Hunger Chronicles (Book 1): Life Bites (3 page)

Kyle. Just my luck.

He smiled at me and winked.

I closed my eyes, swallowing past my constricted windpipe—was it possible for a person to develop asthma when they’ve never had it before? I thought so. For this I could. And then I could go to the nurse’s office. That was even better than the principal’s office. Which was still better than bio lab. And without a doubt better than working with Kyle.

“Miss Harper.”

I jumped, but obeyed the underlying command. Legs heavy and with my breath wheezing in and out of my lungs, I picked my way through the aisles to the back of the room. I dropped my book bag on the floor with a thud and scooted onto the tall stool. I didn’t look at Kyle, didn’t
have
to look at Kyle to know what he looked like. I was an expert on Kyle. Right now he would have on that cocky, white-toothed grin that stretched across his high cheek-boned face. His blue eyes, flecked with the faintest touch of gold, would be amused. And his hair, with its hereditary cowlick on the side, would have parted in its normal devil-may-care sweep over his forehead.

My fingers had toyed with that hair. That mouth had researched mine. If I’d been willing, I could have been an expert on the parts of Kyle under the clothing, too. The fact that I hadn’t been willing was what made this pairing so uncomfortable now. Kyle hated me. Or at least, he was pissed at me after the debacle last weekend. No one says “no” to Kyle. Not that you couldn’t, but who would want to? But I’d done so… in a very public and painful way.

Mr. Shepard droned on about the procedure we’d be adhering to. I didn’t listen. Nor did I look at Kyle even though I felt his eyes on me the whole time. Instead my gaze drifted around the room and settled on the live aquarium tucked in the corner between the window and the back of the room. Complete with lily pads, bottom feeders, turtles and frogs, it was the perfect little pond ecosystem, minus the bugs.

“You may begin.” Mr. Shepard’s voice drew my gaze away from the aquarium down to the cloth covered tray and the neatly lined up dissecting tools beside it. There was a dead creature under that little scrap of cotton. One I was supposed to cut open and poke around in. I shuddered, goose bumps breaking out on my arms.

Kyle leaned in close, his breath tickling the hair at the nape of my neck. “What are you afraid of, Eva, think that frog is going to jump up and getcha?”

And to think I’d dated the jerk. I stiffened my chin, picking up my scalpel. “No. I just hate the needless killing of defenseless animals.”

“No worries then.” He whipped the sheet away, exposing the ghastly green lump stretched out on the board. “You can’t kill what’s already dead.”

I gritted my teeth, holding in the acidic lump that rose in my throat. I could not cut into that thing. No way, no how. I couldn’t even cut into a steak. I was a vegetarian. Not so much by choice as by simple need. Just the thought that the food I was eating used to be a living, breathing, vital animal sent me into the bathroom to puke. And that frog. That poor defenseless frog had been killed for what? I somehow doubted the entire junior class was going to become surgeons. Text books and slideshows. Good enough for me.

Kyle laughed, taking the scalpel from my limp hand. I watched in horror as he pressed the scalpel against the rubbery skin and slid it down. The smell of formaldehyde became even stronger. I gagged, practically falling off the stool as I bolted for the door.

“Miss Harper? Eva!”

The door banged open as I stumbled through it. I was across the hall and leaning into the cool metal of the lockers on the opposite wall when the door opened again. The roar of laughter in the classroom pierced the silence of the hall for a moment before being cut off by the soft click of the door and quiet footfalls.

“Are you all right, Eva?”

I stared down at the brown wing-tip shoes as they came into view. Mr. Shepard’s lined hand came down to rest on my shoulder. I liked Mr. Shepard. I did. He reminded me a lot of my father. Strict, a tad bit obsessive about their passion—both were biologists, ironic, that—but good men nonetheless. I often thought Mr. Shepard’s rigid set of rules was because under the deeply grooved face and outdated suit jackets he wore, there beat a kind heart. As apparent by the fact I had not been sent to the principal’s office. Today, I wished his kindness had stayed wrapped up under his corduroy jacket.

“I’m okay. Just need a second.” Or a millennia. That would be about right. I’d be long in my grave by then.

The hand on my shoulder tightened, then released as he stepped back. “You have a perfect score this semester, Miss Harper. I’d hate to see that ruined. Especially with Nathanial William’s equally perfect score.”

