Every Last Drop

Jeo Pitt 4 - Every Last DropHow you get what you want is, you make sure no one knows what it is you want.Now, the world full of new hazards, everyone charting new courses to avoid collisions that are inevitable, I give in.Pulled, I go west. To where forces draw me. I have time now. To take what I want.But a new gravity catches me on Eighth Avenue. Catches me and smashes me down and drops me in an alley with my back to a wall and my ass in a pile of trash.It bears down, rage distilled.And stops, hovering over my head.I cough up some of my own blood and spit it at his polished shoes. —Christ, Predo, don't you have more to keep you busy right now?The two enforcers make a move toward me, and something comes out of Predo s throat that makes them stand down and hang back at the mouth of the alley by the car that Predo burst out of to grab me and throw me into this pile of garbage.I give him a look.—Did you just growl?He stands, rigid, sweep of bangs hanging over his lowered forehead, drops of my blood falling from the knuckles of one of his black leather-wrapped fists. —I have no end of things to keep me busy, Pitt. No end of worries and concerns.He bares his teeth.—On the best of nights, I have an endless list of tasks that must be accomplished. And with each following sunset, it is replenished. And now.He draws a finger across his forehead, pushing his bangs aside, leaving a smear of my blood on his skin.—That list will be torn to bits. Rendered irrelevant. Those concerns and details relating to the security of the Coalition must now be cast aside for a matter more pressing. Wartime policy.His head snaps back and he looks at the night sky above the alley. —Do you know what concerns me most, Pitt?I put a hand out and brace myself against a Dumpster and get myself to my feet, trying to figure what hurts me most. —Got me. The health of your portfolio?He points at the sky. —Satellites. Antennae. Wireless signals.He looks at the ground, points at the concrete. —Fiber optics.He looks at me.—The wealth of data and information around us, that is what concerns me. The ease with which it is collected and transmitted. But most of all, Pitt, I am thinking about cellphones. And their little cameras.He takes a step toward me, oblivious to a bottle underfoot and the glass that scatters about when it explodes.—I am thinking of war between the Clans. Now. In an age when children scamper about with digital cameras in hand to snap pictures of their nannies sneaking drinks from the liquor cabinet. I am thinking about how long it will take before there is a visible confrontation between opposing Clan members. I am thinking of photographs and video of such an encounter, of men and women fatally shot, but still fighting, uploaded to the Internet. Aired on cable news. Analyzed by law enforcement and the military.He takes another step, the shards of glass ground to powder. —I am thinking of the brink. The final precipice I have used my influence andresources to steer us away from time and again for decades. I am thinking of the abyss we can all now clearly see between our feet as we stand at that brink with only our heels on the final edge of land.He stops taking steps.—Yes. I do have more to keep me busy. I have thousands of people, a way of life that goes back centuries, a culture threatened with extinction by self-immolation, I have all that to tend to and attempt to preserve. But none of it, I assure you, is so pressing that I cannot spare the moment it will take to kill the childish mercenary covered in years of blood who has pushed us all here because he caught sight of where his food comes from and he doesn't like the way the ranchers treat the cattle.His fingers flex.Keeper of secrets. Master of spies and murder.Fed on infants blood.If he gets his hands on me, my bones will shatter like rotted wood. My flesh will tear. And my blood will wash across the alley like dirty water.He's old and strong and fast and I cannot beat him.But I don't care to die easily at his hands.My hand flicks beneath the tail of my jacket and the gun appears in it like amagic trick. I raise my arm, inhaling, and in the space between inhaling and exhaling, everyone and everything in the alley frozen in that instant, I pull the trigger, the gun aimed at his face.A drop of blood hanging from my eyebrow falls into my eye.I blink.And when I open my eye he is in front of me, the bullet meant for him has put a hole in the brick of the alley wall. His hand slaps mine down and away, the gun flying.But I'm OK with that. That's OK by me. Because I may not have the gun anymore, but I do have the straight razor in my other hand. And he's close enough now for me to use it.I cut, the blade cleaving the space between us, flaring in the shifting light cast by a TV in one of the windows overhead, arcing at his throat.And then the razor isn't in my hand.I flinch, looking for it between Predo's fingers, expecting to feel it across my own neck.Down the alley, the brief flash of light on the straight razor's blade is echoed in twin blurs of white passing in front of the enforcers, leaving behind matched headless corpses, wavering before the final fall.—You're in the wrong place to be settling your disputes.The skeleton wrapped in its white shroud is next to us.It places the blade of the razor under my chin. —You should know that, Simon.I don't move, not even to lodge my usual objection to being called by my real name.Keeping the razor as close to the end of my life as possible, it turns its sunken eyes on Predo.