Plague Town (2 page)

Dr. Albert was a big believer in flu shots. Kind of like an evangelistic drug pusher... except legit. I’d missed the free flu vaccine clinic while I’d been puking up my guts due to some bad sushi—I should have known eating at a fast food place called Sushirama was a bad idea.

So he’d tried to shoot me up when I crawled into his office, but I’d said
no way
. I mean, I was already sick, so putting more nasties into my system seemed like a bad idea.

Now, as I stood up on unsteady legs, I wondered if maybe I should have listened to him.

My roommate Zara was already gone for the day, leaving the bathroom free and clear, thank goodness. I mean, I liked her, but honestly, the girl took an hour to put on make-up, and that was after all the scrubbing, exfoliating, creaming, and toning. And the vegetable and fruit drawers in our little fridge were stuffed full of leaking jars of face goo. Our apples and carrots may have smelled funny, but they had the best skin in town.

I stared at my face in the bathroom mirror.

Euwww.

At least I wouldn’t get carded if I wanted to buy booze. I looked old enough to be my mother. My skin had this kind of pale olivey cast, the same color as those scary babies in Italian Renaissance paintings. And my eyes looked dull—more gray than green, like brackish swamp water.

Okay, maybe not that bad, but points for using “brackish” in a sentence before my first cup of coffee.

Glancing guiltily at Zara’s magic potions, I pried one open and used it to try and hide the dark circles under my eyes. Applied something called “Sun-Kissed Beige Glow” to try to change the sickly tone of my skin to an artificially natural tint. The result surprised me.

Definitely better.

A little mascara and some lip-gloss brightened my face enough to pass inspection. That left the thick, tawny mess I call hair. I pulled it back and used an industrial strength metal clip made in the shape of a butterfly. The violet and red crystals set in the wings caught the sunlight shining through the bathroom window. At least part of me sparkled. Although not in a
Twilight
way.

Personally I thought Edward was kinda... well... gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I prefered my vamps like Christopher Lee or the cute Billy Idol clone in
Buffy
. Not bothering with all the torturey-angst, just happy to sip blood from some sexy women.

Uh-oh.
Couldn’t let Matt know about that. Just a hint of encouragement, and he’d be trying for a threesome.

Which made me smile, in spite of myself. After all, my boy toy was wicked cute in a button-down collar kind of way. He was on the swim team, which made him all toned and tan in the right places. If only he was just a little bit older...

Then again, that was part of the appeal, wasn’t it? Proving I could attract someone as hunky as Matt at twenty-nine, after my ex had dumped me for an eighteen-year-old.

Here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson.

I finally pulled on some jeans, a long pink tank top, baby-doll T-shirt in a darker pink, and a violet hoodie. Like most Nor-Cal coastal communities, Redwood Grove was cool and foggy the majority of the time, but you never knew when the sun was going to burn
through the fog. Layering was usually the safest bet.

I didn’t have too far to walk to my first class—the apartment was just a couple blocks away from the campus proper—but today it felt like miles. I’d lost some weight during my double-whammy, and while, sure, it was great to have my clothes comfortably loose, I felt as if a strong gust of wind would blow me away. Every once in a while I’d still get hit with a hot flash that made me want to turn around and crawl back in bed.

I hate being sick.

Fog shrouded the campus this morning, condensation dripping from roof eaves and plants. The tops of the redwoods vanished into the mist. I inhaled deeply, loving the smell of leaves, mulch, and a hint of salt air. Then a coughing fit hit me, reminding me that I’d have to enjoy nature a little less enthusiastically for a while.

I walked past the two-story Victorian house I’d shared with my ex-husband, a former professor at Big Red, and flipped it off.

I smiled. While I was sick, I’d had to forego my daily ritual. I’d missed it.

Next I stopped at one of Big Red’s many coffee kiosks for an extra-hot, wet double cappuccino and a blueberry muffin. It cost me an extra five minutes, but if I didn’t eat something I’d spend the next hour clutching my stomach every time it growled, pretending it wasn’t me. And if I didn’t have my caffeine, I might as well have stayed in bed.

