A snippet of the new Infected story

This is all first draft, not edited, so there may be some minor changes later. But I wanted to prove to everyone I was not kidding about it. (No title yet. because of course not. They’re always the last thing I come up with.)

Roan honestly hoped Dylan wasn’t going to kill him for this. Although he wouldn’t blame him if he did.

He was supposed to be retired from all of this, and basically he only talked Dylan into letting him do his private detective thing again if he took unambitious, not at all dangerous cases. This one was supposed to be one of those. It went off the rails quickly.

It really did look simple to begin with. Blair Pender, a boring suburban type, hired him to find out if her husband, Hank Pender, was cheating on her. He was one of those muscly, white Vin Diesel body double bouncers for a trendy Vancouver nightclub, so of course he had the opportunity to meet other women, and possibly exploit them in a truly icky way. In fact, on his first stake out of Hank at work, Dylan went to the club with him. It was ostensibly a straight club, but modern sensibilities insisted gays could go there too.

Well, instantly, it was obvious why gays didn’t flock to the club. It was fucking terrible. It had some kind of eye melting theme, a cross between tiki and Blade Runner in a way that seemed to bring out the worst in both decors. The drinks were super overpriced and poorly mixed – Dyl contributed that last bit – and the music was modern pop remixes that made Roan want to take a knitting needle to his eardrums. Also, because his sense of smell had somehow grown even sharper, he spent a good part of the night rubbing peppermint oil under his nose, blanking out his olfactory sense and giving himself a headache. But the alternative was vapor-locking on the smell of so much cologne, deodorant, booze, body odor, bad breath, and ozone that he would be useless. Some people might think even sharper senses were a good thing, but they weren’t. And that didn’t even count the synesthesia that made the place look like a multi-color swamp. Dylan wasn’t only there as moral support, and crowd camouflage – he was there to help him leave the club without causing a scene. Places like this were just brutal for him nowadays. What they never bothered to show in any of the Wolverine movies was how hard it was to deal with modern society when you had above average senses. For Roan right now, being in a crowded public space was genuine physical torture. He didn’t want to become a shut in, but it seemed like his own senses were forcing him into that position.

Anyway, what Roan could discern through the pain was that Hank seemed like your average bouncer. A bit aggro, but no sleazier than anyone else. And yet, ever since he saw him in person, an alarm was going off in the back of Roan’s mind.

What did he call it? It was an exaggerated hunch really, but in lieu of anything better, Roan called it his predator sense. The feeling that he was meeting another monster, like him but not. He couldn’t explain it if he wanted to, and oh boy, did he not want to. So Roan continued following this guy, wondering what it was that was setting off alarm bells.

Sorry, that’s all you’re getting for now. But if you want to contribute to my “buying covers so I can self-publish all of the Infected series” fund, I wouldn’t mind a buck or two. I will try and keep the updates on this, and the Infected saga’s return to the book world, as much as I can.

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