by Josh Vogt
Ben shoved his cart against the door and leaned on it, sighing. Where was Jason with those Purity-forsaken signs?
He studied the place while ignoring the shrill voice outside. The women’s room had four stalls and three sinks, walls done in blue and white tile, and a frosted glass window at the far end. Halogen lights gleamed off the fixtures.
Making sure the cart jammed the door, he double-checked his inventory. Mop with the metal-tipped handle? Check. Squeegee with a razor edge? Honed and ready. Radio? Charged. After hefting his mop, he walked by each stall, letting the prickling in his right arm escalate into a burning sensation.
Nothing drew him to any of the toilets, so he returned to the sinks and crouched to check under the counter.
The middle sink turned out to be the creature’s hidey-hole. The S-shaped pipe had ruptured halfway down, jagged metal poking outward while black-green ooze dribbled from the hole. Ben gripped his mop like a staff as he kicked at the puddle of inky glop spreading beneath the break. The sulfur stink made his nostrils flare.
“I know you’re in there, you cruddy little bugger.”
He spat into the bucket of soapy water hanging off the cart. The saliva sizzled as it hit the surface, and he glared at the puff of steam. Using the squeegee, he scooped up a dribble of the black muck and dunked it into the water as well. More foul smoke rose from the tool, which emerged clean.
Carl gurgled in his bottle. Ben stuck the squeegee away and grabbed a rag.
“Yeah, well, you gonna be a tattle-tale? Not like they can do anythin’.”
The water formed a brief vortex.
Ben flicked the bottle. “Have a little faith, buddy. If it gets any worse, they’ll just kill me and burn the corpse. Problem solved. Everybody goes home happy.”
He whacked the mop handle against the pipe. A spark leaped from the metal grip and shot an electric spiral down the copper length. A growl reverberated within the wall where the pipe buried itself in the concrete.
“Gotcha.”
Without taking his gaze off the hole, Ben unzipped a breast pocket and pulled out a vial of bleach. He soaked the rag with this and wiped around both ends of the broken pipe. The muck clinging to the metal bubbled away in seconds until a shining copper ring capped the edges.
Another dribble of bleach went into the bucket. He plunged the mop into this and stirred. As he pulled it out, the solution sprayed across the black puddle. Wherever drops landed, steam rose and left the floor spotless.
Ben fought the urge to scratch his arm, which now burned up to the shoulder. He eased through several breaths, distancing himself from the pain. He shut out the sweat slicking his back, the electric buzz of the lights, and the raised voices from outside until only he and the broken pipe existed.
Drawing the mop back like a golf club, he prepared to swing.
O O O
Dani hugged herself and tried not to move. She’d never felt more exposed—not even on that night when Tim, her first—and last—college boyfriend, had coaxed her into that disastrous attempt at sex. She’d ended up missing classes for a week.
Never. Again.
She tried to ignore the stares of her fellow students. She knew her reputation as the “campus clean freak.” So what? She couldn’t comprehend how others wallowed in germs all the time. Didn’t they know eighty percent of infections spread through personal contact? Didn’t they know library desks had more than four hundred times the bacteria of a toilet?
As her thoughts circled back to bathrooms, her fear switched to fury, and she imagined several sensitive places where the janitor could go stick his toilet brush. How dare he treat her that way? He, above all people, should know the importance of sanitation, and yet he’d been the rudest, crudest human being she’d ever encountered. Even the smell of him lingered like a dog fart.
She gritted her teeth as she considered her options. The nearest women’s restroom sat on the far end of the building, and her full bladder might not survive the sprint—not to mention the warzone of contamination she’d be running through without protection. Use the guys’ restroom here? Women’s restrooms were bad enough. But her bladder made the situation clear. Relief first. Then damage control.
She turned to that door right as the librarian locked it and hung a sign on the knob. He didn’t meet her eyes as he mumbled, “Sorry. Closed for maintenance.”
She stopped just shy of grabbing him. Instead, she tore her headband off and threw it at the librarian, who ducked as it spun over his head.
“Are you kidding?” she asked through clenched teeth. “Come on. I just need, like, ten seconds.”
