How could he defy a life form so old, an organism that had crossed such a vast distance in space and time? He had no choice but to obey it now, or he would be destroyed. He resigned himself to the alien's domination.
It was then that the colloid revealed itself.
Alex understood its reasoning. He had not been so unsuspecting as Jo, and so it had been forced to act artfully to lure him away from the armory and from the guerrillas. He must have no opportunity to take psychoactive drugs, and he must be permitted no contact with any of his friends, ever again.
The colloid inside him revealed this to him with impunity. There was nothing Alex could do, was there?
It
was in control now, and had been for some time. He had foolishly walked away from his one hope of salvation and placed himself in the clutches of the colloids, utterly oblivious to the alien's influence over him.
And, oh, how the creature was enjoying itself. The delicious irony of being driven out of Jo and immediately entering the nervous system of the guerrilla leader, why
that
had made the entire ordeal worthwhile.
"I'm glad you think so, you son of a bitch!" Alex bellowed. With a furious effort, tearing the clothes on his back, he wrenched the Ingram around under his arm and pointed it at the nearest of the infected. "Maybe it's not so fucking easy as you think!"
But what good would it do to shoot the infected? There were so many of them. He could only kill a few, and then he would be alone with an empty gun against thousands.
The infected masses to his right parted, and he staggered through the crowd, not really certain if this was his idea or the colloid's. Sitting down by the side of the road, he held the Ingram gently, as the gap closed, and the infected continued to move toward the north.
He almost laughed, to think that a wish of his had come true. Many times, while he hid in the sewer like vermin, he had wished that the infected would not be able to harm him. He was one of them now; a higher order of the infected perhaps, but one of them nonetheless. But he was still fighting the colloids. In that he was different from the rest of them. Their minds were gone, useful for nothing more than beasts of burden. Thus far, he was unharmed, just as Jo had been unharmed. He would resist this invasion of his innermost being.
Hardly realizing what he was doing, he clicked off the Ingram's safety and raised the barrel to his mouth. As if he were performing fellatio, he closed his lips on the icy steel and shut his eyes.
His index finger gently touched the trigger.
Sweat poured from his face, and he trembled so badly that he wondered if he would be able to pull the trigger. He was uncertain whether this was his idea or the colloid's. He only knew that he wanted to do it. Did he deserve any better, after what he had done to Tony Chang?
He strained to pull the trigger, but his finger would not cooperate.
"I want to die, you bastard," he said.
But the colloid wasn't through with him . . . not yet. He lowered the gun from his face, commanded by an intelligence that was not his. He sat cross-legged by the side of the highway, waiting.
The colloid pushed his consciousness into some unused part of his mind, a dark cave from which he could see only the shadows of the world outside.
Don't leave me in here!
he screamed
. Please! I can't survive in here!
The colloid was not moved by his entreaties. It had gained complete control over him, and it would do with him as it pleased from now on. It would not dispose of his consciousness entirely, for then he would be of no more use to it than the infected hordes that moved endlessly before him. His new master would dip into his mind as if it were a well, taking what it required while keeping him alive.
Now he was sure that
he
had wanted to kill himself, but the colloid had prevented him from pulling the trigger. His last chance for freedom had been taken from him. Confused by contradictory emotions, he had hesitated for an instant, and the colloid had surged into complete dominance. He was imprisoned far away from his friends and the drugs that might save him.
What was worse, he could
feel
the alien crawling through his brain like some loathsome spider. It lingered where it found what it considered pertinent information, sucking it up through some sort of bio-electrical field and relaying it to the other colloids.
It had apparently separated his motor functions from his other brain functions. Alex's body sat motionless, watching nothing.
A figure emerged from the infected army that marched endlessly before his staring eyes.
It, too, stared. The eyes were blank, dead. On its back it carried a glistening hump. It shuffled toward Alex and stood over him, unseeing, a marionette whose strings were pulled by the alien thing inside him.
It was Tony Chang.
One of the worn-out infected had been replaced by Tony, and the colloids had brought him out of the crowd to show him off to Alex. Perhaps they wanted Alex to see how lucky he was, one of the chosen few who would be allowed to retain some vestiges of their former selves.
Tony
,
he cried from deep inside his prison,
forgive me
.
The colloid found this amusing. It showed him why. Linking with the colloid in Tony's brain, it revealed a vision of desolation so total that even a glimpse of it was painful. There was nothing left of the bright kid Alex had first met—when?—the day before. Nothing at all. Tony would never forgive him, because Tony no longer existed. And it was all Alex's fault.
No, the alien had already been inside Alex's mind, insidiously manipulating him to feed it another victim. Tony had become a beast of burden, not because of Alex, but because of the colloids. Alex had to remember that, or he would lose what little reason that remained to him.
What are you going to do with me?
The colloid did not show him its intention, of course. It was the master, and he was the slave. It need reveal nothing to him, unless it desired to do so. This much was made clear to him.
It was trying to break his spirit.
Maybe you're surprised that you haven't broken me yet, maybe even a little disconcerted.
The colloid did not respond. It was probably unwise to be so demonstrably defiant, Alex considered. The colloid controlled most of him, but not the essential core of his being. It had tricked him at first, until he had become aware of it . . . largely because of what had already happened to Jo. It occurred to him now that it might not have figured out a strategy.
Perhaps it was consulting with other colloids about him at this very moment. That would explain why it had left him sitting here with the possessed body of Tony standing over him. Physical paralysis and guilt were doubtless intended to immobilize him, inside and out.
Trying to put out my electrolytes, huh?