I closed my eyes, barely aware of his receding footsteps or the brief blast of noise as he re-entered the room. I breathed through another couple minutes, concentrating on fighting back the rolling waves that crested the top of my hiatal sphincter and splashed acid into the base of my esophagus. Finally, when I had my stomach under control, I straightened, and, squaring my shoulders, turned toward the room. Mr. Shepard was right. I couldn’t let a weak stomach come between me and my chance at valedictorian next year.

My determination faltered a bit when I pushed through the door to the bio room and smacked into a wall of formaldehyde. I gasped, covering my nose with my hand and made my way back to my table. The towel was back over the dissecting tray, covering the gaping chest wound. I was glad, but still kept my gaze averted as I sat back down in my stool. Twenty minutes. I only had to get through twenty more minutes.

“You okay, Eva?” Kyle asked, his blue eyes searching my face. As if he actually cared.

I tossed my hair over my shoulder, white knuckling the edge of my stool. “I’m fine.”

He frowned but nodded. “Okay.” His eyes darted up to the front of the classroom where Mr. Shepard was helping another pair of students. Kyle leaned in closer. “While you were gone I got it all ready. All we have to do is label the parts and I can do that if you help me figure out what’s what.”

I blinked at him, surprised at his consideration. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. Maybe all the snide comments and sneering looks since our public break up were a defensive strike from his male ego.

I tried for a tentative smile though I figured it came across more like permanent rictus.

“Whoa, Kyle, my man. What are you doing to make that girl so happy? Not getting her off. You know she doesn’t like that shit.”

I snapped my head around, leveled a glare at the two linebackers the next table over. They were friends of Kyle’s and some of my current worst nemeses. All part of the same team they stuck together, they considered my public humiliation of their star quarterback to be below the belt—both figuratively and literally. Maybe they were right. Kneeing Kyle in the balls might have been overkill, but no one seemed to care that his hand had been down my pants after I’d asked him twice to remove it.

“Shut up, dick-wad,” Kyle said, laying a hand on my arm. “Don’t worry about them, Eva. Everyone has an Achilles’ heel.” He smiled, lowering his voice. “We won’t mention what mine is.”

There was a loud thud—my jaw breaking through the floor into the one below. Had Kyle just poked fun at what I’d done to him? I looked around to see if anyone else had heard and found more than half the class watching. Determined to not give them more gossip, I turned back to the dissecting tray in front of us. Maybe after this was all over I’d catch Kyle after school, thank him. Maybe even apologize for overreacting last weekend.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said.

Kyle smiled and reached for the cloth. A quick snap and it fluttered off. There on the tray was a frog stretched out on the black wax… but with no hole in its chest. Instead, terrified pain-ridden eyes stared up at me as it tried to squirm against the dozen steel pins holding it down.

I screamed.

3.

Okay, then.… I stare at the barrels of three locked and loaded guns. Maybe I am lying just a tad. Truth is enough well-placed bullets can kill me, just not in the instantaneous kind of way. I will heal… as long as my body possesses enough energy to do so. And since my only meal in the last four days has been a quick suck on the zombie lying dazed on the floor, I am pretty darn weak.

“Mind if I finish him off before you kill me?” I say, gesturing to the zombie as it pushes itself up off the ground.

Guns waver between me and it. The zombie is shuffling closer. I can stop it with just a thought, but I don’t exactly want to give my new teammates even more reason to be wary of me and my freaky abilities.

Arm’s length away. I reach out, grab it to me, and casually snap its neck, then, pinning it down with my boot, place a bullet in its brain. Clean and quick. And if my stomach rolls a bit as the light leaves the creature’s gaze, I don’t show it.

“See? Same team.” My audience still looks dubious. Their guns are no longer wavering between targets but firmly planted on me. I sigh. “I don’t know about you boys, but I’m ready to go kick some more zombie butt. What do you say?”

They say nothing. Um, yeah. Guess I need to work on my team rally, rah rah, skills. Problem is I don’t have much experience. Even before I was pretty much a loner.

“Hey. Is there a party going on in here?” Juanita pops her head around the door, backing into the room. She takes in the dead zombie on the floor, me, covered in blood, and the three men holding me at gunpoint. “She get bit?”

“She’s a friggin vampire!” Roy stutters, his trigger finger way too shaky on the sweaty metal.