—You. Your Clan observes treaties and laws. Rules of behavior modeled on the ones those sheep out there follow. To humor you once, we looked at a line you drew on a map. We agreed it would be a very bad idea for any of you to cross that line. And here you are. On the wrong side of your line.Predo licks his lips. —I am a representative of the Coalition.The skeleton shakes its head. —You're a policeman outside his jurisdiction. You're where you don't belong.The skeleton pushes his face close to Predo s. —You're not Enclave.He lifts the blade, forcing my chin higher. —This one, what he is can be disputed.The razor folds away from my skin.The skeleton shows it to Predo. —But you are meat. Ignorant and unclean and in need of purging.Predo sweats. —Killing me will be considered an act of utmost aggression.The skeleton coughs laughter. —Yes. And then? Will your Coalition send more of those to threaten us?It waves a hand at the two headless corpses being loaded into the trunk of the car by another skeleton.It shakes its head. —Killing you would be a mercy. But there will be none of that for you tonight.It points at the car. —Go on.Predo backs away, watching my eye. —A final word, Pitt.He smooths the length of his tie. —Do you know you've tipped your hand?I don't move.Predo stops, hand on the open door of his car. —I still don't know what it is you're after.He waves an arm, taking in the neighborhood. —But I know where it is.He drops the arm. —You'll be dead soon.He gets into the car. —But I'll be certain to find what it is you value so much. Before you die.The door closes, the engine hums to life, and the car rolls away onto Eighth, not at all burdened by the dead it carries.I look at the skeleton. —Do I know you?He offers me the razor. —We've met, Simon.I take the blade from his desiccated hand. —Yeah, I wasn't sure, you guys all look alike to me.I drop the razor in my pocket and take out a smoke. —But seeing as you've met me, you maybe know my name's Joe.The other skeleton joins us. This one, he's less of a skeleton than his boss, but he's on his way. All of them, all Enclave, they're all a bunch of withered tendon and bone held together by bleached skin. No surprise, that's what happens when you spend all your time starving yourself.The first one shakes his head, looking like the gesture might snap his twig neck. —Your name is what Daniel said your name is. Simon.I walk a few steps, kick some garbage aside and find my gun. —Daniels dead.He coughs that laugh of his. —So you say, Simon. So you say.He points at the mouth of the alley. —You're wanted.He starts to walk, I follow.What's the point of running? If they want to, these guys can just pull my legs off and carry me.Besides, they'll be taking me where I was headed in the first place.It's not easy, but if you close your eyes, you can remember a time before the Meatpacking District became a vomitorium for clubbers and people with too much fucking money to spend on dinner for two anyplace that doesn't have a six-month waiting list for a reservation. A time when the cobbles here weren't quaint, when they were walked by tranny hookers and teenage hustlers, and cruised by limos looking for rough trade. Course the Enclave settled in their warehouse over here even before that scene. They settled here when those cobbles drained the blood of livestock, and white coats and meat hooks were the only fashion statements being made.Still, the crowds waiting in line to get into the after-hours joints that are just now opening their doors are full of enough clowned posers that the all-white look the Enclave sport doesn't raise an eyebrow as we cut down Little West Twelfth to the final block before the water. Maybe a few club kids watch as we climb the steps to the loading dock and the door slides open to let us in, but none of them scurry over to find out what the scene inside is like. They know it's not for them. They can read it. The total lack of graffiti on the place, thesilence, that chill that rises from it, the scraps of street rumor that adhere to it.Bad shit goes down in there.They know it. They feel it. So they stay in line like good little robots and wait their turn to flash a fake ID at the doorman so they can go inside some carefully padded pleasure dome and pretend they're living on the edge for a few hours.Inside the Enclave warehouse, it's all edge.A hundred-odd fanatics, weaning themselves from the blood the Vyrus demands, pushing their metabolisms to the crazed point Amanda Horde described, when memory T cells will stop reminding their own immune systems what not to attack.The Vyrus, pushed to starvation, jacks their nervous systems. Desperate, it hammers on them to feed. At the edge of death, it empties its hosts of all resources, strengthening them for the kill.Strong, fast, impervious to pain; blow a limb off one and they'll pick it up to beat you to death with it.They vibrate with insanity.That's what the kids on the street feel.I feel it too. It goes to my guts, the madness in this place. The clattering oftheir bones striking one another as they endlessly spar, honing killing skills. The numb and complete silence that falls when they meditate on the Vyrus, focusing their wills to resist its hunger. The whisper of dry lips and tongues when they break their fasts and sip spoonfuls of blood to appease the Vyrus.The fasting, its not a rejection of the Vyrus1 hunger, its a supplication.They are not its enemy. They are its acolytes.Suggest to one of them that the Vyrus is a virus, an earthly thing, and they'll laugh in your face. Or chew it off.Heresy is something they take pretty seriously around here. And rejecting the Vyrus as a supernatural agency of redemption is about as heretical as it gets for these guys.All they want, all they starve for, is to be like the Vyrus, to let it gradually feed on them, creep into their bones and tissue, and transform them into something other, something that will stay in this world, while being entirely of another.Fanatics to the ground, when they've found one who can complete that transformation, and he's taught the others to do the same, they think they'll become immune to sun and all the weapons of this world. And then, like all true believers, they II go out and kill everyone not just like them.It's weird shit.I don't follow it.And I don't like coming here.But I used to be welcome all the same. The old boss, he had it in his head I was really one of them, that I just didn't know it yet.But he died.Daniel. Old man. Crazy old man.I stop thinking about how he died, how the weight of his corpse was nothing in my arms, I put it away where you keep the things you don't want to think about. That place, It's goddamn crowded at this point.I put it away so I can focus on the Enclave, mind myself so I don't end up dead.The two that brought me inside leave me as soon as the door slides shut behind us and darkness cover drops. I can hear more of them around me, breathing, barely breathing, meditating. I can hear others softly grunting, the whip of their limbs through space, the crack as they strike one another, a splinter of bones. I can smell their decaying flesh and the special taint of starving Vyrus that clings to them.My pupils open, gathering