Infected (Releasing the Magic Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Infected: Releasing the Magic Book 1 © 2019 by Maya Riley

  This is a work of fiction and is for mature audiences only. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any mechanical, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  Edited by Jess Rousseau at Elemental Editing & Proofreading

  Cover Design by Jodie-Leigh Plowman at Jodielocks Designs

  Formatting by Kaila Duff with Duffette Literary Services

  To Cinder Sky and Alyssa D. Mynx, who first inspired me to get out there. If it weren’t for your initial bravery telling our group about your writing and sharing it, then I might still be writing in the dark.

  To the amazing Diana Drew for always supporting my craziest of ideas and reading a book with me that set me on this zombie journey.

  **18+ Reverse Harem Romance. Warning: this book contains some scenes and references of abuse that some readers may find triggering**

  Black Moon Corporation

  Heels clicked on the tiled floor as Dr. Hannity made her way down a series of well-lit halls, lined with cells on either side. Each cell was framed by clear, reinforced glass walls, which took away any sense of privacy for the subjects inside. The Black Moon Corporation had been growing and collecting them over the years.

  Each cell housed one subject—dressed in the company given orange jumpsuit—and contained a cot, toilet, and sink, which were bolted down to the floor and walls. The only comforts allowed were a single pillow, blanket, one roll of toilet paper, a bottle of hand soap and, if they behaved, a toothbrush with toothpaste. Meals were given at certain times through a little flap at the bottom of each door, and only slid under if the subject stationed themselves against the far wall for the safety of the staff.

  Fluorescent lights flickered overhead as Dr. Hannity turned a corner and proceeded down another hallway, the harsh smell of disinfectant filling her nose with every step. Some subjects beat on the glass walls as she passed, their mouths opened in unheard screams, with rage clear on their faces as their straining necks and eyes promised retaliation. Others could be seen throwing about the few items they were granted—one even ripped the toilet out of the floor and water sprayed all over from the exposed pipes. Some cells displayed sleeping subjects, peaceful and seemingly oblivious to the destruction in the units surrounding them.

  She stopped in front of cell eleven at the far end of the corridor where a soft, green glow emitted from under the door—a green light in a room meant the subject inside was recently injected and needed a follow up. A strand of blonde hair fell out of her messy bun as she tilted her head forward and peered down at her clipboard, causing her small rectangular glasses to slip slightly down her nose. Subject 1163 had been injected six hours ago and was ready to have their results evaluated. She tapped her pen against the clipboard and looked back down the hall expectantly. She was supposed to have an assistant present, this job was safer in pairs, but she didn’t want to wait much longer. They were already late. This time was bound to be successful. She had a feeling the years of hard work were finally going to pay off.

  An incident seventeen years ago had greatly set them behind schedule. At that point, they had made great strides in their research and experiments, and believed they had identified the missing link preventing them from obtaining their goals. A subject, who was grown in the lab, had shown remarkable results. They were to use her blood, her life force, but they were betrayed. A lowly assistant took it upon himself to steal the subject away and put her into hiding. A hiding place so furtive, that they still had yet to track them down. The world would have been a very different place by now if it weren’t for that setback. It had taken them years to even begin to get back on track.

  Turning her head, Dr. Hannity looked through the glass to the subject’s prone form on the cot in the far corner of the room. Its back was turned to the door and a blanket was pulled up over its head with a tuft of hair poking out, seemingly fast asleep. Dr. Hannity lifted her hand, and a low beep sounded as her card slid through a small, rectangular device on the wall. After a moment, the green light blinked, granting access, and she quickly pushed her way in. The door locked as she gently settled it back into place.

  Her heels continued to click on the tiled floor as she walked to the bed. There were two types of subjects. The first being a person that had been grown in a lab in this very building, whose sole purpose was to be tested with the hopes that a certain strain would be identified—a strain that would bring about a new age. Some halls housed these lab grown subjects, while others contained the second type. Actual people kidnapped from the outside world and kept here to be tested on whenever a possible working strain was discovered. Sometimes, what worked on the lab grown subjects didn’t work on the natural born humans, and vice versa. Those failures had to be disposed of in the incinerator, every trace of their existence wiped from the world, aside from the confidential scientific reports locked away in the archives. This subject was the latter. And if this experiment yielded positive results, the world would soon become a much better place, and magic would be free.

  Magic was real. It existed, but was hidden. There were stories and articles floating around out there of occurrences where people insisted that they had witnessed something otherworldly. Some people even practiced what they believed to be magic. The purpose of the Black Moon Corporation was to unleash the magic and set it free into the world, reverting humans back into the creatures they were meant to be. Everyone had something locked deep inside their DNA, be it magic or monster. It was still unsure what exactly the ‘monster’ part entailed.

