The Lazarus Serum

By Fallon Jones

"If you're reading this, I am not dead. I am so much worse than that."

In the ruins of a state once called California lies the city of Amaranth, where childbirth is impossible, disease is myth, and residents rely on the Lazarus Serum to survive.

When Claire Weston narrowly escapes an encounter with a mechanical man who is trying to kill her, she must travel to the future with Darius, a hardened refugee and the leader of the Octane Angels rebellion, to survive.

Unlike Claire, Darius is willing to do whatever it takes to survive—even if it means killing thousands for humanity's second chance. Together Darius and Claire fight their way to Amaranth to save the world, battling giant glass spiders and Amaranth's agents along the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fallon Jones
• Release date: Sep 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301887958

Fallon Jones

Fallon Jones is a writer from the rainy state of Washington currently residing in California. She has released three novels, Bite Me. The Jaws of Life, and The Lazarus Serum, which have sold thousands of copies worldwide. This year she received her Bachelor's in Literature at University of California - Santa Barbara's prestigious College of Creative Studies program. When not writing, Fallon can be found strolling cemeteries, rocking out at punk shows, and drinking too much tea at Starbucks.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

SECOND CHANCES

GRACE

Thirty years. Divergent lives. He looked exactly the same, but I didn’t recognize him. He promised to find me again, if only for a day. And I believed that he would. He always came back for me. Even now. I am different from the girl he fell in love with so long ago. I am calmer now, and so much wiser after seeing so much suffering.

But he is the same; just as stubborn and fiery and strong as I used to be.

There were only a handful of survivors from Amaranth, our home. Few remembered what they left and fewer still held their identities. We created new names, forged new lives for ourselves after the war—after the Lazarus Serum stole the ones we had. Our only hope for survival then was the refugee with golden eyes. The same one I had left.

Those eyes burned from across the field now, just as they had out in the desert when we fought side by side. That stare never really left my mind. I wondered if he recognized my eyes now that their light had dimmed. His red lips curved into the same daredevil smile that saved my life once, and I knew. I could never go back with him.

He extended a gloved hand and beckoned me closer; almost as if he knew that one day we would be together.

But it would not be today.

His mouth moved in the shadows as he took a long drag from his cigarette. I tasted the words on his lips as he exhaled the poison.

I will wait.

CHAPTER 1

AWAKENING

CLAIRE

Nothing remained of him but the faint glimmer of a shadow and the burned tip of a cigarette, which fell to the ground and died right where his leather boot used to be.

I gnawed the pen in my mouth and averted my eyes. Whoever he was, it was obvious that he didn't want to be seen. It was a public park anyway, which made it impossible to tell if he was really looking at me. But the way those golden eyes had shone with such intensity was almost mesmerizing. They were creepy, at the very least.

I snapped shut the leather-bound notebook in my frozen fingers and tried to guess the time. If it was dark enough for me to count shadows already, that probably meant I should start heading home soon. Aside from the whole being watched from across the park thing.

I tucked the journal back under my arm and stood from the shade of the willow tree.

Claire.

I traced my fingers along the edge of the journal, staring out into the distance.

Claire, time to go. Arthur is getting hungry.

I looked down at the overweight golden retriever who was lying across my feet moaning. I scratched behind his ears and he snorted.

Okay, sorry. It's getting dark, anyway.

Well, we've been here for two hours. Grace rose to her feet, her cowboy boots carving dents into the lawn.

I picked up Arthur's leash and followed after my aunt. Already?

She grinned. You are even more of a space cadet than your mother was, you know that?

Arthur plodded beside us happily, his tail swooshing against Grace's tye-dyed skirt. And you didn't influence that at all.

She raised her hands into the air in vindication, an assortment of bangles and rings chiming together. I just wanted you be a happy, normal kid. If that encourages wanderlust and curiosity, so be it!

Grace was what you'd call an old-soul. She drank about twenty cups of tea a day and lived on a strictly vegan diet—aside from of course the occasional Indian food. And steak. She was a free-lance writer for a bohemian lifestyle magazine, which involved a lot of traveling for the two of us. It involved a lot of frozen dinners too, since Grace never bothered with learning how to cook.

