Pocket Apocalypse: InCryptid, Book Four (22 page)

I’ll spare you the process of having my wounds cleaned—again—cauterized with silver nitrate, and stitched by Helen, who had a steady hand but didn’t believe in painkillers. She was a general practitioner by trade, which meant she had an excellent grasp of human anatomy and where it differed from wadjet anatomy (like the part where I was a mammal, and not a big snake in an excellent human suit). She was a field doctor for cryptids by calling, and that meant that painkillers were something to be reserved for really
serious
accidents, the sort of thing where the person being worked on would be lucky to walk away, and thus didn’t need to keep their wits about them. Since I didn’t qualify as a severe trauma case, she just jumped right in and started searing my flesh.

There wasn’t much conversation during that part of the process. It wasn’t until she was putting in the stitches that she got chatty. “You’re sure this was a werewolf?” she asked, as she sewed up a long gash on the back of my arm.

It was all I could do not to jump, from the combination of the pain and the question. “Yes, I’m sure,” I said. “It looked like a werewolf, it moved like a werewolf, and it sure as hell wasn’t a dingo.”

“Dingos don’t look much like wolves, actually,” said Shelby, who was resolutely not watching as the needle darted in and out of my flesh. One corner of the room seemed to have become particularly fascinating to her, and she was staring at that instead of anything involving me, Helen, and the medical bag.

“That’s . . . odd,” said Helen, and tied off her sutures. “Werewolves aren’t supposed to be capable of thought once they’ve transformed, but whatever bit you did it like they knew exactly where to aim. None of the major arteries were involved, and while there’s muscle damage from the bite, it’s not severe enough to keep you out of commission.”

“Meaning that if the infection were to take, I’d be primed to do a lot of damage when the twenty-eight-day incubation was up,” I said slowly. “That’s . . . Shelby, do we have pictures of the other werewolf bites? I need to know whether this is coincidence or a pattern.” Once would be a lucky accident that had kept my injuries from becoming too severe. More than once would mean we might be dealing with something impossible, and terrifying.

A werewolf that remembered how to think.

Werewolves were capable of spreading the infection that made them at a fast and deadly rate without tying human intelligence to their rage. Give them the ability to think, to plan, to work on any level above “beast,” and we could be looking at the kind of outbreak the world had never seen before.

“I’ll get them for you,” said Shelby.

Helen picked up the jar of cuckoo blood—now more than half-empty—and began slathering it generously over my stitches. It would help keep the wound from becoming infected, since it would create a virtually anaerobic environment. Wherever cuckoos were from, it wasn’t a place where our native bacteria thrived. “Wouldn’t intelligent werewolves be a good thing?” she asked. “I mean, you could reason with them. Explain why their behavior is inappropriate, and convince them to stop.”

“Rabies attacks the brain and central nervous system,” I said. “People who become rabid have been known to kill their friends, their loved ones, even their own children. It’s not universal—most rabies victims die without hurting anyone—but it happens enough to be a common fear throughout the mammalian world. Lycanthropy is worse. No one has ever encountered a calm or passive werewolf, and before you say that’s Covenant teachings talking, I’d like to note that almost all werewolf killings can be classed as self-defense. The others have involved werewolves that have already attacked, more than once. We can’t assume that an intelligent werewolf would be friendly.”

“There are days when I am simply ecstatic to have come from a different branch of the evolutionary tree,” said Helen, packing her suture kit away. “Now, your antiserum. You really want to go through with this? Even with your mice saying that you’re clean?”

“My mice are, if they’ll forgive me for saying this, mice,” I said. “I have absolute faith in their teachings, and if they say I’m clean, I’m sure they’re right. But I need to be able to go to Shelby’s father and say I’ve done everything in my power to make sure I can’t hurt anyone. That includes using the treatment I’m going to recommend for everyone else who’s been exposed.” Although I was also going to recommend the mice check everyone who was even suspected of harboring a lycanthropy-w infection. If they gave any result other than “clean,” we’d have something resembling proof that they could do what they said they could.

