Razor girl, p.1
Razor Girl,
p.1
MARIANNE MANCUSI
RAZOR GIRL
A ROUGH-CUT GEM
“You know, I meant everything I said,” Chase remarked, suddenly earnest. “And you’re still a diamond, no matter what anyone else thinks. If anyone’s dumb enough to not realize the truth beneath your implants.”
She could feel his breath on her face, once again doing crazy things to her insides. She knew she should resist, get up and walk away while she still could. After all, there was no use in starting a relationship. It would distract her, and she had a mission. Maybe when and if everything was over and fixed, when she’d done what she needed…
Against her will, she was trapped by his kryptonite-colored eyes. They were so brilliant in the firelight, they glowed. Molly’s traitorous body moved forward instead of away. Her traitorous heart pounded in her chest and her traitorous lungs struggled to take in air almost too thick to breathe.
Chase drew her hand to his lips, kissed Molly’s palm with an unbearable softness. She squirmed as impossible sensations coursed through her, too hard and fast to catalog. Six years without being touched by a man. Six years when her body’s drive for that was strongest.
He smelled like the earth: rich, dark, delicious. She wanted nothing more than the opportunity to taste him.
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
Contents
Title Page
A Rough-Cut Gem
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Acknowledgments
Praise
Also by Marianne Mancusi
Copyright
She turned suddenly, bloodshot eyes zeroing in on where Chase stood in the shadows. Forcing himself to keep his breaths slow and regular, he lifted his rifle, trying not to make any sudden moves that would set her off. His hands shook, making it difficult to line up the female creature’s head. The money shot. The shot he’d need to take her down for good and protect his family with the least risk to himself. How had she gotten so close without him realizing?
The woman let out a muffled moan, her hairless, bony arms outstretched like something from an old George Romero movie. But this was no film set. The world in 2036 had become a true horror flick, and Chase was one of its stars. He was the one who’d done the drugs, had sex with the girl and uttered the words, “I’ll be right back.” In other words, he was the one who was about to wind up dead.
It was more than a bit tempting to run. To get as far away as possible from this pus-dripping creature formerly known as a human. But she was too close to the campsite where Molly and the children were sleeping. And while Chase had failed before—failed whenever it counted, in fact—things were different now. For the first time since the plague erupted, there was hope. And no dumb, oozing, post- apocalyptic monster was going to take that away. Not on his watch.
He blew out a breath and steadied his gun, eyes narrowing to slits. Steady as she goes, he told himself. This was a matter of protecting his family: both what was left of it and what he’d rebuilt. It was a matter of doing good, and not the simple rehash of senseless violence that once had been so popular on the silver screen. Shoot-’em-ups and slasher films…It was so different in reality—tougher to summon the courage to fire, to engage, to set in play the sequence of events that he knew had to follow.
In an instant it happened. The creature lurched forward and Chase fell back a step, squeezing the trigger of his rifle. Its recoil bruised his shoulder. A gout of blood spurted from the woman’s chest—he’d missed. Only a flesh wound. And she was still coming. And two other shadows had appeared behind her. Three…no, four? How much ammunition was left in his gun?
He fired again at the Other, twice more, and her head exploded in a mass of red and grey pulp. At the same time he reached around his neck and pulled free a whistle. Sometimes this worked, as the creatures were sensitive to high-pitched noises. He blew as hard as he could. Sure enough, the shadows that had risen behind the first Other stopped moving. There came a cacophony of inhuman screeches and then the shadows dissipated. The creatures had turned and fled, hands over their ears.
Chase watched them go, breathing heavily. The whistle fell from his bloodless lips. “Yeah, I thought so,” he said, shaking out his arms and trying to regain some composure. “I thought so! Run, cowards!” He nodded to himself and stepped out from the shadows.
Only to find himself thrown backwards.
He crashed hard onto the asphalt of the street, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. His vision blurred and, for a moment, nothing made any sense. Then he looked up and saw what had struck him. An Other towered above, clearly not scared away by his whistle. It was growling and spitting.
It was a huge male, and it lunged forward, hands finding Chase’s neck, encircling and squeezing tight, cutting off his breath. Desperate, Chase kicked out and slammed his foot into the creature’s groin. The monster bellowed but didn’t let go. Chase struggled harder, panic slamming through him as he used one arm to brace himself, fighting to keep away from the monster’s mouth. He reached for his boot with his free hand, feeling for the knife he always kept there. It took what seemed like forever to wrap his fingers around the hilt. The creature’s grip tightened, and Chase saw blackness swimming toward him. Pain seared through his shoulder. Then, in his final moment of consciousness, he managed to yank the knife free and drive it into the creature’s heart.
