Hunger Chronicles (Book 1): Life Bites (32 page)

Reverently, I move across the room toward the desk. I can see the outline of stack upon stacks of papers and notebooks, but the light coming down from the kitchen is too dim for even my eyes to see what they say.

Grabbing my dad’s wooden swivel chair, I roll it across the floor to the other side of the counter made desk. A quick twist to secure the back of the chair against the wall and I’m standing on it, ripping the boards off one of the two basement windows.

Moonlight spills into the dark basement, filling the corners, throwing silver beams across my father’s workspace. Anything in those beakers or test tubes would be too old by now, exposed to air and heat and cold. No, it’s too late for any secrets, if there were any secrets, to be revealed from them. I move instead back to my father’s desk, running my finger along the worn edge where the laminate is peeling away.

I pick up a paper from one of the piles, glance it over, shuffle it to the back. I flip through a few more before I stop myself. My dad was an organized man. If he found something as important as a vaccine, would he have stuffed it away in a random stack? No.

I need to think like him. I need to step into his skin. What would he have done with it?

I run back across the basement, grab his wheelie chair and yank it over in front of the desk. Taking a steadying breath I sit, the worn hinges of the swivel and rock groaning under my slight weight. Would have squeaked more with dad. He was a solid man.

I sit there, in my father’s chair before my father’s desk, waiting. Someplace predictable, but safe. Wouldn’t do for someone to find it out of hand and misplace it accidently. But, he’d want it easily found if something happened and he couldn’t show the person sitting here next where it was. So…

I yank open the drawer in front of me. It’s filled with pens and blank notepads and a scientific calculator. Okay, not there. Next I check the drawers on the sides. Files. Some correspondences. Receipts for equipment. There is even seven years’ worth of tax returns for the money he earns writing
for scientific journals. Still no formula. I swivel the chair around, staring across the basement at the whiteboard. He wouldn’t have written it on something so… temporary?

I start to rise. My legs are heavy, and my hands refuse to let go of the arms of the chair. I stop resisting and plop back down. This chair. Here before the desk. I spin the chair back around, leaning back and looking up at the ceiling, my hands laced behind my head as my father often did. It’s as I’m tipping my head back that I notice it: the 11x14 picture of mom and dad and me
from our trip to Cancun when I was thirteen. The frame is slightly off-kilter. Tipped slightly to the left with a distinctive smear of grease at the top corner…like a smudged up print.

I stand. I have to climb on the desk to take the picture down but as I do, something shifts, flopping against the paper backing.

My heart hammers in my chest, my palms slick on the gilt frame. I turn the picture around. There is a slit across the top of the tan paper. I quickly tip the picture over. The object inside slides down to the top. I slip my hand in. My fingers curl around an edge. A notebook. One of those composition ones that you get for English class.

I pull it out, setting the picture on the back of the desk with one hand. And then I sit and flip to the first page. Five words in and I know:
If you find this, then…

My heart stutters. I clamp the notebook to my chest, tears blurring my eyes. If you find this. I don’t have to read anymore to know that this notebook, the work of my father’s blood sweat and tears, will contain treasure for the human race.

“Thank you, dad.”

Smiling I pull the notebook from my breast and flatten it on the table. Another few pages and my heart is no longer stuttering, but racing with a kind of excitement that I thought impossible except during the blood lust. I’m so engrossed that I almost miss it. The other heartbeat, pounding in an accompanying rhythm to my own.

Of course, it’s been almost an hour.

“John, look at th…” I trail off, the scent of candied almonds choking my words back down. I stuff the journal under a pile of papers, spinning back around to face my worst nightmare. And there he is, standing in the shadows by the base of the stairs.

“What are you doing here?”

He shakes his head, stepping forward into the room. Silver moonlight glints off his hair, his eyes flashing like starlight in his dark face. My breath catches. Even now, the devil can seduce the light of heaven to do his bidding. He smiles.

“Why, Eva, don’t you know? I’m here to keep my promise.”

35.

Then…

“Eva, I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I clung tighter to Raoul’s muscular forearm, nervously eyeing the ballroom before us. His promise was easier said than done.
I
was going to be what happened to me. Helium balloons, strobe lights, a constant queasy stomach… dancing. Yup, this night was something out of one of my worst nightmares, but for one reason: I was there with Raoul.

