“Parasite.”
Instead of being angry, the name-calling actually makes Mooney stop and think. Is she just that? A parasite — a creature that takes from a host and gives nothing in return, has absolutely no value? She thinks about this as she goes outside and finds her place in the sun, pulls out the combs in her hair to let it fall around her shoulders and back like a protective, snake-patterned blanket. But what about the people of this town? Those who are so much like Mother Gaso, who takes the state’s money to support Mooney but gives her charge almost nothing in return. Used clothes from the thrift stores, little to no spending money, and barely a place to sleep and decent food to eat. She knows the state funding isn’t much so all that would be okay, except there was no attention or affection either, those things so abundantly free and available. Yeah, her and all Mooney’s other relatives who had turned their backs on her when her parents died. And why? Because of a generation gap, a rift in the ability to understand. It is true that she herself has taken, but only from one person and only because it was necessary for survival in the way of nature and the food web — the predator and the prey, natural selection and may the strongest survive. So who were the real parasites?
She is still thinking vaguely about this concept throughout her afternoon class as the hunger pangs begin to grow in her belly and bleed away her ability to focus. Of all her classes, this one has the fewest students — only three besides her — but they all sit as far away from her as they can. Mooney is not insulted. In fact, she prefers it that way, especially when she realizes that there is a point at which her appetite begins to veer toward the feral, where her need for sustenance begins an insidious attempt to exert power over reason. She doesn’t want to be like the raving creatures in the sensationalistic photos that are being splayed more and more frequently on the nightly newscasts — surely there must be others like her, who still have logic and intelligence, reasoning, about how their new lives will play out, the paths waiting for them in the future. Right now, with emptiness twisting in her belly and the baby undulating in her womb like some kind of multi-limbed Kali godlet, she can literally smell the blood of each of the other people in her class. The fat boy at the end of the row is showing false bravado by sitting only three desks away from her; she can tell from here that he has cats in his family and his mother uses baby powder-scented dryer sheets when she does laundry. The two girls huddling in the back corner are barely out of their teens and beneath cheap, girly cologne, they smell mostly like Mother Gaso and almost all the other people in this town, the instructor included — tepary beans, pork, the oil that is soaked up by the fry bread that is a staple of their diets. They really should eat better.
Finally the class is over and she can get the hell out of here and unbind her hair. But her relief is unfortunately temporary, abruptly cut off when she rounds the corner of the building and finds Chief Delgado standing in her way. “Red Moon, I need to talk to you.”
Mooney stops and waits. She has an idea — a very good one, in fact — what this is about. “All right.”
“Border Patrol found a couple of bodies outside of town this morning,” he says. His voice is even but his heart is beating faster than it should — he’s afraid of her. He continues anyway, doing a fairly good job of keeping his voice steady and authoritative. “A man and a woman. Know anything about them?”
Mooney doesn’t flinch. “Why would I?”
“They were illegals,” he tells her. “A man and a woman. One of them was bit in the neck. Maybe a snakebite.” He reaches up and takes off his sunglasses, fixing his oil-dark gaze on her without flinching. “But I’m thinking it’s probably something else. And because they’re not sure, they’re going to do an autopsy and find out.” When she doesn’t say anything, he continues. “The woman somehow got herself all wrapped up in a bad cactus patch. I guess she couldn’t get herself free. Probably died of exposure. The man’s looking pretty dried up, if you get my meaning.”
“And what does this have to do with me?”
He stares at her. “I’m wondering if you’ve gone a step farther in this vampire thing,” he says bluntly. “Maybe you thought you’d try something new, so you chased him down.”
Mooney laughs. “Seriously?”
His expression folds itself into a scowl. “Yes, Red Moon. There is nothing funny about murdering someone.”
“Have you looked at me lately, Chief?” she demands. “Really looked at me?” When he blinks because he doesn’t know what she’s talking about, Mooney drops her book bag on the ground then uses her hands to mold the oversized peasant blouse she’s wearing around her belly. “It’s been a few months since you came by the house,” she says. She lets her tone of voice make it clear she thinks he is a fool. “Do I look like I can chase someone down?”
The look he gives her is one of half embarrassment, half horror. “You’re pregnant?”
