How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back
Page 42
I dug a handful of brain chips out of the bag in my purse, munched them down as I pulled out of his driveway, and by the time I reached the highway I’d balanced out the mild damage done by the cigarettes. Still, I kept eating the chips, and not because I was hungry for either food or brains. I didn’t want to be mellow anymore. Now I simply wanted to feel alive and awake, to get back that terrific feeling that came with being overbrained.
No way would I get that from a bag of brain chips, though. I had some stash at home, but not enough to tank me to the gills the way I wanted. I dug my hand into the bag in a search for the last crumbs of chips. Tomorrow I could go to my storage unit and get more brains out. Of course, by tomorrow I probably wouldn’t feel this way, and I’d—
My fingers knocked against something hard and cold in the bottom of my purse. The last syringe of the SuperMod. Dr. Nikas hadn’t asked for it back, and I hadn’t mentioned that I still had it. Never know when that sort of thing could come in handy, right? But of course we were back home now, which meant I didn’t really need to save it. There were plenty of real mods at the lab, and this was just a kitchen version.
I found myself at the boat launch, though it was nowhere near my house. Mod in one hand. Pen knife in my other. The mod was safe to use. I knew that. Safe, because I’d used it twice before, and Dr. Nikas knew what he was doing.
I only had the one. This was a one time thing.
Stop thinking so much.
Make the cut.
Make the cut and stick in the syringe.
Make the cut and stick in the syringe and press the plunger.
3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .
A shudder then a chill then the best feeling.
Lean back and close eyes. Best feeling ever.
Yeah.
Oh, yeah. Best feeling ever.