Characters
ADAM
Determined, resourceful, and intelligent. Adam is deeply uneasy around others for reasons he'd rather not share. He may put up the front of a hardened isolationist, but he is vulnerable and - if you catch him at the right moment - capable of great kindness. He is focused on escaping the city to be reunited with his sister, the last family he has. As the vampire outbreak continues to spiral out of control with no end in sight, he has no choice but to put his misanthropy aside and seek refuge with a community of survivors before he can leave the city for good.
GRANT
A compassionate firefighter who grows protective of Adam after they meet. Although level headed and a strong fighter, his fellow survivors find him aloof and intimidating. Can they trust this man, or is he waiting for an opportunity to strike out on his own? Adam is the only person who sees something different in him - a gentle giant with an affectionate heart.
DARCY
A former rescue pilot and the (somewhat unwilling) leader of a school emergency shelter. She is capable, strong, and quick thinking, but burdened with the failures of her past. She butts heads with those around her often, most notably Grant. Darcy doesn't suffer fools, but when her respect is earned, she's fiercely loyal.
RISHAAN
A pediatrician with abandoned aspirations of becoming an actor, Rishaan is the shelter's doctor and go-to therapist. Although highly overwhelmed with the apocalyptic crisis, he manages to hide his panic better than others. His empathetic and perceptive manner has made him a much loved and appreciated figure.
FATIMA
An older Iranian-Canadian woman who supported her family by becoming a fortune teller. She is by turns both the warmest and most brutally honest of the shelter survivors, unafraid to voice her opinions and comfort those in need. But lately, she's been having strange nightmares...
KEVIN
A young police officer and aspiring YouTuber. With fantasies of making it big as the first vampire apocalypse influencer, he is constantly filming himself and the other shelter survivors, much to their annoyance. Despite his job, he's apprehensive about facing danger unless it'll make for a good video.
NIKLAS
A Finnish man, handsome and charismatic, and the newest survivor at the school shelter. He is visibly wealthy, though he keeps the finer details of his life to himself. His low key and easygoing personality allows him to form something of a friendship with Adam.
Prologue
One Month Ago
A subway train rumbles through the dark stretch north of Eglinton to York Mills station. Its passengers, bleary from the stresses of the work day, silently run out the remainder of their trips with smartphones, books, or naps.
All except one.
A man walks from car to car, shuffling on shaky feet. He is middle aged and thin, his business suit hanging off his frame like a wire hanger. His skin is wet and unusually clammy, as if the pigment had been leeched dry. He is balding, although this is only a recent development. Every morning for the past week he's woken to clumps of hair on his pillow, accompanied by a low grade fever and a thirst that never seems to satiate itself, no matter how many bottles of water he downs every day.
His family thinks he works at a hospital. This is partly a lie, but his family will not live long enough to find out the truth. Neither will any of the people on this train.
The man worries his jaw, over and over, kneading it from some indescribable pain. The other passengers don't notice or don't care. He stops at one of the doors and leans his hot forehead against the window. Light from the tunnel strobes across his twitching face.
Although the York Mills stop is close, the train comes to a gradual, whining halt in the middle of the tunnel.
"Sorry folks," the operator announces through the overhead speakers. "Some track problems up ahead. We'll be sitting cozy here for a moment."
Groans and murmurs from the passengers.
The man's bloodshot eyes screw tight. The last thing he wants to hear. He opens his mouth to complain but something falls out instead. It lands on one of his polished black Italian loafers. Something roughly the size of a small bullet, the color of ivory, floating in saliva speckled with red.
A tooth.
The man sucks in a sharp breath. His jaw pain is worse now, agonizing. He puts one shaking finger into his mouth and flicks the space left by the tooth. Instead of gum, he feels something sharp, almost like the tip of a knife. He tries to cry out but only a mute sob escapes his throat.
Someone finally notices him. A woman in a nice coat and a Nora Roberts paperback on her lap. She sees the tooth, puddled on the man's shoe in bloody saliva. Her face is uncomprehending at first. But then another tooth falls out of the man's mouth. Plink. Then another. And another. Plink, plink.
The woman bolts to her feet. As the Nora Roberts novel hits the train floor, the man with the jaw pain stares at her. The look on his twisted face is something new and alien, an expression she's never seen before.
