Pocket Apocalypse
Page 44
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She blinked. “You’re refusing to follow a simple request, and you want me to do you a favor? Did you hit your head when that werewolf knocked you over?”
“Asking me to give up my weapons is not a simple request, and you know it,” I said sternly. “I need you to go to the room where my things are, and get the mice.”
“Mice?” said Angelo.
“What?” said Gabby.
“I need the mice,” I said, as patiently as I could. “I don’t need my clothes or my books—although I’d welcome my books, it’s always good to have something to read while you’re in solitary confinement—but I need the mice. They need to hear what’s happened to me.”
Gabby nodded, understanding dawning in her eyes. “I’ll ask if they’ll come with me,” she said. “How much do you want me to tell them?”
“Tell them the God of Scales and Silences needs them to be with him; say that it’s a matter of holy writ,” I said. “They’ll come.”
“All right,” said Gabby. “He’s all yours, Angelo.” She turned and fled—taking her finger off the trigger of her gun, I noted, as soon as her back was to me. She was more frightened of the lycanthropy-w virus than she wanted to admit, maybe even to herself.
Angelo was staring at me when I turned back to him, an expression of utter disbelief on his smooth-planed face. “You called yourself a god,” he said. “You’re not really telling me those rumors about you having a colony of Aeslin mice were true?”
“Not a whole colony,” I said. “Just six. Technically it’s a splinter.”
“Man, you won’t give up your guns and you travel with a splinter colony of extinct theologians,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe you’ll survive this after all. You’re too damn weird to die of something as plebian as a werewolf bite.”
“Here’s hoping you’re right,” I said. “Which way to my room?”
Angelo started a little, seeming to remember his duty. “This way,” he said, and indicated the stairs.
The décor in this house was as basic and IKEA neutral as it was in the main house, down to the same brightly colored vases lining the stairwell walls. It was like they wanted people to believe that their properties were lived in, but only to a point. There was something faintly off about the whole place, like a showroom that had somehow acquired a whole ancestral home’s-worth of ghosts. A brightly colored rug blunted the edges of the stairs. It was the only thing that showed any signs of wear, with dull and patched spots breaking the lines of the pattern. That was almost soothing. Humans like to know that they live in the places where they exist.
The stairs led us to a narrow hallway lined with doors, all firmly shut. Angelo stopped. I did the same. “There are four bedrooms on the second floor,” he said. “Two of them share the master bathroom. The other two have ensuite bathrooms of their own. We’re putting you in one of the ensuite rooms, which means you won’t have a tub, but you’ll be able to take a shower if you like.”
“Can I get some plastic sheeting to keep my injuries dry?” I asked.
Angelo nodded. “I’ll bring it right up. You’ll be locked in. The door is opened three times a day for the delivery of meals; I’ll knock thirty seconds before I open the door. I never come alone, and I always come armed, so please don’t get any funny ideas about rushing me. You don’t have a phone, but there is a cell you can ask to borrow, providing you’re willing to let one of us stay to monitor any calls you want to make. I’d normally say that we’ve removed everything sharp, but since you’ve got your share of sharp things, I don’t think we really need this disclaimer. Do you have any questions for me?”
“Yes,” I said, suddenly weary, looking at those four unmarked doors in this cheery, oddly distressing hallway and feeling like I was looking at my inevitable demise. “What happens when I tell Riley this isn’t the way to go about things? Quarantine is important, but this is overkill when you’re talking about a disease that can’t even be transmitted for the better part of a month.”
“If Riley hasn’t magically transformed into someone who takes advice from people who don’t belong to the Society? Nothing happens, except you piss him off. You stay in your room, we figure out a way to pick your brain without letting you anywhere near anyone that you might hurt. Come the end of the month, either you’re clean or you’re a monster. If you’re clean, we give you our apologies, maybe a fruit basket or something. If you’re a monster, we give you three silver bullets to the head and three more to the heart, and then we feed your body to the drop bears.”
“You realize that means you’ll run the risk of infecting the drop bears,” I said.
Angelo looked at me flatly.
I sighed. “Right. Okay, which room is mine?”
Angelo pointed to the first door on the left. I tapped my forehead with one finger in a quick semi-salute, walked over, and tried the knob. It was unlocked. There didn’t seem to be anything left to say, and so I opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind me. The sound of a key turning in the lock followed only a few seconds later, sealing me inside.
I listened to his footsteps moving away in the hall outside my guest room-slash-prison before I finally allowed myself to sigh and relax. The tension I’d been carrying in my neck and shoulders didn’t drain away—I doubt anyone who’s just been bitten by a werewolf is capable of letting go that easily—but it did migrate down into my chest, where it formed an iron band around my lungs and heart. Breathe too deep and the whole thing might shatter. Rubbing my sternum with one hand in an effort to ease the constricted feeling, I took my first real look around the room.
If the guest room I’d been assigned before had been perfunctorily decorated, this one was positively Spartan. The walls were painted a soothing shade of beige that did nothing to make up for the bars on the windows or the cover bolted over the light bulb in the ceiling fixture. There was a bed: it had two thin pillows and what looked like a hotel duvet, the kind designed to be bleached to within an inch of its life. There was a dresser with four drawers. I walked over and opened them, driven more by dull curiosity than anything else. The top two were empty. The bottom two contained a spare set of sheets and a Bible, respectively. Despite Gabby’s joke about cable, there was no television, computer, or phone.
