“We have to track down all infected individuals, whether they are civilians or part of the Society, and monitor them for twenty-eight days,” I said. “If we cannot successfully monitor those who have been exposed, we need to consider more permanent solutions. Silver bullets work best.” None of the solutions we had would be good ones. I hated to advocate for killing people just because they might get sick, but if it was the only way . . .

“How are we supposed to find all those people?” asked Riley. “We can’t go door to door looking for people who’ve run afoul of werewolves.”

“You have to remember that someone who’s been bitten—even someone who’s started to transform—will still seem normal in their original form. They might be irritable or unusually skittish, but they’ll look like anybody else. The same goes for infected animals,” I said. “How you find them will depend on the resources you have available to you. I don’t know the territory or what you have at your disposal. I’d like to sit down with your leadership to discuss it as soon as possible. In the meantime, knowledge is going to matter more in this fight than almost anything else.” Knowledge and silver bullets. “Sir? Thank you for letting me speak.” I stepped aside.

Riley wasn’t smiling—only a sociopath could have smiled after the speech I’d just given—but he looked marginally less disapproving as he stepped back into place behind the podium. He clapped me on the shoulder with one massive hand, and then I was dismissed; my part in this little drama was complete, at least for the moment.

I made my way back to the table on legs that felt like they were made half of Jell-O, slumping back into my seat. It seemed natural to fold my arms and put my head down after that, and so I did. Jet lag, speaking in front of an unfriendly audience, and knowing that I was about to face my worst fear were all conspiring to overwhelm me. I wasn’t worried about showing weakness in front of the Australian cryptozoologists. They’d know my weak spots soon enough, and trying to conceal them now would only increase the odds of someone getting hurt.

A hand rested itself between my shoulder blades. I didn’t need to look up to know that it belonged to Shelby. “You did good,” she murmured. “Dad doesn’t yield to just anybody.”

“Pretty sure he did it because he thought I’d make myself look bad, but thanks.” I didn’t lift my head. If Riley thought I was being disrespectful, I was sure he’d find a way to tell me about it.

Shelby left her hand where it was. “My poor Alex,” she said, and went quiet, listening to her father speak.

His description of the surrounding area wasn’t making me feel any better about our chances of quickly and easily uprooting the infection, especially in the nonhuman population. There were sheep and kangaroos, wallabies and wombats and koalas, drop bears and bunyip and other things I’d never heard of before and would need to look up later, when I got access to their research materials. All of them were mammals. All of them were capable of carrying lycanthropy-w, and passing it on. Even the smaller mammals, like the possums and garrinna, would need to be tested.

There’s only one completely reliable way to check for lycanthropy-w, and it’s the same as the old test for rabies. We would have to kill sample members of each population and test their brain tissue and spinal fluid for signs of sickness. Then, after a few weeks had passed, we would have to do it again, and again, until there were no more signs of lycanthropy-w.

Animal conservation in Australia is extremely important among both cryptid and noncryptid populations, because so many of the creatures native to that continent are both uniquely Australian and deeply endangered. Killing sample members of their populations wouldn’t be like killing a few raccoons or squirrels back home—painful and unpleasant, especially for the raccoons and squirrels, but not an ecological disaster. Killing the things that lived here would leave a lasting ecological impact.

It couldn’t be helped. That didn’t mean it wouldn’t be hated.

I left my head down on the table, and listened to Riley Tanner as he calmly, carefully outlined all the ways in which we were about to get completely screwed.

Six

“It’s easy to say that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few when no one’s holding a gun to your head.”

—Martin Baker

The secret meeting room of an isolated house in Queensland, Australia, preparing for the inevitable disaster

THE CROWD DISPERSED QUICKLY after the questions and answers were done. Many of the people who left had the air of soldiers who’d just been told that Godzilla was making a beeline for the neighborhood where they lived: calm, determined, and following a well-established evacuation plan. Only a few looked like they were on the verge of panic. That was a good sign. The more people who stayed calm, the more people we’d be able to count on when things got bad. Well. When things got worse.

A man I didn’t know accompanied Riley back to our table. The newcomer was almost as tall as Riley, slim where the other man was muscular, with sandy-blond hair and the seemingly universal Australian tan. He looked like he was about my father’s age.

“Price,” said Riley. I sat up straighter, adjusting my glasses with one hand and trying to look like I hadn’t just been calculating how many graves a group this size could fill. “I want you to meet Cooper. He handles security in this state.”

Which meant this probably wasn’t Shelby’s original part of Australia, since otherwise the Tanners would have been handling security. I filed the information away as I stood and offered Cooper my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you as well. Big fan of your grandfather’s work.” Cooper’s grip was firm without being crushing. He pumped twice before letting me go. “Sorry to hear you’d been through all that with the werewolves in America, but I have to admit, I’m glad to hear you’ve actually seen action of some sort. Book learning isn’t the sort of thing that keeps you alive in a place like this.”

“I’ve heard a lot about the Australian wildlife,” I said. “I’m almost glad to be here to help with something I have experience with—although I do wish it had been the manticores Shelby mentioned to me once, and not werewolves. Lycanthropy is nothing to mess around with.”

“That’s for damn sure,” Cooper agreed. He frowned, the expression pulling canyons into his weathered skin. “You mentioned a treatment for people who’d been bitten. What’s that about?”