Inhuman (40 page)

In the next cage, a ghostly woman crouched. She was completely hairless — nothing on her head, no eyebrows, no lashes. Her skin was so white, her veins showed through. She scratched her fingernails across the cement floor. “Why are you here?” she rasped.

She could talk. Good. “Which one of these buildings is the one they call the feral house?” I asked.

“Let me out and I’ll take you.” She rose on twisted legs, her eyes glinting.

“I’ll find it myself.” I moved on.

“The lion house,” she called after me. “That’s where the king keeps the most feral of us all.”

I turned back. Did I believe her?

“De nada,”
she said with a flick of her forked tongue. I broke into a run.

The infected people paced alongside me as I passed their cages. They were so mutated and animalistic, they barely looked human. If Rafe had been shoved into a cage with one of them, given the battered state that he was in, he’d never be able to defend himself.

Voices came from around the bend. I ducked behind a tree, just as a group of handlers appeared, along with several hyboars. I scrambled up the back of the tree and perched on a thick branch, praying that the hyboars wouldn’t pick out my scent from all the other smells in the zoo.

There was a sharp bark. I twisted on my branch but saw nothing. Then I heard another cry — an animal screech. I crept out farther on my branch and looked down to see Charmaine slinking between the bushes. She was stalking the handlers. More bushes rustled. The handlers jerked to a stop, turning in place as roars welled up around them. Branches cracked as the lion-women burst out of the brush, racing for the handlers.

The men shouted and the hyboars leapt at the lion-women. Mahari raked at a hyboar’s face and sent it skittering back with a canine yelp. Two more lunged at her, squealing with rage. The handlers fired flares into the sky to call for backup. But it was too late. Growling lionesses took them down.

I should have felt sorry for the men, but all the pity had been wrung out of my heart when Cosmo died. The handlers had beaten him to death without a moment’s hesitation. Who knew how many other manimals had suffered at their hands?

The ferals in the nearby cages grew frenzied. Shifting back and forth, they slammed the bars of their cages, scratched at their own flesh, and beat their chests. The lionesses roared and the caged ferals responded in kind. Mahari bent over the dead handlers, plucking keys from their aprons, which she threw to Charmaine and Neve. “Free them all!”

“No,” I yelled, but the word was drowned in the bestial sounds thundering through the zoo. If the queens freed these ferals, Rafe and I would never make it out of the zoo alive.

The lion-women raced from cage to cage, unlocking them faster than I could follow with my eyes. The most savage ferals pounced from their enclosures while the timid hung back.

More handlers and hyboars ran up the path. They must have seen the flares. A wolf-man launched himself at the handler in the lead. The handler aimed his gun at the creature and pulled the trigger. The gun jumped in his hands, yet the wolf-man was upon him, ripping the gun away as his jaws closed on the man’s face. He whipped him from side to side. The handler went limp and the feral dropped him, threw back his head, and howled.

And then he noticed me.

He bounded for my tree and leapt into the air, trying to catch hold of my foot. I drew up into a crouch on my branch as the wolf-man jumped at me again, his eyes red with hate. But this time when he dropped, he collapsed on the ground in a heap. His clawed hand moved over his ribs and then stilled. Blood seeped under his fingers and his hand fell away, revealing the gunshot wound in his chest.

I dropped out of the tree and took a path that the lionesses hadn’t. I ran in a mindless haze, ignoring the searing pain in my calf. I paused when I heard a shrill chittering. A hunchbacked, rodenty-looking man jumped down from an ancient carousel and ran at me. I screeched at him and he veered off.

I whirled to try another path but a large brick building loomed before me. Mosaic lions decorated either side of the arching glass door. The feral house! The queens had said that the handlers would put Rafe in the enclosure outside or the small cage inside.

I tried the outside first, rounding the corner to peer into the cage that ran the length of the building. I crept along the bars, searching for any sign of Rafe, but the enclosure had been landscaped with trees and rocky ledges. The streetlamps on the path cast strange shadows, making it hard to tell what lay beyond the bars. I brightened my dial, which was still recording.

