“Listen. There’s a nest. In my travels, I’ve heard too many people talk of it, whisper of it, speak of it with fear. But I’m not afraid. There’s a nest, the biggest nest of lurkers on the entire East Coast, and it’s not too far from here. It’s the reason why we’re plagued by so many lurkers to this day, why no matter how many we kill, they keep on coming. This nest breeds lurkers and provides for them, and it needs to be stopped.
“Iwilldestroy it. Whether I have to do it alone or not, I aim to set the biggest bonfire you’ve ever seen to this wretched nest, and I’ll be damned sure I take out as many lurkers as I can along the way.
“So who will come with me?” he asks softly, the microphone amplifying his voice so that we all hear him anyway. As he goes on, his voice rises, “Will any one of you dare go beyond your borders? Will you kill the lurkers with me, watch them burn? Who will go?”
No one is saying a damn thing. Once again, it’s dead quiet in the auditorium.
I know the people in the Grave. When we were still Madison, we stayed to ourselves. Living our own lives, ignoring our neighbors as we focused on ourselves. Now that we’re a settlement, a community that relies on each and every one of us for survival, we haven’t changed all that much. We’ve learned that we can only continue to exist if we look out for each other and take care of each other. No one else.
The Grave is all we have. Jack might have wondered what’s happening beyond our borders, but do we really care? After the Turning, no one cared aboutus.
They’re going to say no. The silence is deafening. There are those who might think Maverick has the right idea, and others who, I’m sure, can’t wait to see the backside of this insane stranger with his insane ideas—travelingtoa lurker nest, risking your safety in a bonafide suicide mission—as he gets booted out of the Grave.
But no one is going to go.
And that’s when I stand up.
“Me,” I say, my voice echoing around the room. “I’ll go with you.”
CHAPTER 6
Everyone knows the story of the lurkers, and it begins with the Injection.
The Injection has a name, some long, fancy scientific name that nobody can pronounce and I can’t remember. Everyone just calls it the Injection because, when it was first made available, the promise was that there wouldn’t be a need for any other medicines after you took it.
Like,ever.
Think about it: one single shot that speeds up your metabolism so that, no matter your body type, obesity could be a thing of the past? One shot that would lead to an increase of lean muscle mass in place of body fat, making each prospective patient stronger? One shot that would enhance every process in the body on a cellular level so that injuries heal and diseases disappear and the projected life expectancy doubles, even triples?
At least, that’s how it was advertised.
It came out of nowhere at the beginning of last year, a rumor, a whisper, a myth. Everyone knew someone who had heard that the fabled Injection really existed—or maybe they knew someone who knew someone who’d actually been given it. Soonstories came out that it had passed all sorts of tests and it really was the miracle it was promised to be. They swore they would get it out to the public as soon as possible.
And they did.
First they started with the higher-ups. The president got his shot, his Cabinet, the war advisors, the Supreme Court justices, the high-ranking generals… basically everyone who was in charge, they got the first go.
Anyone with money had access to it next. Money talked in the time before the Turning, and if you were willing to pay, you got your Injection.
Civil servants came after. Doctors, teachers, garbage men, the sour-faced biddies who worked over at the DMV… and firefighters?—
Last October. Almost a year ago now. That’s when Rory was given his Injection. To this day I wonder why he took it when he was never heavy, never weak, never sick. Jack had been the captain of their fire department, and he passed on the shot in favor of giving it to Karen, the wife of his lieutenant who had a chronic illness; that’s why he’s with me today. I still wish Rory had also said no.
Then I wouldn’t have had to watch him die.
It was no surprise when there was a shortage of the Injections. When the supply started to dwindle, they—whoevertheyare—they began to dole it out to those who needed it most: the elderly, the sick, the poor. Anyone who couldn’t afford insurance, with the Injection they’d never have to see a doctor again. No Medicaid. No Charity Care. Through the end of the year, you couldn’t pass any senior center, any Medi-center without the telltale blue vans parked out front.
And then they ran out.
They promised us all that we would get our turn in the new year. Anyone who wanted the Injection would get it as soon asa new batch was created. But before it was… it didn’t matter. On January 1st, the Injection went bad. It went wrong. No one knows why or how—but it happened.
Like a switch had been flipped, the influx of lean muscle mass turned one-third of the population into super strong creatures that could tear a human being from limb to limb. The increased metabolism turned them into ravenous monsters who would feed on anything—even human flesh,especiallyhuman flesh—in a frenzied bid to satisfy an endless hunger. Cells that repaired themselves immediately made them invulnerable until the accidental discovery that fire could do the job.
A severe aversion to sunlight, but a desire to continuously feed turned them into lurkers, always waiting until dark, always lurking on the edge, just hungering for the chance to eat every bit of flesh that they could get their hands on before they wasted away and only a disfigured, skeletal figure remained.
No one could bring themselves to use the dreaded “z” word—even if that’s what they are—and before the news stations went dead, thanks to the creative reporters and non-stop news coverage, we all were cryinglurkersin our sleep.
On January 1st, the Turning began.
