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.
Soon stories 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—whoever they are—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 as a 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, especially human 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 crying lurkers in our sleep.
On January 1st, the Turning began.
It’s still not over yet.
Have you ever felt close to four hundred pairs of eyes on you at one time?
I’m suddenly aware that I haven’t had a proper haircut since the beginning of the Turning; my hair is still singed and uneven from the flaming accident that cost Hallie her life. I lose my body in Rory’s oversized jacket, trying to avoid their stares.
For the first time I think I might understand what causes the lurkers to freeze.
Maverick backs away from the podium before going around it and moving to the front of the stage. Jack is on his feet in the instant following my announcement, already shaking his head as he surges forward to stand next to Maverick. Both of them are peering down at me.
I gulp, but that doesn’t do anything to lessen my resolve.
“How long will it take?” I demand, jutting out my chin in defiance.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re not going.”
I ignore Jack, waiting for an answer.
The stranger—Maverick, and what kind of name is Maverick—looks from Jack’s set jaw to the way my arms are crossed over my chest and I can just see his brain working.
There’s enough of a similarity between us that it’s possible we’re related; there’s enough tension to show that there’s definitely a relationship.
He rubs the back of his hand across his mouth and shrugs.
“I figure it’s about 40 miles between this place and the bridge that will lead me into Manhattan.
” Manhattan. New York… I should’ve known that’s where the lurker hotspot would be.
“Without anything stopping us, it might not take more than a few days’ hike to get there, then we’d have to find the nest, stake it out, then make our move.
Me? I’m willing to take as long as I have to to burn this nest to the ground.
I figure it’ll be…” He thinks about it for a moment.
“A couple of weeks at least… and that’s without any trouble.
Roads are closed, paths unsafe. Who knows?
I might have to go a hundred miles out of the way.
It could be a month or more—and I’m not even guaranteeing that anyone who goes on this journey will even come back. ”
Huh. Why do I get the feeling that Maverick has decided who he’s backing and it isn’t me? Like he’s trying to convince me to change my mind… but that’s not going to happen.
I’m sorry, but the way I see it, I found my escape from the Grave at last. I’m not going to let it slip through my fingers so easily.
“I’ll take my chances,” I tell him confidently. “It’ll be worth it to be able to take out a nest like that.”
Let him think I just want to pad my own kills. It’s not untrue. To get revenge for what happened to my family… I want every fucking lurker in the world to burn. And if I have my own ulterior motives behind wanting to take a break from the Grave?
Oh, well.
I’m doing it, and one is stopping me—
Maverick opens his mouth to say something but Jack holds out his hand, cutting the other man off.
—except, perhaps, my dad.
“Hold on,” he says, and I can tell from the set of his jaw that it’s taking everything Jack has not to forbid me from doing this.
As leader, he can’t—and we both know it.
Doesn’t stop him from trying, though. “This isn’t a decision to be made lightly.
We might not know exactly what’s out there, but every one of us knows what the lurkers can do.
I’m in charge here, and it’s my job to make sure we do what’s best for the Grave.
And what’s best for the Grave? It’s survival.
I won’t let one of our own walk out into the woods if there’s even the slightest chance she won’t come back.
We can’t just throw a life away. I hope you would all agree with me on that. ”
A whisper runs through the auditorium. All around me people are nodding; one or two even start clapping again. Are you kidding me? Jack’s playing dirty. He’s not appealing to me as my father. Oh, no. He’s turning to the survivors as their leader, trying to get them to side with him.
Well, two can play that game.
“You’re right,” I retort, my eyes locked on my father.
“We all know what lives past our borders, hiding in the woods. Monsters. Every night there’s the chance one of them might slip past our patrol and feast on the entire Grave—but most of us go to bed at night anyway.
I don’t know about you, but I would sleep a lot better if I know that there’s a chance that a nest that big can be destroyed if someone’s brave enough to light the match.
“Now, I’m not asking any of you to go with us.
I just want the chance to be able to go out there on my own.
” My voice is shaking at this point, but I pretend not to notice.
“Jack,” and he’s Jack in this moment to me and the rest of the Grave, “you said you hoped that we’d all agree with you…
well, I don’t. I’m not throwing my life away.
If I can kill even one of those bastards, I’ll be saving lives. And I hope you’d all agree with that.”
This time no one dares clap. There’s a collective intake of breath because, while the stranger has no idea, they’re all well aware that I’m Jack’s daughter. His only daughter now.
