Infected Page 79

Perry leaned in, so close that Bill felt the heat from his breath. Perry held his fingers less than a half inch from Bill’s nose, thumb and forefinger ready to grab again at a moment’s notice, ready to inflict more of that brain-shearing agony.

“Like I said, boy, stop your crying or I’ll kill you right f.u.c.king now.”

Bill stared up through tears that refused to be blinked away. The friend-turned-psycho leaned over him, perched on one leg. Bill’s fresh blood had smeared all over Perry’s s.h.i.+rt, wetting the brown-black stains.

The sock filled his mouth with a sickly dry-cotton feel. It tasted much as Bill imagined a dirty old sock should: moldy and suffocating. Warm blood continued to pour from his nose, down his face and onto his chest. Blood from his punctured hands rolled down his arms to collect in wet pools at his armpits, soaking outward in an expanding tacky-hot pit stain.

How had this happened? He’d come to check on his best friend and now he was crucified to the wall, staring up at the b.l.o.o.d.y, giant, wildeyed, snarling, psychotic nightmare that was Perry Dawsey in name only.

“Okay,” Perry said in a whisper. “Now I’m going to take the sock out of your mouth. And when I do, I’m going to ask you some questions. Whether you live or die is up to you — the second you scream, I’m going to pull that knife out of your hand and shove it through your eye and stir your brain like Skippy peanut b.u.t.ter. It’s going to hurt. It’s going

to hurt a lot. And I don’t give a f.u.c.k, but I think you already know that. Do you know I don’t give a f.u.c.k, Billy Boy?”

Bill nodded in agreement. Perry’s voice had grown calm, cold and relaxed, but his eyes hadn’t changed. Bill’s chest felt packed with coppery terror. Fear filled his mind, leaving no room for thoughts of escape. Perry was in charge. Bill would do whatever he said. Whatever it took to stay alive.

Oh Jesus, don’t let me die here. Please don’t let this happen, oh dear G.o.d, please!

“Good,” Perry said. “That’s good, Bill. I’m sure you’ve been trained well and warned about the consequences of this mission, so I won’t feel a bit of remorse. If your voice rises above conversational levels, you’re not going to be having a whole lot of fun. Do you understand what will happen if your voice rises above conversational levels, Bill?”

Bill nodded again.

Perry dropped to the couch, resting a knee on either side of Bill’s thighs. Bill saw him grimace a bit, but then that fleeting expression vanished, the psychotic stare back in place. Suddenly Perry looked away, his eyes losing focus. He seemed to be staring at the wall, or perhaps some point beyond the wall. His head c.o.c.ked to the right ever so slightly.

He looks like a dog listening to one of those ultrasonic whistles.

“Look, I’m telling you he’ll talk,” Perry said. “We don’t need to kill him!”

Oh Christ oh Jesus oh my Lord he’s completely insane and I’m going to die here, I’m going to die just like that.

Perry spoke angrily to his unseen companion. “f.u.c.k off! This is my show now. You just shut up and let me think.”

Bill felt his spirit sag down, weighted with doom. There was no hope.

Apparently the voice stopped. Perry’s stare returned, a piercing fixation that drilled into Bill’s eyes, which were wide, white and wet. Bill felt weakness slip over him, slowly pulling him into unconsciousness.

This time he didn’t fight it.

DEW ON THE MOVE

Dew pinched the uncomfortable, thick cellular between his shoulder and ear, steered with one hand, and with the other punched an address into the Buick’s dashboard GPS computer.

“How long since the client sent the form, Murray?”

“About twenty minutes.”

“Have we contacted him yet?”

“There’s no answer at the number he gave us,” Murray said. “We’ve sent a return email, but no response there yet, either.”

“Send Margaret and her rapid-response teams for me. I have to find this apartment complex. Tell the squads to get to Dawsey’s apartment complex, but do not enter. Tell them to wait for my call. Leave my three teams at Nguyen’s place to make sure the media doesn’t get in until they finish scrubbing the place of any triangle references.” Dew broke the connection and put the cellular away. He almost rearended an old woman driving a Civic. He leaned on the horn, trying to

get her out of the way. It was Sunday, college on semester break, but there were still college kids crossing the street, slow and calm like they owned the world, like they were immortal. Right about now Dew would be more than happy to put that immortality up against the front b.u.mper of the Buick.

He swung into the wrong lane and pa.s.sed the Civic. The GPS said he was fifteen minutes away, but with traffic it would probably take just over twenty to reach Dawsey’s.

BEST FRIENDS FOREVER (BFF)

Perry knew he didn’t have much time — either the Soldiers were on their way, or Bill the Betrayer would soon bleed to death. The wet puddle on the couch grew steadily, as if Bill were p.i.s.sing blood. Perry knew that if he timed it right, he could get the information and the Soldiers could save his friend. Correction. His so-called friend.

Bill’s eyes glazed over again, and his head sagged forward. “Oh no you don’t, you little informant,” Perry said. He slapped hard with his left hand. Bill’s head shot back so fast his temple bounced off the wall. The slap sounded red, warm and satisfying.

You don’t know what suffering is, Billy Boy. But I’m going to do my best to give you a little taste of what I’ve gone through.