By the time I reached D. B. Patterson Hall, the corridors were pretty much cleared out, which meant I was definitely in the late zone. At room 217 I opened the door as quietly as possible, hoping to sneak into the auditorium and find a seat in the back row.

Unfortunately, the door was badly in need of WD-40, and room 217 was one of the smaller auditoriums. It announced my arrival. Loudly.

From where I stood, conspicuous in layers of pink and violet, I could see that almost every seat was filled—including the back row.

“Excuse me... miss?”

A deep male voice hailed me from the front of the room. A tall, drop-dead gorgeous blond guy in his late twenties stood near the lectern. Nice to see someone my own age in class, even if he
was
a teacher. Learning about buboes and black vomit might be fun after all.

When I say “blond,” I’m talking the kind of hair people describe as freshly minted gold. I couldn’t tell the color of his eyes, but I was betting on sky-blue. His features were regular, other than a bump in his otherwise perfect nose. He looked like an archangel who’d gone a round or two with Rocky Balboa. A little young to be a professor, but I wasn’t about to complain.

Damn, he was pretty.

He’d been fussing with papers and a laptop, but now he was just staring. I gave him my most charming smile and did a little toast with my cappuccino cup.

He looked totally uncharmed.

“Any reason you can’t take a seat and join us?” he asked loudly.

Okay, now, no need for sarcasm.
But I kept the smile.

“Um, not seeing any empty seats?” I replied.

He pointed to one in the front row.

“Please, be my guest.”

Great.
I did my best to ignore the giggles and whispers that followed me down the aisle. I noticed a couple of girls looking very pleased at my embarrassment. Dimes-to-donuts they were hot for teacher.

And the cute asshat wasn’t done yet. As I sat down, he leaned forward from the lectern.

“Any particular reason you’re late, Miss...”

“Ashley,” I said, deciding that was all he deserved to know.

“Miss Ashley?”

“Close enough,” I answered, shooting for calm and collected. And speaking of close enough, I could see his eyes now. They were, indeed, a very pleasing shade of denim blue. Much more pleasing than his personality—if that was what you could call it.

He pulled a piece of paper out of a notebook and ran a finger down it.

“Ashley Parker?”

Crap.

I nodded and bit into my blueberry muffin. Now that he had my name, maybe he’d drop it.

“So-o-o...” He drew the word out, and I knew that couldn’t be good. “What made you decide to join us today, given that the first week of class wasn’t to your liking?”

“Not my fault,” I protested. “I’ve been sick,” I added, hoping that would shut him up.

No such luck.

“And now you’re late.”

“Like I said, I’ve been sick.” He raised an eyebrow. “Walker’s,” I added, hoping that might be my “Get Out of Jail Free” card.

The look on his face told me he couldn’t care less.

“Ah, yes, Walker’s,” he said. “The new substitute for, ‘the dog ate my homework.’” That sent a titter through the class.

Did you wake up on the wrong side of bed, or are you always in permanent fucktard mode?
I took a deep breath before replying. No way I’d give him the satisfaction of hearing my voice break.

“I sent in a doctor’s note.”

Still no mercy.

“That doesn’t explain today,” he replied, pinning me with those beautiful baby blues.

I’d give my hair a soccer mom cut before I’d cry in front of this jerk.

“It’s still hard to get moving in the morning,” I said between gritted teeth.

“If you didn’t stuff yourself with processed sugar and caffeine, you’d have a healthier immune system.” He stared at my double, extra-hot, wet cappuccino. “I’d think that at your age, you’d know better.” More titters.

I’m going to have to kill him
, I thought.
What a waste of perfectly good man flesh.

“In fact,” he said, turning to the rest of the class, “Miss Parker here is a perfect example of what
not
to do if you want to keep up a healthy immune system. She would be one of the first to die in a pandemic.”

I gaped at him. What a tool!

“Excuse me,” I said, “but didn’t a lot of the victims of the Spanish flu die be
cause
they had healthy systems? Didn’t their immune response go way over the top, and cause inflammation of the lungs?” Lying in bed for a week, you have a lot of time to read for your classes. My addiction to the History Channel didn’t hurt either.

Jerkwad, however, didn’t bat an eye before shooting back.

