Infected

55.

The voice tickled his thoughts, teased his muddled mind.

Where are they?

It was the voice of the Triangles: mechanical, and yet still alive.

Are you there?

Another is missing.

The voice of the Triangles, and yet it was different. Somehow almost…feminine. Not a woman’s voice, but a woman’s concern, a woman’s depth of feeling.

Why don’t they answer?

Where are they?.

His eyes fluttered sleepily. The voice was something important, something he knew he needed to think about. The pain hung on his body like a weighted suit. Every inch seemed to throb and pulse in a muted symphony of complaint.

They won’t make it, they won’t make it, he is too strong.

Perry blinked again, clawing his way to consciousness. Triangles, but not his. Were these the ones his own infectors had mentioned when they said that strange phrase: we do that without telephones talk to Triangles.

He felt the Three Stooges stirring. The female voice faded away.

Perry wasn’t ready to get up. He lay on the couch, weight on his left side, wondering if he should just spend the rest of his life there, on his good side, not bothering to get up and suffer any more pain or wonder what fabulous secret the Stooges might deal out next.

His ass still burned; it felt as if he were still sitting on the stove. A truly nasty smell filled the air. So this is what burning human flesh smells like? Wonderful. There was another smell, something more pungent, more… dead -smelling. But it wafted in and out and couldn’t compete with the all-encompassing smell of Perry’s Home-Cooked Rump Roast.

Why do you fight us?

And there they were. No mistaking that voice. Male, arrogant, bossy. His own beloved Triangles.

“Who was that other voice?” Perry asked, ignoring their question. “There’s someone else infected, isn’t there? Who is it? Does he live in the apartments?”

We won’t tell you.

Why do you keep killing us?

We’re the only ones who can save you now.

“What the hell are you talking about? Save me? I know I’m as good as dead.”

No, it’s the others who want to kill you, not us. Not us, Perry. We would never hurt you.

The Triangles weren’t trying to kill him? Bullshit. They were going to burrow out his insides and wear him like a coat, or take over his mind and dance him around the street like a fucking human Muppet.

Someone is coming.

Is it Columbo?

Perry heard nothing. Was their hearing better than his? How strong were they now?

“You hear someone out in the hall? Is it the neighbor who was here before?”

No. Footsteps are lighter, it’s Columbo kill Columbo.

“It’s not Columbo!”

Perry painfully picked himself up off the couch, using the table to help him stand. Every movement brought fresh waves of pain.

“Why the hell do the police scare you so bad?”

Because they are coming to get us.

Men are looking for us, to kill us.

Why don’t you understand?

“Take it easy. Don’t get excited and start screaming in my head again, okay?” Perry breathed slowly. He tried to project his calmness, hoping that if the Triangles could overflow emotion into him, he could do the same in reverse. “Why do you think they’re coming to get you now?”

Don’t you get it?

If they kill you, they kill us.

It hit him like a bullet between the eyes.

Perry’s analytical process stopped dead-still as the truth suddenly rocked home. The truth that had been there from the start, and all he’d had to do was ask.

The Soldiers weren’t coming to save him.

They were coming to kill him.

To keep the Triangle larvae from hatching. It made perfect sense, although part of his mind still fought against it. If the Soldiers wanted to kill him, then there was truly no way out, no escape, no chance.

He talked in barely a whisper. “Do you mean…do you mean that the Soldiers are coming to kill me?”

Yes yes stupid!

Yes coming to kill YOU!

He was fucked. He was completely and utterly fucked. The Triangles were killing him from the inside. Soldiers wanted to gun him down and stop the Triangles from becoming whatever it was they became. He had no idea who the Soldiers were, where they were, what they looked like. They could be anybody. Anybody. And he’d sent an invitation through the Internet, painted a fucking bull’s-eye on his own forehead.

His father’s voice filtered into his head, a once-faint memory now strong and vital. It’s you against the world, boy, you just remember that. The world is a harsh place, where only the strong survive. If you ain’t strong, people will use you up and throw you away. You’ve gotta show the world who’s boss, boy, show them with strength. That’s why I’m so tough on you-that and because you’re one stupid cornholing bastard and you piss me off every chance you get. Someday boy, you’ll thank me. Someday you’ll understand.

For the first time in his life, Perry did understand. He’d spent a decade trying to escape his father’s legacy of violence and abuse and anger, but now he knew that was a mistake.

“You were right, Daddy,” Perry whispered. “You was always right.”

Fuck them all. He was a Dawsey, goddamn it, and he’d sure as hell start acting like one.

Columbo is here.

As the last of his sanity slipped away, Perry heard a knock at his door.

His eyes narrowed to predatory slits.

His father’s voice: You gonna let ’em push you around like that, boy?

“No sir, Daddy,” Perry whispered. “I sure as hell ain’t.”