light from candles scattered across the hugespace. It looks the same as the last time I saw it. I figured that would be the very last time I'd see it at all. The last time I'd see it before I came back to burn it down.But the best laid plans of mice and men and all that.I had to come back without a torch.I want to see my girl, after all. —Simon.I look at him, coming out of the gloom, wrapped in white like the other Enclave.I nod. —Nice suit.He stops ten feet from me, fingers a lapel of the spotless white three-piece. —Yeah-huh, right?He tilts his head at the lines of squatting Enclave deep in meditation. Beyond them others spar, flickering, frozen for an occasional heartbeat as they study the others defense, looking for a weakness before striking again. —Like, I had no problem with the color scheme and all, but there was no way I was gonna be sporting a toga or a shawl or something.I'm not paying attention to him, I'm paying attention to the others, watching them as my pupils widen and take in more light and the warehouse stretches and I see how many of them there are. More than a hundred. Many more. Twice that. At least.I look at him.He nods. —Oh yeah, man, I been busy.—Truth to an old friend, it ain't easy. This shit ain't easy at all. Like, let me tell you, man, that meditation shit, that is some boring-ass shit. Just sitting there, trying to get into the Vyrus and all that. And the sparring. At first I was so down with that. I wanted to get up and go kung fu. But that shit is hard work. And it fucking hurts, man. Enclave, there's no such thing as a pulled punch with Enclave. You have to, what you have to do is, here, let me show you. Punch me as hard as you can.He comes close, crossing the small chamber he led me to in the lofts above the warehouse floor. —Seriously, man, just hit me as hard as you can.I look at the two Enclave sitting on the floor just outside the open door.He waves a hand.—No, man, don't worry about them, they won't do shit I don't tell them to do. They're cool. Just take a poke at me. You know you want to. —Count, why the fuck would I hit you when you're expecting it?He shakes his head.—Same old Joe Pitt, no fun at all. Here I am, full of all this new knowledge, all these new skills, changed and wanting to share, and there you are, grumpy as ever, a total fucking drag.He does a karate kick, pummeling the air with one of his bare feet, the one with the twisted bones jutting from it, the one I mangled for him.He lowers the foot and smiles.—But it's cool, it's cool. All I'm trying to do is say that this shit ain't easy. Being Enclave. I mean, sure, I understand that the Vyrus chooses you for this shit. You're either Enclave or you're not, that's what your boy Daniel used to say, yeah? Shit, but, I wouldn't even be here if that wasn't the case. Come to it, you wouldn't be here if that wasn't the case. Daniel hadn't given us both the Enclave stamp of approval, we couldn't come into this place except to get executed. But the point I'm weaving around here is, even if the Vyrus says you're Enclave, this shit is still damn tough. Like, I know this may come as ashock considering what you think of me, but like this shit is transformative. Really transformative.He slaps a fist into his palm.—OK, and I know that sounds redundant. Sure, like, because if the Vyrus doesn't transform you in the first place, then what the hell? But check it. Cause the Vyrus doesn't make you a different person. Yeah? So like me, I didn't suddenly stop being a spoiled-rotten, rich brat just because I needed to drink blood to live. More like, the fact I was already so self-absorbed just made it easier for me to make the transition. Like the rich already live off the fat of the land, so why not the blood as well, yeah? So, but, this stuff, to get it, to really get it, you have to work at it. Well, talk about new concepts for me. Work? Whoa! Not on my agenda.He leans in. —But being in charge here after Daniel cracked it, that was on my agenda.He pushes his eyebrows way up.—And that meant playing a role. Like, putting on the grave face, being all somber and talking in portentous sentences and shit, like so many of these guys do. It meant squatting in lines and pretending to think about the Vyrus. It meant learning that if someone was gonna swing at you, and really try to punch your rib cage out of your chest, that you needed to learn how to go withthe punch.He stretches his arms at me and points with both index fingers. —Which you would have got to see I can do now if you d taken a shot like I asked, man.He drops his arms.—But the point is, you start to do all that, even if it's a total front, even if you've made a life out of doing just enough work to get by, even if all you re really thinking about is how cool its gonna be when you're in charge and get to call all the shots and cut this hard shit from the activities list, you keep doing it for all the wrong reasons, and it doesn't fucking matter. Because, dude, you are doing it.He spreads his arms. —I'm saying, Look at me, man.I look at him. White skin to match the suit. Bald. His once skinny frame, now a coat hanger for the designer threads.He claps.—I was trying, I was trying to front, and the whole time, what was really happening was I was becoming, man. I'm saying, to play the role, I had starve the Vyrus, yeah? And that required some effort. So next thing, I'm in themeditation down there, and I'm really thinking about it. And all that shit I learned about it before, when I was studying it from the scientific angle, using my med-school chops to try and break it down, all that started to fade.He puts his hands on his head.— Cause I'm telling you, if this shit can really change an asshole like me, then it is not of this earth. Hear what I'm saying?His hands shoot over his head. —I am a believer, man! I am in! And I love it!He cocks a grin.—And, Joe, all our shit, all our background and complication and all that shit, I am over it.He reaches for me. —And I want you to join us, man!I punch him.And he rolls with it. Falls away from the blow, tumbles backward, and comes to his feet still grinning, and points at me. —I love you, man!He comes at me faster than I can do anything about and wraps his armsaround me.—I love you, Joe Pitt!Put a crazy man in an asylum, then lay your money on the odds he gets worse. Closest thing to a sure bet.