“It’s your funeral,” said Helen. “Lay back on the bed, open your mouth, and think about something more pleasant than what I’m about to do to you. Because . . .”

“I know,” I said, cutting her off. “This is going to hurt. Now do it.”

And she did.

“That probably wasn’t the smartest thing you’ve ever done. Points for style, I guess. Points off for being too stupid to live.”

—Kevin Price

Waiting in one of the quarantine rooms in a secluded guesthouse in Queensland, Australia

T
HE FEELING
STARTED COMING
back to my tongue an hour after Dr. Helen Jalali administered the werewolf antiserum. There was still a sharp, almost burning sensation at the root of it, and I couldn’t keep myself from drooling—not the best thing when you’re a) trying to present yourself as a professional and b) dealing with people who are terrified of accidental fluid transfer—but at least my temporary lisp was gone. That was a good thing, given the pitch I was about to make.

The door was closed, and had been closed since Shelby had walked the doctor back to her car. Helen had grumbled about blindfolds the whole time, which made me suspect that the Society still wasn’t playing nicely with the sapient locals. That was a bad sign. They needed all the help they could get to come through this reasonably intact—and that help included me.

I reached the wall, turned around, and paced back in the other direction. I was getting tired of waiting for Shelby to come back for me, and knew that I couldn’t move until she did. The inside of my mouth still tasted like aconite and ketamine, which accounted for the continued drooling. The body knows when it contains things that shouldn’t be there, and will try to flush them out through whatever means are necessary.

The mice were arrayed in a loose circle on the bed, watching me pace. Every fourth circuit around the room they shouted “HAIL!” for no clear reason. It seemed to be keeping them happy, and while I was sure they had some religious explanation for their behavior, I was equally sure I wouldn’t be able to get them to shut up about it if I made the mistake of asking. The last thing I wanted to do was have Riley walk in on the Aeslin mice in full-on religious ecstasy.

Although the look on his face might be worth the argument that would be sure to follow. I smiled a little at the thought, and was pleased to feel the muscles on either side of my mouth pull upward at the same time. Facial numbness and temporary paralysis were possible side effects of the antiserum. (They were among the milder, more desirable side effects, mind, since the others included fun things like “seizure,” “heart failure,” and “death.” Modern medicine is occasionally deadly, but there’s a lot to be said for having access to machines and lab technicians capable of refining deadly toxins to a slightly less deadly state.)

The mice cheered twice more in response to my circuits around the room, and I was beginning to give serious thought to asking them why they kept doing that—damn the consequences—when there was a knock at the door. I stopped dead, wiping the last of the drool from my chin as I called, “Yes?”

“Alex, it’s Shelby. I’ve got my dad with me, and he says he’ll only come in if you’ll sit on the bed and promise to stay sitting the whole time we’re in the room. Can you do that? Please?” There was a degree of anxiety in her voice that I very rarely heard from her.

I walked back to the bed, gesturing for the mice to get out of the way before I plopped down onto the mattress. Most of them ran behind the pillow. One—the one that had been the first to say I wasn’t sick after they’d checked my wound for signs of the lycanthropy-w virus—scampered onto my knee and sat, tail curled primly around paws. It looked up at me, silently asking for permission.

I nodded. It wasn’t like having the mouse there was going to hurt anything, and it might help, depending on how things went down. Besides, I appreciated the company. It made me feel a little less alone. “I’m sitting,” I called. “It’s safe to come in.”

The door swung open, and Shelby stepped into the room. Her face matched her voice: anxious and drawn, tight with worry. She held the door for her father as he entered after her. Riley Tanner didn’t look worried. He just looked angry.

“So quarantine is good enough for our people, but it’s not good enough for you, is that it, Price?” he demanded, not bothering with pleasantries. “I don’t see why you think you’re going to change my mind about basic protocol.”

“Hello, sir,” I said. “I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

He blinked, apparently taken aback. “I didn’t ask.”