“Asking me to give up my weapons is not a simple request, and you know it,” I said sternly. “I need you to go to the room where my things are, and get the mice.”
“Mice?” said Angelo.
“What?” said Gabby.
“I need the mice,” I said, as patiently as I could. “I don’t need my clothes or my books—although I’d welcome my books, it’s always good to have something to read while you’re in solitary confinement—but I need the mice. They need to hear what’s happened to me.”
Gabby nodded, understanding dawning in her eyes. “I’ll ask if they’ll come with me,” she said. “How much do you want me to tell them?”
“Tell them the God of Scales and Silences needs them to be with him; say that it’s a matter of holy writ,” I said. “They’ll come.”
“All right,” said Gabby. “He’s all yours, Angelo.” She turned and fled—taking her finger off the trigger of her gun, I noted, as soon as her back was to me. She was more frightened of the lycanthropy-w virus than she wanted to admit, maybe even to herself.
Angelo was staring at me when I turned back to him, an expression of utter disbelief on his smooth-planed face. “You called yourself a god,” he said. “You’re not really telling me those rumors about you having a colony of Aeslin mice were true?”
“Not a whole colony,” I said. “Just six. Technically it’s a splinter.”
“Man, you won’t give up your guns and you travel with a splinter colony of extinct theologians,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe you’ll survive this after all. You’re too damn weird to die of something as plebian as a werewolf bite.”
“Here’s hoping you’re right,” I said. “Which way to my room?”
Angelo started a little, seeming to remember his duty. “This way,” he said, and indicated the stairs.
The décor in this house was as basic and IKEA neutral as it was in the main house, down to the same brightly colored vases lining the stairwell walls. It was like they wanted people to believe that their properties were lived in, but only to a point. There was something faintly off about the whole place, like a showroom that had somehow acquired a whole ancestral home’s-worth of ghosts. A brightly colored rug blunted the edges of the stairs. It was the only thing that showed any signs of wear, with dull and patched spots breaking the lines of the pattern. That was almost soothing. Humans like to know that they live in the places where they exist.
The stairs led us to a narrow hallway lined with doors, all firmly shut. Angelo stopped. I did the same. “There are four bedrooms on the second floor,” he said. “Two of them share the master bathroom. The other two have ensuite bathrooms of their own. We’re putting you in one of the ensuite rooms, which means you won’t have a tub, but you’ll be able to take a shower if you like.”
“Can I get some plastic sheeting to keep my injuries dry?” I asked.
Angelo nodded. “I’ll bring it right up. You’ll be locked in. The door is opened three times a day for the delivery of meals; I’ll knock thirty seconds before I open the door. I never come alone, and I always come armed, so please don’t get any funny ideas about rushing me. You don’t have a phone, but there is a cell you can ask to borrow, providing you’re willing to let one of us stay to monitor any calls you want to make. I’d normally say that we’ve removed everything sharp, but since you’ve got your share of sharp things, I don’t think we really need this disclaimer. Do you have any questions for me?”
“Yes,” I said, suddenly weary, looking at those four unmarked doors in this cheery, oddly distressing hallway and feeling like I was looking at my inevitable demise. “What happens when I tell Riley this isn’t the way to go about things? Quarantine is important, but this is overkill when you’re talking about a disease that can’t even be transmitted for the better part of a month.”
“If Riley hasn’t magically transformed into someone who takes advice from people who don’t belong to the Society? Nothing happens, except you piss him off. You stay in your room, we figure out a way to pick your brain without letting you anywhere near anyone that you might hurt. Come the end of the month, either you’re clean or you’re a monster. If you’re clean, we give you our apologies, maybe a fruit basket or something. If you’re a monster, we give you three silver bullets to the head and three more to the heart, and then we feed your body to the drop bears.”
“You realize that means you’ll run the risk of infecting the drop bears,” I said.
Angelo looked at me flatly.
I sighed. “Right. Okay, which room is mine?”
Angelo pointed to the first door on the left. I tapped my forehead with one finger in a quick semi-salute, walked over, and tried the knob. It was unlocked. There didn’t seem to be anything left to say, and so I opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind me. The sound of a key turning in the lock followed only a few seconds later, sealing me inside.
I listened to his footsteps moving away in the hall outside my guest room-slash-prison before I finally allowed myself to sigh and relax. The tension I’d been carrying in my neck and shoulders didn’t drain away—I doubt anyone who’s just been bitten by a werewolf is capable of letting go that easily—but it did migrate down into my chest, where it formed an iron band around my lungs and heart. Breathe too deep and the whole thing might shatter. Rubbing my sternum with one hand in an effort to ease the constricted feeling, I took my first real look around the room.
If the guest room I’d been assigned before had been perfunctorily decorated, this one was positively Spartan. The walls were painted a soothing shade of beige that did nothing to make up for the bars on the windows or the cover bolted over the light bulb in the ceiling fixture. There was a bed: it had two thin pillows and what looked like a hotel duvet, the kind designed to be bleached to within an inch of its life. There was a dresser with four drawers. I walked over and opened them, driven more by dull curiosity than anything else. The top two were empty. The bottom two contained a spare set of sheets and a Bible, respectively. Despite Gabby’s joke about cable, there was no television, computer, or phone.