—It's not like I'm just filled with crazy Vyrus-love and I want everyone to feel it, yeah? This is about something more tangible. Take a look and see if you get it.We stand at the rail of the lofts, looking down at the pairs sparring in the middle of a circle of kneeling Enclave.I look at them. I don't say anything.Why bother? You want to know what's on the Count's mind, you wait for him to inhale before he blows the next load of words at you. —OK, so you're looking. And you re seeing it. There's way more of us.He shows me five fingers, then shows me five more.—We're doubling in size. It's crazy in here, all the new Enclave. We can barely find room for the new believers. Even with fasting as our primary tenet, we still have problems getting enough blood in here.He points at a far corner where an Enclave has pulled the cover from a large sewage drain and another drops a sagging body down the exposed hole.—Fast as we can drain one and toss it down there, we need another. Growth comes with costs, man. I learned that in school.He shakes his head.—But that's not the point, I'm getting off it again, the point. The point is all these new people were getting in. This new belief and energy. These people who need something in their lives, what we can give them.I find a crack to fit a word in. —Thought the Vyrus did the choosing and the giving.He looks around.—Well, yeah, man, sure. But situations, they evolve. So in the past it was Daniel who saw when someone was Enclave or not, now someone else has to fill that role.I look at him.He gives a modest head shake.—Hey, I didn't nominate myself. But like I said, I'm a changed dude, and I got some credibility around here. And, OK, I don't want to dis the big man's memory, and I'm not, but I'm saying that maybe in Daniels case that when he was looking for the Enclave in someone and there was a shade of doubt, maybe he gave them a pass. And maybe me, maybe I'm more inclusive. Like Iwant these people to have what they need. Belief, change, newness. Transmutational experiences like mine.He holds a hand parallel to the ground and waggles it. —And maybe, OK, maybe some around here don't feel this is the way.He makes a fist and pops his thumb out of it and at the sky. —But there's more that do. Daniel, he was the man forever, and he was loved, still is, but he was on the conservative side. A lot of these brothers and sisters, they've been waiting to grow, they want change in their lifetimes. Sure they want to meditate and learn the nature of the Vyrus, but they also want to be here when it's time for the purge. When the world is remade to the Vyrus. They don't want to miss out. And I am down with that. It's a matter of how you come at your faith. I come at it like we need to spread it, we need to make it happen, that's what the Vyrus wants from us, that's why it makes us feeders, aggressors. It wants us to be aggressive. Yeah? So I say to these guys, Let's fucking aggress, man\He points at the street door.—Action like that tonight? Sending those hitters out to pick you up, giving them a weapons-free license to take care of any shit out there? That wouldn't have happened with Daniel. And they like that new attitude in here. They like that we stepped out and took care of some business on our own doorstep.I raise a finger.He bobs his head.—Yeah, yeah, man, questions. Fire em up. —Just wondering how you got wind of me.—Easy, man. Had an eye out for you the whole last year. You hit downtown, that news got to me in a hurry.I grind my teeth. —Fucking Philip.—Yeah, man, fucking Phil. That guy, again, there's a dude Daniel would never have had anything to do with, but me, having had a history with him, I was prepared to make use of his eyes on the street. He saw you, gave me a call. After that.He leans his arms on the rail.—Well shit, Joe, after that I knew it was a matter of time before you crossed no-man's-land to come here. Only thing I had trouble with was figuring out why it was taking you so long.I watch another body go down the hole. —I had some things to do.—Hey, don't we all?He puts a hot, dry hand on mine. —But here you are, man. And that's good. That's good. That's really good.I pull my hand away. —How's that, Count?He scoots closer, smiles.—Wanting you to come inside with us, man, that's not just about spreading the joy. Like I said, yeah? Like, Daniel fingered you as Enclave. That means something. That's credibility. So, things are going on here. Like.He frowns.—Like, sure, most of us are down with expansion, down with action, down with bringing on the purge. Like, in my interpretation of everything, maybe the final transmutation were supposed to make, maybe that's already happened. Maybe that's not supposed to be literal and physical like they've been thinking, maybe it's more a spiritual thing. And if that's the case, well, man, like I said, I've made that transmutation and then some.He purses his lips. —It's a puzzler, and I don't want to sound full of myself, but I may just be theVyrus messiah.He shakes his head. —I don't know for sure. Have to meditate on that shit some more. Anyhoo.He snaps his fingers.—Some others, a few, they don't believe in a need for speed, they think were going too fast. They think Daniel would disapprove. And that, that just causes all kinds of fucking problems. So having a guy like you, with Daniel-cred behind him, that's always a help. In this case, you can help big-time with a particular problem. But there's more to it. Like that's a surprise in our world, yeah?He strokes his bald scalp, watching as one of the sparring Enclave below has his jaw shattered.—These guys, when they go out as a force, once they start smelling the blood out there, they could go a little over the top. And that's not the point. We don't want a bunch of random spastics launching themselves into crowds and going off like bombs, rending folks limb from limb till the SWAT bullets take them down. The whole point is, this is a crusade; when Enclave kill, it's not like a retribution thing, it's a cleansing. And not just cleansing the world, but cleansing the people who get killed. So it needs to have some order to it. So to keep the warriors that go out in line, Joe.He sidles very close. —I'm gonna need a field general.I poke the barrel of my gun into his ribs.He looks at it.I look at him.And I ask the only thing that matters. —Is she alive?He looks up, rolls his eyes. —is she alive? Dude, have you been listening to me at all?The hand of one of his bodyguards whisks between us and takes the gun from me.The Count bugs his eyes. —Whoops! Whered that go?He laughs.