“Sorry,” he mutters. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
“Sorry” doesn’t begin to cover it, bro.
He looks up at the Infected crowding around and feels something else, too. A fierce pride. They belong to him now. They are, in a sense, his children.
Is that me feeling this, or the bug?
A dark defiant thought seeps into his mind and replaces his guilt. The whole world can go fuck itself and become infected, as long as I live.
That was not the bug thinking. That was him. He lights a Winston and leans back on his elbows. I’m alive, and there is only this, and that makes this good. Whatever it is.
Breathe in, breathe out.
You do what you think is best, Ray.
“You got it.”
He smokes in silence, listening to the Infected growl, and tries to reason things out.
I’m a carrier for the bug. I can’t be around normal people. That’s the bad news. The good news is I can control the crazies. Maybe even the monsters.
In any case, it’s nice to finally feel safe. Like a sheep in wolf’s clothing.
On the other hand, the idea of living among the mindless Infected for the rest of his life is enough to make him doubt his sanity. He may be a bit of a misanthrope, but he is a sociable misanthrope. He may have a history of abusing people, but he needs people to be happy.
Ray smiles at the gray faces. If he can control the Infected, he can make them all walk off the nearest cliff, or turn on each other. He could be a major weapon against Infection.
He might, in fact, be capable of saving the world using this power. What would that idea be worth to the right people?
Maybe nothing. Maybe they’ll kill me on sight. Just in case. Just to make sure I can’t ever hurt them. It’s the safest move for them.
Maybe we could do a deal, though. I make all of the Infected climb the nearest mountain and jump off and die, and they find a way to cure me. It’s the least they could do for the man who saved the world.
He chooses to believe in this possibility. It is, after all, his one hope. Like he already learned, anything can happen.
Ray stands and stretches. That’s it, then. I’ll try to contact the government. But where is it?
The Army is in Washington. That’s where he must go.
The lump in his side buzzes with appreciation.
“I’m glad the idea pleases you.”
The solution is simple enough: All he needs is a vehicle with a full tank of gas. Maybe a pickup. He’ll take a bodyguard of Infected with him, and ditch the rest here.
I know just who I want for the job.
“Unit 12,” he calls. “Get your lazy asses over here.”
His old police unit streams through the crowd. He can hear the clatter of their gear and their glottal grunts. They stop in front of him in their black T-shirts and load-bearing vests bristling with shotgun shells, grinning wolfishly, their heads cocked and their fists clenched at their sides. Two of them still wear pistols on their hips. Ray laughs and whoops.
“Holy shit. Look what the cat dragged in.”
Tyler Jones shoves through the milling horde, ridiculous red suspenders and all, the front of his gray work shirt black with dried blood.
“Good to see you alive, buddy,” Ray says. “Even with the bug.”
He holds out his hand, but Tyler ignores it.
“I guess Jonesy didn’t make it. Sorry about that, bud. May he rest in peace.”
Tyler grimaces, but says nothing.
“You boys,” Ray tells them, “will be my Praetorians. I’ll bet you dumb shits don’t even know what a Praetorian is. Maybe you, Tyler, but that’s about it.”
It feels good to talk, and oddly, it doesn’t bother him to have a one-sided conversation with a bunch of crazies. It’s not quite like talking to himself; it’s more like talking to a pet dog.
“Now let’s see how good you people really are.”
He pictures a pickup truck and a set of keys.
Now fetch. Howl if you find it.
His mental image of the truck expands to include several big-chested blondes giving it a soapy wash. He laughs.
If you see any hot models hanging around the truck, bring them to me as well.
He is amazed by how powerful he feels. Before he made it to the camp, all of the fight had been sucked out of him. Now he feels like a king, with a nation to do his bidding.
Not to rain on your parade bro, but again, is that you or the bug feeling so good?
He finds the thought depressing. How does one know if he has free will? How much free will can you have if you have a parasite craving to be spread?
Does it matter in the end?
The women drift out of the mob, their faces twisted into frightening imitations of smiles. Brunettes and blondes and redheads. Beautiful, all of them, even with their unkempt hair and gray skin and feverish eyes.
His heart races. He has not been with a woman since before the Screaming.
What is this? Is Infection manipulating me again?
Nope, you imagined this. The bug merely delivered.
It wants you to be happy.
Several Infected howl from the front yard. The owner of the house left a truck behind. The women continue to approach, softly hissing, their heads jerking.
Stop, Ray projects.
The woman hesitate, confused at his mixed signals. One of them lifts her T-shirt and squeezes her scratched breasts together, licking her chops while the others inch their way forward, their eyes gleaming like knives.
Oh God—
He knows of some guys who worked over Infected women. They raped the prettier ones before killing them. They justified it by saying the women didn’t even know they were being raped.
Ray remembers saying he would never sink so low.
But if I’m doomed to have the crazies as company forever. . .
Get away from me!
The Unit 12 cops turn and roar at the other Infected, shoving at them. The women shriek and melt back into the crowd.
Ray takes off his cap and wipes sweat from his forehead.
Shit, that was close.
As if I’d ever do something like that.
A little angel and a little devil perched on his shoulders, arguing over his soul.
But they wanted it.
Bro, they just wanted it because you wanted them to want it.
I’M LONELY.
His discontent passes through the Infected like a wind, agitating them. The crowd parts like massive curtains made of people. A single figure approaches. It is a woman, walking slowly like a bride coming down the aisle to join her husband at the altar.
The Infected howl again in the distance.
“In a minute,” Ray says absently, waiting.
Her hips sway as she walks. Like the other women, her hair is wild, but while this makes the others look like broken dolls, it just makes this woman more attractive. She is older now than he remembered; he hasn’t seen her in years—not since that night she looked into his face and saw only spite. He heard she married a pharmacist and returned to Cashtown to buy a house and raise a family. If anything, the years have been kind to her. She has put on a few pounds, but in the right places. Her face has aged, but she is still beautiful. Her legs, even covered in tiny scratches and insect bites, are still shapely and muscular. When she smiles, she appears human.
She was the only woman he ever loved.
“Lola.”