BITTEN Omnibus Edition (Books 1-3): The Resurrection Virus Saga Read online

  Dr. Beckford’s teeth were ripe with blood, but it was his eyes that really unnerved her. Those milky white eyes, as if a fog had rolled over them. They looked so unnatural. So cold and vacant.

  The doctor slammed his body against the door again, and Alyssa reached over and picked up a mop that was leaning against the wall and wedged it into the door handle. Just in time too, because on the third impact the door jerked open with a sudden force.

  Alyssa jumped back with fright and held out the scissors, but to her relief the broom caught on the steel kennels and prevented the doctor from getting in. His arm stretched through the small crevice, and he reached around with blood-encrusted fingers and clawed at her. Gripping the scissors tight in both hands, Alyssa slowly backed away from the door.

  “What happened to you?” she asked the doctor, fighting to hold back her tears. But instead of a reply Dr. Beckford simply growled and took another swipe at her.

  “Please,” Alyssa pleaded. “You have to stop this!”

  “GraHhhh!” snarled the doctor, in a timely albeit suspiciously vacant reply.

  Alyssa slowly raised the long silver blades of the scissors above her head. She had no choice. Just then the broom stick snapped and the door flew open. Alyssa met Dr. Beckford’s lunge with her own. With all her might, Alyssa slammed the scissors straight into the doctor’s left eye. The long blades went straight through his eye socket and pierced his brain with a wet-sounding slosh. His outstretched arms abruptly fell limp as he toppled onto her. Catching him under his arms, Alyssa was unable to support his dead weight with her bum leg and collapsed under him.

  Hitting her head on the floor, she let out a yelp as her skull cracked against solid concrete. Pinned on the floor, Alyssa took a deep breath and then pushed the doctor’s corpse off of her. Getting up, she rubbed her head. Nothing serious, but she’d have a headache for a few hours.

  Escaping into the hallway, Alyssa paused for a moment to get her bearings. As she waited for her eyes to adjust to the light, her heart raced with an equal blend of adrenaline and fear. Looking back into the kennel, she covered her mouth and smothered a horror-filled gasp. The doctor was lying on the floor with scissors protruding out of his face. Had she done that? It had all happened so suddenly. All she could do was react. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach and turned away. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

  Alyssa limped back toward the front of the clinic and picked up the phone. She tried dialing 911, but all she got was the disconnect tone. “The phones are down too?” she said aloud, talking to herself.

  Alyssa didn’t know what to do. She had come to the clinic as usual when she stumbled upon the doctor—upon that horrible scene. She wanted desperately to forget it, but at the same time she knew she needed to get help. Not just for herself but for the animals too.

  Limping from the pain in her leg, Alyssa turned the corner of the long hall and made her way down the last stretch toward the exit. But before she was halfway there, she heard a beastly growling coming from behind her.

  3

  Meeting Trouble

  Hector Ramirez swallowed hard. His throat felt raw and it hurt. He wanted to go home, like the time he had his tonsils taken out and his mom bought him his favorite ice cream. But instead he had to sit in front of Principal Sanders’s office. Stupid Mike Laurie had bitten him. So he punched Mike and gave him a bloody nose. Then stupid Rebecca Miller freaked out and screamed. Mike just ran off. He didn’t stop running either. He just ran away from school. Now the police were searching for him and everyone thought it was all Hector’s fault.

  Michelle Jensen, the school secretary, came over to Hector and knelt down beside him. Placing her hand on his shoulder, she looked him in the eyes and said, “Principal Sanders will see you now. Are you ready to talk with him about what happened?”

  Hector liked Mrs. Jensen. She was friendly. She smelled good too. Like lilacs. Not only that, but she was the most beautiful girl at his school. He didn’t care that she was older than him. His mom was beautiful too, but he didn’t like his mom like he liked Mrs. Jensen. Hector secretly wished Mr. Jensen would cheat on Mrs. Jensen so she would divorce him. That way Hector could marry her someday. At least, that’s how it worked with all of his mother’s divorce cases, it seemed.

  “You don’t have to go in right now if you don’t want to,” she added. “You can think for a while longer, if you’d like.”