—Yeah, so anyway, dude, is she alive? Like, that's the whole point here. The tension I'm talking about. Old-school attitudes versus new-school attitudes.He looks at me.I look back.He sighs. —No comprehension at all, huh?He takes my arm. —Come here.He pulls me to the corridor that runs the length of the loft, between rows of cubicles.—The rest of this shit, the field-general gig and all that, well sort that out later. For now.He points at the end of the corridor where four Enclave stand outside a closed door. —For now, you go have your reunion.He gives me a shove in the back.—Do me a favor while you're at it and try and talk some sense into fucking Joan of Arc for me, will ya?He turns, heads down the stairs to the floor below.I look at the door.Legs like stilts, holding me wobbly ten feet above the ground, I walk to theend of the hall.These Enclave are a little on the beefy side. Looking like maybe they've only been in a concentration camp one year instead of five. They stand back from the door, one of them knocking before pushing it open.I go in.She's sitting on the floor, holding a little cup in her left hand, eyes gliding over the handwritten pages of a book lying open in her lap.Her eyes stop moving.Her finger marks a spot on the page.And she looks up.She's sitting on the floor, like the last time I saw her, but everything else is different. Then shed just got over being about to die. Withered and hollowed out by AIDS and the chemo they'd pumped into her, red hair falling out in fistfuls. A fading ghost.And look at her now.All bones and alabaster skin, freckles bleached away, hairless.Vibrant.She looks back down at her book.—Hey, Joe. Come to try and kill me again?—It was hard. Of course. And I thought I was crazy. I thought they were all my hallucinations. This whole place. Like it was the pain medication. Then I thought, and it was probably all the white clothes they wear, I thought that maybe I was dead. And this was like a test or something. It took a long time.She flips a couple pages in her book.—That was why they started paying attention to me. Because I went so long before I tried it.She shakes her head. —Blood.She bites her lower lip.—Its funny to think how long I waited. Cause I was never religious. But I thought, What if the second I try the blood I get sent to hell? It was too weird to be real. But whatever I was thinking, they thought I was special, for fasting so long right after infection. And then I couldn’t hold off anymore. I'd smell it when they all broke fast. And it smelled so damn good. And then I thought, This is bullshit. This isn’t real. I'm on a morphine drip and I'm never waking up and I'm gonna try some of that. I'm not going to hell. And I tried it.She shakes her head. —And after that, I didn't care if I went to hell.She looks into the cup in her left hand, the few tablespoonfuls of blood it bears. —Do you think were going to hell, Joe?I take a drag, think about Queens. —Yeah, seems that way to me.She sighs. —Yeah. I think maybe we are too.She looks up.—He thought about you. Daniel did. —I doubt that. —No, he did, a lot.She flips a couple pages in the book, reads.—Simon. Again. An endless distraction, that young man. Adding up the time I've wasted trying to drill some kind of sense into his head. Pointless. No. Its not pointless. Simply tiring. My own shortcomings again. Impatient. Who was it that said it was my greatest weakness? Someone dead now. It could be the reason Ikeep trying with Simon is that it gives me an excuse to talk occasionally with someone different than the ones I've been talking to for so long. The Vyrus may be endlessly fascinating in and of itself, but talking about it all the time is boring as hell. Something interesting today. I feel hungry. Odd.She flips more pages. —That's toward the end of this one. The last one. But there's lots more.She points at the bracket-mounted shelves that cover two walls of the cubicle, every inch of every shelf lined with journals, notebooks, diaries. —Lots more. I started just pulling them at random. Then I pulled one from toward the end and saw your name. Simon.She nods at the door.—A couple of them had used it when they were talking about you. So I knew who he meant. Also, the way he described you. Sullen. Childish. Temperamental. Funny. That all rang a bell. So I found the first one I could with your name.She points at a red-spine notebook on the shelf. —That one. From the late seventies.She looks at me. —How old are you?I scuff the floor. —Closing on fifty.She nods. —Funny. Id never have picked you for the type to lie about your age.I glance at the door.—Look, baby, I want to get all caught up and all, but we should really think about getting out of this place as soon as possible.She presses the tip of her index finger into the middle of her forehead and closes her eyes. —You know what I hate?She opens her eyes.—What I hate is that I feel so stupid sometimes. I think about it. I think about you telling me you couldn't go out in the sun because of solar urticaria. That the blood bags and biohazard coolers were because you were an organ courier. That secret room in your basement.She closes her eyes again.—I think how it was so easy to convince you that I wouldn't fuck you because I didn't want to give you HIV. How you never argued with me about it. Neversaid it was a risk you would take.She knuckles her eyes, pressing away a couple stray tears. —Fuck.She wipes her fingers on her white skirt.—I think about all that, and think about all I know now, and I think, How could I have been so stupid? How didn't I see that he was a fucking vampire?She makes a fist and hits the floor.—And I hate that. Like I should have figured this shit out. Like somehow I should have put all the pieces of your weirdness and our fucked-up relationship together, mixed them up, and spilled them out and they should have come up vampire. Like that isn't utterly insane.I lower myself to one knee. —Baby.She jabs a finger at me. —Don't! Don't you call me baby.I reach, put a finger on the sole of her bare foot. —Baby.She presses her lips together.—Damn it! Damn you. You fucker!I squeeze her foot. —Baby.She slaps the floor. —You absolute fucking fucker!I squeeze her foot a little tighter.