And they’re all watching to see what will happen next.
Before Jack can respond, Maverick returns to the microphone. “There’s a very simple solution. We can find out exactly how this community feels.” He shrugs. “You can always vote.”
He says it in such a flippant way, almost off-handed, that it dawns on me that he doesn’t expect anyone to take his suggestion seriously.
I don’t know what sort of settlement he’s from—or if he’s from any at all since he claims his town was wiped off the map by lurkers—but he obviously doesn’t know the people of the Grave or how we do things here.
Jack may be our leader, but everyone gets a fair say. We all know that.
I’m banking on it.
“A vote, Jack. I like it. What do you say?”
I know what Jack wants to say. I can just hear his lectures, only we’re not at home. Here, in front of the whole Grave, Jack has to do his job. Good. I’d rather leave it in the hands of the survivors than my overprotective father.
“Fine,” he relents at last. He definitely doesn’t look happy about it. “Anyone here that’s over the age of eighteen can cast a vote. Majority rules.”
A couple of the children in the audience groan, and there’s a flurry of argument coming from the few sixteen and seventeen-year-old survivors, but Jack just shrugs them off.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “but I’d still like to think we’re a democracy here. When you’re eighteen, I’ll let you vote. Until then we’ll leave it to the adults. Are we ready?”
Murmurs of agreement ripple through the rows. I’m certainly ready.
Jack’s frowning. “All right… hands up, everyone. Who here thinks that one of our own should be allowed to make the decision whether or not to accompany a stranger out of the Grave?”
My hand shoots into the air. Jack stubbornly keeps his hand at his side and, surprisingly, so does Maverick; his lips thinned when Jack called him a stranger, and I guess he figures that, as a stranger, he doesn’t get a vote.
Not so surprisingly, when I look for him in the front, I find that Chase has crossed his arms over his chest. Beside him, Audrey’s hand is hesitantly lifted up.
She’s not the only one. I don’t have to count them to see that way more than half of the adults assembled are raising their hands.
It’s settled then. There’s nothing else Jack can do. The Grave has spoken.
The meeting breaks up almost immediately after that. Mainly because Jack and Maverick left the stage, and because no one else offered to join this suicide mission. Instead, the whole Grave moves quickly toward the back exit of the auditorium as though afraid that they’ll be asked to come along.
I kind of feel bad for the stranger. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s torn between taking me with him to have some sort of backup or taking his chances at the next settlement he arrives at. Knowing my dad, he’s probably encouraging Maverick to leave before I can velcro myself to his side.
I’m going. I haven’t felt so determined in ages. Finally, I have a purpose; or, rather, the same one as before. Kill lurkers. I can’t bring my family back, but if there’s a chance to eliminate a nest, I’ll take it.
Maverick has to be a survivor. To make it as long as he has without a community to protect him, he must be able to pull off this insanity. Even if he can’t, why can’t I?
I have to leave the Grave. I think I’ve always known that I couldn’t stay here. Not without Hallie.
Not with Chase wishing I was Hallie.
I haven’t taken my eyes off of him. As soon as the crowd broke up, he immediately started toward me. Everyone’s being careful to avoid me, almost as though they’re already considering me gone—either out of the Grave, or another victim of the lurkers—but Chase…
He’ll stop me. I can’t let him.
And if Tony thinks he’ll have goodbye sex before I go off on a suicide mission, that’s not happening, either.
So, like the coward that I wish I wasn’t, I bolt. At this point, I don’t even care if it’s obvious that I’m ducking out on Chase or anyone else at all. The other survivors stop and step aside as I make my way through the crowd and, in seconds, I’m already half-jogging out the front door.
I break into a flat-out run once I see the shortcut ahead of me. I don’t stop until I’ve dashed across Oak, racing down Grove. I throw myself at the front door of the condo, struggling to get it open, then quickly locking it behind me once I’m inside.
In the Grave, where we have to have every trust in each other and crime has become a thing of the before days, this is the first time I can remember locking the door. But I have to.
I don’t want to face Chase right now. Not Tony, and certainly not my dad.
My every intention is to head up to the bedroom and pack a bag before Jack gets home. I need him to understand just how serious I am when I say that I’m leaving. And if he decides to go back on the survivors’ decision, then I need to be prepared to sneak out of the Grave if I have to.
I had just found an old backpack in the downstairs closet when the first knocks come.