The zombie recoiled then fell on top of him, crushing Chase with his weight. But the fingers loosened and Chase was able to breathe. He sucked in a huge breath and pushed the creature off. It rolled back onto the pavement, staring up at the sky and whimpering. The heart was always a weak spot.
Chase surged to his feet and stared down at the monster. It looked a lot more human lying there now, vulnerable and bleeding. This was something he always hated. He wondered who it had been before the change. A doctor? A lawyer? Maybe a humanitarian who built houses for poor people.
It didn’t matter. It was none of those things now, he reminded himself. Just a monster. A monster that needed to be put out of its misery.
He grabbed his rifle and pressed the barrel to the zombie’s head. Closing his eyes, he pulled the trigger. The shot shook his arm and echoed in his ears. He let the sound fade away before looking. The body was twitching, the head disintegrated.
He forced himself to look away, but as he did, a piercing pain found his right shoulder. Startled, he glanced down, his mouth falling open as he saw where his leather jacket had come open, where the shirt below was ripped and bloody. Teeth marks. He’d been bitten. He’d been bitten.
“Chase! Chase, are you okay?”
He looked up. Molly. She was running toward him, her face white.
“Chase?”
“I’m okay,” he said, turning at an angle so she couldn’t see his wound. “I got him.”
She stopped a few feet away, looking down at the remains of the two dead zombies. “God, what happened?” she asked.
“One got the jump on me. No big deal. It’s all fine,” he lied. The pain gripped his shoulder like a vise and it was all he could do not to fall to his knees. But if he fell, she’d know. He couldn’t let her know.
She took a step forward but he held out a hand. “I’m all slimy,” he said. “Zombie gook. You know. I’m going to go find a fountain or something to wash off.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked, peering at him, confusion and worry warring on her face.
He felt sick to his stomach but nodded. The last thing he wanted was to lie to her. But what choice did he have? He had to think of Molly and the kids. She was too weak to get where she needed to go on her own now. Wonderful Molly. Tough Molly. His beloved. She needed his help to find her father. To complete her pilgrimage. To save the world. And who knew how her priorities would change once she learned the truth?
Well, he had two weeks. Two weeks before the virus could work its way fully through his system, mutating his cells, destroying his brain and turning him into one of them: a diseased, merciless monster with an appetite for human fl
CHAPTER ONE
Several weeks earlier
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” Molly Anderson murmured as she laid the rose on her mother’s unmoving chest. The silk petals had faded over the last six years from their original crimson to a dull, orangey pink hue, and they were curled and frayed. Over the years the flower had been a decorative mainstay—a centerpiece for Molly and her mother’s dried food dinners, a beautiful hair ornament to complement one of their gowns at imaginary parties they’d throw. Now it would serve its final purpose: an undersized funeral bouquet. It seemed wrong, somehow, that an object that had once brought such happiness was now reduced to a symbol of Molly’s loss, but that didn’t change anything.
She fanned herself as sweat dripped between her breasts. Walking to the far end of the fallout shelter-cum-underground apartment complex, she checked several gauges. The ventilation system hadn’t been working properly for months now, and she wondered how long it would be before it conked out altogether. Not that it mattered. And lately everything down here seemed past life expectancy.
Except her mother. Ashley Anderson should have lived longer. Could have lived longer, had she maintained the will to do so. Though, truth be told, she had held out longer than Molly imagined she would. Long enough to see July 1st, 2036, the day the time-locked titanium shelter door finally clicked open and allowed access to the outside world for the first time in six years. It was as if she’d been waiting for just that moment, not wanting to leave her daughter stuck alone in the shelter, going crazy with solitude. And yesterday, as soon as freedom greeted them with that cheery computerized hello, her mother had taken more pills than Molly had ever seen her take, said a half-hearted good-bye and checked out.
So now Molly was alone. But she was also free. Sort of. She still had to accomplish her mission. She still had to find her dad. Oh, and of course she still had to save the world.
She glanced over at the door. When it unlocked itself yesterday, she’d been too wrapped up in caring for her mother to push it open and see what was outside. Who had survived? Who had died? What had happened to her friends? And most importantly, what had happened to Chris? Had he and his brother found a way to stay alive? Were they out there somewhere? Did he remember her?
She shook her head. In all honesty, what ever remained out there, it was likely she’d never find out what had happened to the Griffins. With the entire world as she’d known it ended, it wasn’t like she could just Google them. And perhaps it was better this way. At least she could imagine he and his brother were alive somewhere, living a happy, safe life in a brand-new world. Whatever was out there, she could avoid the most likely scenario: that they, like almost everyone else, had died.
