AfterAge (39 page)

"How can you be sure?" McDole queried. "Don't you need more time to research or something?"

"I'm sure because I know my work," Perlman said. His face was sincere. "Besides, I've already tried it."

Alex started. "You have? How?"

The room went silent.

Finally, the doctor answered. "I gave it to Deb early this morning, Alex. The process has already started."

Alex made a choking sound. "But we—all of us—you never even
asked
—"

"Jo told me to," Perlman said, as though it was all the reason needed. "The credit—and I mean
credit
, not blame—goes to her. She actually . . . I don't know how to describe it.
Made it work
, I suppose. Everything was stalled until she showed up in the lab right after dawn."

"I wonder how she gets in," McDole said absently.

"Who cares?" C.J. came forward. "What matters is that this germ of yours
works
, right, Doc?"

Perlman nodded vigorously and Alex looked sicker than ever.

"How long does it take?" Elliot asked innocently.

"Not very." Perlman took a deep breath; the truth was unavoidable. "At the rate it's going, the process appears almost retroactive. I'd say . . . less than a day." Alex looked stunned and Perlman forced himself to continue, regretting his bold, insensitive announcement. "On some the process may be faster because they haven't—"

Alex bolted from the room.

"Alex!" When McDole started to go after him, Perlman's voice made him pause.

"Let him go," he said. The physician suddenly felt
very
weary, and very guilty. "There's no way to stop him from going to the shelter, and it doesn't matter anyway. Not only is Deb still sleeping, she's considerably weaker than she was last night. He'll be safe."

"Oh," Calie said softly. "She's . . .
dying
."

Perlman hung his head. "Yes."

"Is she in pain, Bill?" McDole's voice was filled with dread.

Perlman went to the window and stared out at the rain, thinking of how Michigan Avenue had once looked on a gray, wet afternoon like now. Then it had been all lights and shine on the streets; now it was dreary and deserted. "Yes," he said finally.

"God," Louise said in a small voice.

"She never hurt anyone." Calie's words were quiet.

Perlman's eyes fixed on the floor. "No," he agreed. "She never did." It was a cowardly thing to think, but Perlman was glad he wouldn't be at Northwestern when Alex opened the door to the bomb shelter.

Neither Alex nor Deb deserved what he would find.

REVELATION 18:9

He shall see the smoke of her burning.

~ * ~

Alex was afraid to open the shelter.

He was filled with the dread that came with seeing Deb as a vampire, a creature that preyed on human beings for food, or would have, had she been less strong-willed. But the real truth was that he knew what he would see would tear him apart.

The smell smacked him as soon as he pushed open the door, ugly, thick, like a rotting frog forgotten on the back shelf of a biology-class closet. He fought the gag reflex and won only by pinching his nostrils hard enough to bring tears to his eyes as he breathed through his mouth. His other hand closed around the spotlight and snapped it on. He regretted it instantly.

The light, bright enough to illuminate a room twice the size of the shelter, showed everything in lurid, horrifying detail. Deb was on the floor, twisted atop a blanket Perlman must have given her, curled protectively as though trying to hide beneath the still-luxurious waves of her hair. Part of her face was visible, as were the hands that clutched her knees against her chest. Alex's breath hitched miserably.

Skin slick and swollen with mottled decay, covered with a fine sheen of noxious-smelling slime, she looked like a melting, unformed fetus.

"Oh, Deb," he whispered. She moaned lightly, as though she'd heard him say her name. Her head turned toward him for a moment, then returned to face the wall; the agony Alex saw there was nearly unbearable. He wanted to sink to his knees and scream, pound on the wall,
anything
to get this horrible
hurt
out of him, and even then, how did she feel? Had anyone considered that she might be in
pain
?

His fists bunched uselessly as she sighed in her sleep; Alex could have sworn she sounded . . . lonely.

He didn't care about the danger when he joined her on the floor, took her in his arms, and rocked her like a baby.

REVELATION 12:2

And she being with child cried . . .

and pained to be delivered.

~ * ~

"It's a boy," Bill Perlman announced. His smile was wide but shadows of exhaustion ringed his eyes.

There was a burst of applause. "That's great!" McDole said heartily. "It's about time we had some good news around here!"

"Wasn't he early?" Calie asked. “Are they all right?"

"Mother and son are fine," Perlman assured her. "He could be a little bigger, but for being a month premature, five pounds is a damned good size."

"Five pounds!" Tala was amazed. "Wow—that's no bigger than a sack of onions!"

"He's fine," Bill repeated. "But since you're all here, I want to let you know what's going to be happening in the future."

"Great," C.J. muttered. "Crystal ball time." He rolled his eyes despite Calie's severe look.

"We have a new addition, though I can't tell you his name since his mother hasn't decided. She did ask me to immunize the child."

McDole looked puzzled. "Immunize?"

The doctor folded his arms. "Like me, Evelyn and the baby are now carriers of the bacterium that was tested this morning, which I've called V-BAC for lack of imagination."

"Is that really safe?" It was the first time Alex had spoken since he'd returned from Northwestern a couple of hours earlier.

"Completely," Dr. Perlman said. "And desirable. In fact, I recommend that everyone be injected."

C.J. chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, then cleared his throat. "The way I understand it, this bacteria thing isn't going to save us if we're caught by a vampire, so why bother?"

Perlman raised his forefinger. "That's where you're wrong. It
will
save you—in a way. Will it stop an attacker from killing you? No." He looked around the room. "But the vampire that attacks you will become infected and die within twelve to twenty-four hours." He lifted his chin. "As a carrier, you'll already have V-BAC present in your body. It's doubtful you'll last long enough to become one of them, and if you do, you won't be strong enough to attack anyone else. You'll be gone for good by the end of thirty-six hours."

