Tim Curran - Biohazard

“Nice job,” Janie said. “Jesus Christ, Rick.”

The others just kind of turned away. All of them except for Gremlin. He kept eyeballing me with an accusatory stare. There was blood all over his face, purple welts. His lower lip was swollen like a sausage and his right eye was nearly closed. It hurt just looking at him.

“Feel better now, Nash?” Gremlin, said spitting blood onto the floor. He chuckled. “I’ve been beat worse. A lot worse. That’s okay. I got out of hand and you showed me my place. I know better now. I know how I rank.”

I reached out to him, to put a hand on his shoulder, and Gremlin slapped it away, almost putting me on my ass in the process. “Don’t you fucking touch me, you goddamn asshole.”

Nobody disagreed with what he said.

I went and sat by myself, smoked, brooded, listened to the storm. Pouted. I was angry and at the same time I was beside myself with guilt. I kept thinking: You could kick them all to the curb right now. Get rid of ‘em and in a week you’d have a new posse. Who are they to fucking judge you? Who the hell do they think they are?

Crazy thinking, I know. I couldn’t kick Janie to the curb without kicking a big part of myself there, too.

Shit.

Ultimately, I had just shaken their confidence in me and I knew it. I didn’t really know why it happened, only it had been coming for a long time. It just happened as such things will. Partly it was the damn depression that ate me open most days, made it feel like there was a black hole south of my belly that wanted to suck me into the darkness alive and kicking. And another part was probably general frustration, unhappiness, and the very real fact that Gremlin was really, really getting on my nerves. Add to that that the waiting was killing me. We had to move. We had to get west before…well before something caught up with us.

Nobody spoke and I kept my mouth shut.

Gremlin hadn’t bothered washing the blood off his face. He wore it like warpaint. He sat on the floor, legs drawn up, arms wrapped around them, head cradled between his knees. His eyes were crazy and wild and full of pain and they were on me. Only on me.

Staring.

Hating.

I had the most ugly feeling that as soon as my eyes were closed Gremlin would slit my throat. So I watched him. Watched him close. And as I did so, feeling that my little posse was fragmenting, I felt more alone and vulnerable than ever. I started thinking about Shelly. I started thinking about Youngstown.

I remembered standing on the roof of our building the night the bombs came down. Lots of people were up there. New York City had taken a direct hit. Though it was a long way from Youngstown, if you looked to the east you could see where it was…or had been…because the horizon was glowing blue.

Beneath the bleached eye of the moon, the rats came out.

They came out of gutters and cellars, ruined buildings and ditches, places of dark and dampness where corpses rotted to foul ooze. They became a great black squealing river that flooded the streets and sank them in greasy, skittering bodies. Nothing with blood in its veins stood a chance. The rats were swarming, infesting, pressing forward like driver ants in some steaming jungle, driven to frenzy by a relentless hunger, living only to feed and breed and sink the world in their numbers.

The crazies in the streets never stood a chance.

Five minutes before, the dust storm finally having blown itself out, they were still shouting out psalms and raising their hands skyward to the Lord God above, shouting about salvation and deliverance…and now they were inundated.

Buried alive.

The rats hit them from every direction and you could hear flesh tearing and bones crunching and distant screams extinguished by plump, ravenous bodies. It became a feeding frenzy as the rats devoured the crazies, devoured each other, and even themselves in their mania. And it was quick. Just three minutes from the time the first wave hit to when the black river evaporated into the shadows, leaving nothing behind but stripped rat carcasses and five sets of well-picked bones that gleamed white as ivory in the moonlight.

There was not a drop of blood to be found on those bones.

Janie refused to watch, of course. She wasn’t squeamish by that point, but with her there was always a line of common decency that she refused to cross. The rest of us watched the action from the windows. Carl and Texas Slim had a bet going and that made it all a little more exciting for them. Carl said it would take the rats at least five minutes to strip the crazies; Texas Slim said three minutes, tops.

And he was right.

“You’re one cool hand, Carl,” he said. “That’s six joints you owe me. Feel free to pony up right now, dear friend.”

“Shit,” Carl said, pulling off his cigarette. “Feel like I been suckered.”

“You have,” Janie told him.

Texas Slim shook his head. “No, Janie, that’s not so. See, I know rats and I understand rats. I’ve made a study of them. It’s quite scientific. See, rats are different now. They’ve changed. They’re fiercer than they once were. There are some real big mutants out there now the size of cats and dogs. Now, these new rats…it’ll take a pack of thirty of them about thirty minutes to strip five bodies, right? So it stands to reason that three-hundred of them can strip five bodies in three minutes. What you do is you take the number of people and divide it by the number of rats and thereby arrive at your sum, which in this case you round off to three minutes, give or take.”

It was insane how his mind worked. “You’ve got the most fucked up head I’ve ever seen,” I told him.

Texas Slim smiled. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“Don’t encourage him, Nash,” Carl said. “He’s got enough problems.”

I figured that was probably true.

Carl butted his cigarette, looked around. “Hell is Gremlin? He’s been gone a long time.”

“He’s out pouting since Nash cocked his block,” Texas said. “He said he was going to scavenge around in the building here, but I know better.”

He had that one pegged pretty damn good. That’s exactly what Gremlin was doing…licking his wounds, feeling sorry for himself, and pouting. I didn’t doubt it a bit. Since I lost control on him, cocked his block, he had not stopped staring at me with that vicious gleam in his eye. It did no good to apologize. He just wasn’t having it. Even Janie had tried to talk sense to him. The bottom line was that I had lost it and pounded on him for no good reason other than the fact that I was probably externalizing some inner turmoil. That’s how Janie explained it. Maybe that was bullshit, but it sure sounded good.

“He’s been gone awhile,” Janie said. “Do you think you should go look for him?”

I shook my head. “He’ll come back when he’s ready.”

“I will then.”

She started to rise from the sofa but I yanked her back down again. “Janie, no. He’s just being a pain in the ass. Give him some time, he’ll come back. Besides, I don’t need anyone else risking their necks out there. It’s dark out.”

She didn’t need any more convincing after that. Truly, though, I didn’t want to go look for him because I was almost afraid to, afraid of stumbling around in the dark with him out there…waiting. He had an axe to grind and I didn’t want him grinding it against my head. And I sure as hell didn’t want Janie doing it, either. I had seen how Gremlin looked at her…like she was a piece of meat and he was hungry. There was five miles of hell in that look.

“What if he goes outside?”

“I hope to hell he doesn’t. Not in the dark. The rats’ll be bad. Who knows what else?”