Joe Pitt 5 - My Dead Body (20 page)

Low conversation in the hall.

Amanda stands over Sela’s body, rocking gently on her own tide.

--She lost a lot of blood. We have nothing left in the reserves. I tried to get her to take a little more from me, but it was just a few hours ago. She just. Hunkered in the corner, growled at me when I came over. At me.

She laughs.

--Like she could scare me. Not.

She wipes at the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.

--But then she just. I mean. It had to happen right? She just lost it.

She looks at Delilah.

--All that blood. Just across the room. She just.

Delilah points at Sela’s covered body.

--The lioness maddened.

Amanda rubs her face.

--Sela.

She looks at the gun in her hand.

--I just.

She looks at me.

--You knew her, Joe. I mean. Joe. Right?

I nod.

--Baby, you did right. She’d never have been able to live with herself.

Amanda looks at Delilah.

--I mean.

She drops the gun in her pocket and turns away.

--Gah.

A door-rattling knock.

--Miss Horde?

I turn in my chair.

--Hurley?

--It’s Miss Horde I’ll be wantin’ ta talk to, Joe, not yer backstab-bin’ self.

--It wasn’t a backstab. Predo and his guys, they were just there.

--Indeed. Most like.

I close my eye.

Terry, Lydia and Hurley. Only the survivors survive. Way of the world. That it should come to this. And is it any wonder?

I open my eye and see Amanda slipping a key into the top lock on the door.

I rise.

--Hey! Hey!

Delilah steps forward.

--Yes, it is time we departed.

Amanda twists the second lock open.

I try to walk to her and cramp up all over.

--Don’t.

She turns the third lock and steps back and the door swings open.

Terry stands on the threshold, worse for wear, but, heavy feeder that he is, the burns covering the right side of his body are healing fast.

--OK, yeah, Ms. Horde, finally we get to meet in person. We can, you know, we can make some progress here now.

Lydia behind him, aiming her carbine down the stairs.

--Shut up and get in there, Terry, something’s coming out of the basement.

He steps into the room.

--Yeah, if we could claim a little sanctuary maybe while we. Some complicated issues have arisen and a real opportunity. I don’t know. Hurley.

Hurley steps into the doorway, dragging Predo by the scruff of his neck.

--Yeah, an I guess ya might call it opportunity. Still I don’t know why ya just won’t let me kill da bastard.

He sees me.

--An Joe in da bargain, if I may.

Lydia squeezes off a few rounds down the stairwell and backs into the room, kicking the door shut.

--Damn, damn, damn. Where’s the? Keys for this? It’s. What the fuck are? I can’t.

She’s leaning her forehead against the door, eyes closed.

--I had this nightmare when I was little. This. My mom was always talking about the inherent threat of patriarchy. But she never explained what it. And I saw, when I was about five, my dad took me to see some horror movie. Something I was way too young for. And. My mom, all I understood about patriarchy was that it was something to do with men. And the horror movie, my dad took me and it was all guys in the audience. And I was so scared by the movie. And these nightmares I had after, this creature I would dream about. It wasn’t, it’s not Freudian, it wasn’t like it was covered in penises or anything. It was just all fangs and scales and gross and just a movie monster. And I thought, I told my mom I had nightmares about the patriarchy and it almost ate me, and she told me, she said, Yes, that’s what it will try to do.

She starts to laugh, keeps talking through it.

--And down there that’s all, when they came out and were, I saw them and all I could think was, the patriarchy is going to eat me!

She stops laughing.

--What the hell? What the hell?

--And now we are assembled, can we not leave this tower of horrors?

Lydia looks at Delilah.

--Chubby’s daughter.

I take a drink.

--Told you.

Lydia steps toward her.

--How’s the baby?

--The child is well. But I feel it is not safe here. We must be away. Is there no one here who can escort us to safety?

--Excuse me, if I may.

Predo manages to give the impression that he just happens to be wearing his coat after asking Hurley to hold it by the collar for him.