The hairs on Arthur's back bristled, and he growled. I knelt down to reassure him when my foot collided with the stub of a cigarette. I glanced back into the trees warily and lowered my voice to a whisper. Hey, do you want to take the long way home?

Grace shrugged. Honestly? No, not really.

For someone so spiritual, Grace was exceptionally nearsighted when it came to intuition.

She smiled wryly. Why? Are you afraid of the dark?

No, just the person hiding in it. I shrugged it off. Arthur's acting up, I think there's a cat or something over there.

Grace squinted in the fading daylight, raising a bronzed hand over her eyes. Alright, but we aren’t staying out here forever. I have an appointment tomorrow morning.

I blinked. An appointment meant something stable, which could be either a really good or a really bad sign for my breezy aunt. I stuck with the first choice. That's great! What's it for?

Something shimmered over her amber eyes before she looked back to me. Oh, it's nothing really, don't worry about it.

Typically she would've answered with a don't get your hopes up.

Is it an interview? I asked, pushing further.

Grace flicked a golden bangle on her wrist and let out a bark of laughter. Yeah, I guess it is.

I squeezed her arm in reassurance. You'll do fine.

I hope so, she replied, slinging a weathered arm through mine. And so will you. Don't forget you have driver's education tomorrow.

I groaned. I was almost eighteen now, easily the oldest in the class. But we had never stayed in one place long enough for me to finish the course, and I had no idea when the chance would pop up again. Besides the fact that the only car we owned was a Volkswagen van from 1963.

Oh buck up, buttercup! I know you’ll pass this time. One more day and you're done. And after that, her eyes grew glassy and distant, you'll be all grown up! My poor Claire. Grace crooned, placing her hands on each side of her head. Eighteen in less than a week.

I smiled, thankful for her theatrics. She had never forced me into growing up too fast or threatened to kick me out of the house once I was old enough, even though I wasn't her daughter.

So, are you looking for another job? I continued.

Believe me, things are busy enough around here with the one I have. She reached over to ruffle my hair. Your hair is just so golden. It looks like you have a halo.

I smirked. Maybe I do.

For someone so small, you dream so big. Grace winked. Don't ever lose that.

CHAPTER 2

SWEET DREAMS

Mr. Lichfield droned on, reminding us to never drive distracted or tired. His voice alone was proof of how hazardous the two could be to my health. I stifled a yawn and traced my fingers along the edge of my journal the way I always did when I was bored. Grace bought it for me a couple of moves ago, promising that the documentation of my adventures would keep them fresh and alive. And by adventures, she didn't mean all the moves, traveling, and crazy activities she smashed into a day. She meant my dreams.

I'd heard a lot of other kid's dreams about running late or showing up to school naked. Most of them just sounded pretty funny, but sometimes I was curious. What would it be like to wake up and laugh off last night's anxiety over breakfast? My dreams were hardly table talk. Machines, endless deserts, and marching—those were the only things I ever dreamt about. Sometimes they would shift, and I could make out the faces of the people, the way their cracked lips curved into words and their features grew somber at night. But I could never hear what they were saying. When I first mentioned them to Grace she said they must be memories from a past life.

If they were, I was really glad I could only remember the present.

Alaina.

I raised my head from the page. Yeah?

Curious stares lingered in my direction and I frowned.

Speaking of distracted, someone whispered.

I glanced over my shoulder at Alaina, then back toward Mr. Lichfield. He arched a furry eyebrow. You can get the next question if you're so eager to answer, Claire. Our final exam is today, don't forget.

I glanced down at the open page in front of me, the words traced so many times they were etched into the other side. Remember me. But I seriously doubted it was my teacher that held my attention.

Not that I would ever forget those caterpillar eyebrows.

The class groaned, and I snapped the journal shut. In a way, tests were almost therapeutic to me. Written tests in my classes were predictable, possible to prepare for, and safe; a nice change of pace from my lawless life. If I had repetition and time to practice I could do just about anything.

I leaned over the side of my desk and reached for my beaten leather bag, feeling around for a pen. My fingers worked their way around something small and curved; something that had not been there yesterday. I pulled my hand out of the backpack, revealing a chunky gold key. Tiny gears were set into the handle, bound together like clockwork. But they were immobile.