“I noticed,” I said, in my best “I am a scientist, don’t fuck with me” tone. It was hard to fight the urge to stand and put myself on a level with him: like Dr. Jalali, he was using his height to assert dominance, towering over me because there was nothing I could do to stop him. And like Dr. Jalali, I needed to let him have that feeling of dominance. I had needed her to provide me with medical care without the risk of infection. I needed
him
to let me out of this room while I could still do some good. “As for why I’m asking you to change your mind . . . sir, I never said you had to quarantine your people, just monitor them closely. Keeping them—keeping
us
—isolated at night is a good idea for the sake of everyone’s peace of mind, but there’s no risk of transformation until twenty-eight days have passed. That’s twenty-eight days of backup you’re planning to waste, all because you don’t understand this disease.”

“You’re drooling, son,” said Riley. “Go ahead. Keep telling me you’re not sick.”

“This is a side effect of the mixture I ingested to make
sure
I wouldn’t get sick,” I said, fighting to keep my tone level. I wiped the side of my mouth with my hand. “It irritates the mouth, which can cause excessive salivation.”

“Well, you irritate me, so I guess you and your ‘cure’ have something in common.”

“Dad,” snapped Shelby. “You said you’d listen to him, not come in here trying to score points like this was some sort of . . . of sport. Why aren’t you
listening
to him?”

“I don’t know, honey, maybe because he was raised by Johrlac, nearly got you turned to stone, and got one of my best men killed within a day of showing up on this continent?” Riley wheeled on Shelby with unnerving speed. She felt it, too: she took a step back, letting go of the door. It swung shut. Riley didn’t appear to notice. “He’s been nothing but bad news since you got involved with him. I told you to cut ties as soon as you reported he had one of those heartless mind-suckers living with him, but you didn’t listen. You had to save your boyfriend. Now he’s here, wreaking havoc amongst the people who should be able to trust you to have their backs. So why don’t you tell me, daughter dear? Why are you listening to him at all?”

“Because he knows what he’s doing, and he’s not letting personal feelings interfere with his work,” she snapped, her normal temper surging back to the surface. “He’d do this job for anyone. That’s a thing you should be glad of, because if you were treating me the way you’re treating him, I’d sure as hell not be volunteering to help you with
anything
.”

Riley glared at her. Shelby glared back. I looked at the mouse on my knee. The mouse looked up at me.

“Sometimes I wish I had the ability to conjure popcorn from thin air,” I said.

The mouse flared its whiskers in amusement. “It is as in the teachings of the Noisy Priestess,” it squeaked. “Always should popcorn be eaten when people fight over foolish things.”

“Uh, Alex?” I looked up to see Shelby looking at me, a bewildered expression on her face. Her father wore a virtually identical expression. “Are you having a chat with your mice while we’re arguing about whether or not to let you out of quarantine?”

“No,” I said, standing. I did it slowly enough that the mouse was able to run up my arm to my shoulder, where it perched, whiskers quivering. “I’m having a chat with my mice while you argue about whether or not there’s anything here to argue about. It seemed like less of a waste of time.”

“Son, you want to sit yourself back down before we have a problem,” said Riley. His tone was tight and cautioning.

“No, I don’t believe I do,” I said. “You’re not stupid, are you, Mr. Tanner? I don’t see how you could be. I’ve met your daughters, and intelligence is often partially genetic. More, I’ve met your people. The Thirty-Six Society doesn’t listen to you because you’re big, they listen to you because you’re smart. You know your country, you know your territory, you know your local cryptids. You’re the best man for the job you do.”

“Flattery isn’t going to make me stop telling you to sit down,” he said. There was a note of confusion in his voice, like he couldn’t quite figure out where I was going with this, and consequently didn’t know how to make me hurry it up.

“Sir, if you’re not stupid, why are you persisting in acting like you are?” It was hard to keep my tone level as I asked that question. Shelby’s alarmed expression and “cut it out” hand gestures weren’t helping.