  Dr. Hannity reached the edge of the cot and watched the steady rise and fall of the blanket, showing the breathing of the subject underneath. She reached out, grabbed a handful of fabric, and gently tugged, revealing an unexpected sight. The head slowly turned, and dead eyes met her own, empty and unseeing. The jaw clicked as it gently opened and closed, and its nose sniffed out something it seemed to want more of.

  A soft gasp of surprise left the doctor’s mouth as she stumbled back, tripping over her heels and landing on her backside.

  The subject leapt onto her, its nails cutting into her soft skin as its teeth chomped down on the exposed flesh of her neck. The doctor’s mouth widened into a bloodcurdling scream, but nothing other than silence could be heard by anyone outside the glass walls. Her eyes found the blinking camera in the center of the ceiling, pleading with whoever might be watching, begging to be saved as she took her final breaths.

  Leaving the lifeless body in a bloodied heap on the floor, subject 1163 charged the wall, breaking through the reinforcements as if they were made of cardboard. The bulletproof glass was no match for the newly increased
strength the subject seemed to possess. Grunts filtered through the air behind it. The newly turned doctor rose up and slowly crawled toward the opening, sniffing the air in search of a particular scent. A scent that she couldn’t quite make out in her dying state, but knew she needed to get to.

  Fluorescent lights continued to flicker, casting eerie shadows as subject 1163 turned and ran at full speed. Its feet thundered down the corridor, echoing off the walls. This failed experiment would become the catalyst that brought doom to the unsuspecting world outside of the walls where it was once contained.

  Blyss

  It was just another day in the wondrous life of Blyss, I thought sarcastically, while considering the irony of my name. Dressed to blend in with the crowd, I wore the typical jeans and a black t-shirt, covered by a jean jacket. I reached up to tighten my ponytail, and then slouched back in my seat in Professor Perkins’ Biology 201 class, before intently watching the tip of my pencil dig into the desk as I slowly twirled it with my fingertips.

  Students anxiously murmured around me, their noise growing in volume with each passing minute. It was ten minutes into class and Professor Perkins still hadn’t showed, which was very unlike him since he was normally so punctual. He was always glued to his chair and he gave his lectures behind the safety of his desk, peering out at the class over his thick glasses, perched at the end of his nose, to gauge our attentiveness. My worry increased as the time elapsed and he remained absent. I kept looking toward the clock on the wall, watching as the thin, red hand ticked away the seconds. It was now twelve minutes into class and still no Professor Perkins. Technically, college class attendance was optional, but I never missed it. The teachers certainly never did either.

  “How about you, Blyss?”

  My head snapped up to meet Josh’s eyes, which were filled with humor as he waited for my response. He knew full well I wasn’t paying attention to any of their gossip. Most of my time was spent working or studying. During my free time, I buried my nose in a book and dreamt of far-off places filled with people whose lives were much better than my own. “Huh?”

  Josh snickered, apparently amused at having caught me unaware. “I said, if Professor Perkins doesn’t show up soon, do you want to go to the pool hall with us?” he repeated with a grin.

  I raised my eyebrow and glared. “Something isn’t right. He’s never been late before. Hell, I’d be surprised if he didn’t sleep in that chair every night. I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “Oh, come on, he’s just an old teacher. Have some fun for once,” he challenged. This jock was starting to piss me off.

  “And you’re just a douche, have some compassion for once.” Silence filled the room at that and it was so thick, that the noise my pencil made as it rolled off my desk and onto the ground was a booming clatter. I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms, waiting for his rebuttal. All the other girls fawned over him, but I wasn’t afraid to put anyone in their place. I didn’t bend down to anyone anymore, those days were behind me.

  Hard lines covered his face as he stood up to confront me. I responded by picking up the fallen pencil and slowly digging it into my desk again, unaffected by his looming presence. Nothing could make me feel threatened. I was no longer that scared, vulnerable little girl I once was. Anything would be considered paradise compared to where I grew up.

  I could feel the heat of his gaze piercing the side of my head, but I wasn’t going to entertain the jerk anymore. I had enough on my plate to worry about without adding his overinflated ego to the pile.

  Sounds traveled through the classroom door as multiple pairs of shoes pounded down the hallway. Perhaps there was another teacher that was missing class, and students were eager to get out and get a head start on their fall break.

  My phone buzzed in my back pocket, and I leaned to my left for better access as I reached to pull it free. My blood pressure escalated when my eyes took in the name flashing across the screen. Mama G. The evil foster mom who took me in about six years ago.

