Tim Curran - Biohazard

“The Children,” Carl said.

It was possible. And if Gremlin was crazy enough to go up against them, then he was asking to die a hard, ugly death.

So we sat around as night came on, just bored silly. Carl got a few candles out of his pack and lit them. It made everything nice and Medieval, stuck up in that stinking apartment by candlelight while rats and worse things prowled the streets below. It was like living during the 14^th century.

Texas Slim started chatting away about the good old days in college studying mortuary science. How you’d shoot Permaglo into cadavers through the carotid artery after you’d drained them to firm up muscles and organs.

“I used to like to wash them,” he told us. “You have to soap and lather them up and then knead them like bread dough to work the Permaglo through. Gives the skin a nice, natural tint. You can see it happen right before your eyes. You shoot it in the mouth to keep it toned. That way, Uncle Joe or Aunt Tillie doesn’t get all gray, mouth sagging, lips shriveled back from the teeth. People don’t care for that. Don’t like that death-grin. They like them fresh-looking so they can say, looks like he’s just sleeping, ain’t he sweet?”

“That’s it,” Carl said. “You sick goddamn fuck. I’m not going to sit here and listen to you talk about that shit. You’re creeping me out.”

Texas Slim chuckled. “Just telling you how these things work. Might come in handy someday, you knowing this.”

“How the hell could it be handy?”

“Well, hell, son…it’s a mean world out there…am I right? Sure. All manner of nasty things out there. Germs and Fevers and plague and nasty microbes. Could be someday we’ll be dead and you’ll be alone. Say that happens. There you are, so lonely you could fuck a fence. Then you happen upon some attractive lady, only she’s dead-”

“Knock it off, you fucking ghoul.”

“?so you take this knowledge of mine and you whisk her off to your friendly neighborhood mortuary and fix her up. Paint her, polish her, firm up her attributes, spray her female parts down good with disinfectant?”

“I’m warning you.”

“?get her all prettied up, crack yourself a bottle of wine, and see what happens. Let nature take its course. But don’t forget the eye caps, my friend. Slip ‘em under the lids…otherwise they get that sunken look. And that’s a turn off, trust me.”

“I’m going to kill him, Nash. I swear to God I am,” Carl said.

And it looked like Janie might just join him in that particular endeavor.

I just sighed. I truly dreaded these down times because it always went this way. Texas Slim went out of his way to annoy Carl and he rarely failed at it.

“Change the subject, will ya?” I said.

Texas Slim shrugged, didn’t have a problem with that. And for maybe five minutes we had blessed silence. But it didn’t last. Of course it didn’t last.

“In Morgantown, before the germs got out of hand,” Texas Slim said, launching into another tale, “we had some big rats. I saw them. I was bopping and hopping with this Chinese guy they called Ray Dong. We got along good, Ray and I. He had once been in the time-honored business of embalming like yours truly, so we had all kinds of things in common-”

“This isn’t about fucking corpses, is it?” Carl said.

Texas Slim laughed, but laughed in a secretive, conspiratorial sort of way as if maybe he did have a few amusing anecdotes about corpse-fucking but he wasn’t about to share them in mixed company. “No, this is about rats. Big rats and a fellow I knew named Ray Dong. He was Chinese. This happened in Morgantown, which is in West Virginia.”

“We gathered that,” Janie said.

Texas Slim went on: “Ray was one of these guys who could eat anything. Dogs, cats, green crawly things. A rare stomach had he. He just liked to be eating all the time. So one day he says to me, he says, Hey, let’s go rat hunting. I say, Rat hunting? What for? To eat ‘em, he says. Some of ‘em are pretty big now. We get one, cook it over a fire, be like roast pork. Only I get the heart. I like the hearts best. I say, I don’t want to eat rats. But he talks me into it. It’s dangerous stuff, rat hunting, but Ray…well I simply couldn’t say no to him. Eating something that’s been dosed isn’t a good idea as you all know and those big black rats, oh boy, they’ve all been dosed for certain. You know what happens when you start eating mutants.”

Radiation changed a lot of things. There was a rumor going around that if you ate mutated things, you absorbed what was in them and it became you. Something to do with the DNA. Essentially, you are what you eat. You start eating a lot of rats with their chromosomes all wigged out from radiation saturation…it fucks up your genes and pretty soon, well, you start becoming something else, something rat-like.

But it was a rumor. That’s all.

“So we go rat hunting,” Texas Slim said. “We go out at night and I don’t like it. We have to hide from night things. Lots of night things in Morgantown, you know. As luck would have it, we find rats. Hard not to. But they’re in packs, so we lay low. Finally we see one big ugly thing about the size of a pig. It’s chewing on a corpse, gnawing on an arm like a chicken leg. Never seen anything like it before. Big, like I say. All kind of gray and wrinkly, no hair just a lot of black bristles like a hog. It saw us right away, made a squealing sound like a mama boar. Ray put the flashlight beam right in its face and…ho, Jesus and his holy mother, it sure was ugly. Hairless and flabby, big slobbering mouth dripping juice and black eyes, real black shiny eyes. Had a nub growing out of the side of its neck like a second head that never took.

“Ray…oh hell, he was crazy, crazy. He ran right out there, hooting and hollering while I was filling my pants. He had a. 45 and he pumped three rounds into that ugly mother-raper. The rat made a squealing sort of noise and came right at Ray, took him down right in front of my eyes. Poor Ray. It took him right by the face and started chewing and slurping. That’s when I saw that there were a dozen rat pups clinging to its back, all kind of bald and wormy-looking, all of them screeching with those little pink sucker mouths. I ran. Last thing I heard of old Ray Dong, the best Chinese man I ever knew, was the crunching sound when mama rat bit through his skull.”

There was silence for a moment after that one. Then I said, “And what was the point of that story?”

“Just passing time.”

Goddamn Texas. He never quit. We had enough troubles without him giving us worse nightmares than we already had. I knew about the rats. So did the others…we just didn’t like to spend a lot of time thinking about them was all. I could have told him about the rat that Sean, Specs, and I saw in the Cleveland sewers, but I didn’t like to think about it.

Janie wasn’t much on horror stories and especially since these days most of them were true. She just sat there staring at Texas Slim and I was feeling the heat coming off her, knowing she was about to read him out.

But she never did.

For down below, out there in the world of crawling shadows, there came a sound which sealed her lips.

It was a great resounding roaring/howling sound.

It rose up and up until it took on the shrill baying of an air raid siren and I could feel it thrumming through my bones and scraping right up my spine. The windows practically rattled. It was hollow and primeval in tone. We had all heard things at night before, but never anything like this. It stirred some instinctual terror in us. At least it did in me.

Janie was gripping my arm so hard her nails actually broke the skin.

When it had echoed away finally into the night, Carl swallowed and said, “What in the hell was that?”