You may begin. A white piece of paper slid across my desk and I shoved the key back inside, snatching out a black pen instead. It was probably just some odd piece of jewelry Grace had found that made its way into my bag. And besides, I figured a key was the least of my worries today.

As soon as I passed this test, I would get my license. Free! I'm free! I sang to myself. That's when I put the pen to my paper and ruined my chances for not just my license, but any hopes I had for a normal life.

I could see my hands moving, but I couldn't control them. And I switched the pen from hand to hand so fast my eyes hardly had time to keep up. I wrote over every inch of space: through the margins, over the questions, and even between the words typed onto the sheet. My eyes hazed over as the words became more vivid. The letters spiraled off the page and fired straight into me. I tried to close my eyes to block out the images, but when I did I was there. Inside the ghosts of a memory.

It was dry, cold, and dark. A flickering light cut through the night ahead, and I moved to catch up. I didn't run, I... Floated. Something glowed near the light: not as bright, but larger. A face.

I had witnessed dreams like this before, but never when I should be awake and in class. Something had changed, like all the dreams had been tilted on their axis and poured together like sand, mixing into a dizzying electric color. And that wasn't the only difference. Usually everything I witnessed came from far away, like I was watching through a TV set. But when the face turned, the boy looked right at me through golden eyes.

I fell out of the scene. A phantomed hand clawed at my heart and squeezed it until I thought it would burst. Then it pulled me back, dragging me by the heart faster than I ever could have entered. A sound reached its way back across the void.

Claire!

CHAPTER 3

THE SECRET’S IN THE TELLING

I woke sitting up in my desk to the rhythmic tapping of a pencil. My eyes refocused and shifted down to my leg, where the sound originated.

Claire. Hello, Claire! It was practically a stage whisper.

I turned to the seat beside me where my classmate Riley sat hitting me with her pencil. Yeah?

I said, I hope you're done. Class is over and you still haven't handed up your test. She leaned over me, her face scrunching up as she tried to decipher my handwriting. Wow, if you wrote all this out to find the answers I'm totally screwed. What's a Regulus? Is that some kind of an engine?

I have no idea. I scanned the page as confused and curious as Riley and she arched an eyebrow.

Didn't you write all this?

My eyes lingered on the cluttered blots of ink. I was never this messy. I think so.

Well, what does it mean? Riley whispered, leaning over my desk. Mr. Lichfield cleared his throat, and she backed off a couple inches.

I frowned. It means I really need to talk to our teacher. And less with the voices in my head.

Good luck. She shot a final glance at my paper and stood from her seat. I think you're gonna need it.

The way she said it, I wasn't sure if she meant I’d need luck or the paper.

I picked up the test wistfully and approached Mr. Lichfield. He was bent, perched almost, over a sea of white papers when I cleared my throat. The papers smelled ancient; or maybe he'd just spilled his lunch on them. Class had barely ended and he was already absorbed in his work. I would really like him if he didn't give me the creeps.

He glanced up from the desk finally and I gave a nervous smile. Do you have your test?

That was what I came to talk about... I hesitated.

He locked his fingers together and leaned back. You didn't finish because you were nervous.

Well sure, that made sense. Yes! I mean, yeah, I guess so. I rubbed the back of my neck in discomfort. Even though I’d needed to lie plenty of times to protect Grace as a parent to various teachers throughout my years of living with her—sure, we owned a house now—I’d never lied to protect myself.

Your mother warned me that you suffer from mild anxiety attacks, particularly when driving is involved. But you’re one of my best students.

Grace is my aunt. I shifted nervously. If my teacher assumed that Grace was my mom and not my aunt, then she hadn’t told him the reason behind my panic attacks.

My mistake. The resemblance between the two of you is uncanny. Mr. Lichfield nodded at the test, which was crumpled in my hand. Do you want me to take a look at it anyway?

I drew my hand back instinctively and pulled the test away. I didn't want him to think I was totally crazy.

Mr. Lichfield blinked at me in surprise and leaned forward.

Too late for that.

He let out a slow breath and gestured at the once pristine paper. You'd be surprised how much I could understand from these things. I could cut you some slack if I find some key words in there.

