Even as he worked at the metal chair leg securing the door shut he knew he was being foolish. They would still carry the Kovo, and perhaps they could spread it through bites, or saliva, or simply through exhaling the germ so that others could breathe it in.

He paused in his efforts, listened to the spitting of the burning body, then started again. He could smell cooking meat. It made his mouth water, and that made him retch, puke rising into his mouth. He turned and spat it out. It burned in his throat and around his tongue.

When he turned to the door something struck it hard from the other side. The metal chair leg, already twisted by him, bounced from the rusted hook and eye and clattered to the ground.

Bone stepped back and tripped over his own feet as the door burst open. He kicked back in the dust, heels digging in and throwing up dust as sunlight fell on one of the dark creatures inside. The werewolf Francine stood in the doorway, panting hard and squinting against the sun. Her pelt was burned on one side of her face.

She looked down at Bone.

“Francine,” he whispered.

“Back!” he heard behind him. “What the fucking hell are you thinking?”

“They can help,” he said. “Against that thing.” He nodded at the tall shape still standing close to the burning corpse. He’d heard it called Mallian. It seemed transfixed by what had happened, staring down at the flames for so long that its eyes reflected the fire and burned themselves.

The woman, Angela, grasped his arm. “With us. Now! We’re not waiting.” She let go and he heard her and the girl and man start to run. He knew he should go with them.

Francine looked at him, then at the burning body. Mohserran appeared behind her, pushing forward out of the cooler, and behind him came the gargoyle. All three of them were shaking and sweating, their eyes yellow and alight, mouths slavering, and Bone knew that their madness was not something that would ever fade away.

Neither was their infection.

“What have I done?” he muttered.

His father, the creature Mohserran, fixed him with a stare.

“Oh, that’s just wonderful,” a deep voice said, and when Bone managed to rise and look behind him he saw Mallian standing close. He smelled of burning flesh. Beside him the fairy was swaying back and forth, her mouth slack.

“Grace,” Mallian said. She tilted her head and the three infected Kin filed from the cooler and stood close together. Their eyes dulled a little, and their stance became less aggressive. More submissive.

“They’re infected with—”

“They’re a good start,” Mallian said. “An army needs berserkers. They’ll be a magnificent front line.”

Bone started backing away. At any moment he expected the fairy to cast him down, burn him up, or slash him in half with a wave of her hand.