Tim Curran - Biohazard

“I’m saying, my small-minded friend, that this here sweet lick of cherry-red devil’s food is the sort of meal a man don’t need no spoon nor fork for. No sir, this is a feast best fit for bare hands and slavering mouths.”

“Janie’s gone,” I said, walking across the bay. “Find here. Right now, goddammit. Find her.”

I could almost feel Mickey rolling her eyes behind my back.

I didn’t give a shit. I had to find Janie. Beretta in hand, I went off looking for her and Mickey tagged along. Carl started searching the bays and Texas went out into the offices. We were all calling for her and I wasn’t too happy about that. I didn’t particularly relish the idea of making a lot of goddamn noise and drawing unfriendlies in. Because, believe me, they were out there, circling like vultures looking for some tasty red meat to pick at.

The dealership was huge. Unbelievably huge. Mickey and I started going through the showrooms, searching around the Corvettes and Aveos, Silverados and Hummer H3s.

“Janie!” I called. “Janie!”

My voice echoed out and died, affirming the dead and empty voluminous spaces around me. I could hear Texas in the distance doing the same. We were all split apart now. Armed, but split and that was just plain dangerous. I was starting to sweat. My stomach was filled with sharp nettles. Part of me was seriously pissed at Janie for putting us in this position and another part was just plain scared. For what if she hadn’t disappeared of her own free will?

What if she had been snatched?

Hell, while we circled around like chickens looking for feed, something might be peeling the flesh from her bones in some dark, webby place. I moved faster, looking, searching, calling out. Mickey did the same, but with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. I started imagining us, hours from then, still looking and not finding a damn thing and me having to admit that Janie was gone, gone, gone. It made me feel empty inside. And every time I didn’t hear Texas or Carl shouting out her name for a few moments, I was sure that whatever had gotten her had gotten them. Something vicious and stealthy, something so terrible it could take them silently without so much as a cry or a busted cap.

I felt like I was in one of those old haunted house movies where people disappear one by one. A couple times I looked back at Mickey just to make sure she was there. And I knew at that moment if I hadn’t before what my true Achilles heel was: I was absolutely petrified of being alone. That was my ultimate nightmare, that was the form my private hell would take.

Just me alone in a dead world. It reminded me of a story I read in high school, the opening lines of which had stayed in the back of my mind all these years, boiling away like a vat of poison:

The last man on earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock at the door.

I came around a Chevy Avalanche, keeping watch on those dusty windows, thinking more than once I had seen a shape slide past them…but not upright and human, but low and twisted like a troll from a dark enchanted forest.

“Nash,” Mickey finally said, hooking me by the elbow. “Nash. I know you’ve got a thing for Janie. That’s cool. And I know she’s one of us and we don’t want to lose her. But I got a bad feeling, man. I got a bad feeling right up my spine and I don’t think this is the right time for us to be separated like this.”

I wanted to tell her to go to hell…but I knew she was right. My stomach was filled with fluttering wings; I was sensing something, too. And more than once I had wondered if some bad boys or nameless things had orchestrated the entire thing, snatching Janie so we’d separate and they could take us down that much quicker.

I put a hand on Mickey’s shoulder. “Listen to me. Go out into the offices. Find Texas and stay with him, link up with Carl. I’m going to find her.”

“Nash-”

“Fuck that. Get going.”

She did, giving me one last look of longing or pity and taking off, her long black hair swishing from side to side. I didn’t want to be alone as you full well know, but on the other hand I always favor fighting alone so I don’t have to worry about anyone else. I waited there, everything inside of me wired full of electricity. But I waited, fumbling a cigarette into my mouth and lighting it. The smoke was acrid, unpleasantly so. Its smell was almost gagging. The heat of the filter against my lips was burning. I didn’t get it at first-thought for sure I was going to have a panic attack or something-but then I did.

I was in battle mode.

Every muscle was taut, my nerves jangling, my brain pushing its sensory network to the limits so that all five senses were amplified. Nothing would get by me. Nothing would throw down on me or take me by surprise. When I heard Mickey calling out for Janie with Texas, I tossed the cigarette and ran charging through the showrooms, my heart pounding like a kettle drum. I found a double doorway that led down into the body shop. Other doorways led to other departments but this is the one I wanted.

I rushed into the body shop which was quite large and echoing.

A few dust-laden cars still waited for new fenders, doors, or sidewalls. I could smell the ancient odor of primer and putty. I looked around the tool cribs, darted into the electrostatic paint booth, snooped in a parts cage. Then I went into an office and rubbed some of the grime off the window.

I saw someone across the street.

It was Janie.

I circled around in frenetic rage until I found a door, unlocked it, and ran across the street. Janie turned and saw me, kept right on going. I held my gun high, watching every heap of refuse, every shadowy alley, every overturned dumpster and cracked window. Eyes. God, I could feel the eyes watching me, cutting into me like drill bits.

I caught up with her, grabbed her shoulder and swung her around. “What in the fuck do you think you’re doing, you little idiot?” I cried in her face.

And that face…oh boy. Pinched with grief, eyes swollen from tears. She was absolutely stunning even like that. I wanted to sweep her into my arms and hug her because I could see what she looked like as a little girl, so beautiful she would make your heart sliver, your breath catch in your throat, so vulnerable you only wanted to protect her and make the bad things go away.

“Janie…please,” I said.

The stubborn pissiness was gone from her. She was a shell that was cracking apart from the inside out. I could feel the waves of pain coming from her. “Rick…just let me go. I can’t do this anymore,” she told me and there was no drama in her voice, just a hollowness. “I can’t go on murdering people. It’s not what I am or what I’m about. I turned a blind eye to it long as I could…but it won’t work anymore. I’m sorry.”

“Janie…c’mon, don’t do this.”

She reached out and touched her fingers to my face, smiled very thinly. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to be a burden to these others. But I can’t go on like this. Just go back to the others. They need you. I’m going to walk away and I don’t want you to follow me.”

I was speechless. Totally speechless.

“I’m sorry, Rick. I know you think I’m weak and you’re right: I am. But I can’t justify what we’re doing. I’m going to walk away and let fate take its course. I don’t have the strength to kill myself, so this is the only alternative. Goodbye, Rick.”

She turned away just like that and walked on.

But I caught up with her. “You can’t do this. I won’t let you. I won’t let you die like a dog in the streets.”

“You can’t stop me and you don’t own me.”

“It’ll get better,” I said, knowing it was utter bullshit.