Pandemic Page 105

Cooper turned, looked at the chipped-tooth smile. He pointed down at Jeff.

“What is that stuff all over him?”

The man shrugged. “I dunno. That’s how it’s done, I guess. I’m just supposed to watch and make sure they’re safe.”

“Safe from what?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. He sniffed again. Twice, like a dog checking something out. “Safe from people who are not our friends.”

Friends. Out of the bald man’s mouth, the word sounded heavy, important. It sounded … religious.

Cooper squatted in front of Jeff, forced himself to reach for his friend — then he pulled his hand back. What if that brown s.h.i.+t was some kind of disease? What if it was contagious? Could it be part of what Blackmon had been babbling about on TV? He had to call an ambulance. But if he did, would one come? The world outside had melted down. Cooper couldn’t count on help from anyone; Jeff needed him, and needed him right now.

Cooper reached out with his index finger, pointed it, poked the tip into the brown material. It felt like a crunchy sponge.

“Hey,” said the man behind him. “You’re not supposed to touch that. Never supposed to touch that!”

Cooper stood and turned. “You said you didn’t know what this c.r.a.p is.”

The man’s smile faded. “Maybe I was wrong.”

The hair stood up on Cooper’s neck. To his left, the bulky, hot boiler. To his right, heavy shadows that hid the rest of the bas.e.m.e.nt. This crazy f.u.c.k blocked his path to the door.

“Uh, wrong about what?”

“About you being my friend.”

The man’s hands shot out, reaching for Cooper’s neck. Cooper flinched away — his heels. .h.i.t Jeff. Cooper fell backward against the cinder-block wall, slid down it until his a.s.s landed on the pile of bodies. He tried to scramble up, but the bald man’s hands slammed into his throat, wrapped around his neck.

Strong thumbs pushed hard into Cooper’s windpipe. He couldn’t breathe. The man leaned in hard, his weight keeping Cooper pressed down on Jeff, the other bodies and the crunchy material that covered them.

“Just give us a smooch,” the man said. “It’ll be okay.”

He opened his mouth and bent closer.

The overhead lights cast the man’s face in shadow, but not so much that Cooper couldn’t see the wide eyes, pupils so big they looked like dimes, the strand of spit stringing from the upper lip to the lower, and the man’s tongue — pink, dotted with tiny, blue triangles.

What the f.u.c.k oh G.o.d oh G.o.d!

Cooper’s hands shot up and grabbed the man’s face. Thumb tips drove deep into the man’s eyes with a pop and a squelch and a burst of hot wetness.

The man released Cooper’s throat, flailed at Cooper’s hands. Cooper shoved him away. The man fell back into the aisle, his a.s.s landing on concrete, his hands covering ruined eyes that spilled blood onto his white s.h.i.+rt. The sound he made … it was like an obese cat crying for food.

Cooper coughed, drew in air, pushed himself to his feet. His wet thumbs were already cooling in the bas.e.m.e.nt air. He quickly wiped them off against his pants legs, horrified at what was on his skin.

He had to get out of there.

Cooper turned to face his friend. Jeff hadn’t moved a muscle. Neither had the other two people hidden beneath the brown material.

“Jeff! Dude, wake the f.u.c.k up!”

Cooper went to grab Jeff’s s.h.i.+rt to shake him, actually touched the brown stuff before his hands retreated on their own as if they’d touched a man-size spider.

Gloves, he needed gloves, something to cover his hands. No, too late for that — he already had flecks and chunks of the brown stuff on his fingers, and he could feel pieces of it on his neck and face.

Cooper fought back revulsion as he grabbed at the brown material and tried to pull it off his friend. It was some kind of membrane, a thick sheet that didn’t want to be ripped free. Little tendrils were anch.o.r.ed tight to the cinder block like roots of crawling ivy. It felt like touching wet wood, so black and rotted that it squished more than crunched. Cooper pushed his fingers through it, down around Jeff’s shoulder, and yanked — Jeff remained covered in the membrane, but at least Cooper had pulled him free of the wall.

Cooper felt two strong hands lock down on his right ankle. He started to turn, to kick out, but before he could, he felt the hard sting of something biting his calf through his jeans.

He looked down to see the bald man: hollow holes for eyes, white teeth locked on dark denim that was already growing darker with spreading blood.

Cooper raised his right fist high, twisted as he brought it down on top of the man’s head. The man quivered, but didn’t let go. Cooper reached down with both hands and gripped hard on the back of the man’s neck. He yanked, felt a deeper pain as the man’s teeth tore free.

Cooper flung the man onto his back, straddled him, then wrapped his hands around the man’s throat and squeezed and how do you like it motherf.u.c.ker squeeze just keep squeezing and never stop and never stop until you die motherf.u.c.ker until you DIE!

The man’s blue-dotted tongue stuck out. He made noises that might have been a desperate effort to draw air. The b.l.o.o.d.y mess of two ruptured eyes still managed to squint in agony, eyelids sagging in against the negative s.p.a.ce.

Cooper felt the man’s life slip away.

So he squeezed some more.

He didn’t know how long it was until he felt his hands weaken, the muscles exhausted, until they could no longer keep up the crus.h.i.+ng pressure. Cooper stood, chest heaving. He heard the sound of his own ragged breaths.