Gunfire rattled somewhere close by, followed by men’s screams. I’d reached the door of the cage, but had seen no sign of life inside … which didn’t mean that something wasn’t hiding within the greenery. And then I noticed the form huddled on the ground by a trickling waterfall. It was Rafe — eyes closed, his skin gleaming with moisture. Was it from the splashing waterfall or was he sweating out a fever? I pressed against the bars. “Rafe,” I whispered as loud as I dared.

He didn’t so much as twitch.
Oh no
, I thought.
No. Please don’t let him be infected!
“Rafe, please wake up.” He wouldn’t lie to me. He’d tell me if he’d been bitten. “Rafe!”

The bushes across the path rustled as the branches were thrust aside. It was the blond handler, drenched in blood, his eyes wide and terrified. He staggered toward me but then something dark sprang from the bushes and brought him down with a snarl.

I jammed the key into the cage door, unlocked it, flew inside, and slammed the door behind me. I’d rather take my chances in here than out there. I hurried across the enclosure to where Rafe lay on his back by the man-made creek at the base of the waterfall. His tux jacket was gone, his silk tie undone, and his shirt, ripped and damp, clung to his body. All the color had drained out of his face. I could see that even in the dark. And worst of all, he was so still.

“Rafe,” I said hoarsely. I dropped to my knees and touched his face. His skin was warm, but not on fire. I gave him a gentle shake. If he didn’t wake up, how was I going to get him out of here? I could drag him through the cage door but then what? I’d never be able to carry him through the zoo without the ferals catching our scent. “Rafe, you have to wake up.”

He swallowed and then whispered a single word: “Run.”

He was conscious! “Where are you hurt?”

His eyes fluttered open. “Run,” he croaked, more urgent.

“Not without —”

A clawed hand sliced through the waterfall and clamped on to my wrist. I screamed.

“I knew you wouldn’t leave him behind.” Chorda unfolded from the crevice behind the curtain of water, dragging me up with him. “Your humane heart wouldn’t let you.”

Reeling back, I twisted and scratched at his hand, but he pulled me closer still. I flew at his face and ripped the bandage from his head. With a roar, he released me. I staggered back with the bloody gauze in hand. His right ear was gone, eaten by weevlings, leaving only mangled skin and gristle. Bile burned my throat. Spinning, I ran for the cage door, but he got there first. I bit back a cry.

Chorda smiled, his long canines appearing yellow in the lamplight. “Look at us, together again.”

“Is Rafe infected?” My words came out ragged. “Did you bite him?”

“Shouldn’t you worry about what I’m going to do to you?”

“It’s time, Lane.” Chorda smiled, bright and bitter. Long claws extended from his fingertips.

The memory of his claws tearing the queen’s throat came back so clearly that I couldn’t draw a breath. I looked into his burning eyes and saw his hunger. Terror shot through my veins and my legs shuddered. I ran from him, his laughter following me to the far end of the cage.

A pack of ferals loped around the corner of the building. One spotted me pressed against the bars and called to the others with a keening screech. They padded forward, sniffing and snuffling. One of them, a man infected with baboon, whipped around to look at the other end of the cage, his broad nostrils flaring. Suddenly, he sprinted the length of the enclosure and flew at the bars. Chorda sprang away from the door. The other ferals caught his scent too and went into a full uproar, shaking the bars and screaming — because of Chorda! They were straining against the bars trying to get at him.

Unconcerned, Chorda padded through the enclosure. He fingered the bright blue Ferae test hanging from a chain around his neck. “Once my handlers have this under control, I’ll walk out of here, a man once more. You, sweet Lane, will be in bloody pieces scattered across the floor, except for the chunks I throw to them.” He cast a hand at the frenzied ferals. “Of course, your heart belongs to me.”

I edged along the cage wall. “What happens when my heart doesn’t work?”

“It will.”

“It won’t if I’m not human.” I jammed my arm between the bars and the ferals came running. I whipped in my arm as the first one slammed against the cage. More piled against the bars behind me, thrusting their clawed hands through, scrabbling to snag me and drag me to them.