The colloid showed no reaction to his little joke. It wasn't likely that it had a sense of humor, he supposed . . . although it did seem to understand irony, in a sadistic way. Perhaps it did not comprehend the meaning of his mock question at all, but it surely understood the spirit in which the question was asked.
Well, I'll just wait in here until you see fit to do something. After all, what good am I to you if I just rot away?
The colloid indicated that it had plans for him, which seemed something of a minor victory to Alex. It was confused by his behavior, and as a result was showing its hand—or pseudopod. Alex was cheered by this ludicrous image.
The colloid was not.
Too bad. If you don't like my attitude, all you have to do is finish me off. Oh, but I guess you can't do that until you find another host, right? You can still take away the last vestige of my personality, though, can't you? Why don't you do that?
The reply was not forthcoming.
It couldn't be that you need me, could it? Saving me for a little espionage, just as you did with Jo?
But the colloid no longer responded to his goading. He would get nothing out of it now. It left him alone, perhaps to contemplate his guilt as Tony's body stood watch over him.
Alex had never minded solitude that much. After he got back from Iraq, he had taken an apartment by himself. And he had done the same thing after he got out of the hospital three years ago. He had needed time by himself to sort things out. There were worse things than being alone . . . up to a point.
When you reached that point, you started to go crazy. The colloid was probably counting on that fact of human nature. Or maybe it didn't care. Maybe its power over him would grow and grow until he had no recourse but to do precisely what it wanted, right down to the tiniest detail. Not just physically, but mentally, and even emotionally.
But if it went that far, he wouldn't be Alex Ward anymore, and he would be useless as an infiltrator. No, it seemed likely that some element of his personality must remain, if the job was to be carried out properly. He had to go on hoping that this was the case. It was his only chance.
Alex thought about his guerrillas, and especially about Jo. Were they all right? Had Jo recuperated from the infection? She had appeared to be recovering, but he hadn't spent so much time with her before he left the armory that he could be absolutely sure.
He sensed the colloid, lurking outside his mental prison.
That was your idea, wasn't it? I would have made more plans than that ordinarily, but you planted the idea in my mind that I should move quickly, find out where all the infected are going. Well, where the hell are they going?
The colloid was not about to tell him, of course. At the moment, it wanted to show him something else entirely. It was linking with another colloid, and there was something disturbingly familiar about this creature. Its presence seemed to inundate Alex's mind, as if he too were linked to it.
I know you.
Yes, and it knew him. Though it had been transformed since he had last communicated with this entity.
It was Flash.
You're still alive!
But Flash didn't answer. He seemed unfocussed, swirling about inside Alex's prison like liquid. And yet, this was unmistakably Flash. A memory of Alex himself fleetingly manifested itself among the vertiginous remnants of Flash's consciousness. Did that mean that Flash recognized him?
How can you still be living?
Flash couldn't answer him, but the colloid showed him that the host became a part of the colloid as it consumed him. Flash was not only alive, but his essence was alive in all the colloids who had come into contact with what was left of him.
In a very real sense, he had become immortal.
Alex tried to absorb this new knowledge. If he gave up, he could go on and on in the same way. All those he had assumed dead were still living, their memories somehow stored in colloidal suspension. The parasite in his brain had sought out Flash to demonstrate this fact.
But he can't think. He's not really Flash. It's some kind of trick. You've stored his memories, and now you're showing them to me like an old DVD.
But he sensed that there was more to it than that. This thing that spun about him like a living whirlpool was not just a recording, or even a memory. It existed here and now, and it was aware of Alex. But why couldn't it communicate with him. What had happened to Flash?
The colloid told him that this was what had happened to the infected, until the recent past. The intelligence of the host need no longer be impaired. But he would have to work with the colloid, in the creation of a new species.
A new species?
For the moment, the colloid would reveal no more of its secrets. Just enough had been shown to intrigue Alex and make him fearful. A new species? Part colloid and part human? Was this the fourth stage that Claire Siegel had guessed at?
Show me more . . . please.
Unexpectedly, the colloid did as it was asked. It began by breaking the link with the creature that had once been Flash, and bringing forth another ghost.
And this one was infinitely more painful for him.
It was his son, Billy.
Alex stood in the eye of a hurricane that had once been his own flesh and blood. Billy was raging, unlike Flash; he was full of youthful energy that had been stolen from his human body and stored in colloidal suspension. Now he sensed that his father was here with him, but he could do nothing but flail ineffectually with the abandon of a child. Alex felt his boy's agony as if it were his own. Billy cried out, the wail of a lost soul.
Billy, no
.
Alex was uncertain of whether he was speaking to the colloid or to his son. This was so monstrous that he didn't think he could stand it. He would shrivel up and die, this little piece of him that was left somewhere in a corner of his mind.
You took him from me, you bastards, and now you torment me with his ghost! I'll kill you for this! I'll kill you all!
Now the colloid was truly amused. It had awakened passion in Alex at last: pure anger and hatred. It had need of such strong emotions if it were to use him successfully. The colloids had proven themselves to be even more ruthless, more monstrous than Alex had believed possible. He was astonished by the depths of their ugliness, and he let them know how much he loathed them.
The colloid remained unaffected. He realized that it would goad him further if its purpose were served, and yet he could not control his rage.
His son's soul—there was no other word for it but soul—was a Catherine Wheel of blazing emotion. Billy blamed Alex for what had happened to him: the irrational belief of a child in his parent's omnipotence. And it seemed that Billy was stuck, that he would never know better because he could never learn anything again. He was in limbo.
Alex's anger turned inward, and he accepted the pain for what it was. It would do him no good to castigate the colloids. They didn't care. He had to face his own feelings about his son, which had been transformed now that he knew Billy was still partly alive.