I realized I was digging my nails into his arm, the Moonlight Twilight like a set of short, sharp blades cutting into his custom fit tuxedo. Forcing myself to relax my grip was difficult, but I managed to relax to something short of blood-letting levels.

“You know,” I said, my voice wavering to betray my nervousness—as if the death grip hadn’t already. “We could skip the prom. Go to the park. Or maybe a movie.”

He chuckled, pulling me closer into his side. “No way. I’m not going to let you miss this.”

“Why not? I really don’t mind.”

He shook his head, turning me to face him, his hands cupping my face on either cheek. “Eva. This is your prom. Girls dream about this from the moment they turn thirteen. I’m not going to steal you away and deny you this pleasure.”

“That’s my whole point. Dancing? Playing dress up? Not exactly my things.”

“You like music. And you are certainly good at dressing up.” He held me out before him. His gaze dipped down my body before settling back on my face where it lingered briefly on my lips before returning to my eyes. “You are beautiful. No…beautiful fails to describe you. You are stunning in that gown. Like a midnight waterfall against a backdrop of stars.”

My tummy warmed, even if it didn’t settle much. That was the thing with Raoul. He never made me feel like a piece of flesh. Just wanted, cherished. Still didn’t change the fact that I didn’t want to be here. “Raoul…”

He drew me close, kissed my forehead, the spot burning like a lick of the sun. I sighed, my objections trailing off.

“Let me do this for you, Eva. I promise I’ll take care of you.” He stepped back from me, offering me his arm again with a smile and a wink. “And I’m an excellent dancer. All you have to do is let me lead.”

Let him lead. Okay there. He’d change his tune when I’d stepped on his feet for the umpteenth time.

I let him draw me out on the dance floor. At first it was awkward, him trying to lead me, and my two left feet not wanting to be led. But as he whispered and coaxed, his body pressed against mine like a blanket of security, I began to relax. We’d never made it to the level of Dancing with the Stars or anything, but with Raoul leading me I was no longer hopelessly inept either, at least for the slow numbers. When they started up a fast one...well, suffice it to say, Raoul finally took pity on me.

We stumbled off the dance floor, panting and laughing. Or at least I was panting. Raoul was just laughing, probably at me.

“And here I thought I was in shape.” I shook my head, letting him lead me to the refreshment center. “Three miles every other day and I can’t even spend ten minutes on the dance floor.”

“It’s a different sort of activity.”

“Still.” I took the punch he handed to me, lifting it to my lips. Fruity and bubbly. And no hint of alcohol—so far.

“Aren’t you having any?” I asked after noting he hadn’t gotten himself some.

He shook his head, his eyes firmly fixed on me, as if he were superman and had x-ray vision. “No. I thirst for something else this night.”

Oh boy. The cup in my hand shook. Thankfully it was almost empty, though that didn’t stop my urge to get rid of it. All of a sudden, with Raoul’s gaze sizzling across me like a caress, the fact that the prom was being held in a hotel with hundreds of rooms just a credit card swipe away took on a whole new meaning. If Raoul had reserved us a room, would I go?

Yes
.

My heart hammered so loud I was sure it was drowning out the DJ. Where had that come from? We still hadn’t done anything more than kiss. Okay, maybe a bit of heavy petting—through clothing. But not once had we talked about bringing our relationship to the next level, let alone skipping a bunch of levels to get to renting a room at the prom. I was a virgin. And had decided a long time ago I was going to remain one until college at least. I wanted the moment to be special. A milestone that was worth the wait.

But could anyone you meet at college ever look at you like he does, Eva?

The plastic cup I was holding crinkled. As if he’d sensed the imminent danger, Raoul managed to snatch it out of my hand right before I completely crushed it into shards of plastic and spilled the last third cup of punch all over my dress.

“Thanks,” I said, cheeks flaming at my klutziness.

“You’re shaking.”

“I, um…” I couldn’t look him in the eye and stared past his shoulder again. He turned to follow my gaze, his eyes narrowing on the artfully displayed
hors d'œuvre’s
across the room.

