From there, Gauge showed her a little room with a dark hole in the floor. The room smelled like the frothy water of the waste bucket she’d had to empty for as long as she could remember. There was a large white bowl of water sitting in the corner beside a pile of ripped fabric. Gauge explained to her that it was called the bathroom, and that anytime she needed to relieve herself, she should simply let it fall down the hole.
They’d have to make a new one soon, he said, because it was getting pretty full and would need to be filled in soon.
By the time he was leading her through some of the other tunnels and telling her how these would be the means of escape if they needed to leave in a hurry, the shock of everything had worn off. Ocean skipped ahead of Gauge, listening to his words as she scampered from one new thing to the next. She was smiling and happy and so excited that, for a while at least, memories of her mother ceased to haunt her every time she blinked.
Gauge was so wonderful… so patient and kind as he explained how things worked to her. He often laughed at some of the questions she asked, but the sound no longer burned her cheeks with shame. No, now it was a different kind of heat that blossomed in her chest when he’d throw back his head. Something warm and nice and cozy… Ocean saw a metal door up ahead, embedded into the wall of a tunnel. She ran to it, wondering what marvels were hidden behind it’s rusty facade. “What’s in here?”
Gauge had run after her and was by her side as her fingers closed around the iron handle. “No!”
His hand shot out like a striking snake, smacking against Ocean’s face so hard that her body spun around. She tripped over her own feet and fell to the ground, pain radiating from the red hand print that covered her cheek.
He loomed over her, his face looking just like her mama’s had right before she’d attacked—lips drawn back into a sneer, lines and creases molding his features into gnarled knots of rage. He jabbed his finger toward her, his voice booming through the silent tunnels. “You are never to open that door. Understand? Never!”
Ocean pulled herself into a tight ball and crossed her arms over her head. Each word hit her with as much force as his hand had, causing her body to jerk with each sharp syllable.
“I swear to God, Ocean, if you ever… and I mean ever… go into that room… “
Her body hitched with sobs and her knee throbbed from where it had banged against the stone floor when she fell. The side of her face felt like it was on fire and there was a high pitched ringing in that ear. None of that hurt as much as the barrage of words raining down upon her.
“I won’t, I swear, I’ll be good, I promise… “ She babbled and sniffled and choked back tears as thoughts burst like sun bloated corpses in her mind.
He hit you. He fuckin’ hit you, that son of a bitch…
No! It’s okay, they’ll kick me out, they’ll make me go back, I don’t wanna go back out on the streets, I don’t wanna. I can’t, I just can’t, not after all this…
He hit you!
Please, no…
At some point, Gauge had stopped yelling and he now crouched beside her. His hands smoothed her hair, working out tangles when they ensnared his fingertips, and his voice was a low whisper.
“Ocean, sweetie… I’m sorry I slapped you, okay? But maybe that just shows how important this is, honey. You can’t ever go into that room, okay?”
Fuckin’ prick…
No, no… he saved me. He took me in and shared his food and water. He’s good, he really is. I know he is. I should’ve asked before I tried to…
“Can you promise me that? That you’ll never go in there? You promise me that and we’ll just pretend this never happened. Nobody has to know, okay?”
Ocean nodded her head rapidly, eager to get back into his good graces. She forced the other voice into the back of her mind and refused to argue with it any longer.
“I… I promise.”
Gauge pulled her into his arms and laid his cheek on top of her head, rocking slowly back and forth. Ocean sniffled and clutched at him as if she were afraid he would vanish if she didn’t hold tightly enough.
“I’m sorry I hit you, honey. Forgive me? Okay? It’s been kind of, well, a difficult day.”
Ocean nodded and positioned her head so that it was resting on his shoulder. The feeling of his arms around her, so firm and strong, made her feel more secure than she had since her father had died. As long as he held her, she was safe, nothing could hurt her. Even the tingling in her cheek slowly faded in his embrace.
But, for some reason, she still found she was unable to pull her gaze away from that forbidden door.
CHAPTER NINE
What could I say? I just kinda gulped, ya know, and felt like the walls of Blue Moon were closin’ in on me. Like with that security guard at the mall. I got it in my head that she knew what I had planned for her, and she just stood there with that flimsy shirt drying cool on her back, waiting for me to either confirm or stammer out some half-baked denial. I wanted to say somethin’, believe you me, but I was like Ocean when she saw all that food, ya know? There just weren’t any words.
So there I am, feeling like a little boy who’d just been caught peekin’ into the girl’s shower room. But Clarice fuckin’ Hudson, man? What’s she do? She just leans forward, smiles, and puts her hand on my thigh.
“I’ve been watchin’ you, too,” she says. “How about you buy me a drink and we get to know each other a little better?”