Riley’s eyes narrowed. “All right, forget sitting down. It’ll be more fun to pound the stupid out of you while you’re standing up.”

“If I’m infected, you can’t risk fluid transfer.”

That stopped him. I smiled.

“So basically, if you ‘pound the stupid’ out of me, you’re admitting the treatment worked, and I’m not an infection risk. Normally, I wouldn’t endorse that, but with the mice also vouching for me, I think you’d be safe to take the risk. Or we can go ahead and try my plan, which involves less punching me in the face—disappointing, I know—but might have better long-term results.”

Riley frowned. “What’s your plan?”

“Ah, good.” I smiled, hoping my slightly numb lips wouldn’t make the expression too Heath Ledger-as-the Joker for what I was trying to convey. “According to the mice, I’m not infected. Thanks to Dr. Jalali, who administered the antiserum I prepared after Cooper and I were bitten, we know that even if the mice are wrong, I’m in the best possible position for dodging the infection.” I knew that most of my projected good cheer was mania: on some level, I was still scared out of my mind. There wasn’t time to dwell on the fear. The fear was going to do me no good, and it could do me a great deal of harm if I surrendered to it. “Are we in agreement thus far?”

“I’ll grant you that,” said Riley grudgingly.

“This disease spreads through fluid transfer. You can’t catch it by touching an infected person, or even drinking from the same glass.” I sounded like a public health announcement. I forced myself to keep going. “I’m willing to return here at night. I’m willing to be locked in while I sleep. But, sir, I need to be able to help you with this situation—and not to be overly boastful of my abilities, you need me. You need
someone
who has dealt with lycanthropy before, and who can speak to the local cryptids. You don’t have anyone else with my skill set.”

His eyes narrowed again, this time accompanied by the tensing of the jaw that signified rage in almost all primates. Sometimes it’s nice to be dealing with members of my own species. I understand them when they react to me. And that impulse explained everything. “You arrogant little—”

“Sir, there is arrogance in this room, but it’s not
mine
,” I snapped, stunning him temporarily into silence. I took advantage of the opening, stepping toward him—still not close enough to be an infection risk, but close enough that my presence would be impossible to belittle or overlook. I was also close enough that he could punch me in the face, but that was a risk I was willing to take. He probably wouldn’t do it. My face was where I kept my teeth, after all, and he was worried about catching lycanthropy.

Riley stared at me, eyes narrowing further. I was starting to wonder if he needed glasses. Behind him, Shelby shook her head, her best “you better know what you’re doing” expression on her face.

I really hope so,
I thought, and said, “Dr. Jalali and her family live less than five miles from here. Where there’s one wadjet family, there are more, because they need to be close enough to find husbands for their daughters. They’re spread out by necessity, they’re better gossip networks than the bogeymen if you can find your way inside, and they had no idea there was a werewolf in this part of Queensland, because the people who knew about it didn’t tell them. They’re your
neighbors
. They’d be your allies, if you gave them the slightest indication they were welcome. They
like
living in a place where they don’t have to worry about the Covenant swooping in and shooting their children, but you’re not giving them cause to like you, and it’s cutting off one of your main sources of potential intelligence. It’s speciesist and it’s
stupid
. Sir.”

Riley stood up a little straighter, silently reminding me that I was picking a fight with a mountain that walked like a man. “We don’t need monsters to point out the holes in our security,” he said. “We don’t need anything inhuman to help us find husbands for our daughters. I’m still not seeing where you’re offering me anything I can’t find just as well without letting you out of this room.”

At the word “husbands,” Shelby winced. Oh, great.

“Mr. Tanner, how much of this is about my relationship with your daughter?”

Riley didn’t answer.

“Mr. Tanner, the wadjet have doctors who can interact freely with the potentially infected Society members, with no fear of catching lycanthropy-w. They can’t catch the disease, and because of that, they’ll continue to treat your people like, well,
people
,” I said. “If one of my mice travels with them to see the potentially infected, we may be able to provide reassurance for people who have every reason to be terrified right now.”