  I walked out on her over two years ago with the intention of never speaking to her again. She had texted and called me numerous times, but I deleted each message and voicemail once I realized they were from her. The only reason I hadn’t changed my number, was in case one of the other foster kids needed to get ahold of me for some reason. While I walked out on Mama G, I just couldn’t fully abandon the others. Images skittered across my mind, memories of when Mama G would emerge from her home office and start swinging at the nearest child, taking out her rage on the innocent. Most of the time it had nothing to do with us. I could still feel the blows as though it were yesterday, strategically placed on my upper arms, torso, and legs, so as not to raise red flags. She at least made sure my face remained untouched, so no one on the outside would suspect the darkness within. I was surprised she didn’t kill me while she still had me within her grasp. Then again, she wouldn’t get paid for dead foster kids.

  Once I had turned eighteen, I was legally free. Free to work countless jobs and spend even more countless hours on schoolwork so that someday, I could do something with my life. But I was free nonetheless. It had been two years, so I assumed she moved on to torturing more innocent souls that came within her reach. I had tried to save my foster siblings and myself a few times while I was still there, but that never ended in anything good. No one ever really listened to a crying child, always assuming the intense stories I told were made up, because how could so much evil exist behind that plastered smile and pearl-lined neck.

  My breathing turned shallow as the memories began to surface. Memories I had spent the last two years trying to forget, refusing to let the crippling fears affect the rest of my remaining years left on this earth.

  Mama G, or Gwyneth to anyone on the ‘outside,’ took me in when I was thirteen years old. Or, at least, that was my estimated age. I had been abandoned at an orphanage as a baby, with no birth certificate or name or any information on where I came from. It was estimated that I was one year old, so they chose that as my birthdate.

  My stomach had churned when I first met Mama G, as though it could sense what was in store for me, but I’d written it off as nerves. I desperately wanted somewhere to belong, and I thought she would give that to me. I couldn’t have been more wrong than I was in that one moment of my life.

  I could still hear my screams echoing in my ears, alongside the slaps to my torso, verbal slurs, and pleas that went ignored for many years as the torment grew worse. I remembered the feeling of maggots crawling under my skin every time she turned those black beady eyes on me, the scrawny foster kid, attempting to avoid her gaze so as not to get sucked into the endless abyss. Eyes void of emotion, but swimming with the promise of torment.

  Out in public and around other people, though, she was all smiles and soft words. She was smart and experienced enough that she always made sure she had no slipups to give her true nature away, manipulating conversations when needed to avoid the truth at all costs. She gave the impression of kindness and the illusion that home was a happy place for all. But no one ever truly knew what went on behind closed doors.

  Once I turned sixteen, her abuse became mostly emotional and less physical. Her tactics to fracture my mentality worked far better than any bruise ever did before, and was something I’m still trying to improve upon to this day. As a master manipulator, she’d warped my mind into believing that I was the problem. She’d tried her hardest to break down all my mental walls and nearly succeeded. Either she was trying new methods to break me, or she realized bruises could only be hidden for so long. It was as if she threw one verbal insult after another at me because she wanted to see me break. To see how angry I could get. Pushing buttons became her pastime, and I did my best to brush it away and focus on making it to the day when I could leave.

  Although, there was the occasional punishment I would take on in place of my foster siblings. The only thing that got me through each day was the countdown to my eighteenth birthday, which held the promi
se of freedom.

  The screen flashed again, this time with a call from Mama G rather than a text, and the ominous green font cleared my head of the past and brought me back to the present. Hitting the ignore button, I turned my phone over, screen down, and went back to my mission of slowly pushing my pencil into the desk. I couldn’t deal with her; the wounds of the past were still too raw.

  Phones around me started ringing with calls and beeping with notifications, probably the other students making plans to bail and go do something less productive with their class time. I peered up at the wall clock to find another three minutes had passed.

  “Uh…hey, you guys…”

  I looked up to find everyone’s eyes glued to their phones, their mouths dropped open in shock, with mixed expressions of panic and disbelief across their faces. I started to ask what was wrong when a teacher I had seen around the campus burst into the room and turned the TV on, with screams of alarm floating in through the open door as she entered. Her eyes were wide with panic as she flipped through the channels until she found what she was looking for.

  A guy appeared on the screen, his face held in a forced calm as he explained about a mass hysteria that was ravaging the nation.

  An infection had gotten out of control, causing those exposed to crave human flesh. They seemed unable to speak or react normally, the infection effectively turning them into monsters. What had started as only a few people quickly escalated. The infected seemed to be slowly decomposing as they moved—the living dead. Some were turning immediately, while others were taking a little more time. The screen began to flash with scene after scene of people screaming in terror and running for their lives while the infected desperately feasted on those unable to escape in time. There was an outbreak of what they were calling the ‘Void Virus.’