—Baby, listen, I know I got a lot to answer for. I know I. I know. But this isn't the time. We need to go now. Because in case you hadn't noticed, you're living in a madhouse.She's on her feet, standing over me.—in case i hadn't noticed? I noticed, you son of a bitch, I noticed that you fucking left me in this madhouse!I look up at her. —I'm back for you now.She claps her hands together three times, slowly. —Hail the hero, returned to rescue the damsel.I stare at her foot. Beyond pale. Nails covered in chipped red polish.—Look. I know. I know this is. Hard. I. I never told you. I thought. You'd think I was crazy. And you'd run. Or. I'd do something to prove it. And you d be more scared. And you'd run. And I'd never see you again. And.I paw the floor, looking for some kind of traction for my words. —And so I didn't tell you. And. But there's no time now because all hell is going to hit the streets and we need to get gone before it does. We need to.I look at her, lift my shoulders, drop them.She puts her hands on her hips. —Does it bother you the Count was the one infected me?I look around the room, anyplace where she isn't. —Yeah. —Yeah. Me too.I let myself look at her, see the anger, look away.—My blood probably would have killed you. It's special, the way it works. Only some can infect some others. I don t know.—Yeah. I read some stuff like that in Daniels diary. But I didn't say I wish you'd been the one to infect me. I just said I wished it wasn't that prick.I pull the smokes from my pocket, stare at the package.—I know. I know this isn't what you wanted. To live like this. To be infected atall. I know. I tried to protect you from. I. I'm. Shit.—You.Half of an ugly laugh escapes her. —You fucking idiot.Her fist hits the side of my neck and I go down and my skull bounces off the floor. —You think this bothers me?She picks up the cup of blood. —You actually think this bothers me?She puts the cup to her lips and drains it.—I was dying, Joe. I was really dying. It hurt so bad. And I was so scared. And I wanted to live. I prayed. I swore that if I could live I'd do anything. If I could just fucking live. If the pain would go away and I could not be scared and I could live. Anything. I swore I'd do anything.She squats in front of me, grabs my chin. —And I'm alive.She forces my face up, my eyes to hers.—And I don't ever want to die. I want to live forever, Joe. And I never want to be scared like that again.She holds the cup in front of my face. —And if this is what it takes, well, I swore I'd do anything.She lets go of my face and rises.I look at the pack of smokes I've crushed in my hand. I tear it open and pick a broken Lucky from the shreds. I put it between my lips. Take it out. Put it back. And take it out again. —I didn't know.She leans into the wall of books, presses her face into them. —Joe. Why would you? How could you? If It's crazy for me to feel stupid for not knowing what you are, it's just as crazy for you to feel shitty for not knowing I'd want to be the same thing if it could save me. Its stupid. It's all crazy and stupid.She looks at me. —And it could get worse.She splays her hands over several of the books. —He had doubts, you know. He had doubts about what the Vyrus is. He haddoubts about it all. And he was starting to think, toward the end, he was starting to think that the world didn't need to be remade in the image of the Vyrus, made so there are only Enclave. He had doubts. But that asshole. He's taking what Daniel believed, what was passed down for so long, and he's making it ugly and mean and dangerous.I shake my head. —You never met Daniel. You don't know what dangerous is.She pulls one of the books down and opens it. —He wanted a crusade. Of some kind. I know that. But he had doubts.I get up. —Baby, we should really.She snaps the book closed.—The Count, he doesn't have a doubt in his empty head. He's narrow and spoiled and, Joe, he's such a prick. And he's halfway to sending those fanatics of his into the streets to start it. All he needs is something to tilt out of balance and he'll do it. Then what? People will be killed. And this place.She holds out her arms. —It'll be destroyed.She slides the book back onto the shelf.—I don't want it destroyed. I don't want people killed. I don't want my friends here killed. I don't want to be killed, Joe.She faces me. —I just came back to life. I don't want to die.She folds her arms.—And some of them, they believe in me. Because I was the last Enclave Daniel found, they think I'm special. And because I fasted so long. And because I'm so fucking tough. Because I am tough. I can fast longer than anyone in here. I can take the pain. I can take the cravings and the cramps. I can go deep into the Vyrus and let it deep into me before I have to feed again. So thanks, AIDS and chemo, thanks for teaching me how to be tough. Because of that, there are enough Enclave who believe in me so that the Count cant just start a holy war whenever he wants.I nod, shake my head, nod. I look up and down.—Baby, that, all that, it doesn't. Matter anymore. What the Count wants, what these fuckers are all trying to get, power, whatever, it doesn't matter anymore. It's all going to hell no matter what they do now. And.I look at her, I try to cross the room to her.And stay where I am.—I could. I don't know. If I had a chance, the things I did, or didn't do, I could make it up to you. I could. I want. Just.I reach. —Just come with me. Just. Now. Come with me.A sound comes out of her, the kind of sound she made when she was dying in the hospital.—Years. Years of my life. Years while I was dying. I spent them with you. And you, you weren't who you said you were. You weren't what you said you were. You. You. You.Tendons jump in her neck.—The rest of it. I could go! This place, I could leave this place. This life, I could live it with you. I could.She grits her teeth. —But you lied to me so much.Drops are falling around her feet. —I know what you are now.Her fists clench, and a whiter shade shows at her knuckles.