Joe Pitt 1 - Already Dead (18 page)

She's a tough enough nut, but she's young. Literally young, under twenty-five. She's still
soft on the inside, still holding the values and feelings she had before she was infected.
Hell, most everybody does. Then they grow up, or they die.

-So why do you care, Joe?

-Truth is, I don't. Just a job to me. But I figure you probably care

--You're a piece of work, Joe.

--Little girl out there, no one to help her.

--A real motherfucker.

--All alone.

--So tell me where she is, I'll help her.

--Don't know where she is. That's why I need out of here. So I can find out.

--How you planning to do that?

--Gonna beat on a guy.

--So tell me the guy's name, I'll beat on him.

--Yeah, I know you'd be into that. Thing is, the guy lives above

Fourteenth. And he's connected. You go up there, hand a beating to this guy, could be
political repercussions.

--I see that. But there's another thing.

--Yeah?

--I got no reason to believe you. How about that, Joe? Any reason I should be listening to
this? --I got a reason to lie? Say it's crap and you let me out. Where am I gonna go? I
leave the neighborhood and I'm dust. I stay in the neighborhood and you guys can pick me
up whenever you want. Where do I run?

--Uptown.

--Any deals I have with those guys only work 'cause I'm down here. I try to live above
Fourteenth and suddenly I'm not so useful. You hear what Dexter Predo does when someone
stops being useful?

-Yeah.

-Well it ain't no lie.

She's quiet again. -She's fourteen, Lydia. And her name's Amanda.

I work my fingers into my jacket pocket. They took my gun, my knife, my works and the
blood I tapped, but the picture's there. I take it out and slip it under the door.

--That's what she looks like.

The trailing corner of the picture disappears as Lydia picks it up. There's nothing but
the sound of her breathing and Hurley turning the page of a newspaper, and the Vyrus
whispering pain and hunger in my veins. The picture slides back under the door.

--You know what you shouldn't have done, Joe?

--What?

--You shouldn't have tapped that woman last night. That was rape, Joe, and I don't deal
with rapists.

She walks away from the door.

--I'm going upstairs, Hurley. If this asshole starts trying to soften you up with some shit
about a little girl, don't listen to him.

--Shite, Lydia, Joe knows better den ta try an soff-soap me.

He's right, I do. And that leaves me alone in the closet with no one to talk to except you
know who.

It's not a very rich or enlightening conversation. Mostly it's just the Vyrus chanting:
feed, feed, feed
over and over again, and me replying with:
make it stop, make it stop, make it stop.
Pretty boring stuff. I also do my fair share of groaning and sweating as I clutch at my
cramping stomach and occasionally bang the back of my head against the floor. Imagine the
worst case of food poisoning you've ever had. It's like that except it hurts more and you
don't have the relief of shitting or vomiting. But it comes in waves. So from time to time
I get a little break where I can lie there and think about the next series of cramps and
remember that this is just the start and that it will get much worse. And that has me
worried, because it shouldn't even be this bad yet. I should have had at least another day
before this kind of pain started. All I can figure is that the dose Horde gave me put more
of a whammy on my system than I knew. Throw in the cuts I got from Vale, my sunburn, and
the beating Hurley gave me, and I guess I've been overdoing it a bit. The Vyrus is tired
and grouchy, like a small child kept up too late. For now it's just whining, soon it will
start to cry. And then the shrieking and the tantrums will begin.

Pause while a mongoose crawls through my lower intestine.

I've been here before. I know I can take it. I know the cramps will get worse and then
subside into a constant pain that I'll be able to cope with pretty well. After that things
will start to get interesting. After that I'll be approaching the frontier of my personal
experience. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Jorge comes to mind. I
need to distract myself.

--Hurley. Hey, Hurl!

--Yeah?

--What's, what's the longest you ever went?

--Me?

--I don't mean the other guy named Hurley that's out there with you.

--Ya gotta mouth, Joe.

--Yeah, forgive me, I'm a little tense.

--Yeah, s'tuff, ain't it?

--Uh-huh. So what's the longest?

--Almost two weeks once.

--No shit.

--Yep.

--What happened?

--Shouldn't oughta be talkin' wit' ya, Joe.

--Jesus, Hurl, what the fuck can it hurt? Oh, God!

Return of the mongoose.

--Ya OK, Joe?

--No.

--OK.

--So two weeks, huh?

--Yeah.

--What happened?

He doesn't say anything. I press my face close to one of the cracks at the edge of the
door.

--C'mon, man, I'm just trying to take my mind off the cramps.

His chair scrapes as he shifts.

--OK. Dis wuz way back. Sure ya wanta hear dis?

--Yeah, yeah.

--OK. Way back. I wuz workin' fer some bootleggers. Way back. Stuff would come in onna
water, onta Long Island. I did da muscle, rode shotgun like.

--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.

--Joe.

Light.

--Joe.

In my face.

--Joe.

I can only tell because it brightens the darkness behind my clenched eyelids.