--Several of my people are still outside. I believe it is safe to assume that no one will be leaving without my complicity.

Terry raises a hand high over his head, as if he knows the right answer and wants to be called first.

--Don’t listen to, I don’t know, to that propaganda. Even if, even if he still has troops outside, which I think there is room for doubt on that one, it doesn’t change the fact that we have him. So, you know, a man like, a man who I’ve known a lot of years, a man who has a powerful desire for self-preservation, he won’t be ordering his storm troopers to open fire when he’s going to be the first one out the door.

Predo coughs into his gloved hand.

--Do you think, Bird, do you think it is a matter of what I tell them at this point? The orders regarding hostage situations are long-standing and come directly from the Secretariat. There will be no negotiating. Any arrangements will be made in this room. And I will be dictating terms.

Hurley gives him a shake.

--Terry boy, must we listen ta dis shite?

Terry slings his AK over his shoulder and raises a finger.

--Well, he’s full of shit, Hurl, but there is room to maybe settle a few things before we lose, I don’t know, all perspective.

--This is full of a, um, Vyrally activated bacillus.

We all look at Amanda, at her desk, a small vial made of spun aluminum in her hand, tiny hand-lettered label on its side.

--I mean, like a microscopic version of the stuff in the basement. And it’s a sanguivore. Which means it likes to eat blood, like the Vyrus. But because it can live without a host it doesn’t care about keeping you alive. It just wants to eat and replicate. And really fast. And it can survive in any environment I’ve stuck it in. And. Oh, and um, I just had to shoot my lover. So. Yeah. I am totally in a fucking mood right now and everyone should put their guns down and maybe you, Lydia, because I know you sort of, you can put them outside the door and use these keys to lock it. OK. So. And, I mean, I totally don’t expect everyone to leave this room alive. Because, come on, how could we? I, for one, I think, I mean. I think I’m going to kill myself. But I’m gonna talk a little first, and if anyone interrupts me I’m going to open this can and I don’t know if anything can kill this stuff before it kills everything everywhere. So OK?

Everyone does as she says, so it must be OK.

She starts by recapping the lecture she gave me, and then moves on to advanced topics in how everything is going to change now.

--This is proof.

She pulls on a beaded chain that hangs from her neck, tugging it from her collar until we can see the fat little rectangle of plastic dangling from it.

--I mean, real scientific proof that you.

She waves her hand at all of us.

--Exist. Or whatever.

She pulls the chain over her head and drops it on her desk.

--Images of all the known mutations of the Vyrus that I’ve catalogued. Including the ones that I.

She points at the floor.

--The ones that I, cooked up myself. Which, I mean, I may have gotten carried away and played a little god. Sorry for that. Or not. I could do it. So I did it. Because. I don’t know. I just did it. And you.

She points at Predo.

--You pissed me off just enough to set them loose. Because the idea was just to destroy them. Experiments. But you had to starve us. You couldn’t just. What was so hard to accept? A cure? What was so hard to? It’s not like anyone would have made you take it if you didn’t want to. I. Gah. Anyway.

She fingers the chain.

--This USB drive has my simulations. It has the locations of known Vyral HERV fragments in the human genome. Just a few that I’ve been able to find. But, I mean, compelling stuff. If you like that kind of thing. There are the complete records of my experiments. All of them repeatable for similar results. Procedure for a Vyrus test.

She giggles.

--Can you see the posters on the bus shelters? Some Goth with a serious look on her face. Have you been tested?

She stops giggling.

--Like the only test you need is to ask yourself, Does blood sound like what I want for dinner?

She lifts a hand.

--Yeah, I know, I’m being stupid. But I mean. Right? You know that would be the attitude for some people. Testing for the inactive Vyrus. People found guilty for having the potential to be dangerous. Anyway.

She counts off a few fingers.

--The images, the HERV map, the procedures, the test, oh, different environments hostile to the Vyrus. All of which kill the host as well, but, well, there it is. Methods for killing the infected. There that is. And the details of my theory that the Vyrus was the primary building block for all life on the planet and that Vyrally active life is the most pure and essentially earthy thing around.