—But I don't know who you are.She points at the floor. —Goddamn you, Joe Pitt. Goddamn you.She charges me, slamming me into the wall, books raining down around us. —Goddamn you, I don't know who you are.I could say I struggle with that one, but it's not really a struggle. When there's only one thing to say, you just say it. —Baby, I'm just the guy who loves you. Same as always.She closes her eyes, leans her forehead against my chest, my heart stops beating. —Well that counts for something, Joe.She opens her eyes and looks up at me. —But not enough.She pushes away. —Not now.She kneels and starts to pick up the books. —You better go.I watch her, sorting the books, finding their places on the shelves, reordering Daniels thoughts.I think about the streets.Piled high with bodies.Back rooms crammed with them. Trucks hauling away the dead. I think about Coalition and Society and Hood and Cure at one another's throats. I think about it spreading to Brooklyn and the Bronx. I think about hunting parties of Van Helsings drawn by the chaos. And then organized hunting parities of soldiers and police.I think about the future.You cant hide from it. Dig a hole of your own, climb in, pull the dirt in over you, and the future will burrow up beneath you and pull you deeper.You can't hide from the future.But like most everything else, if you hate it enough, you can kill it.And I hate it plenty right now.I   take   off  my  jacket  and   go   through   the   pockets,   moving   my   few possessions to my pants. —Yeah, I got to go.She doesn't look away from the books. —Yeah.I hold out the jacket, the one she gave me on a fake birthday years ago. —Hang onto this for me?She looks at it. —Seen better days.I snap my Zippo open. —I still like it.She takes the jacket from me.I light up. —And I'll be back to get it.She shakes her head. —Joe, you shouldn't bother.I blow smoke. —Baby, you don't want me now, III go. But I'm coming back.She shakes her head again.Smoke gets in my eye, blinding me for an instant. —Evie. I started a war so I could see you.I rub the smoke from my eye. —You being pissed at me Isn't gonna keep me away.She almost smiles. But doesn't, not really.Instead she tears some of the lining from inside the jacket. —Come here.I go there.She reaches up and ties the strip of black cloth so that it covers my dead eye.—Now, go Arrghh. —Arrghh.She nods. —There. You're a pirate.And she kisses me.Bitter.But a kiss all the same.—Whoa, whoa, that's it, you're just walking out?I stop walking out and look at the Count. —You want to make something of it, now s the time.He points up at the lofts.—After all the time you spent up there with her nibs, I thought you might have got her to see some realities.I look up there. —She sees the realities.I shrug. —She just doesn't like them.He frowns. —Then why doesn't she just get out?I adjust the patch she put over my dead eye.—Near as I can figure it, she thinks you're a psycho and she wants to stick around to make sure you don't do anything too fucked up.He flexes his toes. One of the bones jutting from his bad foot scrapes the concrete floor.—Make sure I don't do anything too fucked up. Bitch is begging to see some fucked-up shit she don't get out of my face in here.I look at that ruined foot. —Know what I think every time I see you, Count?He puts his hands on his hips. —What's that?I scratch my head.—I think to myself, Why the hell haven’t I killed this asshole already? And then I remember, Oh yeah, there's no rush, I can always do It another time.He nods, cocks his head, cups a hand to his ear. —Hear that? You hear that, man? That ticking sound? Know what that is?He takes his hand from his ear and starts swinging it back and forth like a metronome. —That's your time running out.He slows his finger.—Now, I don't know exactly how much is left on it, but it's close. See, you got exactly two uses to me. Once those are done, so's your time.He holds up his other index finger.—One, you crapped out on. I mean, why the fuck do you think you're here, man? That crazy bitch is your chick. If you cant talk some sense into her, then I don't know what. So that's Use Number One down the shitter.He holds up another finger.—Use Number Two is what I said before, about a field general. Which, from what attitude I'm getting here, is a job you re clearly not interested in. —Always quick on the uptake, that's you.His finger stops swinging. —Ding!He shakes his head. —Time s up.I find a cigarette.—Is that the sound it makes when your time is up? Ding? Talk about an anticlimax. —You should have just collected your chick and got out, man.I put flame to cigarette. —Count.I drop my voice to a whisper.—You might want to stop talking shit before it gets you in too deep.He puts his face in mine.—You can't take me, man. Not anymore. III have your heart in my hand and be chewing on it before you stop breathing. —No doubt, no doubt. But let me tell you a secret.I put my mouth next to his ear. —That girl up there, she still loves me.I lean back and nod. —Yeah, hard to believe, huh?I raise a hand.—Now I'm not saying she's all weak-kneed about me, but she still has the feeling. I can tell.His eyes flick at the lofts.I take a drag and nod.—That's right. You kill me, she's likely to stop just sitting up there keeping an eye on things. She might decide that this is the right time to come down here and settle some shit.If he had eyebrows, they'd be pulled together.—Doesn't matter. She's only got a handful behind her.I tap my forehead. —You sure of that?Our eyes meet up.—What I'm asking is, You sure when push and shove go at It that you got your supporters all locked down? You sure some of them might not go over to the other side if things came to the big chop-sockey in here? Mean, when the limbs start flying, there's no telling which way some people might jump. And saying you carry it off, what do you lose? Daniel, he was top dog here for how long? Ever hear about internecine bloodshed on his watch? How long after that before serious doubts are raised about the quality of your leadership, O chosen one? Speaking of which?I tap his chest with my fingertip.—I ever tell you about how Daniel was always hinting that I might be the right guy to follow him?I look over at the Enclave away in the shadows. —Some of these guys know. Maybe, here's an idea.I point at the stairs to the lofts.—Maybe I should stay. Might be cozy. Me and her up there, you down here.I drop my smoke on the floor between us. —Or maybe you should back the fuck off.I grind the cigarette under my boot.—Before you embarrass yourself in front of your people, making threats you re not gonna move on just now.I turn away and start for the door. —Don't lose the suit, Count, it's you.He starts after me. —Uh-uh. Hang up, toughguy. You don't get last words in this place.He raises an arm, circles it over his head.