Anyways, this virus is doin’ somethin’ like that to Clarice fuckin’ Hudson, man. It’s manipulating her into situations where it’s exactly where it needs to be to thrive and grow… and there’s nothin’ that poor girl can do about it.
I mean, I’ve just confirmed three and a half of the signs, man, that’s half the fuckin’ checklist. I’m more certain than ever that… yeah, I said three and a half. Because three doesn’t divide evenly into seven, Einstein. Okay then, let me spell it out. Again.
One: you got all that sweating, right? Two: outrageous fuckin’ appetite. The third sign was the alcohol, man… remember how I said she slammed those shots but wasn’t even wobblin’ when she came up to me? That was important… that’s what you shoulda wrote down in that little book of yours. God is in the details, ya know.
The way I figure it, her stomach musta been colonized with those little bastards. The invaders break down the alcohol into acids see, and then feed off that to fuel the transformation.
So she can down all this liquor, right, but instead of gettin’ corned outta her head, sobriety just keeps plaguin’ this chick. And, of course, they want her to drink, man. They need those perfect conditions for incubation.
So that gives us three, right? Which means we still have that half to account for.
Pop quiz, assholes… what’s the primary objective for any life form? Give up? It’s to ensure the survival of its species, man. Divide, multiply, and conquer. That’s why all these people in piss poor countries still keep churnin’ out babies even though they barely got enough to feed the ones they already got. It’s why the Catholic church really doesn’t believe in birth control. There really is strength in numbers, dig? The more of you that exist, then the greater chance there is of passin’ things on, whether it be genes or ideology.
Now, I want you to do me a favor, okay? Look at me. I mean, really look at me. What do ya see, man? Kind of a scruffy lookin’ guy with bloodshot eyes and this beard that would make a moonshiner say now, that’s a fuckin’ beard! Wrinkled clothes… shit, I probably got a pretty strong cloud of B.O. that I’ve just kinda gotten used to. Sometimes, I forget the little things, ya know, like combing my hair, brushin’ my teeth, bathin’ and shit.
I know I ain’t grotesque. I ain’t like that Corduroy dude. But I’m no prize winner either, dig? Kinda chicks who are into me are the ones who are so fuckin’ blitzed outta their minds that they think they’re givin’ head on ZZ Top’s tour bus.
Clarice fuckin’ Hudson? She was a looker, man. She coulda done so much better than me. Any man in that bar woulda gave his right nut just to finger-fuck her shadow; I just happened to be the first dude she passed. Didn’t matter if I was Brad Pitt or some pensioner wonderin’ how his teeth got in the bottom of his brew. To her—or more aptly, the things controlling her—I was just an incubator.
Sex appeal’s got nothin’ to do with contagion.
‘Course this is all just theory and conjecture, mind you. I don’t know for certain that it is a virus, ya know? It could be a bacteria or some shit. I mean, I’m just an armchair scientist, right, and I’ve been thinkin’ lately that maybe the virus, or whatever it is, isn’t working alone. I’m sure I’m right about all the molecular construction going down… that part just makes sense. But what if this is something that’s always been there, man? Some little strand of latent DNA, some sleeping chromosome that just needed a kick in the pants to get in gear. See, that would explain how quickly this shit goes down.
I’m kinda babbling here, aren’t I? My original point was promiscuity, that drive to just fuck anything that moves. That’s the fourth sign, but I was only countin’ it as half because there was this slight chance, this little sliver of probability, that the bitch actually coulda been attracted to me for some strange reason. I don’t know, maybe she had a fetish for dudes who looked like they were one step away from shopping carts and soup kitchens.
‘Course, I also knew this put a major fuckin’ kink in this plan of mine. She’d seen my face, man. Worse yet, I’d pissed the bitch off. A woman can forget casual encounters like a guy can forget anniversaries, but she don’t ever forget the cat who insulted her, ya know?
So, somehow I gotta figure out how I’m gonna verify these other signs, dig? I gotta stalk this lady and she fuckin’ knows me now. Talk about a sticky wicket.
How the hell do you kill someone who just might see it coming?
CHAPTER TEN
Ocean glanced over her shoulder, peering into the gloom of the tunnel for even the slightest hint of movement. Nothing but an inscrutable darkness met her gaze; she glanced back at the door, chewing the jagged edge of her thumbnail. Another quick glance, and she reached her hand tentatively toward the metal, as if half expecting it to be so hot that her flesh would sizzle and burn. When she finally made contact though, the rough metal was cool; she felt as if her intestines had turned into a writhing knot of worms.
Despite the damp chill that permeated the subterranean passage, beads of sweat moistened her brow, yet her mouth was so dry that the backs of her sinuses felt raw. Her eyes felt as if they were only moments away from cracking like over-baked clay.
If he even saw her just standing there, Gauge would be furious. He’d warned her about the door, had demonstrated its importance with the force of his hand. And she’d promised him, hadn’t she? She’d sworn to stay away from that room, to leave the secrets it held safely behind the steel and rivet door. She didn’t really want to break a promise. Especially one made to him.
It was like the door possessed some sort of mystical power, though. It called to her imagination through the twisting tunnels, pulled her toward it like a rotter to life, demanding she approach. Just to feel the rough texture of the metal beneath her fingertips, to listen past the sound of her own heartbeat whatever stray sounds that might filter through its bulk. There was never anything more than the drips of condensation echoing through the network of passages, and her own shallow breathing.
What treasures lay on the other side? Even more food than what she’d already seen, secret stockpiles that could feed an army for a hundred years? Clear pools of water that rippled softly causing webs of light to dance across a dark ceiling?
She had to know.
The handle was smooth and firm in her trembling hands, the latch clicked softly as her fingers curled around the lever.
He’ll be mad, he’ll be so mad… Only if he knew, and how would he? The others were tucked in their bedrolls, their heads sinking into the cushions as dreams flittered just behind their eyelids. She’d have just a quick peek, just a little look, and no one would be any wiser.
Ocean closed her eyes and stood as motionless as the broken statues that littered the city above. She listened for the shuffling of feet, for her name to be called out.
Nothing…
No one will ever know…
She willed herself to push the door, to simply extend her arm and let it swing open., but it was as if every muscle in her body had somehow frozen. She even had to remind herself to take a breath every so often.