With a rueful shrug, he returned to his desk. Moments later he spoke in low tones on a handheld radio.
Dani raked fingers through her hair, silently cursing as she tugged a few snarls. This couldn’t be happening. How had things spiraled out of control so fast?
She forced her spine straight and made fists. No. She refused to let herself be bullied. She needed her gloves. Her gel and wipes. She couldn’t go anywhere without them. What was the janitor going to do? Have her arrested for retrieving personal property?
She glowered at the women’s room door. The thought of touching the handle set off mental sirens, but it’d be temporary exposure. Once she got her stuff back, everything would be okay. She could do this. She had to.
As she reached out, a screech echoed from within the restroom.
She paused. That didn’t sound like any kind of plunging or toilet-scrubbing. Her frown deepened. What was this geezer up to? A push opened the door an inch, but the janitor’s cart blocked anything more.
Screw this. With a wince, she lowered her shoulder and shoved.
O O O
Another growl shuddered up from the pipe, liquid and menacing. As Ben checked the cleansing ward he’d set up around the exit hole, someone thumped against the door.
“Keep your panties on,” he shouted. “Just a few more minutes.”
He whacked the pipe with the mop. Every strike sent sparks flying and a musical chime rang out. Each note melded with the others until the pipe and the wall around it vibrated with a pure tone.
Discordant howls rose in chorus to this. Ben tensed, waiting for his quarry to emerge. One hand went to the spray bottle.
The door burst open behind him. His cart skittered to one side and the redhead stumbled in, almost falling on her face.
Ben swore. “For Purity’s sake! I toldja to get lost.”
She glared at him with bright green eyes as the door swung shut behind her. “Keep your diaper on. I need my backpack.”
He moved to shove her back out. “Go! This ain’t—” A snarl warned him. He whirled and lashed out with the business end of the mop.
In that instant of spinning and striking, the beast lunged from the six-inch pipe opening. A dark form swelled to the size of a mastiff, looking like a mad scientist’s experiment in mating snakes and hounds. Muscled forelegs reached for Ben’s face with obsidian claws that dripped venom. Purple and blue scales covered the sinuous body. Fangs extended; nostrils and yellow eyes flared.
The mop connected. Bleach water sizzled against the creature’s skin as the impact redirected the beast past the girl’s legs. It smacked into the wall and tiles cracked.
The girl shrieked and jumped aside, knocking Ben’s cart over. Water sloshed everywhere.
The blot-hound scrabbled upright. After shaking like a wet dog, the beast opened its maw as if to howl. Instead, it vomited a stringy black mass at the redhead. The sputum slapped her against the wall beside the door, where she stuck fast, feet dangling a few inches above the floor.
She writhed, eyes bugging, and keened, “Ohgodohgodohgodohgod …”
The blot-hound hunched, but Ben stepped in as it lunged. He caught it across the spine and slammed it to the ground, where it thrashed. Claws raked the legs of his jumpsuit but failed to shred the material.
Ben plunged the mop into the beast’s body, aiming for the core of Corruption
that enlivened it. When the mop connected with a hard ball in the blot-hound’s chest, he twisted the handle and sent another surge of energy through it. Cloth strands twined around the ball and he wrenched upward, drawing the core out as it trailed black ichor.
The blot-hound screeched and kicked before going limp. Eyes dulled, its form began to ooze into the floor. Ben crushed the core beneath a heel and then waited until the trembling in his arms faded before going to the girl.
She stared, teeth chattering. “Wh … who are you? What was that … th-thing? Is it infectious?”
“You’re in college and can’t even read?” He tapped the name threaded on his uniform. “I’m Ben. And that was somethin’ you wouldn’t have had to worry about if you’d stayed out like I toldja.”
A splash of bleach water dissolved the sludge pinning her to the wall, and she dropped to her knees. Wet blotches stained her pant legs and crotch, but Ben pretended not to notice.
She huddled in on herself, shoulders heaving as she came dangerously close to hyperventilating. Ben sighed and leaned on the mop as the effort of eradicating the blot-hound caught up with his failing body.
