Charlie Huston - Already Dead - A Novel

— It felt good.

— And?

— Dangerous.

His hand spiders over his skull.

— Apt as usual. Good and dangerous. You have just summed up the existence of Enclave. Thank you. And your question now. Why?

— Yeah.

— Because you are Enclave, Simon.

— No, I'm not.

He shakes his hand in the air.

— We don't need to have this debate again. You are what you are and nothing can change that. You simply need to become aware of it.

— So you decide it's time for me to find out about myself, and you pitch that. . whatever the fuck it was at me? That Wraith? Have that thing come into my place and strip my stash. I almost got

killed.

— But you didn't. And tell me, if you hadn't been so close to the Vyrus, so close to your true nature, would you have survived your encounter? Would you have been strong enough to face down your enemies?

I think about the enforcer and his strength, and Horde's bullets ripping into me.

— No. But I don't think I would have been there in the first place.

— But you would have. If you had been fat and well-fed you would have fought events as they happened, and you would have died before you ever reached that room. As it was, you were forced, by what you perceived as weakness, to acquiesce to events. Until you were ready.

— That's just plain crap.

— No, it's truth.

— No such animal, Daniel.

He nods.

— That may be the greatest truth of all.

— Christ. Is there more of this?

He pinches his lower lip.

— Just a little more. Just a small promise from you.

A promise to Daniel. A promise to the man who sent something into my home to starve me. And then sent it again to watch over me. Sent it to kill Horde before Horde could kill me. A promise that will have to be kept.

— What promise?

— Just a promise to think. About your life. How you live your life.

Oh, Jesus.

— You were given the Vyrus how long ago?

— About thirty years.

— Yes. That's quite a good span for most. Many last not even a year. Most, no more than ten. Those who endure find they must dig deeper, burrow into little caves and secret places. They find they need the protection of others who will not question the manner in which they live their lives. The dark hours, the healed wounds, the strange persistence of youth. But you. To live alone, without protection, among those without the Vyrus, for thirty years. That can be seen as an accomplishment. Or a great failure. You, Simon, you are clinging to life as you think it should be led by a man. But you are not a man, not a human man. And you have not been a man for so very long. You have a true nature, all of us who receive the Vyrus have a true nature, but only Enclave see that nature. You see it, and that's why you cling to a life that cannot last, because you are frightened of it. And that's good. The Vyrus is awful. Trying to embrace it, trying to become it, is a terrible task. Exhausting. Painful. But to do anything else? Anything else is a lie. And you, Simon, you aren't made for lying. That's a truth.

I stand up.

— That it?

He tilts his head to watch my face.

— Yes, I suppose it is. Just that you keep your promise and think about it.

— I'll keep my promise.

— Of course you will. And what will you do now?

— Now I'm going.

I head for the door.

— You know, Simon.

— What?

— Most of us, we only touch the Vyrus at first under supervision.

Even I was watched over when I took my first fast. Few manage it alone. And you did it under extreme circumstances. So I hear.

I stand at the doorway.

— And?

— That could mean something.

— What, Daniel? Can you just tell me what's on your mind and cut the crap?

He laughs.

— What's on my mind.

He wipes a single milky tear from the corner of his eye.

— What's on my mind.

Still he laughs.

— What's on my mind, is that I am failing.

He looks at me, a skeleton smile cracking his face.

— And someone will have to take my place.

And I get the fuck out of there.

Sela's place is on Third Avenue and 13th, above a deli. She buzzes me in.

— She's asleep.

— Wake her.

The apartment is a tiny one-bedroom. The front door opens directly into a living space, doors to the kitchen, bathroom and bedroom open directly off of that. The place is done up in an ultra-feminine Middle Eastern lounge kind of thing. There's lots of pillows and rugs, mandala-printed fabric hanging from the walls, and scarves draped over lamps. Sela leaves me in the living room and passes through a beaded curtain into the bedroom. I hear her talking softly and hear some mumbled replies. She comes out and waves me over.

— Don't keep her up long, she needs her sleep.

— Yeah, tomorrows a school day.

I start for the bedroom and feel a vise clamp on my shoulder. I turn back to Sela. She takes her hand from my shoulder and puts a finger in my face.

— Whatever she was shot up with is still making her dopey. She needs her sleep.

— Yeah. Got it.

She takes her finger out of my face and I go through the curtain. The bed is a huge futon on the floor, piled with more pillows. There's a little floor space rimming the edge of the mattress, which is fine because all that's in there besides the bed is a hookah and several wicker baskets that look like they stand in for closets.

Amanda is sitting up against a mound of pillows, wearing a tattered and massive Tears for Fears T-shirt that is probably left over from Sela's more conventional youth. However long ago that might have been. She rubs her eyes.

— Hey.

I squat down next to the bed.

— Hey.

She looks around for a clock that isn't there.

— What time is it?

— After two.

— Hn.

My leg starts to throb where the bullet went in. I ease myself down and sit on the edge of the futon.

— You OK?

— Yeah. But I feel tired all the time.

— Sela taking care of you?

— Yeah, she's fierce. Says she's gonna show me a great workout so I can get arms like hers.

— Huh.

She scratches at her tangled hair.

— So what happened?

— What's the last thing you remember?

She leans deeper into the pillows and looks up at the ceiling, at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck up there in a swirl.

— We were getting ready to leave the school.

— That's it?

The air conditioner in the window gurgles and hums.

— Yeah. I think so. But I had all these dreams and it's hard to. What happened"?

I open my mouth. The truth sits inside it. And stays there.

— Some guys jumped us.

She sits up again.

— No way.

— Yeah.

— Sweet. That's so cool. Who were they?

— Some guys your dad had hired. They were following me.ÊÊÊ

— No way. Ê

— Yeah.

— So what happened?

— You got your head bonked, went out. Concussion.

She feels her head.

— There's no bump.

— Happens that way sometimes.

— So what'd you do? Wait. There was a total fight. I. One of my dreams was like about a fight.

— Yeah.

— You kick ass?

— Not really.

— Lame.

— But one of the guys had a gun.

— No. Way.

— And I got it from him.

— Dope. That is so dope.

— Had to carry you out over my shoulder.

She buried her face in her hands.

— Uhhh. Was I heavy? Did I feel totally fat?

I watch her. She looks out from behind her hands.

— Don't be lame, kid.

She smiles.

— So what then?

Once upon a time.

— Then I figured, fuck this shit. Your folks want to send out dueling bounty hunters for you that's their business. But it's not mine. So fuck 'em.