Then, as every vein in his body screams with thirst, the man takes a step toward her.
Chapter 1: Adam
Now
I open my eyes right before the claws and teeth tear into my skin.
A strangled cry escapes my throat. I clutch at my neck, slick with sweat, breathing hard. Part of me is relieved I didn't scream this time. Better a cry than a scream. It's quieter.
Grey light creeps through the blinds of the apartment windows. I'm no longer able to differentiate morning, noon, and dusk – they all look the same now. Much of the city is on fire and the sky has dimmed, like an old light bulb. The result is twelve hours of an eerie, perpetual twilight followed by oppressively dark nights.
I lift myself off the bed and blink the sleep out of my system. I'm already dressed: black jeans, combat boots, a blue t-shirt that clings to my torso, fingerless gloves that help with gripping and climbing. I learned the hard way to keep everything on while sleeping, especially my knife sheath.
The sheath is secure around my right thigh. I check, re-check. The straps are tight. I slip into my jacket, grab my bag. It's a canvas shoulder bag, the one Oliver gave me as a present for getting into grad school.
Oliver-
No. Don't need to think about him now. Useless. I shove the image of his handsome, smiling face back into the darkness before it morphs into the new face, the one with the hollow black eyes and cruel, snarling mouth.
Back to the shoulder bag. I grip it, force myself to focus. The bag. Okay. It's not ideal when I need to run, but retrieving or storing things is quick and easy. I don't have or need much: a few survival items, phone charger, a package with the escape route Oliver and I planned.
Oliver.
Not again. Please, get out of my head. A large lump forms in my throat.
I move on quickly, shoving it all away again.
Goggles and kerchief are next. In this apartment there's a mirror by the door, and I stare at my reflection while adjusting the cloth around my neck. I try to ignore how gaunt and dirty I look. I rework the straps of the motorcycle goggles I snatched from an empty garage and place them across my forehead. I'll need them if the smoke outside gets any worse.
On my way out I look at my phone. Still no signal. Maybe I'm crazy for checking so often, but I had at least one bar for a few minutes two days ago. It was weak but two text messages managed to come through. I've been watching out for another signal ever since. A boy can dream, can't I?
I leave the apartment and take the stairs down, two steps at a time. I haven't seen or heard anyone else in the building since I broke in last night. If there are any survivors left in the city, they're staying out of the downtown core. I do everything in my power to avoid crossing paths with anybody, pulse or no pulse. Desperation has turned people paranoid and violent.
Can't say I really blame them, considering what comes out at night...
I peek through the foyer windows. A burning car smolders just outside the entrance. The restaurant across the street has been looted. Shards of broken glass everywhere. But I see no people. Good.
I burst through the atrium doors and move quickly down the road. By my estimation it'll be another day until I can reach North York. Maybe a day and a half. The Greater Toronto Area is much larger than most people realize, and traversing on foot is challenging even without the threat of death around every street corner.
Getting out of the city became a priority after I got those text messages the other day. My breath hitches when my memory summons it:
Adam, if u have cell service – I'm still in Vancouver . whole world is watching – please be SAFE. I know you and I never really
There was a five minute delay until the second text:
Please just get out of there alive. I can't lose my baby brother again
These messages give me a reason to wake up and move. Just knowing the world outside of Toronto still exists, that it's safe beyond the barricaded walls of this dead city, that my sister who hasn't spoken to me in years is waiting to see me again…
Damn it, Thea.
I'm down to half a bottle of water. Finished off my last protein bar yesterday. Or the day before? Can't remember. I'll need more supplies if I'm going to make the journey all the way up to North York. If I knew how to drive, that'd be something, but pre-pandemic me never saw the value in driving. Hah. I could slap myself on the wrist and be all shucks, if only I knew! But how could I - any of us - have known what was coming?
A bus, further down the road. It's blocking the alley I was planning to cut through. It's also on fire. The next alley over is jammed with police blockades and flaming debris stacked at least eight feet high. I hate using the main streets, where I can run into looters, gunners, or worse. But I don't have a choice right now so I hitch my kerchief over my nose and mouth as the air grows heavy with smoke.