“One bite and I’m ruined,” I said. “An infected heart won’t do anything for you.” I could feel the ferals’ hot breath on the nape of my neck. All I had to do was tilt back a fraction and they’d have me.

A growl, low and quavering, came from deep in Chorda’s throat and turned into the snarl of an infuriated animal. He leapt for me, his glistening jaws wide. At the last second I dove aside and Chorda slid into a wall of grasping hands. My chin smacked the ground, and I gasped. Pain spread through my palms and knees.

I dragged myself up to see Chorda thrashing against the bars, trying to back away, but too many clawed hands had gotten hold of him. The ferals, screeching with glee and fury, tried to pull Chorda between the bars to their snapping mouths while they ripped at his flesh.

The baboon-man tore at the scarf around Chorda’s waist. My father’s machete skittered out of the fray. I ran after it, but another hand gripped the hilt first. I looked up to see Rafe standing over me. My heart stopped. His chest was lacerated and his face, bloody and battered. His eyes had a wild look. Was he infected? Fevered?

He thrust the machete into my hands. “I told you to leave,” he said hoarsely.

I rose, holding the machete so tightly my knuckles hurt. “I told you I wouldn’t.”

There was a strangled sound behind us, followed by a thin whistle of tortured breathing. Chorda had wrenched free of the ferals’ hold. Drool unspooled from his lips, a piece of his scalp lay flopped over one ear, and his body was badly slashed. Time froze as I met his gaze, bloodshot and burning. And then, roaring in mindless rage, he charged for me.

Something flashed in my periphery.

Rafe slammed into Chorda with a savage snarl and they hit the ground, their limbs crashing together. Rolling on top, Chorda lifted Rafe’s head and slammed it on the rocky ground. Rafe reached for the tiger-man’s neck, snagged the Ferae test, and twisted the chain tight while jerking Chorda’s head down. He slashed at Rafe’s arm, shredding his flesh until Rafe loosened his hold on the chain.

The tiger-man sat back on his knees and lifted a hand to deliver a killing swipe. My vision narrowed to a single point and I swung. The blade hit Chorda’s raised wrist and moved through it. One second the tiger-king had a clawed hand and the next, he didn’t.

Chorda screamed and curled around the bloody stump that had been his hand.

I closed in on him, letting my terror guide my arm. I raised the blade, but he exploded upward, twisting to tower over me. Blood spurted from his wrist. I bounced off my toes into a sprint and drove the blade straight into Chorda’s heart. He roared, flinging me away. I landed on my back, the air knocked from my lungs, but I pushed up to see him clawing at the machete with his one hand. The blade was stuck deep in his chest.

Chorda shuddered and blood welled around the blade and streamed down his striped ribs. The tiger-king fell to his knees and then onto his side. He stared at me, black lips working. He reached toward me as if still trying to take my heart…. Then his hand dropped and his eyes rolled back in his head.

“Rafe,” I whispered. I crawled over to where he lay with his gashed arm flung out as if he couldn’t look at it. The pool of blood around his forearm was spreading fast and wide. I grasped his hand and elevated his arm to slow the bleeding, but only a tourniquet would stop it.

“He’s dead?” he rasped, trying to tug his hand from mine.

“Yes.”

I cast about for something to use to bind his arm. His silk bowtie. With one hand, I pulled it from around his neck while the ever-growing pool of blood soaked my knees. I looked down and all at once I realized that it wasn’t Rafe’s blood. It was Chorda’s, seeping from his body that lay nearby. Chorda’s infected blood, which had puddled around Rafe’s arm and drenched his open wounds. “Oh, no. No,” I whispered.

Our eyes met, Rafe’s searching mine, and then he twisted his face away.

Maybe Chorda’s claws had torn only his sleeve. I lowered his arm into my lap and peeled back the shredded, bloodstained material. My hair curtained my face and hid my horror at the gashes in his skin. I gathered up the folds of my dress and tried to wipe his wounds clean, gently at first, but then frantically as desperation set in.