Filaria - Brent Hayward [86]
“I’m not afraid of you,” Phister said. “It’s just that I did something recently. Something terrible. Something I can’t quite remember and that I’m not really, well, not really capable of.”
“You did something you’re not capable of?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
“How can anyone do anything they’re not capable of?”
“I was being threatened, see? There was a group of people. They were the ones that, well, they told me they weren’t going to let me go. So I got mad. I think I blacked out because I don’t really remember what happened next, just little flashes. When I came to, they were hurt. Bad. One was a girl. But I think she was really something else. So yeah, there was a fight, and I — ” Here came that monster, loping down the hall, slavering behind the car with claws out. Terrified, Phister could not continue his explanation; in the silence, the dead boy did not press the issue.
When he did speak again, his voice was soft, almost wistful. “Tianna,” he said, “was once a place where a lot of people lived. And now it’s gone. Just like that . . .”
“Are ceilings going to fall on our heads?”
“I don’t know.”
“Cynthia said — ” Mentioning the name brought another quick image of blood pooling on the floor, and of an arm, bent in too many places. She had been face down, inert . . . But she had wanted to interfere. He could not let her do that. “Plus, uh, plus I actually saw soldiers. Several of them. Being made. I saw them. In the warehouse.”
The dead boy rubbed at his cheek with one hand. Skin there moved like putty, and when he took his fingers away, the skin slowly resumed its place. “The warehouse, huh? You sure get around. You’ve seen stuff I only ever dreamed of. Literally.” He laughed. “Now I wanna try and explain something to you. About what’s going on. You know how a living body manufactures white blood cells when there’s an infection, right? Or when there’s a parasite?”
“No.”
“Shit. You don’t know that? Well it does. In self-defense. The world is reacting the same way. Because there was a breach, and something, or things, came in. So now it’s trying to defend itself. Yeah, sure there’s soldiers. They’re security. White blood cells. But you see, without the network, everything has gone nuts — the process is not working very smoothly, to say the least. I guess this had to happen, sooner or later. Everything has a lifespan. The world is no exception.” The boy continued to stare.
“Why you telling me this?”
“Oh come on. For your own interest, I guess.” He smiled and, thankfully, faced front.
“What’s going to happen now, dead boy?”
“I can’t tell the future. Can you? I just want to be around long enough to see another morning. Maybe another one after that, if I’m lucky.” Now the cold hand reached up to fall upon Phister’s elbow, at the wheel. “We don’t have too much time left. Personally, I’m starting to rot. I’m literally losing my mind.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Erupting directly between Phister’s eyes came a sharp, throbbing pain. He groaned and shook free from the child’s weak grip; the pain diminished.
“Now then,” the boy said, “if we find a doctor, will you have your assistant reanimated?”
Phister managed to catch his breath. He was about to say that McCreedy was not his assistant but when he opened his mouth to speak he instead found himself mumbling, “Yes.” Waning pain continued to twist and churn inside his head.
The dead boy chuckled. “That’s good. Turn left here.”
They turned. The hall narrowed and was much cleaner here; Phister lowered the wet dirty shirt from his mouth and breathed his aching lungs full. He picked dust from his clogged nostrils with a bitten thumbnail. Because there was less grit on the floor he realized how much rumbling sound the tires made previously, in the main corridor.
Several closed doors,