“You don’t have to worry about that, Maximum,” Pierpont cut in, waving at my mom to shut up. I narrowed my eyes at him. “We’ve been working for years—since before you were born—to create a safe refuge for those who have the most hope of surviving and continuing the human race. We believe that you children will absolutely thrive here.”
“Wow, and here I would’ve thought that if you knew a biotoxin was being manufactured for decades, you might’ve been spending that time trying to create a vaccine or something,” I said dryly.
Pierpont took off his chic safari hat and ran his hands through his short, silvery hair.
“It mutates too fast for that, Max,” my mom said, unfazed as usual by my insolent audacity.
“On the surface, of course, you have a tropical paradise,” Pierpont continued, gesturing widely at the waterfall. “But should the worst occur, you will be safe inside a luxurious city of caves protected by a force field created with the latest technology. A complex system of passages will allow you to live quite comfortably belowground.”
“You mean until the biotoxin becomes extinct, along with the rest of the human race?” Fang asked.
Mom and Pierpont were quiet, which I took as a “yes.”
“So… what exactly does this ultimate toxin do?” I asked, not sure if I really wanted to know. But I had to find out. I didn’t want any more secrets.
My mom studied her notebook. Then her eyes flicked to Ella, who was splashing in the waterfall. Then she stared down at her shoes. Mom was one tough cookie. If she couldn’t say it outright, it was way worse than I’d thought.
“Just give it to us straight,” I said, huddling closer to Fang, who wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “We can handle it.”
“Okay.” She sighed and started to read. “The toxin is first inhaled and moves through the lungs, causing a slight cough and, in some cases, a rash. The cells multiply, creating internal fissures in the organs and hemorrhaging into the bloodstream. A short time later, boils appear on the skin’s surface. When the boils burst, the wounds weep, shedding billions of the highly contagious cells and infecting, basically, anyone in the vicinity.” Mom cleared her throat. “At this point, with so many open sores secreting contagion, the victim will likely develop a staph infection that will quickly progress to necrotizing fasciitis, literally rotting the skin off the body in a matter of days.”
So, to break it down: You breathe in this little villain, and it basically liquefies your organs, then moves to your bloodstream, and then rots off the surface of your skin until you’re a bleeding, writhing mass of agony, all while infecting everyone around you in every way possible.
I felt bile rising in my throat. Fang’s face had gone white, and I could feel him shivering. “Mark,” he said under his breath. “The contagion…”
We were remembering the same thing: Mark’s last words at the hospital where Angel had been held captive. “Mom,” I said, “could the… threat have been released already?”
My mother didn’t flinch. She obviously knew the answer. And she was going to tell it to me straight.
“Yes,” my mom said softly. “The toxin itself will kill almost all of the population on its own. But based on the agonizing effects it has on the human body, we estimate that at least half of the deaths will be from suicide.”
I let out a slow, unsteady breath.
It was so much worse than I could’ve imagined.
78
LATER THAT NIGHT—after I’d finally been able to put all of what I’d learned out of my mind for a few blessedly peaceful moments—Fang crept across the branch connecting our tree houses.
He gave a low whistle. “Penthouse, eh?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, watching the lithe movements of Fang’s body as he surveyed my new digs, his glossy black wings folded behind him. “Honeymoon suite.”
Fang turned around and cocked an eyebrow, and my stomach leaped. “Well, in that case…” He strode toward me and, in one slick move, picked me up. He carried me out to a giant hammock on one of the balconies. I think we’ve established that I’m not the type of girl who needs to actually be swept off her feet, but the suggestion in his mischievous eyes was enough to make even the most cynical assassin woozy.
We settled in together, and I was incredibly aware of the heat coming from Fang’s body, which was pressed against mine as we snuggled.
He nuzzled my neck, inhaling deeply. “Mmm. You smell so good.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, smirking. “I call this new perfume ‘Le Jungle grime et tropical BO.’ ”
“Dirt and sweat. Very sexy.”
I laughed, but Fang’s voice was husky, and he was already leaning closer. Then his soft lips were on mine.
Everything in my body was buzzing, aching for more, but there was a kernel of guilt buried underneath it that I just couldn’t ignore.
“Fang,” I whispered.