"It'll keep us from becoming vampires ourselves?" asked Ira, his face bright with interest. "Or at least from staying that way?" Perlman nodded.

"I'm all for it." Heads turned at Louise's enthusiastic words. She stood and rolled up her sleeve. "You got the needle? Stick it right here, Doctor." She tapped the inside of her elbow.

"Me too," C.J. said suddenly. "I'll go for it."

McDole looked thoughtful. "And you're positive it won’t hurt living humans. Isn't medicine normally tested for years before using it on human beings?"

The doctor nodded again. "Yes, but these aren't normal times, are they? If there'd been any doubt, I might still have tried it on myself, but never on Evelyn and certainly not the baby."

Alex finally looked up from his study of a map of the north Loop. He had returned to the group a half hour earlier only because of the desperate need to free the prisoners in the Mart; until now he'd stubbornly avoided joining the conversation. His clothes smelled of death and the others shifted nervously. "Did you say you took your first shot at the same time you gave one to Deb?"

"Yes, and I think Jo herself somehow . . .
ingested
a dose before that. My second shot was just for demonstration."

"Well," Alex said in a thick voice, "I've had a firsthand view, and the doctor looks a helluva lot better than Deb does." He turned back to the map.

"Wait a minute—does this mean someone has to literally
sacrifice
himself to spread it?" Calie asked with wide eyes.

Not at all," Perlman responded. "V-BAC is like any common bacteria—it
is
a common bacteria. Spread by touch, airborne, surface contact, anything a carrier touches, spits on, sneezes on, whatever, receives a sizable dose. This bacteria is not only strong and incredibly durable, it consumes food and reproduces at an amazing rate." He grinned self-consciously. "It sounds nasty, but if you people take these shots, then walk around spitting on the sidewalk for a couple of weeks, V-BAC will easily spread throughout the city—especially if we inject it into leftover food and toss the scraps in the subway entrances and sewers for the rats. That'll take care of those things down there." Perlman gave them a pleased smile.

"We could be free of the vampires within a month."

REVELATION 9:21

Neither repented they of their murders. . . .

~ * ~

"Fucking
liar
anyway!" Rita screeched.

The small mirror shattered as she brought her hands together with a
crack!
then flung the pieces aside. She felt around the long countertop until her fingers found something else—a drawer—and pulled it open. She stared uncomprehendingly at the lengths of stainless steel for a few seconds before her fogged brain told her what they were and where she was. Carving knives . . . of course. She was in one of the deli restaurants on the second floor.

Rita frowned. What was she doing here? No matter; she lifted a ten-inch blade and examined it. For a moment she imagined she saw her reflection dance along its length, just as she could have sworn she'd seen herself in the pocket mirror.
If I'd had one of these
, she decided,
that bitch wouldn't have gotten me
. Why hadn't Anyelet listened? Her lips pulled back and she stifled a cry at the pain that shot through her cheek. To show pain was a sign of weakness, and that would never do; anger, though, had always been impossible for her to hide.

Rita tucked the knife into her belt and sidled out of the restaurant while her fingers caressed her face, trailing over the lumpy scar tissue that had formed over the dirt, grease, and gunpowder embedded in the surface, sinking occasionally into a few still-open spots that continuously trickled moisture down her blouse.
I'll change clothes
, she decided.
Then I'll get a phone book and find a plastic surgeon. After all, I run a modeling agency and I have to reflect my clients—it’s all so damned competitive now.
She skittered across the corridor and leapt the last of the steps. That mirror, she told herself, had been . . . mistaken. Something had been wrong with it, a manufacturing flaw that had caused it to wickedly hide her reflection. She would stop and get a new one at the drugstore, one that wouldn't—

She tilted her head at a noise, trying to refocus her thoughts, then smacked the flat of her palm against her forehead in impatience, the pain of the blow causing a low growl in her throat. There
was
no agency, not since the night she'd crossed paths with that redheaded demon two years ago in Mother's, a Rush Street area bar. A half-dozen drinks and Rita had left with the seductive, deadly woman, taking the first steps of her one-way trip to hell. And was that Anyelet now? She had a few things to say to that slut, all right, and she'd start with a pointed reminder of her suggestion about weapons. Someone coughed and Rita grimaced; not Anyelet at all, but Siebold, lumbering around like an overweight, overstuffed penguin. Another disgusting bodily sound as he stepped out of a side hall, then froze. He turned to hurry away.

"Wait!" she commanded. He stopped, flinching when she circled him as he stared at his dirty shoes. "What are you doing here?" she demanded. "Spying on me? Did Anyelet tell you to?"

"No," Siebold said quickly. "I was just g-going up to look in on the people, that's all."

"Yeah," she sneered. "Gonna give some lucky lady the
pleasure
of your company tonight, huh?" Once so immaculate, Rita flicked a filthy fingernail beneath his chin. "And what's this? Big man with a little gun?" She laughed nastily as she poked at a small semi-automatic in the front of his belt. Howard said nothing, but an idea suddenly sparked in Rita's mind. She grabbed his shoulders and twisted him to face her. "Look at me. I said
look at me!
Tell me what I look like."

He glanced hastily at her face and back down again. "You look . . . all right."

Rita stopped, uncertain, then relaxed her grip and patted his arm. "Come on . . . Howard. You don’t have to be afraid. I've always admired honesty in a person—you know how I always say what’s on
my
mind. I respect that in another person. And, of course, I'm not having much luck trying to use a mirror. Help me out."