Avoiding the flames lashing from the bus windows, I take a left and find myself on King Street. On a normal day it would be crowded with people in power suits hailing taxis and Ubers while assistants and interns scrabble onto streetcars with trays of coffee.
Today, a ghost town lies before me.
Empty skyscrapers stand on silent guard as my boots echo off the road. Shattered pavement and glass crunch beneath my feet, making me wince with every footstep. I navigate around the numerous crashed and abandoned vehicles: family sedans, news vans, a fire truck knocked on its side. There are bodies. Some are vampires that have been caught in the daylight and are now shriveled, blackened corpses. The rest are victims of gunfire, violence, and hysteria. I do my best to ignore them.
I watched this city die with my own eyes. Thousands of people are either infected or rotting in buildings, streets, ditches. This is a tragedy so vast it's nearly incomprehensible. If I want to survive, I have to close my eyes, my heart, and keep moving.
A brief search of an emergency vehicle yields nothing, it's already been picked clean. I lean against the cool metal of the ambulance body. It takes everything not to scream. I've been dizzy since I woke up and my hungry body is letting itself be heard, loud and clear. And then I hear something else.
"HELP ME!"
The wailing cry of someone in pain. Every nerve and cell of my body snap to attention. The voice is close.
"PLEASE! ANYBODY!"
I screw my eyes shut, as if that'll make the desperate pleas vanish. I can't afford to help anyone. I can barely help myself. I have nothing. But…
Here you go again, playing the bleeding heart avenger when the only person you should be worried about is yourself.
What if I was the one in danger? Wouldn't I be relying on a stranger, too? Wouldn't I want someone, anyone to reach out?
Despite my trepidation, and the nagging voices in my head I find myself moving in the direction of the noise. The knife on my hip has already been unsheathed. If help this person, maybe they can help me. Or they'll know someone who can. Someone with food…
The voice leads me into a nearby brick building. I duck through the half-collapsed entrance into a reception area. Some kind of office, looks like. It'd be non-descript if it weren't absolutely trashed, tables and chairs flipped over, supplies everywhere, walls riddled with bullets and dried blood. A very, very large part of me wants to turn back and run. But there's no way this could be a vampire trying to trick me. Vamps aren't able to mimic human voices; their throats mutate during infection. Communication, if any, is limited to clicks and growls and shouts.
"Please, I-I can hear you. I'm hurt bad, I can't move." The plea comes from a male voice, desperate and blubbery. "Hello? Is someone there?"
"I'm not going to hurt you," I call into the stuttering lights of the otherwise dark building. "As long as no one gets crazy. Okay?"
"Okay…"
"I have a knife. I'm holding it up for my protection."
"Please, just hurry. I think I'm gonna pass out."
"How bad are you hurt?"
"Real bad."
Every muscle in my body tenses. I shouldn't be doing this. This isn't me. But I'm desperate. If there's even the slightest chance that this man has access to food and water…
The next room is an open office area, a sea of empty, trashed desks. Anything that hasn't been stolen is smashed to pieces. A man is curled up in the corner of the large room. I click my flashlight on, making him wince. He's dressed in rags, tears streaming down his dirty face. He's older with either a bald or shaved head. Beneath the dirt he's probably as pale as I am. My flashlight trails his clothes, down his arms and legs, looking for signs of injury.
"Can you stand?"
He shakes his head. I step closer.
"Listen. I'm trying to get to North York. I can help you, but I need to know if you have food or water. Or if you know people who do. I have things to trade: batteries, matches, flares."
His lips part, a slanted grin revealing yellowed teeth. "That's not very neighborly of you."
Now that I'm closer, something about the man isn't sitting well with me. It's his expression. It's too… eager.
"I'm only trying to get by."
"Aren't we all."
His voice is different. Plain, unbothered. Almost calm. The desperation and suffering have vanished, making my blood run cold.
I have to leave. Now.
The man laughs at me as I begin to retreat. It's a hacking, drunken noise, which has the double effect of pebbling the skin of my forearms and quickening my steps into a full run. I knew I shouldn't have done this. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I race down the corridor, not hearing the thudding footsteps behind me until it's too late. Something heavy and blunt strikes the back of my head and ignites hot, radiating waves of pain. My outstretched hand only manages to brush the knob of the exit door before everything goes black.