Ultraviolet Read Online Free PDF

.”
    “Are you Elizabeth P. Watkins?” he practically screams.
    She swallows. “Well . . . yes. But I—”
    Whatever else she was going to say is lost in the thunder of gunfire. The nearly pulverized remains of her body are taken care of by the white-clad members of the Fumigation Team that streams in after the Special Hazards men back out of the room. And, finally, all that’s left of Elizabeth P. Watkins, onetime winner of the Best Yearly Performance award at the Ruth Page Foundation School of Dance, is the slowly dissipating clouds of poison gas used to sanitize the bits of bone and flesh splattered across the walls, floor, and furniture.
    And so began the Blood Wars with which Violet was so sadly, bitterly familiar.
    The battles were fought in the streets, in homes, in office buildings, even in hospital operating rooms, where the Special Hazard Teams were ordered not to stop at eliminating only the patient. Any person, no matter their rank or position, who had been exposed to the blood of a Hemophage had to be exterminated, no matter the cost. Doctors, lawyers, political leaders—after all, the politicians didn’t rule the day anymore. They’d proved to be helpless in the face of the epidemic, and few people in the private sector had ever believed them to be trustworthy anyway. The newly emerged power was a hybrid, a religious-medical-political structure that would take the drastic countermeasures demanded by the uninfected and clearly necessary to stop the spread of the disease, and it would not be influenced by petty things like human rights and the United States Constitution. Now it was survival of the fittest, and the members of that organization knew without a doubt that only the fittest were H.P.V. free.

FOUR
    The armored escort car pulled up in front of the main entrance to the enormous ArchMinistry of Medical Policy complex, and like a cat coming to a halt after a full run, settled back on its tires as the driver braked and cut the engine. The building in front was impressive and heavily fortified—bioterrorism, or blood terrorism as some people were now calling it, had risen dramatically in the last couple of years and they could take no chances here. Just going in and out required sanitation and extreme identification measures, even for the most powerful. The car’s occupants, the Vice-Cardinal and the Chief of Staff, would be no exception.
    Even though they were inside the perimeter of the gated compound and had already gone through the first round of identification and the armed entry guards, the driver made a quick, suspicious scan of the surrounding grounds as soon as he stepped out of the car. Only when he felt sure it was safe did the veteran security officer press a lock releasing device that was keyed to his body heat, pulse, and thumbprint—should something happen to alter any one of those things beyond a pre-set range of accepted variables, the only other person who could unlock the armored car’s doors was inside the vehicle itself.
    The heavy door opened and the first thing out of the car was an impeccable designer shoe hermetically attached to a suit by one of the world’s more expensive couturiers. A voice floated out of the opened door, slightly muffled by the fortified interior and more than a bit on the high side of anger. “As you’re aware, Doctor, there’s no definitive test for the virus.” The speaker’s words grew louder, clearly following the first occupant as he brought his other foot around. “For all we know, they’ve infected every blood storage facility in the country!”
    The sturdily built Vice-Cardinal was out of the vehicle now and the Chief of Staff came out behind him in quick, jerky movements that made him look like a small, worried dog. He opened his mouth to continue but the Vice-Cardinal held up his hand, waving it impatiently in the air. Even though the Chief wasn’t sure whether it meant he should shut up or it was just the prelude to sanitization,