Year of the Snake

Chapter 1 Excerpt: The Dream Sickness

The Elder Life Spirit's hooded eyes were guarded. "Let us hope your enemies underestimate you as much as your friends."

The doors hissed open, and Dema ushered in the department leaders. Samson's smile grew. They were all here except for one, his new senior director of operations, who (now that he had cleared her head of distractions) was on her way to where she truly belonged. The rightful place for Sun Young's daughter, far beyond the shadow of the Dragon of the East Sea.

Ralph Rigsby entered last, a slight limp in his step. Samson clasped his arm in solidary. "My man. Still as slow as a snail, I see."

The elderly Head of Shifter Resources chuckled, his watery blue eyes snapping up from beneath his crop of white hair. "Mr. Carver. Your escapades are still as impressive as your Biblical namesake."

Xiang cocked his head. "I have heard of this story. Was this man Samson's power not taken away from him when his enemies cut his hair?"

Samson smirked. "So they tried to do to me. But my power was never in my mane."

"Do you want me to summon your son, Defense Minister?" Dema inquired.

"No. It is more important than ever that we finish our work." Samson's massive hands gripped the office chair, claws momentarily lengthening to puncture the leather. "Effective immediately, I am resuming my position as CEO and declaring a global state of war between the Were Directorate and the Children of Death. All of Saja Corp's efforts will be redirected to support the effort. What is at stake, fellow shifters, is no less than freewill itself."

He swept his arm toward the screen, where hundreds of broadcasts captured footage of people acting like animals. A eulogy in Scotland disrupted when the priest began bleating like a sheep. An armored car standoff in Jordan ended when both sides began thrashing on the ground and refused to be pacified until they had been submerged in salt water. A tour guide in Italy was reduced to tears when his entire group began scaling Saint Peter's Basilica, several hissing at the security guards, and others taking flight from the alcoves as if they were pigeons.

The Department Heads covered their mouths, shaken. "Dear God. Is that—"

"The Fenrir Virus has evolved." Samson paced grimly. "A new Beta variant. What happened in Seoul is not over. The Plague Lords, the Lords of Walking Death—they will not reappear because One-Death has channeled their power into something else: a global pandemic to bring humanity to its knees."

He clicked the remote, and a new scene appeared in front of the UN Headquarters in New York City, the screen shaky as a deranged man filmed himself among protestors demanding governmental action.

"For too long, we thought ourselves better. Better than animals, better than our planet. He reminds us that isn't true. We're just the same, deep down. Animals, all of us. If He appears to you in your dreams to remind you of this, do not dismiss Him. It is your only chance." The man fumbled in his pocket and then held up an object with trembling fingers. Everyone collectively flinched, compelled to avert their gaze. It was a tiny, six-fingered monkey hand.

"Take His gift! It's your only chance to survive His coming. He will rebalance the Earth. He will rebalance the Earth." The man kissed the withered talisman, rocking back and forth. "Lo, the Fifth World is upon us."

Activity exploded near the front, a security guard who thought he was a rhinoceros charging shrieking civilians, and then the video feed cut out.

Samson turned off the broadcasts. A sea of shocked faces stared back at him in the empty screens.

"My dear friends, they are attacking our minds."

Otto, the Head of Research and Development, wheeled himself forward; he was a wereoctopus whose legs were knee-deep in a mobile salt water tank.

"We have been observing the Weres infected with this new strain of Fenrir Virus as you asked, Mr. Carver," he said, holding up a tablet streaming footage of the lower holding cells. "There is only one food source they are interested in, just as we feared. The good news is that the disease is still vector spread, not airborne—yet."

Xiang sidled closer, his eyes narrowed. "What in the Nine Heavens is that Were doing?"

On the screen, a ram twisted back and forth, as if having a seizure. It abruptly ran into a wall and fell limp.

"Trying to shift," Rigsby said. "The Fenrir Virus may make the humans believe themselves to be animals, but for us, we really become animals. Mind-trapped, with no way to shift back." He hesitated. "Hungry for human flesh."

Samson watched the shapeshifter with the all-too-human eyes thrash about in agony. Too knowing. Too aware.

"We need Citlalli Alvarez."