  “No, I’m ready.” Hector smiled and took Mrs. Jensen’s extended hand.

  “What a brave young man,” she said.

  Hector harbored a secret crush on Mrs. Jensen. His first one. Although he didn’t dare tell anyone about it. Especially his mom. She would tease him relentlessly if she found out. She always teased him about the things she thought were irresistibly cute. Usually he didn’t mind, but he would simply die if his mom said anything to Mrs. Jensen about it. He had been going to tell Rebecca Miller about his secret crush at recess, but she ratted him out for punching Mike. So he decided he would just keep it a secret.

  Mark Sanders, the principal of Newcastle Middle School, looked sternly at Hector over the rectangular rims of his reading glasses. Folding his hands together and leaning back in his chair, he asked, “Do you want to tell me what happened at recess, Hector?”

  Hector looked over at Mrs. Jensen, who stood off to the corner. She winked at him, as if to say not to worry. Hector turned back toward Mr. Sanders and nodded a simple yes.

  “I was playing tether ball at recess and Mike Laurie was next, but when I served the ball Mike just stood there. Then the ball hit him in the face and he got angry at me.”

  “How do you know he was angry with you, Hector?”

  “Because he ran up and bit me on the arm. I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t let go. So I screamed and pulled his hair, but he still wouldn’t let go. It was like he wanted to eat me.”

  “Hector, please, let’s not exaggerate. Just stick to the facts. So what happened after Mike Laurie bit you?”

  “I punched him on the nose.”

  “It sounds like it was self-defense,” Mrs. Jensen chimed in. She shot Hector another reassuring glance and smiled. Her smile let him know that she had his back no matter what.

  Mr. Sanders frowned at Mrs. Jensen’s obvious taking sides, but she didn’t seem to notice, or else, didn’t care.

  “Yes, well, even so, it is still a form of violence,” Mr. Sanders stressed, looking straight at Mrs. Jensen as he said it. Turning back toward Hector with a furrowed brow, Principal Sanders continued, “I do not tolerate violence at my school.”

  “But what if someone bites you, Mr. Sanders? What would you do then?” asked Hector.

  Mr. Sanders sat forward in his big leather office chair, put his elbows on the desktop and his chin on his hands, and chewed on the question for a moment. “Well, I’d probably push him away.”

  “But what if he wouldn’t let go? What if he just kept on biting you?”

  Mrs. Jensen shot Mr. Sanders a devious smile. “Yeah, Mark. What if he just kept biting and wouldn’t let go?”

  “Well, if that happened I’d probably be forced to defend myself.”

  “Would you punch him on the nose?” Hector asked.

  “I might, but only as a last resort. There are better ways to resolve conflicts. Do you understand, Hector?”

  Hector nodded that he understood, even though he really didn’t, and scratched his arm. His arm itched horribly all around the area where stupid Mike Laurie had bitten him.

  Mr. Sanders continued to give him a stern look, but then took notice of the redness around the wound. Hector’s mom was an attorney. She could sue if Hector got a minor infection that took a turn for the worse.

  Looking up at Mrs. Jensen with a concerned glance, Mr. Sanders said, “Be sure to take Hector to the school nurse and have that bite mark on his arm checked out.”

  Mrs. Jensen motioned for Hector to come over to her, so he did. She ruffled up his soft brown hair w
ith her fingers and smiled at him. Hector liked it when she did that.

  “Come with me, Hector.” Mrs. Jensen guided him out of the office. Hector looked back at Mr. Sanders, who was now blowing on his glasses and wiping the steamy lenses off with his floral patterned neck tie.

  “Come on,” said Mrs. Jensen. “Let’s go get you looked at.”

  Hector sat on the padded bench in the nurse’s office and waited patiently as Ms. Jensen talked to Ms. Carlyle. Hector didn’t like it here. It smelled like a clinic. As if everything, from the floors to the walls, had been sterilized. But the stench of sickness still lingered in the air, somehow. It even had a white vinyl curtain that divided two small cots.

  Ms. Carlyle was a short, stout, and sturdily built woman with black curly hair with an oily shimmer that always made it appear wet. Her dark eyebrows gave her a stern look, as if she was perpetually angry about something, but Hector knew that she was covertly funny. She could make all the kids laugh, no matter what.

