“—you’re screwed beyond reasonable—”
“I should probably visit him.”
“You’re an idiot, K. I would tell you to watch yourself, but forget it. Forget it.”
The line went dead. I considered calling back for a second, but he sounded like he was in one of his moods. He always got like this. ‘Murdering innocents’ this and ‘reckless insanity’ that. Admittedly, I hadn’t gone on a rampage like this in months. That still didn’t excuse his rudeness.
I polished off most of the vodka before tackling the mess of the previous night. A crimson trail snaked its way through the upper labs, leading all the way past the pneumatic doors and out into the sun. I followed it in the other direction to find Victim Number Seven.
I was impressed. Normally I’d have been unable to pull a larger person any reasonable distance. I congratulated myself and checked for a pulse. I knew that I wasn’t going to find one, but the physical confirmation of this fact sent a shiver of ecstasy through my body. Dragging him by the feet—good God, he was heavy—I hauled him down to the service floor and flicked the incinerators on. These things were designed to reduce medical equipment to cinders; a corpse wasn’t a problem.
Back on the first floor, I scrubbed the barely-congealed liquid from the tiles. It was definitely best to get it out now, before it stained. The Helix might, technically, not be mine, but I took some level of pride in where I lived.
Because you’re all about impressing the guests. Best hostess ever.
I thought about the absurdity of my choice of words, and chuckled. Something twigged in my mind: a vague recollection of platinum blond hair. I searched the Helix, but I couldn’t find any. Had I dropped it outside? Had I imagined it?
No, you choked someone to death with it.
I grumbled to myself as I crawled back under the sheets. Typical: go on a psychotic rampage and destroy valuable evidence.
No use crying over spilt blood.
***
Day two brought fresh horrors along the phone lines. This time it was Valerie. Less contempt and more curiosity than Vincent; apparently I’d paid her a visit, spending half an hour whispering evils through her intercom before tumbling through her skylight. Things had gone sultry from there; this much explained the bite marks. Then there was a crashing in the background and her voice faded from the handset: “If I have to restrain you one more time, I’ll do it with ketamine.”
I smiled. She’d be okay, of course. This wasn’t the first time a patient had gone wild on her watch. Example one: yours truly. I made a mental note to inquire about the ketamine, and went to sleep again.
***
Energy returned on day three. I spent most of the morning scrolling disinterestedly through newsfeeds: bloodsports across the Suez Barrier, panic in Queensland due to a catastrophic laboratory failure and reports of Russian constructions on the Georgia and Azerbaijan borders. The speculation was a bit fantastic; it seemed pretty clear that the Russians were just making their own version of the Suez Barrier. Ironically, the collapse had vastly improved relations between Russia and the USA; while the latter scrambled to put out its own fires, Russia consolidated its position and made concrete efforts to deal with the infection. Of all the countries in the world, Russia had weathered the storm and stayed driest. Sure, Moscow had been wiped out, but the scale and quickness of the Russian reaction had saved millions. America no longer had the time to care about Russia, and Russia no longer had the inclination to care about America.
Local news was less interesting. I was on the second page (“Grisly murders linked, say officials”), shunted down thanks to some asinine story about a girl being possessed by demons while sleeping (“I fall asleep, someone else wakes up”). Ugh. The world falls apart at the seams and guess what survives? Goddamn
“I should probably visit him.”
“You’re an idiot, K. I would tell you to watch yourself, but forget it. Forget it.”
The line went dead. I considered calling back for a second, but he sounded like he was in one of his moods. He always got like this. ‘Murdering innocents’ this and ‘reckless insanity’ that. Admittedly, I hadn’t gone on a rampage like this in months. That still didn’t excuse his rudeness.
I polished off most of the vodka before tackling the mess of the previous night. A crimson trail snaked its way through the upper labs, leading all the way past the pneumatic doors and out into the sun. I followed it in the other direction to find Victim Number Seven.
I was impressed. Normally I’d have been unable to pull a larger person any reasonable distance. I congratulated myself and checked for a pulse. I knew that I wasn’t going to find one, but the physical confirmation of this fact sent a shiver of ecstasy through my body. Dragging him by the feet—good God, he was heavy—I hauled him down to the service floor and flicked the incinerators on. These things were designed to reduce medical equipment to cinders; a corpse wasn’t a problem.
Back on the first floor, I scrubbed the barely-congealed liquid from the tiles. It was definitely best to get it out now, before it stained. The Helix might, technically, not be mine, but I took some level of pride in where I lived.
Because you’re all about impressing the guests. Best hostess ever.
I thought about the absurdity of my choice of words, and chuckled. Something twigged in my mind: a vague recollection of platinum blond hair. I searched the Helix, but I couldn’t find any. Had I dropped it outside? Had I imagined it?
No, you choked someone to death with it.
I grumbled to myself as I crawled back under the sheets. Typical: go on a psychotic rampage and destroy valuable evidence.
No use crying over spilt blood.
***
Day two brought fresh horrors along the phone lines. This time it was Valerie. Less contempt and more curiosity than Vincent; apparently I’d paid her a visit, spending half an hour whispering evils through her intercom before tumbling through her skylight. Things had gone sultry from there; this much explained the bite marks. Then there was a crashing in the background and her voice faded from the handset: “If I have to restrain you one more time, I’ll do it with ketamine.”
I smiled. She’d be okay, of course. This wasn’t the first time a patient had gone wild on her watch. Example one: yours truly. I made a mental note to inquire about the ketamine, and went to sleep again.
***
Energy returned on day three. I spent most of the morning scrolling disinterestedly through newsfeeds: bloodsports across the Suez Barrier, panic in Queensland due to a catastrophic laboratory failure and reports of Russian constructions on the Georgia and Azerbaijan borders. The speculation was a bit fantastic; it seemed pretty clear that the Russians were just making their own version of the Suez Barrier. Ironically, the collapse had vastly improved relations between Russia and the USA; while the latter scrambled to put out its own fires, Russia consolidated its position and made concrete efforts to deal with the infection. Of all the countries in the world, Russia had weathered the storm and stayed driest. Sure, Moscow had been wiped out, but the scale and quickness of the Russian reaction had saved millions. America no longer had the time to care about Russia, and Russia no longer had the inclination to care about America.
Local news was less interesting. I was on the second page (“Grisly murders linked, say officials”), shunted down thanks to some asinine story about a girl being possessed by demons while sleeping (“I fall asleep, someone else wakes up”). Ugh. The world falls apart at the seams and guess what survives? Goddamn
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