Charlie Huston - Already Dead

– Be careful with it.

I take the gun and drop it in my pocket.

– Always am.

I start down the street, he calls after me.

– By the way, you ever find out who it was that was poking around? The no-scent thing?

– Gonna go look into that.

– Let me know.

I stop and turn around.

– I almost forgot, Predo was asking after you. Didn't know you guys had a personal history.

Terry takes off his glasses and polishes them on his Grateful Dead T-shirt.

– Well, live long enough, and you get to know everyone.

– So I hear.

He puts his glasses back on, waves and goes inside.

Lydia stops me at the corner.

– She wants to see you. I rub my head.

– Later. I have to go somewhere.

– How much later?

– Not much.

She nods, gives me the address.

– She's a peach, you know.

– Whatever.

– Sure, whatever you say.

I head west toward A, where I know I can flag a cab.

– Joe.

I keep walking.

– Yeah?

– No lie, Joe, I don't like men much.

Still walking, letting her talk at my back as much as she wants to.

– And I like straight men even less.

Walking, thinking about what I have to do next.

– But you might be OK with me one of these days.

Calling back over my shoulder.

– Then I got something to look forward to.

She laughs.

– If you can keep alive that long, Joe.

– Come in, Simon.

I do. I sit on the floor of Daniel's cubicle and watch him eat. He sits cross-legged and holds a tiny bowl between his thumb and index finger. The bowl can't hold more than a generous tablespoon. As we speak he brings it to his lips, wetting them with drops of blood that he then licks away with the tip of a tongue as pale as his skin. He gestures to me with the bowl.

– Would you like some?

I look at the meager brass vessel in his hand.

– Why not, it's probably from my stash anyway.

He puts his nose close to the bowl and inhales.

– Yes, I think it is.

He offers the bowl to me.

– Please, finish it. I've had my fill.

I take the bare thimble of blood, then toss it down my throat. It's good.

– You gonna tell me why, Daniel?

He nods.

– But I would like to ask you a question first.

I run a finger through the gloss of blood left in the cup, lick it clean, and set the bowl on the floor between us.

– Shoot.

– How did it feel?

I watch the empty bowl.

– What?

– Please, Simon. Be coy with others, but not with me. That's not for us. How did it feel?

I think about starving. I think about the cramps and the burning that followed. I think about being helpless. And I think about the shimmering brightness of the world when I was at the naked edge of death.

– 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.