  “So what bit you?” Ms. Carlyle asked brusquely. Before he could speak, she added, “I bet a little monkey bit you.”

  “No, Mike Laurie did,” Hector answered.

  Ms. Carlyle raised an eyebrow and shot Hector a slightly devious look. “As I suspected,” she said in a firm tone of voice, “a monkey did bite you.”

  Hector smiled. Mrs. Jensen just rolled her eyes and tried desperately not to grin. Teachers weren’t supposed to have favorites, but in all truth they did.

  Ms. Carlyle placed the thermometer under Hector’s arm. It felt cold in his armpit.

  “Don’t worry,” Ms. Carlyle said, taking the thermometer out and checking it. “Your mom will be here soon to pick you up.”

  Mrs. Jensen smiled warmly and winked at Hector.

  Just then Mark Sanders, the school principal, poked his head into the school infirmary. “Ms. Carlyle, when you’re finished here, there are two more kids waiting outside my office who claim they were bitten like Hector here. I need you to come check them out and maybe find out what’s going on here.”

  Ms. Carlyle rolled up her sleeves, went over to the refrigerator, opened it up, and pulled out an ice pack from the freezer compartment. Handing it to Mrs. Jensen, she turned back toward Mr. Sanders and replied, “Sure thing,” as she urgently followed him out.

  Mrs. Jensen turned toward Hector to place the icepack on his hot forehead, but before she did she bent down close to him and kissed him on the top of his head. He almost died of joy.

  4

  Running Behind

  Rachael Ramirez checked her watch. “Dammit,” she cursed under her breath. The meeting with her client had run long and it was nearly six. What should have been a simple briefing on a settlement had turned into an entire renegotiation.

  Rachael’s client was an obnoxious thirty-eight-year-old drama queen named Jennifer Hurley. Jennifer was plotting to take her soon-to-be ex-husband, a one Levi Hurley, to the cleaners. Not being satisfied with his initial settlement offer of a cool two million, plus the house in the heights, plus the beach house in Hawaii, and the Mercedes Benz, she decided to go back to mine for more gold. Even if she ended up getting her way, her husband would still be sitting fancy. His online security firm, TechCore, had amassed a huge fortune as one of the most trusted and secure data protectors available. The CIA even occasionally used TechCore’s services.

  Rachael hid it well, but secretly she detested women like Jennifer Hurley. They were never satisfied. Like bloodthirsty vampires, they always wanted more. Give them even a little taste of wealth and they’d milk you for all you were worth and leave nothing but a dried up husk.

  Rachael tried to explain to her client that she wouldn’t receive a better offer than the one she was already getting. It wasn’t like her husband had cheated on her or anything. Hell, Rachael half suspected that it was the other way around.

  Jennifer Hurley crossed her long, honeyed legs and gave Rachael a fixed look. Rachael brushed her hair out of her eyes and gave a reticent smile.

  “You look a little distracted. Is everything alright?”

  “I’m fine,” Rachael replied. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

  Jennifer leaned back and droned on some more about how Levi owed her, although Hurley’s words quickly turned into white noise inside Rachael’s head. It seemed to Rachael that her client was more in love with her husband’s money than the actual man. So when Levi had put the lid on her spending and froze his wife’s bank accounts, she went to court to get back what she felt was rightfully hers.

  “Gawd,” Jennifer lamented, letting out a pointlessly long sigh, “you have no idea how many blow-jobs I gave that asshole. And this is how he repays me? By shutting me out?”

  There was no denying it though, Jennifer Hurley was ten different shades of beautiful. Rachael supposed that was what money and constant pampering could buy you. Her breasts were almost certainly augmented, and her body glowed bronze from an upmarket airbrushed tan that was so uniform that it looked like her skin was bathed in genuine gold. Somehow, Rachael suspected that beneath all the artificial layers, behind those crystal blue eyes, there was something more to Hurley. At least, she hoped so. She’d hate for anyone to actually be this mind-numbingly shallow.

  “And not just blow-jobs either,” Hurley continued, but whatever else she may have said was quickly drowned out by Rachael’s own thoughts.

