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Dawn of Eden by Julie Kagawa
Before The Immortal Rules, there was the Red Lung, a relentless virus determined to take out all in its path. For Kylie, the miracle of her survival is also her burden—as a doctor at one of the clinics for the infected, she is forced to witness endless suffering. What’s worse, strange things are happening to the remains of the dead, and by the time she befriends Ben Archer, she’s beginning to wonder if a global pandemic is the least of her problems….
Praise for
Julie Kagawa
“Kagawa wraps excellent writing and skillful plotting around a
well-developed concept and engaging characters, resulting in a
fresh and imaginative thrill-ride that deserves a wide audience.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Immortal Rules, starred review
“Kagawa has done the seemingly impossible and written
a vampire book…that feels fresh in an otherwise crowded genre.
Mix[ing] paranormal and dystopian tropes to good effect,
creating a world that will appeal across audiences.”
—Kirkus Reviews on The Immortal Rules
“Julie Kagawa is one killer storyteller.”
—MTV’s Hollywood Crush blog
Dawn of Eden
Julie Kagawa
Contents
Chapter One
In the summer of my twenty-third year, the Red Lung virus began its spread across the eastern United States. Flulike symptoms evolved to raging fever, necrosis of the lungs and finally asphyxiation, as victims choked and drowned in their own blood. By the time government officials knew anything was wrong, the virus had already made its way overseas and was rapidly decimating Europe and parts of Asia, with no signs of slowing down. A worldwide emergency was called; towns had been emptied, cities lay in ruins and the virus continued its deadly march toward human extinction.
We thought Red Lung was as bad as it could get.
We were wrong.
* * *
“Kylie! It’s Mr. Johnson!”
I spun from Ms. Sawyer’s cot, nearly beaning Maggie in the nose as I whirled around. The intern looked frantic, her eyes wide over her mask, her face pale as she pointed to a cot along the far wall. Two masked interns were struggling with the body of a middle-aged man who was spasming and coughing violently, trying to throw them off. Blood flecked his lips, spattered in vivid patterns across his sheets and hospital robes. His mouth gaped, trying to suck in air, and his breathing tube lay on the ground in a pool of blood and saliva.
I rushed over, snatching a syringe from my lab coat and dodging the intern, who stumbled back as the man flailed. Grabbing the patient’s arm, I threw my weight against him, which didn’t do much as Mr. Johnson was a big guy and frantic, and I weighed about one hundred ten sopping wet.
“Hold him down!” I called to Eric, the intern who’d been flung back, and he pounced on the man again. Blood streamed from the man’s nose and flew in arcing ribbons across the bed as he coughed and flailed. I uncapped the syringe and plunged it into his arm, injecting eight mms of morphine into his veins.
Gradually, his struggles ceased. His eyes rolled back, and his head lolled to the side as he passed into unconsciousness.
At this stage of the infection, he would probably never wake up.
I sighed and brushed away a strand of ash-blond hair that had come loose from my clip during my struggles with Mr. Johnson. My hand came away sticky with blood, but I was so used to that now, I barely noticed. “Keep an eye on him,” I told Eric and the other intern, Jenna, who looked on with weary, hooded eyes. “Let me know if there’s any change, or if he wakes up.”
Jen nodded, but Eric made a disgusted sound and shook his head, his dark curls bouncing.
“He’s not going to wake up,” he said, voicing the fact that everyone knew but was too numb to think about. “We’ve seen this a thousand times, now.” He turned accusing eyes on me, gesturing at the unconscious patient. Though he slept now, we could hear the gurgling in his throat and lungs, the rasp of air through a rapidly flooding windpipe. “Why did you even waste a shot of morphine on him? We’re almost out, and it could’ve been used on someone who has a chance. Why not put the poor bastard out of his misery?”
“Keep your voice down,” I said in a cool, even tone, giving him a hard glare. Around us, our patients coughed or slept fitfully, too drug-addled to really understand what we said, but they weren’t deaf. And the other interns were watching. They were just as discouraged and frightened and exhausted, but I could not show weakness, especially now.
“It’s not our place to say who lives or dies,” I said quietly,