Molly twisted the air-conditioning temperature gauge to its coldest setting, then headed back to her mother’s bed, swallowing the lump in her throat as she looked down at Ashley Anderson’s fragile frame. The woman looked so peaceful now, lying there as if she didn’t have a care in the world. And maybe she didn’t anymore. Maybe she was dancing, right this very second, waltzing with the angels. Socializing with all her old friends and family who had preceded her into the afterlife. Wasn’t that what she’d always said would happen?
Come to think about it, heaven was likely bursting at the seams these days. Her mother would have a lot of people to socialize with.
Feeling tears threaten, Molly leaned over to kiss her mother’s forehead, then went to the makeshift gym and pulled on her boxing gloves. She raised her fists and smacked the punching bags as hard as she could, trying to exorcise the pain and anger welling up inside her. To get it out of her system so she could move on. Because that’s how her father had trained her. He didn’t have time for weaklings who focused on emotion when there were things to be done, people to save. To focus on emotion was to be self-involved and short-sighted. And Molly was, at the end of the day, her father’s girl. He’d made sure of that. Even before the apocalypse.
After a few rounds versus the heavy bag, Molly realized she was only prolonging the inevitable. Putting her gloves away, she reconciled herself to going. There was nothing to hold her back now, nothing to keep her in this sterile place, this sanctuary, this prison. She had her mission, after all. She didn’t have any time to waste.
“Good-bye, Mom,” she said, leaning over to kiss her mother’s cold forehead a final time. “I’ll see you in heaven or phone you from hell.”
God knows how’d she’d gotten here, but she had somewhere else to go.
CHAPTER TWO
“I wouldn’t go out with Chris Griffin if he were the last man on Earth!”
Fifteen-year-old Molly Anderson tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder and smoothed down the pleats of her cheerleading skirt as she watched the gawky sophomore dribble the basketball down the court. He turned and caught her looking and gave a goofy grin. She rolled her eyes and looked away. God, it was tough being a sophomore in 2030, especially when the biggest geek in the school had a crush on you.
“How many times has he asked you out now?” Erin, Molly’s best friend, asked. She turned and stretched against the closed bleachers, smoothing down her own cheerleading outfit. When the holographic scoreboard above them blinked—someone from the opposite team had stolen the ball from Chris and scored—she effortlessly launched into a triple backflip, ending with a twist, then cheered their team on. She was never dismayed by little setbacks and was eternally optimistic, which was one of the reasons why she was so good at this. And maybe that’s why she and Molly were friends: in some ways they were completely opposite. Of course, they came from completely different backgrounds, and Erin didn’t have a father always spouting words of doom at her. “Six?” she asked after she was done.
“Try sixteen. Maybe sixty, if you count first grade when he moved down the street and first started stalking me.”
“Aww. That’s kind of sweet, don’t you think?”
“Kind of sick is more like it. What do you think he’s doing here? You think Basketball Dayz is a natural sim for him? If it was like the old days and you had to try out for a team, there’s no way he would have made it.” She laughed. “I’m sure he’s better at other things, though—like that Knights of the Living Dead VR all the nerds are in love with. That seems more his style.”
“Swapping sims just for you? You gotta admit, that’s some dedication,” Erin declared. “He’s like your Ducky!” The two girls had been on a 1980s movie kick lately, downloading the old stuff their grandparents had grown up with, 2-D stuff that you didn’t even need VR goggles to watch. Crazy! The John Hughes films, including Pretty in Pink, were undoubtedly their favorites. The cheesy, poufy 80s outfits alone were worth hours of cracking up.
“Where’s my Andrew McCarthy?” Molly moaned, leaning back against the bleachers and staring at the ceiling. “I at least deserve an Andrew McCarthy if I’m stuck with Ducky the dork.”
“Please. You’ve got Drew. And Drew totally trumps Andrew McCarthy.”
Of course Erin would say that. She was dating his twin brother, Todd, and had set the two of them up to begin with. And in some ways, Molly saw her point. Popular, hot, and ridiculously rich, Drew was the envy of every guy in the school and the heartthrob of every girl. He’d done wonders for her status. Still, she couldn’t very well say the relationship itself was stellar. For one thing, Drew was shallow as hell, unlike Erin’s dreamboat, who evidently had scored all the humility genes in the womb. At seventeen Drew had already had three plastic surgeries, whereas most guys his age only got the one. (Yes, penis enlargement. Did you really have to ask?) Truth be told, he wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. Maybe Todd got all the brain cells as well. Whenever she tried to talk to Drew about real things—stuff that was bothering her, stuff that her dad was always citing, like the economy and ongoing famine and seemingly never-ending war—he’d always laugh her off and change the subject back to sports, virtual or otherwise. She’d wanted a popular boyfriend to draw her out of the social black hole her family’s oddity had bequeathed her, but was Drew the right choice?