“Really?” Juanita looks at me. I flash her a fangy smile. Brown eyes narrow, but show no other surprise to what had to have been an earth shattering revelation. Then again, with a zombie on the floor, there isn’t much about this world that isn’t effed up to the H-E-double hockey sticks.

“Does that mean you can’t be infected?” she asks.

“That’s what it means.”

She nods, a thoughtful twist to her lips. “Cool deal.”

Three sets of eyes turn to her, every one incredulous, though it doesn’t offend me. Theirs is a sentiment I agree with. Being a vampire is definitely not cool. And if Juanita had any idea what the rest of my kind had in mind for her race? Yeah….

“What?” She lifts her brow and shoulders simultaneously. “I’d love to have an advantage like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Bu…but…” Roy stutters articulately. Guess I’m not the only one with people-skill problems. Roy was definitely a computer geek in his past life. Can’t communicate except through a keyboard.

“I don’t feed off humans either, case you were wondering,” I say. I still think her seemingly willing acceptance is a bit blind on her part, but I’m not one to miss an opportunity when it knocks.

A wrinkle forms in Juanita’s smooth brown brow. “So what do you feed on?”

I jerk my head to the dead zombie at my feet.

Her eyes light up, her lips curling back into a smile. “Mega cool.”

“What’s going on?” Herb finally appears beside Juanita. His eyes land on the dead zombie, then on me. He takes a stumbling step back. “Whoa. What the hell happened to her?”

“Vampire,” Juanita says casually.

The blood drains from Herbie’s face, his gun swings up, and is caught by the downward swing of Juanita’s own.

“She’s cool, Herbie.”

“I’m not pairing up with her.” This from Roy.

I sneer at him. He was such a great partner before. Not.

John narrows his eyes on me, then he twists his head toward Convict. “I’ll finish up here and catch up with you guys.”

I notice there is no mention of where I fit into that equation but decide to play devil’s advocate and pretend that the “finishing up” isn’t in reference to me.

“Don’t bother. This zone is clear,” I tell them.

“How do you know?” Juanita doesn’t sound disbelieving, just curious.

“I can pick up heartbeats. According to the schematics there’s only a half dozen rooms in this section and other than us, there isn’t anything else here. There is, however, something coming up on the mess hall from the west.”

Juanita smiles. “My she’s handy.”

“The commander thinks so.” I stare at Convict as I say this, letting that sink in. Yes Marine knows and, like Juanita, is cool with it.

Convict studies me before jerking his head back toward the mess hall area. “Let’s check it out.”

Juanita takes off, all too eager to oblige. Convict follows and Herb and Roy jump to keep up. Guess I rank up there with zombies on the scary scale. Probably smart, actually. Just because I’ve vowed off human blood, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be tempted to suck a pair like them dry if I had to spend any extended amount of time in their company.

“You okay?”

I turn my head to look at John. He is taking a good long look at the number of red splotches on my shirt. Thanks to my snack, the wounds are already closing up, but I do still feel a bit like Swiss cheese.

I shrug. “I’m a vampire. Barring staking me and lopping off my head, I’m good to go.”

“Good to know.”

He brushes by me. I glance at the wicked looking K-bar strapped to his thigh. The back of my neck twinges. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him that.

I don’t have much time for remorse. Ahead of us comes the double pop of a rifle followed by a whooping holler from Juanita.

“Is she always this blood thirsty?” I ask, trying to strike up a conversation with Mr. Stoic. Now that I’ve told him how to kill me, I’m thinking getting on his good side might be a good idea.

John glances over his shoulder. “No. Just angry.”

“Ah.” No more explanation is needed. Who isn’t a bit angry about the state of the world right now? Well, other than my fellow vampires. Sure, they were a bit upset at first—reduction of the food supply and all—but put enough eternally-wise heads together and a species is bound to come up with some way to make the most of a situation. Rounding up a healthy stock of breeding humans with the promise of safety seems to work. By the time this war is over, not a one of them will remember what freedom is. Unless some humans on the outside manage to survive. That’s what makes what I’m doing so blasphemous in the eyes of the hive. I’m helping the enemy, as it were. If my queen ever finds out, the type of disciplinary action I’d run away from is going to pale in comparison. Which makes me all the more determined to make myself useful here.