“You are still hungry?” he asked, obviously confused.

After the large dinner he fed me? Hardly. I nodded anyway.

“Wait here. I’ll fix you a plate.”

I bit my lip as he strode off, his long legs carrying him gracefully through the groups of dancing couples.

Way to go. Now I was going to have to eat a plate of food I didn’t want. Either that or admit what I’d been really thinking about.

Geez. What was with me? We’d only been dating a few weeks. A month ago I hadn’t even known Raoul from Adam. And here I was thinking about sleeping with him? My mother would be appalled. ‘Least, I think she would be. She seemed to have a real soft spot for Raoul. Not a day had passed since I introduced him that she hadn’t invited him over for dinner or dessert. Heck, sometimes I wondered if my mom was more in love with Raoul than I was.

In love with Raoul? Was I in love with Raoul?.

Well, duh, Eva. You
are
thinking of having sex with him.

I gulped, nervously running my hands down the sides of my gown. Way too much. Way too fast.

Behind me, someone swore at the same time that an elbow jostled into my back. I spun on the offender, though secretly I was grateful for the much needed distraction. “Hey! Watch it.”

I got an absent “sorry” but no eye contact. The kid—Mark, I thought, based on the spiky Mohawk—was too busy peering over a corseted girl’s bare shoulder. In fact, there was a group of black clad kids trying to peer over the girl’s shoulder.

Curious, I shifted closer, trying to get a glimpse between all the satin, leather, and lace.

“What is it?” I asked Mark. I was sure it was Mark now. Just as that was the newest Motorola Droid that the girl, Justine, was clenching in her black-lace gloves.

“Some nut is putting up twitter posts about the zombie outbreak,” Mark answered absently.

“Zombie outbreak?”

My confusion got Mark’s full attention. He blinked over at me, answering in a kind of my-your-dense tone. “Yeah, you know. The South American virus? This guy is calling it the zombie outbreak. Guess it’s just popped up in another city.”

Oh great. If that were true, I was surprised my dad hadn’t broken down the Radisson’s doors yet to drag me home. As it was, I was here on borrowed time. Only Raoul’s amazing ability to charm had bought me tonight’s freedom. That and drinking that disgusting concoction of his. Frankly it was no wonder my tummy was doing flips.

“I got a newsfeed,” Justine said.

Everyone leaned in close, trying to hear what the newscaster was saying over the pounding music.

“Hey, that place looks familiar,” one of the girls who had a set of lethal looking chopsticks poking out of her hair voiced shrilly. “I swear I’ve been there.”

“You’ve been to Mexico?” her date asked.

“No. But I swear I’ve been there.” She jabbed at the screen.

I squinted my eyes, watching the jerky helicopter image of the city’s streets far below. It was pure chaos. People running, cars abandoned where they’d come against the barricades. Tanks. Soldiers.

“Holy fuck!” Mark exclaimed. “That’s somewhere in the US. Those are US troops.”

No. Couldn’t be. The virus had just hit Mexico on Wednesday. No way could it have hit the states yet. Besides, there were barricades, quarantine measures in place. The entire continent from the Rio Grande down was under complete lockdown.

“Turn it up!” someone snapped.

“It’s as loud as it goes,” Justine snipped back.

Heads bumped, glares were exchanged.

“Holy shit. Did he just say San Francisco?”

We all looked over at the boy who’d uttered the words. Couldn’t be right.

A hand slid around my elbow. “Eva?”

I whipped my head around. My face must have looked like death warmed over because Raoul’s grip tightened, his eyes searching my face. “What’s wrong?”

“The news report.” I gestured to the phone in Justine’s hand. “There’s been another outbreak. We think they said in San Francisco. But that’s not possible. Right?”

I knew I was begging for a miracle. No. Not a miracle. Logic. Logic said that the boy had heard wrong. Even if the virus had crossed the border it would have hit a town way further south than San Francisco. San Diego maybe. Not San Francisco. San Francisco would indicate that the entire coastline was compromised. And that was inconceivable.

Raoul cocked his head as if listening. I still couldn’t make out what the newscaster was saying.
Not San Francisco. Couldn’t be.
Then Raoul’s face darkened at the same time that Mark let out a vile profanity.