  Rachael checked her watch again and released an exasperated sigh.

  “Sorry to ask again,” Hurley said with a hint of minor annoyance, “but is something troubling you? It’s not about the case is it?”

  “Pardon?” Rachael said, looking back up at her client and realizing, in some embarrassment, she hadn’t listened to a single word of Hurley’s dissatisfaction-laden, man-hating tirade. “Oh, no. Nothing like that. I’m just a little tired is all.” Rachael immediately added, “I didn’t sleep well last night. My son kept me up all night from a bad nightmare and refused to go back to bed. Neither of us got a good night’s sleep, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know you had any kids,” Hurley chirped excitedly.

  “Just one,” said Rachael, turning toward the framed picture of Hector that hung on her office wall. The same one that had been hanging there since the first day that Hurley had set foot in her office over two weeks ago. “My little prince, Hector.”

  Mrs. Hurley followed her gaze and looked at Hector. “He’s adorable.”

  Rachael smiled. Her smile was as fake as Hurley’s breasts—meant to please but clearly straining credulity. “Thanks,” Rachael said as she looked at the picture of her son. “He’s everything to me.”

  Making an attempt to be polite, Hurley asked, “So are you and your husband planning to have any more kids anytime soon?”

  Rachael’s eyes grew big with shock. She was totally caught off guard by the invasive question. Everyone in her office knew that her husband had died in a horrible accident and tip-toed around the issue. She hadn’t ever considered the possibility of getting the question from a client before—at least not point-blank like that.

  “I…um…lost my husband a few years ago.”

  “Oh,” Hurley replied. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Rachael just smiled politely, as she wasn’t interested in discussing the topic any further.

  Hector was too young to remember the events clearly, but the roads had been icy that night. The eighteen-wheeler had hit a patch of black ice and skidded through a red light of the four-way intersection they were passing through. What had been a simple trip out to dinner quickly turned into Rachael’s worst nightmare.

  Unable to stop or even slow down, the semi-truck slammed into the driver’s side so hard that the family car became wedged halfway up into the engine block of the truck’s diesel engine. Her husband was crushed to death instantly. She would have been killed too, except that she had gotten into the back seat with Hector to sing him to sleep. Hector’s restless crying had been like a bad omen, but it’s also what saved
them both. Being in the back seat had prevented her from getting killed too. It was the worst experience of her life. So when she had told Hurley that Hector was her everything, she wasn’t exaggerating. He was all she had left. Without him in her life, well, she didn’t even know how she’d cope.

  “Anyway,” Jennifer said, rummaging through her purse and fishing out a stick of gum, which she promptly peeled out of its foil and popped into her mouth, “it’s getting late and I don’t want to keep you from your son. We can finish this up some other time.”

  Jennifer closed her purse and stood up. Rachael stood up at the same time and reached over to shake Jennifer Hurley’s hand. Jennifer added a socially polite smile, even though it seemed rather terse. The ultra-bright whites of her bleached smile only added to her synthetic image. She was like a real-life version of one of those digitally altered models on the cover of a fashion magazine. Completely airbrushed to the point of looking surreal, but somehow impossible not to fixate on in spite of the fact that you knew it was all just smoke and mirrors.

  Rachael felt obliged to match the blinding, slightly manic, Cheshire grin with a slightly softer one of her own. As her client left Rachael jotted down on a yellow post-it note: Remember to charge Mrs. H for all the extra smiles.

  With that out of the way, she put some case files into her briefcase and closed the lid of her laptop. Retrieving her jacket from off the hook next to the door, she headed out of her office and rushed to pick Hector up from school.

  Rachael Ramirez pulled up to her son’s school in her glistening silver Audi Q7. She had always told herself she wouldn’t be one of those gaudy lawyers who went out and bought themselves the latest gas-guzzling SUV, but after just one test drive she fell in love. It had heated leather seats and a real-time GPS navi. Most of all, its sturdy frame and unforgiving size made her feel safe. That was the real reason she bought a big SUV. It wasn’t to look prestigious. It was because she was desperately terrified of being on the losing end of another car wreck.