Realizing that Haise was probably the crazy one and that the crazy one had a goddamned gun, “I said,” I’ll keep an eye on him.”
Haise unlocked Renfield’s cuffs and stood back, as if the exterminator might explode.
Jillian began explaining the few rules at the Palace; everyone pitches in on the work, chock your door open when you leave a room because unlocked doors were few and far between…
I noticed that Haise looked bored, his eyes glazing over. Both Conaghan and Benjamin were keeping a close watch on Haise.
I walked with Renfield to the now empty Garden Court. Daylight streamed through the stained glass dome; it was the room with the most natural light during the day. I noticed that Randall was still sitting in his chair with Clyde at his side. He hadn’t said a word.
“Thank you,” Renfield said, as we took seats at a table.
I glanced at Haise, and back at Renfield. “Renfield. Eating flies, I’d have thought that was a joke, but Haise doesn’t look like a horror movie fan, and even less like an aficionado of classic literature, so…”
A small smile appeared on Renfield’s face, half-hidden by a scruffy beard. “He’s a fool. A terrified, small-minded fool. And for the record, I don’t eat flies, I eat maggots.”
I was speechless. Then Renfield topped his last statement with one that was even more incredible.
“The reason Officer Haise had me cuffed and kept me with him is that I told him I knew how to become immune to the disease. Happyface, the smiler bug, whatever you want to call it. Haise was keeping me close to see if I became infected.”
Renfield raised an arm and pulled back one sleeve of his coverall. “Officer Friendly was responsible for allowing a grin to attack me before he shot it.” Renfield raised his arm. There was a nasty, healing wound on his forearm, and I could clearly see the half-moon imprints of human teeth that had bitten into and broken his flesh.
“I don’t know if you are aware of how fast the disease manifests, but it is almost instantaneous. I was bitten two days ago. That’s direct contact. Primary transmission. And I’m fine. I’m immune.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“A bite from one of those things is primary transmission, the most immediate, the fastest to take effect. Getting splashed with their blood is secondary transmission. It can take longer, but will still kill you. Tertiary transmission, from infected flies, is the way it all started, and the rarest way to become infected.”
Renfield leaned close, and spoke softly. “We all need to be immunized,” he said. “And we need to get the hell out of Dodge. The plan has changed. Originally the plan was to drive all the grins out of San Francisco, to try and save the city. Instead, the powers that be are corralling every grin they can find, and the grins are travelling in very large packs. They are going to hold them here, in the city, until the things die off or until whoever is still I charge can figure out a safe option for mass disposal. Firebombing, perhaps, or extermination squads. As for people like you and me… well, we don’t really have a say. Now, a lot of people came here to the heart of the city, to escape when the outbreak happened. What if the grins that are wandering around out there follow the same instinct?”
I didn’t know what to say to that, either.
“Mind if I sit in?”
Renfield and I were startled. Randall had approached us silently, and he was a big man. I gestured to one of the empty seats at the table and he sat, patting one thigh. Clyde trotted across the lobby to join us, his claws ticking on the marble floor.
I asked Renfield, “Why did you stay behind?”
“I stayed behind because… well, because I’m an exterminator. I was convinced I could find a way to destroy these things and avoid catching the disease. I heard second hand information from all over the world on amateur radio, theories of the three kinds of disease transmission, the suggestion that it started with flies, which is actually the hardest way to catch the disease, and became a pandemic when people gave the bug to each other through violent attacks.”
We waited for Renfield to say more.
“It’s like this,” Renfield said. “The disease began in flies. The parasites came from flies, are carried by flies, but they do not infect flies. Flies are immune. Flies transmitted the parasite to man. Now man transmits it to man, but the disease, the bug, thrives in men. The bug is a parasite. It’s thought that it immediately seeks out the brain, carrying a host of other lesser maladies within it, such as the skin condition you’ve all seen. The bug, the parasite, takes over the brain. Did you know it has a name? It is called giardia motivus and—”
“Mind control?”
I looked at Randall. He looked down at his clasped hands, and his voice was a whisper.
“Wouldn’t surprise me if this bug was created by the military. They’ll fuck with a soldier’s head any way they can.”
I didn’t want the conversation going off on a crazy conspiracy tangent, so I gave Randall a nod and asked Renfield, “How could a parasite control a human being?”
“There are fungi that can control insects,” Renfield said, “Disgusting things. Remember, I’m an exterminator and I don’t disgust easily, but some of these fungi… they will take over an ant, for example, and make it climb a tree, perhaps simply triggering an impulse to seek out direct sunlight in the canopy of a jungle. When the ant reaches the highest point it latches onto a branch or leaf with a literal death grip and dies. Then the fungus erupts from the ant’s body or head, and releases a little cloud of spores that rain down on the jungle, each spore capable of infecting another ant.”
“Jesus,” I said. “Is there any way to fight this bug? Could you somehow muster enough will power to—”
Randall said, “He who reigns within himself, and rules passions, desires, and fears, is more than a king.”
That was a line from John fucking Milton. Who the hell was Randall?
“Doubtful,” Renfield said. “I’m only guessing here, but I would say that the parasite either destroys or consumes any parts of the brain that allow higher thought. Consciousness, memory, all of that is wiped out, obliterated with horrifying speed, and what is left is an automaton, a delivery system to help further the spread of the parasite, a—”
“A missile,” Randall said.
Renfield nodded.
“How do you know this?” I had to ask. Maybe Renfield was as crazy as Randall.
Renfield shrugged. “Television never really did it for me. I like listening to my radios, chatting on my CB, and monitoring my police scanner. I found some frequencies used by the combined military forces as well. You’d be amazed how easily soldiers can forget spoken word protocols when the shit hits the fan. Code words and acronyms go right out the window. Which brings me to another important point. I’ve worked with a lot of cops. When you’re an exterminator you get called to houses infested with wasps or ants or whatever and often the people in those homes call the police first, in a panic, I suppose. I was in the street near my home in the Castro when Haise came down the road in an SFPD cruiser. I had managed to incapacitate a grin and I was dragging it to my house—”
“Excuse me?” I asked, wondering if Renfield was the crazy one after all.