“Don’tcha worry. The scrub-team’ll get here soon to give your memories a nice hose-down. By the time they’re done, you won’t even remember me. Ain’t that a relief?”
She blinked up at him, and he recognized the distant look people got when events didn’t align with their neat and tidy version of reality.
“Are you some sort of … crazy person?” she asked. “Please tell me it isn’t contagious.”
Ben grinned. “Crazy is the easiest explanation, ain’t it? Run with that and you’ll be just fine.” He frowned and flexed his right arm, which continued to burn. Why hadn’t the pain faded?
Shouts came from out in the library, along with chairs being overturned and feet thumping. The scuffle in the bathroom hadn’t gone unnoticed. Jason had better be running interference.
The girl whimpered and dropped to her butt, trembling.
Ben shook his head. “Look, princess, I ain’t gonna hurt you. I’m the good type of crazy—”
A scraping noise jerked him around in alarm. Yellow light flared in the blot-hound’s eyes as it clawed up, standing twice as tall as before, reformed legs knotted with muscle. The head rose, now as big as Ben’s torso and sporting slavering fangs. As the blot-hound fixed on him, a hungry growl made his guts quiver.
“Oh, cleanse my colon.” He snatched the radio from his toppled cart and hollered into it. “Francis, I need backup. Now!”
***
Chapter Two
The radio sputtered and the red power light flickered like a parting wink from the Devil. Cursing, Ben swept the mop along as he ran back and forth as fast as his arthritic knees allowed.
Carl splashed in the spray bottle, making it sway on his belt.
Ben grunted. “Shaddup. This is—” He skidded on a puddle and avoided face-planting by bracing on the mop. The tip jammed into his chest, and he wheezed. “I got it … under control.”
The water made a spitting noise.
“Yes, I’m sure!”
Regaining his balance, he slapped the mop on the floor and activated the quarantine spell. All the spilled water from his cart flowed together and formed an inch-high band from one side of the bathroom to the other. He knelt and pressed a hand into this, infusing it with raw willpower. The effort left him shaking, but he forced himself to straighten and aimed the mop at the blot-hound across the boundary.
“All right, you sorry excuse for an overgrown tar pit. Think you can tussle with me?”
When the blot-hound didn’t move right away, Ben worked up a wad of phlegm and hacked it at the creature. It bit the snot out of mid-air. A purple tongue slithered over its lips and it peered curiously at Ben.
He scowled. “That was s’posed to be an insult, not a snack.”
The blot-hound slunk forward and tested the barrier with a paw. The water sizzled against its skin, but the beast didn’t relent. It pushed its head further, making it flatten like a mime’s hand against an invisible pane of glass.
Ben clenched his jaw, readying. Once the beast set a second paw in the water, he stuck the sparking tip of the mop handle into the band and released a charge.
Electric arcs writhed across the hound’s body. It howled, a bowel-trembling noise that scraped over Ben’s ears. Off to one side, the redhead clamped hands over her ears and writhed, but he kept his hands on the mop, channeling energy down through it.
With a final surge, the blot-hound crashed its bulk over the swath of water. Its size diminished by a quarter as it forced its way across, but the power Ben had invested in the barrier dissipated and only left the blot-beast stunned.
He stared in disbelief. Only when Carl made the spray bottle rock did he snap out of the shock.
“I ain’t gettin’ paid enough for this.”
As he reached for the bottle, the blot-hound shook itself and lurched forward. It knocked him aside like a bulldozer putting a Tonka truck in its place. His head smacked against the wall and the mop flew from his hands.
He dropped flat. The room danced for a moment, but steadied just as the blot-hound’s maw yawned above his face. Maybe letting it get a taste of him hadn’t been the wisest thing.
The door flew open, and Jason rushed in.
“Sure you don’t need any help?” He froze and gaped at the beast.
Students crowded behind the librarian, craning their necks to see inside. As soon as they got a peek at the bathroom monstrosity, however, everyone screamed and bolted. The blot-hound grunted and raised its head, discarding Ben for fresher meat.
Jason kicked the door shut behind him. He grabbed up the plunger from the fallen cart and shook it at the beast. “A-all right … J-just you and … me. I’m n-not going to let you h-hurt anyone!”
