Chapter 1

They were bloodshot, the pupils blown so wide the brown of his irises had nearly disappeared. Marcus had seen that look before—on guys at the gas station, in the parking lot behind the diner. But never on Derrick. Not really.

“You good?” Marcus asked, keeping his voice light. They were all sitting on the edge of the old railroad trestle, legs dangling over the creek below. Maya was sketching the sycamore on the far bank. Tom and Elena were passing a bag of chips back and forth. Derrick hadn’t touched the chips.

“Never better.” Derrick smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His hands were shaking.

Marcus had known Derrick since first grade. They’d built forts in these woods, dared each other to jump off this trestle into the brown water. Derrick had always been the brave one, the one who laughed at consequences. But this wasn’t brave. This was something else.

“You’ve been acting weird all week,” Maya said without looking up from her sketchbook. Her pencil kept moving, but her voice had an edge. “You skipped school Tuesday, and yesterday you blew off the movie.”

“Got stuff to do.” Derrick’s jaw tightened.

“What stuff?” Marcus asked.

Derrick reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small bag of greenish powder. The trestle went quiet.

“Where’d you get that?” Tom asked, his voice cracking.

“Doesn’t matter.” Derrick held the bag up to the light, and for a second his eyes softened. “This is Bliss. New stuff. Better than anything you’ve tried.”

Marcus’s stomach turned. He’d heard about Bliss in whispers at school, seen the flyers taped to telephone poles with phone numbers you couldn’t trace. It was supposed to be synthetic marijuana, but everyone said it was stronger, darker. Made people lose time.

“Don’t,” Marcus said. “Not here.”

Derrick’s smirk widened. “Scared, Reed?”

“Yes,” Marcus said simply. “I’m scared of you doing something stupid.”

For a moment, something flickered in Derrick’s eyes—hurt, maybe. Then it was gone. He opened the bag, dipped a finger in, and rubbed the powder on his gums. “It’s nothing. Just a little buzz.”

But it wasn’t nothing. Within seconds, Derrick’s body went rigid. His head snapped back, and a low growl came from his throat.

“Derrick?” Elena whispered.

He turned toward them, but his eyes weren’t seeing anymore. They were wild, unfocused. He lunged at Marcus.

Marcus threw his hands up, catching Derrick’s chest, shoving him back. Derrick stumbled but didn’t fall. He just stood there, breathing hard, swaying on his feet.

“Back off,” Marcus said, his heart hammering. “Everyone, back off.”

Derrick blinked. The wildness faded a little. He looked at his hands like he’d never seen them before. “I’m fine,” he muttered. “I’m fine.”

Then he turned and ran, crashing through the underbrush toward town.

They sat in stunned silence. Maya’s pencil had stopped moving. Tom was gripping the chips bag so hard the plastic crinkled.

“We have to tell someone,” Maya said.

“Tell them what?” Marcus shook his head. “That Derrick took something? They already know kids are doing drugs. We need to find him first.”

But Marcus didn’t move. His legs felt like lead. He kept seeing Derrick’s eyes—the way they’d emptied out. That wasn’t just a bad high. That was something else.

A scream tore through the afternoon air. It came from town, maybe two blocks away.

Marcus was on his feet before he knew it, running down the trestle path, Maya and the others behind him. They burst out of the woods onto Maple Street, and Marcus saw it.

Mr. Henderson, the fifty-year-old librarian who always handed out candy on Halloween, was out on his front lawn, wrestling with a woman who looked like she worked at the grocery store. But it wasn’t wrestling. It was attack. He had her pinned, her face pressed into the grass, and he was growling—the same low sounds Derrick had made.

“Hey!” Marcus yelled. “Hey, stop!”

Mr. Henderson looked up. His eyes were just like Derrick’s. Bloodshot. Empty.

Marcus’s brain scrambled for logic. Was it the same drug? Had Bliss spread this fast? He pulled out his phone, dialed 911. As he listened to the ringing, he saw another figure round the corner. And another. People stumbling, clawing, going after each other.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“There’s—there’s something happening on Maple Street. People are attacking each other. I think it’s a drug. Please send help.”

The operator asked him questions he couldn’t answer. Marcus hung up and ran toward the chaos. He couldn’t just stand there.

Maya grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?”

“Derrick is out there,” he said. “And if this is the Bliss, I have to find where it came from.”

They hurried down the street, dodging the fighting. At the intersection, Marcus saw Derrick again. He was standing in the middle of the road, arms limp, staring at a smashed car. A man was on the ground beside it, not moving.

“Derrick!” Marcus shouted.

Derrick turned. His face was slick with sweat, and his eyes were clear for just a second. “Marcus?” he said, his voice small.

Then his face contorted. He screamed—not in anger, but in something like pain—and charged.

Marcus didn’t think. He just ran toward his friend, hoping he could reach him before Derrick became someone Marcus didn’t recognize.