Charlie Huston - Already Dead

– Some things don't change.

– Well ya gotta talent ya gotta stick wid it.

– Sure.

– Anyhows, no big ting, da boats is runnin' up onna shore an da guys is takin' da booze off an' we get hit.

– Another outfit?

– Naw. Law.

– Same thing.

– No lie. Specially dese coppers. Dese wuz da ones we had paid off so's we could work da beach. Decided dey'd sooner handle distribution demselves like. Did'nae even give a warnin', jus opened up. Tommy guns. Ya been shot much, Joe?

– Once or twice.

– Hurts, doan it? Kee-rist! Got me good. Riddled up me legs and me belly. Fellas got me inna car an blasted us out. Foockin' cops had a roadblock a mile up. Got us good. Blew da rig right off da road. I went out da winshield, so I missed it when dey trew a grenade inna winda. Blew dose guys ta hell. Too bad, good guys.

– What about you?

– Me? Flew twenny yards when da car crashed. Landed inna culvert next ta one a dem steel drainpipes. Used me arms ta drag meself inta it. Den, just passed out like. Time I came to, cops wuz all gone.

– Then what?

– Lied dere, Joe. Legs wuz blown ta bits. Could'nae even crawl anymore. Just lied dere and lied dere. Holes healed up quick, like dey does. But me insides wuz a mess and da bones wuz all splinered. Shite takes a little longer.

– Sure.

– So's I'm lyin' dere fer some time. A week I'm lyin' dere. Lost all dat blood, bones heelin' slow. Vyrus gettin' bad on me. Prayin like, dat da sun don't get reflected down inta dat pipe.

– Rough.

– No lie, Joe, I taught I'd bought it. Kept gettin' worse an worse. Me gut an den me head an den me skin. Fore it wuz over, every-tin' hurt. Friggin' hair hurt.

So I got that to look forward to.

– 'Bout da middle of da second week, it just stopped.

– The pain?

– Everytin'. Could'nae feel nuttin'. Taught, Well,'ere goes. Dis'U be it. Did'nae feel nuttin' fer more'n a day. Strange not feelin' nut-tin'. Den it got real strange.

– How so?

– Cuz suddenlike, I wuz feelin' everytin'.

Mongoose attack.

– Sorry, missed that last bit.

– Sure, I heard ya in dere. I wuz sayin' how I tink dat ting happened, how dey talk about dat place when da Vyrus is just about down an out. Cuz all a sudden, I was fine, better'n fine. Boy wuz I hungry, dough. Jus' hopped up an walked over ta da road. First car I flagged stopped fer me. Way I looked, musta tought dered bin a accident. Guess der had been at dat. Anyhows, family in dat car never got ta ask any questions. Whew! Never fed like dat 'fore or since, Joe. It wuz sumpin'.

– Enclave talk about that place. Daniel says they all live there.

– Yeah, dat's what Terry said when I got back an told im da story.

– Terry was around?

– Sure, we go back.

– Terry goes that far back? I thought-

– OK, dat's enough story time. Ya shut up in dere now, Joe. Ya got better tings ta worry 'bout den dat ol' histry.

And he shuts up. Fine with me, I got something new to think about. Me, I always thought Terry went back to the sixties, right about the time the Society was formed. Far as I know, that's what everyone thinks.

The mongoose comes back and I stop thinking.

– Hey, Pitt.

Time has passed. Unpleasantly.

I come out of my latest swoon and a bright light hits my face. I squint up into it and something far more substantial than light hits my face.

– Lydia went to one of her queer meetings.

I lift my head off the floor and he knocks it back down.

– And Hurley slipped out to check the message drop, see if the runners have brought any word from Terry.

I leave my head on the floor, so he kicks it this time.

– Guess who got left with guard duty?

He's at it for awhile, kicking and punching. He knows that kind of pain will only go so far with the shape I'm in. But that doesn't seem to keep him from enjoying it.

– You're looking pretty bad, Pitt. Know what's looking worse? Your future.

He kicks me again. I groan. He nods appreciatively.

– That's right, looking pretty fucking bleak. Even bleaker than it was a couple hours ago. Know why?

One of my molars has been knocked loose and hangs by a flap of skin. I bring my cuffed hands to my face, yank the tooth free and flick it on the floor.

– Didn't know you were a fortune-teller, Tom.

He laughs.

– Man, I can't wait, I can't fucking wait for it to all come down on your head. When that tough-guy shit finally cracks I just know you're gonna turn out to be the biggest fucking crybaby I've ever seen.

– You reading my future or what?

– We found the kid.

Oh, fuck.

– Yeah. Pretty messy, Pitt, pretty fucking messy.

Fucking hell. The girl.

– What was that about? You just hoping no one would find him down there?

Him?

– 'Cause someone did. Couple my boys were looking for a new safe house, checking some basements on B. They smelled something. Found him tied to that pole with his neck snapped. His fucking dog, too. What was with all the cuts, Pitt? Trying to hide the pints you tapped?

Leprosy.

– You're getting greedy and sloppy. Must be all the time you're spending uptown. Shit, everyone knows you used that kid to run your errands. And everyone sure as shit knows that little neck snap is your specialty. Terry finds out you did a kid, did him sloppy like that on our turf? He won't care anymore how long you guys known each other.

I don't bother denying it. Besides, he's right, I did kill Leprosy and I should have cleaned it up. Doesn't matter if he's an idiot about everything else.

– Problem is, Terry's got that mercy streak. Someone's got to go, he likes to just put a few in the back of the head. Doesn't believe in sending a message. So me, I got to get my licks in now.

He punches my face a few more times. Stops.

– Oops. Getting late.

He rises from his squat.

– Time to make the coffee for the next shift.

He starts to close the closet door.

– Don't worry, I'll be back on in a couple hours. Maybe I'll bring a little blood. Keep your strength up. After all, Terry may not be back for days.

He closes the door, locks the chain. My face is swollen and broken. I don't have to worry about it for long. Soon enough real pain comes to call.

And Tom's right about the crying, but the tears have nothing to do with anything he did to me.

It's hard to say what the Vyrus is doing to me. Because not only do I have no idea what it's doing, but neither does anyone else. Terry spelled it out for me a long time ago. What it boils down to is that investigating and isolating a virus, even a simple one, takes a shitload of resources. Not even the Coalition has the kind of resources necessary. If the Vyrus were ever made public there would be no end of research fellows out there trying to make their name breaking open one of the strangest freaks of nature to come gibbering out of the asylum. Also no doubt that all the infected would be herded into sterile-environment camps so as to protect the general population. I was around when AIDS first dropped. I haven't forgotten how quickly human compassion flies out the window. Not that I'm looking for compassion, just that I know better than to assume it exists.

In the absence of any real knowledge about what the thing is doing inside of us, we're forced to go by what we see and feel. I know the Vyrus wants blood because I feel its thirst. I know it makes me stronger because I feel it in my muscles. I know it heals me and slows my aging because I can look in a mirror. I know it has fashioned me into a predator because I hunt and I kill. But I don't know what it is doing to me now. Terry thinks the cramps are like a cattle prod, little jabs to get you off your ass and out there feeding. He also thinks they might be the last gasp as the Vyrus scrapes the bottom of the barrel and consumes the last un-infected blood in your body. The long aching pain that follows is maybe the Vyrus beginning to feed on itself. That's what Terry says anyway. Doesn't much matter to me, all I care about is that it won't hurt quite as much as the cramps when it comes. But it hasn't come yet.