“True, but they didn’t have the medical resources we do today,” he countered. “And I
guarantee
that an uncompromised immune system, coupled with modern medicine, will serve you better than a double latte when fighting the pandemics of the future.”

I swear the girl next to me scooted over. I resisted the urge to sneeze on her Coach handbag.

As I did so there was another loud creak, and a short and skinny little Goth girl slipped in through one of the side doors. She was all decked out in black and purple, with pale pink hair floating around her face like a pastel dandelion. Her black, buckled platform boots said “tough girl,” but her bright smile seemed free of ‘tude. She scurried straight over to my new arch-nemesis.

“Hey, Gabriel,” she said. “Sorry I’m late. My car broke down and I had to take the bus the rest of the way from Maberry.”

Gabriel, huh?
Like the nasty angel in
Prophecy
, always
blowing his own horn and causing trouble. It fit. And now he had a new victim. I took a sip of my coffee and waited for him to rip her a new one.
Then don’t drive cars.
I
don’t.

But “Gabriel” just gave her a half-smile.

“At least you made it,” he said.

I almost choked on my cappuccino. How come Miss Hot Topic got a free pass?

Then he turned and addressed the class.

“Everyone, this is Jamie Ackerman, Professor Fraser’s new intern.”

Ah, so dickwad
isn’t
the professor?
The plot thickened.

“She’ll be helping out in class for the rest of the semester,” he added. The girl next to me, a total
Mean Girls
type, raised her hand and spoke in a high voice.

“Does this mean
you
won’t be helping any more?” Great, I was sitting next to Betty Boop, and she was hot for teacher, too. Now I
really
wanted to sneeze on her bag. Yet she gave me hope...

“No, I’ll still be assisting Professor Fraser, as well,” he announced.

Damn.

A nearly audible sigh of relief rippled through the auditorium as students whispered amongst themselves.

The side door opened again and the conversations immediately died down. Gabriel practically stood at attention while Jamie turned toward the newcomer like a flower seeking the sun. This
had
to be Professor Fraser.

A tall, elegant woman with patrician features, clear grass-green eyes, and blond hair drawn up in a French twist, she commanded attention immediately. Her outfit was a tailored, hunter-green trumpet skirt and jacket with a nipped-in waist. Very retro. She could have been anywhere between forty and fifty-five. Cate Blanchett would play her in the movie.

She strode to the lectern and surveyed all of us with a cool green stare. Her gaze fell on me and she raised
an eyebrow. Her Vulcan forefathers would have been proud.

“You’re new.”

“Ashley Parker,” I said.

“Ah, yes, I received the note from Dr. Albert.” She stared at me sharply, and I wondered why. “Walker’s, yes?”

“Er... uh-huh.” I braced myself for another lecture on nutrition and the evils of caffeine.

“You still look a bit pale,” she said. “Make sure to get plenty of sleep.” With that she clapped her hands together and smiled. “So, who’s ready to learn about buboes and the difference between bubonic, pneumonic, and septicemic plagues?

“Everyone? Excellent!”

Maggie was hungry.

The chunks of flesh missing from her arms didn’t bother her. She didn’t notice that both breasts were gone or that her intestines poked through the gaping hole in her abdomen. And even though her left leg was shredded and barely bore the weight of what remained of her torso, she didn’t care. The hollow, gnawing sensation inside was the only thing Maggie registered.

Staggering down the stairs, she made her way to the front door and began her slow, lurching march toward food.

“... That jerk had the nerve to humiliate me in front of the entire class and he wasn’t even the
professor!”

“Sounds like a total bag o’ douche.” Matt dropped a comforting kiss on the top of my head. Seeing as he was six foot and then some, it was easy for him to do. I’m just five-seven in my stocking feet.

“I should’ve kicked him in the
cajones,”
I grumbled.

“Should’ve,” Matt said agreeably. “If he had any.”

I smiled up at him, taking a moment just to admire how damn cute he was. Our five-year age difference didn’t quite make him my boy toy, but it was enough to make me feel slightly naughty. Matt reminded me of a cross between Owen and Luke Wilson, hair between blond and brown, hazel eyes, and that body... He did more for Gap jeans and white cotton shirt than most men did for a tux.

We moved up another foot in the line.