“I think the answer to that is pretty obvious.”
“Who’s the father?”
Now it’s Mooney’s turn to be surprised. “That’s my business.” It’s an automatic answer, but even if she were able to declare something other than one of the three Mexicans who raped me that day in the desert, she wouldn’t have. It takes only an instant for her to follow his line of reasoning, but she doesn’t say anything more.
Delgado’s face darkens and he folds his arms across his chest. “Word around town is there’s a boy on the north side who has the virus, too.”
“No one talks to me, so I haven’t heard anything about it. If there is, I don’t know him.”
“I don’t guess you have to.” His jaw is set with anger. “That kid you bit went to school and probably kissed his girlfriend, who spread it to her mom, who gave it to the toddler at home and then sent him to daycare the next morning.” He lets out a breath. “Hell, you did the same damned thing, didn’t you? No telling how far it’s gone now.”
She shrugs. “What do you want me to say, Chief? It’s not like it was on purpose — I had no idea anything was wrong. A virus spreads and there’s not much anyone can do about it. It’s why we can’t get rid of the common cold.”
“This is a whole lot more serious than a cold, Red Moon.”
“But not nearly as bad.”
His head jerks. “How do you figure that?” he demands. “People die because of this. Themselves, and they kill others. We’ve all seen the news, read the papers. And now you brought it here.”
“People die because of a lot of things,” she snaps back at him. “In case you aren’t keeping up with your own department, that would be DUIs, drug use, and hey, let’s not forget all the crap — drugs, weapons, people — being smuggled in by the Mexican cartels. Maybe you ought to re-order your To Do list and put me at the bottom instead of the top. Besides, the virus would have gotten here eventually on its own. All the scientists say it’s already spread around the world. Only a very few change because of it, and not all of those end up dying or going crazy or whatever. The doctors aren’t even close to understanding it. There are probably shitloads of vampires out there going about their lives and no one even knows what they are.” Too late she realizes that’s the worst thing she can say, but like so many things in life — the wrong words, rejection, hatred, the taking of someone’s life — it can’t be undone or forgotten.
“I’m going to suggest again that you leave,” Chief Delgado tells her stiffly. “Everyone’s already jacked up about the murders this morning —”
“Murders?” Mooney puts her hands on her hips, intentionally emphasizing her belly. “You said the guy was snake bit and the woman died from exposure. How does that equate to murder?”
He steps close to her. “You think tying your hair back makes that rattler pattern invisible, girl? Not hardly — everyone’s seen it. And I still remember those fangs you showed me in the trailer.” Mooney backsteps, knowing he will think it’s because she’s intimidated. The truth is he, like her fellow students, just smells like food. “If someone gets a hair up their ass and decides it’s you who killed those Mexicans, I won’t be able to protect you.”
She tilts her head knowingly. “Won’t be able to? Or just won’t?”
“Don’t go there,” he snaps. He jams his hat harder onto his head, even though there’s no breeze to work it loose. “You know how it is around here, Red Moon. Everyone is related to everyone else, even if they have to go back generations to find it. It’s a small pool of shared DNA. People marry closer than they probably should and there’s not much new blood. People know that, and they aren’t happy to find out you brought in something that might change them.”
“Don’t talk to me about how everyone is related to everyone else,” she says acidly. “When my parents were killed and I needed help, suddenly no one in Sells counted me as family even though I’m blood relations to probably half of them, all because my parents thought differently and taught me early to realize I don’t need the Tohono O’odham to dictate every part of my life. Now as far as anyone here is concerned, I’m just a little monthly cash that helps Mother Gaso pay her bills. Maybe they should have gotten the hell out of this nowhere little desert town a hundred years ago and spread their Tohono O’odham joy a little farther.” It’s her turn to step toward the Chief of Police, boldly encroaching into his personal area, pushing her face forward until it’s only an inch from his. Something about her expression makes him stumble backward this time. “Did you ever consider that the change is a good thing, Chief Delgado? That it’s something the Tohono O’odham people need? Everything should evolve, including humans. Adaptation is the key to continuing existence. The scientists talk about how this is ancient stuff in our DNA coming back to life, but I wonder if it’s not just God looking to fix his own screw-ups.
