took their job super seriously.

  “I sure do, Jim. This is my friend Harley.” She ignored the way Harley’s brow rose at her word ‘friend’. Her attention riveted on her bike. She ran the last few feet to the bike’s side, mouth wide in surprise. Kneeling by it, she ran shaking fingers over the cold metal that had once been scraped and dented. Her eyes burned with the promise of tears as she examined the efforts he’d taken to restore the damage that had been done since she’d purchased it. He’d done it so expertly that it was as though nothing had ever happened to it. She looked up at him, squinting against the sunlight behind him.