Infected:
Prey
Infected
Series
Book
One
Andrea
Speed
Genre:
Gay mystery/urban fantasy
Publisher:
DSP Publications
ISBN:
163216325X
ASIN:
B00NJRJZGG
Number
of pages: 376
Word
Count: 152,000
Cover
Artist: Anne Cain
In
a world where a werecat virus has changed society, Roan McKichan, a
born infected and ex-cop, works as a private detective trying to
solve crimes involving other infecteds.
The
murder of a former cop draws Roan into an odd case where an
unidentifiable species of cat appears to be showing an unusual level
of intelligence. He juggles that with trying to find a missing
teenage boy, who, unbeknownst to his parents, was “cat” obsessed.
And when someone is brutally murdering infecteds, Eli Winters, leader
of the Church of the Divine Transformation, hires Roan to find the
killer before he closes in on Eli.
Working
the crimes will lead Roan through a maze of hate, personal grudges,
and mortal danger. With help from his tiger-strain infected partner,
Paris Lehane, he does his best to survive in a world that hates and
fears their kind… and occasionally worships them.
HE
was on his third beer of the evening when he thought he heard a noise
in the backyard.
Hank
DeSilvo scowled and looked out the window over the kitchen sink full
of dirty dishes. He could see nothing but darkness, and maybe a bit
of reflected light from the television. This was probably a bad time
to remember the back porch light had blown out two days ago, and he’d
forgotten to replace it.
Not
that it mattered. The only light currently in the house was coming
from the television, and as long as he ignored it, he developed
enough night vision to make out a shape moving in the back garden. Or
was it the wind moving a shrub? Kind of hard to say.
He
slammed his can down with an annoyed grunt. It was probably the
Hindles’ stupid ass dog again, shitting all over the place and
tearing through his garbage. He hated that fucking thing, some ugly
Rottweiler mix they insisted was a “friendly” dog, and yet it
always had a look in its flat, black eyes that was just this side of
rabid. They never leashed the damn thing either, and apparently his
yard destruction was “cute.” He was just about out of this
fucking place and that damn thing had to make a final appearance. And
it was final all right; he was going to make damn sure of that.
He
went back to the living room, glancing at the game as he walked
past—it was a fucking damn boring game anyway—and got his shotgun
from the cabinet. It was illegal as all hell, a sawed-off thirty
ought six with the barrels cut so short you could have stowed it
under a jacket, but the barrels had been filed down expertly; it
wasn’t just the rough work of a desperate amateur but the sign of a
pro. Which was why, when they’d searched the drug mule’s truck
and he’d found it wedged under the front seat, he hid it in his
trunk and didn’t report finding it. It wouldn’t have added that
much to the mule’s sentence; he already had enough rock in his
glove compartment to put him away for the rest of his pointless life,
especially if it was his “third strike” (and it was, no surprise
there), and he doubted the guy was so stupid that he’d actually ask
why he wasn’t charged with owning an illegally modified weapon.
Yeah, he was dumb; you had to be dumb if you were speeding and had a
few thousand in rock in the car, as well as being obviously stoned
yourself. But asking after that was a special kind of stupid, the
kind only politicians and people on reality television ever seemed to
crest.
He
cracked open the gun and made sure he had some shells loaded in it
before snapping it shut again with a sharp flick of his wrist. Man
that felt good. This was a real man’s weapon, made him feel a foot
taller and made of pure muscle, and he knew why that meth fuckhead
was carrying it around with him. A weapon like this was a real
god-killer; it made you feel invincible.
It
was pure overkill, of course. The Hindles’ dog was fairly big, and
yet one shot from this gun would rip it in half clean down the
middle, as well as make a boom loud enough to set off every car alarm
on the block. But what the fuck did he care? He was an ex-cop; he’d
say the dog charged him, and on his property he could shoot the
fucking thing if he wanted. He’d swap out the sawed-off for his
Remington before they arrived. Ballistics wouldn’t match, but by
the time they proved that, he’d be long gone. Good-bye, shit-hole
city; hello, tropical paradise. It was just a shame that it took him
this long to collect.
He
stood at the back door for a moment, cradling the shotgun gently, and
let his eyes get adjusted to the dark before going out onto the
concrete patio. He had a mini Maglite with him with a red lens over
the bulb, so if there was something he needed to see he could twist
it on without losing his night vision. Not that he needed to make a
direct hit; even if he just winged the dog, he’d probably rip half
its face off, maybe a leg.
First
step off the patio his foot squelched in something; it felt too
liquid to be shit, but the smell that hit him was meaty, redolent of
shit and offal and God knew what else. Had that fucking dog already
strewn his garbage about? Goddamn it.
Holding
the shotgun in one arm, he turned on the flashlight and looked down
at what he’d stepped in.
At
first it looked like a puddle, which didn’t make sense since it
hadn’t rained in a week, and the thought that it was dog piss was
dismissed since it was dark, and dog piss wasn’t usually black. Or
was that red-black? Swinging the light outwards, he saw greasy, ropey
strands that couldn’t have come from his garbage can, and then a
big hunk of raw, bloody meat like a lamb shank… only it was too
long and thin to be a shank, too dark, and ended in a paw.
It
was a Rottweiler leg.
Someone—something—had
dismembered the Hindles’ psychotic dog and spread about a third of
it all over his backyard. He saw the leg, which was the biggest
piece, an assortment of internal organs, loops of intestines laid out
like fallen party streamers, and lots of blood. But where was the
other two thirds of the dog?
The
hair stood up on the back of his neck, and he knew he had to get the
fuck inside now. But as he turned, shotgun at the ready and braced
against his hip, he saw the flash of white teeth in the dim
moonlight, and his brain sent out the impulse to pull the trigger.
He
didn’t have time to wonder why it never happened as the teeth
ripped open his throat.
This
fictional book by Andrea Speed really focuses in on a virus that is
very much spread like the real life virus AIDS. The author helps her
readers to see the dangers of being exposed to the Cat virus, and the complexities surrounding it. The shifters are really cool in this book and the characters are in depth. The main character Roan was previously bullied so he is very aware when others are involved in it. Speed
uses two novellas that make up this one book.
The reading from the
beginning was sort of on a slow pace but those that fear not and trudge on will
definitely like what they get back in return. I read this book with
ease and do recommend for other young people that love a criminal YA
Sci Fi book.
I
rate this book 4 Stars and commend the author for touching on a
subject that many want to ignore.
Andrea
Speed was born looking for trouble in some hot month without an R in
it. While succeeding in finding Trouble, she has also been found by
its twin brother, Clean Up, and is now on the run, wanted for the
murder of a mop and a really cute, innocent bucket that was only one
day away from retirement. (I was framed, I tell you - framed!)
In
her spare time, she arms lemurs in preparation for the upcoming war
against the Mole Men. Viva la revolution!
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