Charlie Huston - Every Last Drop

It's weird shit.

I don't follow it.

And I don't like coming here.

But I used to be welcome all the same. The old boss, he had it in his head I was really one of them, that I just didn't know it yet.

But he died.

Daniel. Old man. Crazy old man.

I stop thinking about how he died, how the weight of his corpse was nothing in my arms, I put it away where you keep the things you don't want to think about. That place, It's goddamn crowded at this point.

I put it away so I can focus on the Enclave, mind myself so I don't end up dead.

The two that brought me inside leave me as soon as the door slides shut behind us and darkness cover drops. I can hear more of them around me, breathing, barely breathing, meditating. I can hear others softly grunting, the whip of their limbs through space, the crack as they strike one another, a splinter of bones. I can smell their decaying flesh and the special taint of starving Vyrus that clings to them.

My pupils open, gathering light from candles scattered across the huge

space. It looks the same as the last time I saw it. I figured that would be the very last time I'd see it at all. The last time I'd see it before I came back to burn it down.

But the best laid plans of mice and men and all that.

I had to come back without a torch.

I want to see my girl, after all. -Simon.

I look at him, coming out of the gloom, wrapped in white like the other Enclave.

I nod. -Nice suit.

He stops ten feet from me, fingers a lapel of the spotless white three-piece. -Yeah-huh, right?

He tilts his head at the lines of squatting Enclave deep in meditation. Beyond them others spar, flickering, frozen for an occasional heartbeat as they study the others defense, looking for a weakness before striking again. -Like, I had no problem with the color scheme and all, but there was no way I was gonna be sporting a toga or a shawl or something.

I'm not paying attention to him, I'm paying attention to the others, watching them as my pupils widen and take in more light and the warehouse stretches and I see how many of them there are. More than a hundred. Many more. Twice that. At least.

I look at him.

He nods. -Oh yeah, man, I been busy.

— Truth to an old friend, it ain't easy. This shit ain't easy at all. Like, let me tell you, man, that meditation shit, that is some boring-ass shit. Just sitting there, trying to get into the Vyrus and all that. And the sparring. At first I was so down with that. I wanted to get up and go kung fu. But that shit is hard work. And it fucking hurts, man. Enclave, there's no such thing as a pulled punch with Enclave. You have to, what you have to do is, here, let me show you. Punch me as hard as you can.

He comes close, crossing the small chamber he led me to in the lofts above the warehouse floor. -Seriously, man, just hit me as hard as you can.

I look at the two Enclave sitting on the floor just outside the open door.

He waves a hand.

— No, man, don't worry about them, they won't do shit I don't tell them to do. They're cool. Just take a poke at me. You know you want to. -Count, why the fuck would I hit you when you're expecting it?

He shakes his head.

— Same old Joe Pitt, no fun at all. Here I am, full of all this new knowledge, all these new skills, changed and wanting to share, and there you are, grumpy as ever, a total fucking drag.

He does a karate kick, pummeling the air with one of his bare feet, the one with the twisted bones jutting from it, the one I mangled for him.

He lowers the foot and smiles.

— But it's cool, it's cool. All I'm trying to do is say that this shit ain't easy. Being Enclave. I mean, sure, I understand that the Vyrus chooses you for this shit. You're either Enclave or you're not, that's what your boy Daniel used to say, yeah? Shit, but, I wouldn't even be here if that wasn't the case. Come to it, you wouldn't be here if that wasn't the case. Daniel hadn't given us both the Enclave stamp of approval, we couldn't come into this place except to get executed. But the point I'm weaving around here is, even if the Vyrus says you're Enclave, this shit is still damn tough. Like, I know this may come as a

shock considering what you think of me, but like this shit is transformative. Really transformative.

He slaps a fist into his palm.

— OK, and I know that sounds redundant. Sure, like, because if the Vyrus doesn't transform you in the first place, then what the hell? But check it. Cause the Vyrus doesn't make you a different person. Yeah? So like me, I didn't suddenly stop being a spoiled-rotten, rich brat just because I needed to drink blood to live. More like, the fact I was already so self-absorbed just made it easier for me to make the transition. Like the rich already live off the fat of the land, so why not the blood as well, yeah? So, but, this stuff, to get it, to really get it, you have to work at it. Well, talk about new concepts for me. Work? Whoa! Not on my agenda.

He leans in. -But being in charge here after Daniel cracked it, that was on my agenda.

He pushes his eyebrows way up.

— And that meant playing a role. Like, putting on the grave face, being all somber and talking in portentous sentences and shit, like so many of these guys do. It meant squatting in lines and pretending to think about the Vyrus. It meant learning that if someone was gonna swing at you, and really try to punch your rib cage out of your chest, that you needed to learn how to go with

the punch.

He stretches his arms at me and points with both index fingers. -Which you would have got to see I can do now if you d taken a shot like I asked, man.

He drops his arms.

— But the point is, you start to do all that, even if it's a total front, even if you've made a life out of doing just enough work to get by, even if all you re really thinking about is how cool its gonna be when you're in charge and get to call all the shots and cut this hard shit from the activities list, you keep doing it for all the wrong reasons, and it doesn't fucking matter. Because, dude, you are doing it.

He spreads his arms. -I'm saying, Look at me, man.

I look at him. White skin to match the suit. Bald. His once skinny frame, now a coat hanger for the designer threads.

He claps.

— I was trying, I was trying to front, and the whole time, what was really happening was I was becoming, man. I'm saying, to play the role, I had starve the Vyrus, yeah? And that required some effort. So next thing, I'm in the

meditation down there, and I'm really thinking about it. And all that shit I learned about it before, when I was studying it from the scientific angle, using my med-school chops to try and break it down, all that started to fade.

He puts his hands on his head.

— Cause I'm telling you, if this shit can really change an asshole like me, then it is not of this earth. Hear what I'm saying?

His hands shoot over his head. -I am a believer, man! I am in! And I love it!

He cocks a grin.

— And, Joe, all our shit, all our background and complication and all that shit, I am over it.

He reaches for me. -And I want you to join us, man!

I punch him.

And he rolls with it. Falls away from the blow, tumbles backward, and comes to his feet still grinning, and points at me. -I love you, man!

He comes at me faster than I can do anything about and wraps his arms

around me.

— I love you, Joe Pitt!

Put a crazy man in an asylum, then lay your money on the odds he gets worse. Closest thing to a sure bet.

— It's not like I'm just filled with crazy Vyrus-love and I want everyone to feel it, yeah? This is about something more tangible. Take a look and see if you get it.

We stand at the rail of the lofts, looking down at the pairs sparring in the middle of a circle of kneeling Enclave.