Brian Keene - Terminal

“You’re terminal, Tommy, so live like there’s no tomorrow! Life’s a bitch, then you die!”

I opened my eyes again and yanked my arm away. It was covered with slime. The thing smiled at me through bleeding, ulcerated gums.

“Watch this.”

It exhaled something that smelled like the inside of a septic tank. Thin, weblike tendrils slithered out of its pores and twisted through the crowd, wrapping around the people, coiling around Michelle and T.J., Sherm and John. When the tentacles touched them, something black and inky began to worm its way through their veins, visible beneath the flesh. Immediately above the infected spots, their skin began to wither and turn brittle, large pieces flaking off and falling to the floor.

“What are you doing?” I choked.

“I am you and you are me and they are we,” it sang. “You infect the ones you love, Tommy. You are a sickness. You are poison in their veins. What more could they expect from a white trash loser like you?”

“Fuck you!”

“You’re no good, no good, no good,” it sang again, “Tommy you’re no goooood! Come on and get down with the sickness! Open up your veins and let me flow into you…”

I reached for Michelle and T.J. and they fell apart in my arms. I choked, breathing them in. Staggering backward in horror, I bumped into Sherm and he did the same. Then John disintegrated too. All that was left of them were piles of ash.

I started to scream a third time, but the thing’s stench grew stronger, overwhelming me. It continued to swell and pulsate. I turned away, revolted.

Behind me, the thing in the coffin exploded, showering the room with itself. Something wet and reeking and grayish red landed on my head.

I bent over and vomited on my shoes, still trying to scream…

… and I was still doing both as I woke up with a view of the bedroom floor. I heard Michelle gasp in dismay as a plastic garbage can was shoved in front of my face.

“Here baby! Hit the can! Hit the can, Tommy!”

I convulsed, half-on the bed and half-off, and then I erupted once more.

“Oh Christ, Tommy—hit the can! The can!”

“GAAAAAHHHHH…” I replied. It felt like the lining of my throat was trying to crawl out through my mouth. I clenched my eyes shut as the spasms overtook me. In the background, I heard Michelle run to the closet in the hallway and grab a bath towel. I opened my eyes and saw blood in the trash can. Before Michelle could come back and see it, I wadded up some tissues and dropped them on top of the mess.

“What’s wrong with Daddy, Mommy?”

“He’s sick, baby. Go on back out in the living room and watch cartoons. Mommy will be out in a minute.”

“Does Daddy have the flu? Is he going to be okay?”

“Now, T.J.!”

I gagged, tried to talk, to reassure him, and found the words cut off by another cramp. It was warm and foul; beer and tequila and the remains of what little bit I’d eaten in the last twenty-four hours. It splattered into the can with a wet sound, and now Michelle was retching too. Without looking, she threw the towel at me and with one hand over her mouth, ran for the bathroom. Blood, mucus, bile, and more of what looked like my insides followed it. Then came the dry heaves. My stomach churned and cramped, cramped and churned, but nothing more was left. When it was over, I lay back on the bed, gasping for air. The stench was overwhelming, and I rolled over again as a final case of dry heaves seized me.

I threw more tissues into the trash can. The toilet flushed and I heard the water running. Michelle came out of the bathroom a minute later, wiping her mouth.

“Long night?” she frowned.

“I’m sick.”

“No shit, Tommy. How much did you have to drink last night?”

She wasn’t shouting, but it felt like it. Her voice was shrill, cutting into my head like a power saw. Groaning, I rolled away from her and buried my head in the pillows.

“How much?” she demanded, and pulled the sheets away from me.

“I don’t know,” I mumbled. “Not much. Few beers and a couple shots of tequila.”

“You didn’t get home till six—I’m betting you had more than that.”

“Un-uh. Seriously, that was all.”

“Then where the hell were you?”

Well first, honey bun, John, Sherm, and I almost got into a scrap at Murphy’s Place. Then we hatched plans for a bank robbery and took a drive out to York, where we visited the hood. I used the last of our savings to buy two guns, and we almost got our asses killed by the brothers when John decided to prove that he was down with the Rainbow Coalition.

“We went to Murph’s.” That wasn’t a lie. “And then we just drove around. Went out to the lake for a while.” That wasn’t a lie either. “Sherm broke up with this girl he’s been seeing and he was a little depressed.” That was a straight-up, bold-faced lie and she knew it immediately.

“Bullshit, Tommy. Sherm’s a player. He probably just wanted to get into some mischief and dragged you two along.”

I shrugged.

She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head.

“Anything happen at work yesterday?”

I didn’t like the way she was looking at me.

“No,” I hesitated. “Why?”

“I heard the foundry is laying people off. It was on the news this morning. Jenny Orosel told me they’re getting rid of the guys with four to six years of tenure.”

“Yeah, I forgot to tell you about that. It’s pretty fucked up, isn’t it? And the rest of us will get stuck doing twice the work.”

“But don’t you fall into that group? The group getting laid off? You’ve been there five years.”

“No,” I lied. “I was worried about it, but the axe didn’t fall on me. We lucked out, I guess.”

“Tommy?”

“What?”

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

“Of course not, Michelle. Why?”

“Because Jenny said that you were one of the guys that got laid off. You and John and Sherm.”

I shook my head.

“I don’t know where the hell she heard that. We’ve all still got our jobs. We were sweating it, though.”

“I’m worried. Money is already tight. If you get laid off…”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to take care of it. Take care of everything.”

“What do you mean?”

Before I could lie to her some more, I belched uncontrollably and grimaced at the taste. Michelle did the same, fanning her nose in disgust.

“God, Tommy, you stink. You stink but I love you.”

“Love you too.” I leaned up to kiss her and she backed away, protesting, which was good, because my head began swimming and I had to fall back onto the mattress before I passed out. She didn’t notice that, but she did notice how pale I was.

“You really do look like shit, babe. Let me feel your head.”

“I’m all right. It’s just a hangover.”

She insisted and I finally gave in. Her hand felt cool and dry against my forehead, and I closed my eyes.

“I think you’ve got a fever.” The worry in her voice had gone up a few notches. “You’re burning up.”

“I’ll be fine. Can you just get me some aspirin and my smokes, and maybe make some coffee?”

“Okay. Why don’t I get you an ice pack too?”

“That’s okay. I’m going to get in the shower in a few minutes. Just need to wake up first.”

She hesitated, caressing my brow, and smiled.

I managed to return the smile, but it felt like my teeth were going to fall out, just like the thing’s in the dream had done. After she was gone, I forced myself out of bed, sitting up slowly and groaning in pain as I put one foot on the floor, then the other. My joints ached and it felt like somebody had kicked me in the ribs. I wanted to go back to sleep, to shut my eyes and forget about everything, just lie there dying in bed. But I couldn’t. For starters, I needed to clean out the trash can before Michelle saw the blood in it—and the other stuff, the black stuff that had come from deeper down inside me. After that, I wanted to make the most of our day. We didn’t have many days left and I wanted to enjoy every one of them.