—This is my house. And there are rules. And you need to be schooled in one of them.He raises his voice, the sounds of sparring dying as his words echo. —Like, OK, you don't want to make the scene. You don't want to stay and add your name to mine. You don't want to lead the troops when they hit the streets. Basically, you just don't want to help me. OK, cool. I'd be lying if I said I was surprised. Like, I thought you'd take your girl with you, but I know she'schanged and so maybe she doesn't do it for you anymore. OK. But leaving here, that's not a casual thing. You're either Enclave, or you're not. You're either in here with us, or you're not. The open-door policy, that is closed. No in-and-out privileges anymore. No one gets their hand stamped with a big E and gets to come and go as they please.I'm at the door.He arm-bars me.—Like you got banished once, down the sewer, and how you got out I do not know, but this time It's final. You go out, you don't come back.He shakes his head.—Not for her. Not for no reason. Gone. And how we settle our differences in here, the chick and me, that will happen without your help either way.I scratch the back of my neck.—The way I know that girl, anyone's gonna need help in here, it's gonna be you.We stare.And he blinks first.Which is a relief to me and my handful of bluff.The last of the clubbers are inside. Daylights trying to catch me out.What the fuck now?A rat rattles some trash cans and I sniff the humid air and smell the rat and kick the cans aside and pick it up by its scruff. —Hey, Joe, what's up? —Phil.I let him go.—Funny place to find you.—Well, just a coincidence. I happened to be in the area to conduct some business.I put an arm over his shoulder.—Strange you should mention this business that you were conducting.  It seems someone ratted me to the Count.He shivers with outrage. —What? A rat? Who, Joe? Tell me who it is and III take care of it for ya.I pat his arm. —It's a nice thought, but I wouldn't want you to go jumping in the river withyour neck tied to a sewer grate on my account.He flinches.—Urn, yeah, that, that's not my style. Urn, Joe? —Yeah, Phil?He puts his palms together.—There something I can do to get this over with quick? Like, can I just run in front of a cab and take my lumps and we call it even? As opposed to you cutting off my nose and all, I mean.I give him a little shake. No old ladies  purses fall out of his pants legs, which is a bit of a shock. —Cut you? Not gonna happen.He wipes his forehead. —Honest? No cutting? —No cutting.He smiles, pats me on the chest. —Ah, that's great, that's just great.He grins, skips a couple times. —Well ain't that a beautiful thing.He plucks a cigarette from the pack I offer him, winks.—Ya mind me askin what ya been up to, Joe? Not that I'm being nosy, just that I'm always curious about what my friends are up to.I light his cigarette for him. —I've been getting into trouble, Phil.He laughs.—So the usual, huh? —Yeah, the usual.He swallows.—Say, Joe, ya don't mind me sayin1, you're acting kind of weird. Like, not cutting me and all. Makes a man think that maybe you're waiting to lower the boom on him.He bites the tip of his tongue. —You sure we're OK here?I pat his shoulder. —Yeah, were OK. See, you got something I need, Philip.He clutches his throat.—Aw no, Joe, not that.I shake my head, curl my arm around him again. —Easy, easy. All I'm talking about is your big fucking mouth.His hand covers his mouth.—Joe, no, I swear, I never sold you out, not once never. —You sold me out so many times, Phil, you should be paying me royalties.He makes to talk again and my razor flips open. I hold it across his mouth. —Just hush a minute and listen.I smoke. —I'm going away, Phil. I came back, and now I'm going away.I tap the middle of his forehead.—And I want you to make sure everyone knows it. See, I made a mistake coming back. There's nothing for me here. Nothing but trouble. And I don't swing the weight I used to. Cant take the heat. So I'm going away. Joe Pitt is out of play. Gone. Crossing the water and taking his chances. Anyone has a score to settle, they missed their shot. Color me gone, Phil.I take him by the ear. — Cause the only thing that will bring me back is if I hear you didn't do as Isaid. III come back and we'll assume this position again. And III make your big mouth a whole lot bigger.He starts to nod, scrapes his lips on the blade, freezes.I shake my head. —Now I'm gonna hit you.He rolls his eyes.I nod.—I'm doing it to knock you out so you don't see where I head off to. Not so hard that III break your jaw or any teeth, but I'm gonna put you to sleep.I fold the razor away.He wipes his mouth. —Jesus, Joe, I could just close my eyes.I flick my butt away. —Shut the fuck up, Phil, you're getting off easy.He covers his eyes with his hands. —If you say so. Just get it over with.I cock my fist.—Hey, Phil, is that your dealer?He uncovers his eyes. —Where, where?I punch him in the face and break his jaw and a couple teeth and he's down.I wipe his blood from my fingers as I walk to the middle of the street and look to the next block. I see what I want and head that way.I keep my feet moving, my eyes forward, fighting the draw of the building behind me, a force that drags on me, pulling open a wound as I move farther away.Figure it's life. Figure we all got one. Figure how you gamble yours is nobody else's nevermind.She says she doesn't know who I am.Well I can't help her on that score.Figure the wound is just as raw whoever I am.Figure I could have said more. Told her where I came from. Who birthed me. What I was like when I was a kid. What school I dropped out of. My whole curriculum vitae.Figure I could have gone over all the years we had together. Cut openevery one. Told her what I was thinking and when. Why I told every lie. What they cost me to tell. What I hoped they were buying me.Who's got time to waste in that? A catalogue of lies.Bottom line.You want something to be safe, you pay a price.And that's the deal in the end. She's safer in there than she is out here.In there, she's got people who got her back. Out here, she's only got me. And once Predo starts sniffing after what I'm here for, he'll find her. He'll smell her like my blood in the water, and go straight to her.