don’t blow out the delicate veins and arteries in our lungs when the blood drops around for oxygenation. Put another way, my heart was only about eighty-five percent efficient at controlling that pressure—as long as I didn’t have one of those inconvenient episodes of ventricular tachycardia, which hardly ever happened now that I was an adult and carried Vasopressin. (Ah, better living through chemicals indeed. Did you know that Vasopressin causes pairing and mating in voles and pigs? I have yet to run into a lonely vole or hog, but have always thought that it might be rather embarrassing for everyone present, and thus have avoided petting zoos.)
Day in and day out, going to the market, picking up the dry cleaning, reading research material at the library, this flaw didn’t matter much. I had a feeling it might matter now, though. This knowledge frightened me a bit and made me feel defensive and angry about my limitations.
“I have a minor prolapsus of the mitral valve,” I admitted, proud that to my ears my voice showed none of my annoyance. Not that it mattered; he could probably hear annoyance anyway.
“But you’re feeling better now? Less faint?” he asked, and I realized that I was. The feeling of pricks and tingles in my arms was gone too.
“Yes…. Sorry, I don’t mean to belabor this, but just to be clear, you’re saying that you are immortal? Johann Dippel did something to you with electricity, you died, were reborn, and you can’t be killed?”
He hesitated.
“As good as immortal,” he finally answered. “Maybe if I stood right on top of an atomic bomb or an erupting volcano, or dropped myself in a tree shredder—though I’d hate to try that and find out it didn’t work…. I thought I’d found a way out after I was bitten by a…a werewolf, let’s call her. It happened down in Panama in ’thirty-two after Amorosa passed on. There were rather a lot of them around then, though they have pretty much died out now with all the other wild species in the region. I may be the last of their kind.”
A way out. A werewolf
. I didn’t like the sound of either of those things, and decided to put off anyquestions about his state of mind until another day. If he was still suicidal, I didn’t want to know it. There might be other zombies that needed killing. Since he’d done so well with the first, I wanted him in fighting shape.
Still, I had to ask.
“Lycanthropy was a way out?” I was proud that I knew the proper term for the disease associated with werewolves.
He raised a brow but nodded. “I thought all I would need to do is get someone to shoot me with a silver bullet when I was in animal form.”
So, he was definitely suicidal. And possibly delusional, though I had just seen a walking corpse, so I was reserving judgment about the werewolf thing for the time being.
“But it didn’t work, obviously.”
“No. And it hurt like hell for weeks after. It didn’t even cure me of being a…werewolf.” He obviously didn’t like the word. “Apparently I can regenerate the lycanthropy virus as well as flesh and bone.” He frowned slightly and fell silent.
“But on the bright side, as monsters go, you are rather attractive,” I finally said, closing my eyes again. I’d decided I didn’t want any more questions answered. It was too freaky. One impossibility at a time. Okay, two: I believed in walking corpses and that this man was Ambrose Bierce. Acceptance of the werewolf part would have to wait until some of the other shock wore off.
“Yes. And I still have an absolutely superhuman knack for chicanery. And for spotting it in others.It’s like…psychic pattern recognition of my enemies’ thoughts and plans. Or maybe it’s precognition. Which is why this zombie is disturbing.”
“Is
that
why the zombie is disturbing?” I asked. “And I thought it was that a dead body was walking around trying to kill us. Uh…it was trying to kill us?”
“Oh, yes.” He chuckled, and I
Day in and day out, going to the market, picking up the dry cleaning, reading research material at the library, this flaw didn’t matter much. I had a feeling it might matter now, though. This knowledge frightened me a bit and made me feel defensive and angry about my limitations.
“I have a minor prolapsus of the mitral valve,” I admitted, proud that to my ears my voice showed none of my annoyance. Not that it mattered; he could probably hear annoyance anyway.
“But you’re feeling better now? Less faint?” he asked, and I realized that I was. The feeling of pricks and tingles in my arms was gone too.
“Yes…. Sorry, I don’t mean to belabor this, but just to be clear, you’re saying that you are immortal? Johann Dippel did something to you with electricity, you died, were reborn, and you can’t be killed?”
He hesitated.
“As good as immortal,” he finally answered. “Maybe if I stood right on top of an atomic bomb or an erupting volcano, or dropped myself in a tree shredder—though I’d hate to try that and find out it didn’t work…. I thought I’d found a way out after I was bitten by a…a werewolf, let’s call her. It happened down in Panama in ’thirty-two after Amorosa passed on. There were rather a lot of them around then, though they have pretty much died out now with all the other wild species in the region. I may be the last of their kind.”
A way out. A werewolf
. I didn’t like the sound of either of those things, and decided to put off anyquestions about his state of mind until another day. If he was still suicidal, I didn’t want to know it. There might be other zombies that needed killing. Since he’d done so well with the first, I wanted him in fighting shape.
Still, I had to ask.
“Lycanthropy was a way out?” I was proud that I knew the proper term for the disease associated with werewolves.
He raised a brow but nodded. “I thought all I would need to do is get someone to shoot me with a silver bullet when I was in animal form.”
So, he was definitely suicidal. And possibly delusional, though I had just seen a walking corpse, so I was reserving judgment about the werewolf thing for the time being.
“But it didn’t work, obviously.”
“No. And it hurt like hell for weeks after. It didn’t even cure me of being a…werewolf.” He obviously didn’t like the word. “Apparently I can regenerate the lycanthropy virus as well as flesh and bone.” He frowned slightly and fell silent.
“But on the bright side, as monsters go, you are rather attractive,” I finally said, closing my eyes again. I’d decided I didn’t want any more questions answered. It was too freaky. One impossibility at a time. Okay, two: I believed in walking corpses and that this man was Ambrose Bierce. Acceptance of the werewolf part would have to wait until some of the other shock wore off.
“Yes. And I still have an absolutely superhuman knack for chicanery. And for spotting it in others.It’s like…psychic pattern recognition of my enemies’ thoughts and plans. Or maybe it’s precognition. Which is why this zombie is disturbing.”
“Is
that
why the zombie is disturbing?” I asked. “And I thought it was that a dead body was walking around trying to kill us. Uh…it was trying to kill us?”
“Oh, yes.” He chuckled, and I
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