She pokes at one of the old cuts near her wrist.

--I tested negative. No Vyral fragments in my HERV. A strand of random breeding that lost it. But that makes me like most people. Most people are Vyrally negative. Otherwise you guys would have spread.

She looks up.

--It has a smell, the Vyrus. Even inactive. Not strong like the way you smell one another. Like subtle. Pheromone almost. I mean, to someone who was sensitive to it, they could pick out Vyrally inactive subjects and infect them at will. That idea is in there too. What’s not.

She taps the USB.

--What’s not in there is a sample. Obviously. Runaway replicators like this, they just burn out a host. I have dead matter, but no live samples. So what is in here is an address book. Me and Sela, we interviewed all the Cure applicants, and, I mean, this wasn’t the plan, but there’s a list in here of every safe house, Clan headquarters, bolt-hole, residence, pretty much every place someone who wanted to find Vampyres could start looking and have a pretty good shot at getting a live one.

She shrugs.

--Not like it’s a threat I’m making, because I totally don’t care anymore, but it’s in there.

She closes her eyes.

--But no cure.

She covers the USB with her hand.

--No cure.

She opens her eyes.

--No cure at all.

She looks at Sela’s body.

--I’m sorry, baby.

She looks at me.

--Joe. You killed my mom?

I nod.

--She asked me to.

She crinkles the corners of her mouth.

--Is that what it takes?

I shake my head.

--No.

She raises a hand.

--Joe.

I shake my head again.

--I’d like to help, kid. I get it and all. I just.

I look into the whiskey bottle in my hand.

--I just don’t got it in me for that.

She bites her upper lip.

--It’s OK, Joe. Caring is hard.

She looks at Sela again.

--I mean.

She looks at me.

--We’ve known each other a long time.

She sets the vial on her desk next to the USB drive.

--And I don’t think I could kill you either.

She takes the gun from her lab coat pocket.

--Just do me a favor?

--Sure.

She waves the gun at everyone in the room.

--These assholes.

She picks up the vial.

--Don’t let any of them have this.

She tosses it to me and I juggle it with my lame hand and only keep it from hitting the floor by cradling it against my chest.

She nods.

--That’s only for you.

She looks at Sela.

--And don’t let them have any of my blood.

She puts the barrel of the gun under her chin.

--That’s for you too.

I’ve wondered from time to time if there’s a limit to what you can take. Is there a little gauge somewhere in your brain that slowly rises toward the red, measuring when you’ve gone beyond your capacity to endure? Blood and madness and death and cruelty. Pouring into you. And at some point, does it just overflow and flood the whole system and everything shuts down?

I’ve wondered.

It’s no lie, I killed Amanda’s mom because she asked me to. She asked me to because she was sick and she was about to kill Amanda if someone didn’t kill her first. Follow it back around that way and you could say that I killed Amanda’s mom to save Amanda’s life.

Which strikes me like something close to irony.

As I sit there.

Having refused to kill Amanda so she can exit the misery of all the things she’s seen and done in her short life. I watch her do it herself.

Clearly having reached her limit.

Born into so much of that blood and madness, it took quite a bit to push her to overload. But there it was, in the bullet she used to kill her woman, the limit of what she could take and still keep her eyes open.

I’d have liked to help her. Make it a little easier at the end to step out and get all this over with. But I’m still not sure of my own limit. If it exists, where it might be if it’s out there. With more left to do, I couldn’t take the chance that doing for her what I did for her mom would be as far as I could go.

But I keep my eye open for her. And she looks into it. And there’s maybe a smile that passes back and forth between us.

When she pulls the trigger that I can’t, I don’t blink.

What I owe her.

Looking at her dead body, I wonder if I owe her more.

A pyre made of the dead.

A fire to burn them.

Yes, she’d like that.

And I know how to build such a thing.

Because I don’t blink, I see most of what happens when her gun goes off.