What, was he a psychiatrist now? No thanks. I spoke almost too quickly and he frowned. But is there a time when I could make up the test, like during your next class?

His eyes flicked to the stack of papers. You have the highest average in all of my classes, and you've never failed a test before. I’m going to assume that your behavior today is due to post-traumatic stress from the car accident you were in. You could come in once my other classes are finished today at six and retake the test. I would like to keep that copy of your test though, just to—make sure you won't use it before tonight.

He thought I was going to cheat? And I didn't like the way he paused before finishing. I held it up, but didn't let the paper go. It's impossible to read what anything says on here, especially the original questions. I folded it into fourths and slid it into my bag. My aunt keeps all this stuff for scrapbooking, so I'll just give it to her. I'll be here at six.

Maybe it wasn't exactly scrapbooking. Grace mostly just shoved every weird thing I did into a big cardboard box, but Mr. Lichfield didn't need to know that.

Something about him was off today. Why would anyone want to keep a student's messy paper? I'd seen him throw them out countless times before. And the way he read over those pages...

He didn't have a pen! I explained to Grace for the hundredth time as I sank into the kitchen chair.

She spared me a sideways glance and washed her hands. So maybe he was scoring the tests in his head.

I threw my hands up in the air. But he didn't even have one on his desk; I looked. I mean, what kind of teacher doesn't bring a pen to class? The ancient wooden chair protested loudly against my movements.

He probably wasted all his pens throwing them at you when you fell asleep in his class. Grace suggested with a wink.

I wasn't ready to explain what happened when I fell asleep yet. So how did the interview go?

She rolled her eyes. Turn the spotlight on me and away from yourself, I get it. If you must know, they said they liked my work. She pursed her lips together as if to physically restrain herself from saying any more.

And? I urged, raising my eyebrows.

Grace sighed. The only thing they weren't quite sure about were my... Qualifications.

Why? You're a great writer! I said defensively. You've written for practically every independent magazine on the west coast!

It's not about that, it's just a survival of the fittest thing. And the youngest. She shrugged like it was nothing, but her shoulders seemed to droop a little after.

Hey, you've had way more experience with writing than anyone younger than you has. I reassured her. Even Arthur leaned against her sympathetically. What kind of a job is this, anyway?

An important one. How did your test go?

I shifted in my seat. Uh, it went okay. The rickety chair groaned again until the wood began to splinter. I jumped off before it had time to break.

Grace’s eyes narrowed. Claire Weston, you are a very fluent speaker, and a very bad liar. What happened?

It's fine, I talked to the teacher and he said I could make it up today. I tapped the side of the chair with my shoe, inspecting it for any permanent damage. The youngest thing in our house was Arthur, and even the dog was going gray. But hey, I have something that might make up for it! I said, attempting to change the subject again. I reached into my bag and pulled out the key.

Grace’s eyes widened. Where did you get that?

I held it out to her and she recoiled, as if I were holding a cobra rather than a piece of jewelry. I found it in my bag. I figured it was yours, so I brought it back.

It's not mine! She shouted. Her eyes flitted across the kitchen nervously.

I slid the key into the pocket of my ripped jeans hastily. Okay, so I'll take it to the lost and found at the school when I go.

Grace closed her eyes and inhaled slowly through her nose. No, you can't. You have to keep it now. Can I see it again, please?

I reached back into my jeans, the metal surprisingly warm to my touch. I held it in my open palm, and Grace leaned in closer to inspect. Even her clothes smelled like Frankincense and cinnamon. She sighed. Just what I suspected. You have to keep this with you. And don't show it to anyone. Who else knows?

About the key? I didn't really think I needed to pull it out and wave it around in class. You're the only person I've shown it to. A cold nose pushed against my other hand and I smiled. Unless you count Arthur, who understands way too much for a dog.

Oh, you'd be surprised how much he knows. She murmured mysteriously. Well, this was bound to happen at some point.

We both stood in silence with only the sound of the worn-out dishwasher humming between us. Just when I thought she would let go, Grace spoke at barely a whisper. What happened when you fell asleep in class?

I stared at Grace for a few seconds, her shaking hands and watchful gaze. I didn't want to lie again, but she was already so