The blot-hound roared and charged. Jason stepped forward and swung the tool. The beast ducked the blow. A paw lashed out, raking the man’s throat into giblets. The plunger fell from limp fingers as he toppled into the girl’s lap, eyes blank, shirt stained crimson.
O O O
Dani screamed as she shoved the body away. Hot blood on her hands. Her clothes. Oh god. This couldn’t be real. As she fought to keep from vomiting, her mind resorted to analyzing potential threats.
Lyme Disease. Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease. Toxoplasmosis. Too many variables. She had to find out who this guy was. Get his medical records.
Her vision swam as nausea rammed up her throat. When her sight cleared, the bathroom door had splintered off its hinges beneath the beast’s charge. Beyond this, the monster pillaged the library, toppling shelves onto students and shattering tables. Screams echoed alongside cracking wood and brick.
Hepatitis B. Hepatitis C. Cryoglobulinemia.
The janitor—whoever and whatever he really was—lay dazed beside her. Blood oozed from a gash in his scalp. He clutched one of his arms and muttered something about restocking toilet paper rolls.
She got to her knees and crawled over to him. He had to stop this … thing. This monster. But she couldn’t bring herself to actually touch him, to try and shake him back to awareness.
Malaria. HIV. AIDS.
His mop lay by her, though. She picked it up—god, a wooden handle—and reached over to poke him with it.
“Mister … can you … mister, please—”
He jerked upright as if she’d hit him with defibrillator paddles. He grabbed the mop and yanked it over, pulling her with it. She fell forward and planted palms in the brackish water that coated the floor. Her mind cycled to water-borne contaminants.
Giardia. Amoebiasis. Botulism.
The janitor looked all around, as if getting his bearings. He frowned at her, and then the young man’s body snagged his attention. His shoulders and face sagged.
“Aw, kid. I toldja to leave it be …” He struggled to his feet, groaning the whole way. “Ready to work some unpaid overtime, buddy?”
Dani star
ed up at him. “What?”
“Not talkin’ to you, princess.” He cocked his head. “I know. Probably. But it’s our job, ain’t it?”
Oh, he was a Grade A lunatic, for sure.
He stepped past and grabbed her bottle of gel off the counter. “Can I borrow this?”
“No!”
“Thanks.”
She snatched at it, desperate to pour the contents over her head. Considering all she’d been exposed to—HGV. Chagas diseases. HHV-8—it might already be too late, but her sanity demanded she salvage what she could.
He moved out of reach, though, and unscrewed the cap. Heading to the doorway, he squeezed gobs of gel out to coat the outside of the bottle as well as his hands. Then he leaned over the threshold and shouted.
“Hey, tall, dark, and ugly. Catch!”
He lobbed the bottle. There came a squelch and a yowl of pain. The janitor plodded out, mop at the ready, leaving Dani frozen on all fours.
What the hell was happening? Janitors duking it out with pipe-monsters? It had to be a hallucination. Or she’d died and this was her private hell. Both were preferable options.
She tried to find a clean corner to crawl into, but contamination taunted her everywhere she looked. Only the sink counter remained untouched by the blood, dirty water, and muck.
Her skin buzzed, and she felt as if her mind strained against the confines of her skull. A bubble of energy surrounded her, a crackling field of power fueled by her horror and dismay. Was she going insane?
Even as she fought to regain control, the sensation grew until she felt like a balloon about to burst. She shook as a foreign power took control. Her bones felt aflame. Coherent thought flew apart as her mind seethed with new sensations. Faint air currents cut over her skin like hot razors, while the tiles chilled her as if carved from ice.
An enormous, invisible hand grabbed her by the spine and lifted her out of her body so she viewed it from above. Glowing lines spread out from her hands and into the floor. As they snaked along, her senses followed and formed a vision of what occurred in the next room.
Vibrations rippled out from the janitor’s feet as he ran at the beast. She saw through the light bulbs as he yanked the spray bottle off his hip and squeezed the trigger. Water squirted but didn’t disperse. Instead, the stream consolidated into a four-foot liquid whip that snapped through the air. More water flowed over the bottle and sealed it to his hand.