I couldn’t help it. I jerked my leg away from her touch so fast you’d have thought she’d just poked me with a hot needle. It was only a second of contact, but I felt like I needed a shower, dig? I wanted to scrub my skin in scalding water ‘til it fuckin’ bled, man, and this single word keeps repeating in my mind like a Buddhist mantra—contamination, contamination, contamination…
She musta seen somethin’ in my eyes, or maybe it was just the way I recoiled so quick, ya know? Because she snatches her hand back and this real stern look comes over her face.
“What?” she demands. “You think I’ve got cooties or somethin’?”
Me? I still don’t know what to say. It’s like the words just got stuck somewhere in my throat, dig? And I can feel ‘em in there, all hard and edgy like I’d tried to swallow a rock that was too big to pass through my pipes. She’s lookin’ as disgusted as I feel, and kinda glances around the room as if to say can you believe this guy? Then she leans in so close that the alcohol from her breath stings my nose, I can feel the heat just rollin’ off her body and she’s right there with all her fuckin’ mutagens streamin’ outta her pores, and she half-whispers to me.
“Let me spell it out for ya, lover boy. You buy me a drink and you’re gettin’ laid. I’ll ride you until the sun comes up and leave you beggin’ for more. So what’s it gonna be? You gettin’ lucky tonight or what?”
You know how many nights I’ve dreamed about some chick saying that kinda shit to me, man? How many dead soldiers were tossed into the toilet in little wads of Kleenex? And it has to be a fuckin’ carrier, ya know? Hell, I wouldn’t have touched that dollymop if my prick were made of latex…
There’s only two letters that change condom into condemn—n and e. As in, I ain’t havin’ n-e of that shit, man.
Clarice fuckin’ Hudson is just standin’ there with her hand on her hip, waiting none too patiently for some kinda reply. So I mumble something about how she ain’t my type, ya know? And it was like I’d just slapped her in the face and called her a cunt or something.
“Look, asshole, a sure thing is everyone’s type,” she says.
So I’m feelin’ like a mouse that’s been backed into a corner by the big, scary cat, right? People are startin’ to stare and the last fuckin’ thing I want is for someone to put my face and this chick together, ya know? My synapses are firin’ like photons on The Enterprise, man, and before I know it the words just come gushin’ outta my mouth. I didn’t think about what I was gonna say or nothin’. I just opened my mouth and there they were.
I don’t know. Maybe part of me thought that would diffuse the whole fuckin’ situation. Instead, she just gets this hard, mean stare in her eyes. It was like she was picturin’ me splayed out on one of those little wax slabs you dissect frogs and shit on. Her jaw’s all tight and I can see this little vein throbbing on her temple. I swear to God, I thought this bitch was seconds away from deckin’ me, right?
Instead, she just kinda clears her throat and next thing I know there’s this glob of concentrated infection splashin’ down into my brew. Who the fuck does that, man? Spit in a dude’s drink cause he turned ya down?
Well, I practically jump off my bar stool ‘cause I got the image in my head of that tainted beer splashin’ all up in my eyes, my nose, my fuckin’ mouth. She just glares at me, says fuckin’ faggot and storms off.
Well… yeah, man. Fuckin’ listen to me for once, why don’t ya? Of course that ain’t the Clarice Hudson all her friends and co-workers described. I’m sure she used to be a nice lady. Probably saved a baby seal for Jesus or some shit. But that’s what this virus does, dig? It changes people, and not just on a molecular level either. I’m talkin’ like split personality shit. They say things they wouldn’t normally say, do things they never would have dreamed about doin’ in a million years. ‘Cause it’s controlling them, man. It’s makin’ them do what it wants them to do.
No, that is not a load of bullshit, man. Ophiocordyceps unilateralis. September 2009 edition of American fuckin’ Naturalist. Look it up, if you don’t believe me. There’s this fungus in Thailand, right? It likes to call the underside of leaves on the forest floor home. It’s picky, though, dig? It only likes the northwest side of plants. So it infects these carpenter ants that live way up in the trees, see, takes control of their brains—scientists don’t know how—and makes them go down to the ground and latch onto these leaves. Through the whole journey this fungus is killin’ the ants, ya know. But, once the bastard is dead, it keeps right on growin’ inside its body, only it leaves the muscles that control the mandibles alone. That way the ant is still there, clingin’ to just the right spot on this damn leaf. Don’t take my word for it, man. Look that shit up. Get a little education.
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 lis
ten 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.
Could she really do it, could she really break his trust like that? They’d been so good to her these past few months. They’d welcomed her into their home, had fed her more food than she’d ever dreamed existed, had taught her how to collect water from the drains when the world overhead was soaked with rain. They’d even entrusted her with Baby, allowing her to tend to the infant’s every need.
Don’t. Don’t do it. Just go back to bed.
She remembered how she was when Gauge first found her. More dead than alive, so hideous that even her shadow seemed to cringe from her approach, eating flies in a desperate attempt to fill that hollow void within her sunken belly.
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