by Anthology
Fitcher backed away until he was against the kitchen door. Guili pulled a handgun out of a leather holster under his jacket, aimed it at his boss, and said, "Get away from him, Mr. O. I don't wanna have shoot at you, but you gotta get away from him. He needs a doctor. He---"
Guili spun on his heels, eyebrows raised, and pointed at Silas. Still sprawled across the table, Silas flinched. Guili yelled, "You're a doctor. You get over there and help him. He needs---"
Silas shook his head.
Occhialini tossed Cesare's body to the floor and stood up. Guili turned, waving the gun between Silas and his boss. "You, Boss, you don't move. You, Doc, move."
Silas reached out for one of the chopsticks.
Occhialini rushed towards Guili.
Guili screamed and fired. Two slugs pounded through Occhialini's chest. The shots drilled right through, sending twin jet streams of blood twirling behind him, but the boss didn't lose any momentum. He leaped onto Guili, arms grappling, head cocked back, toothy mouth open. Guili landed a single punch across Occhialini's chin a second before the dead man's face burrowed into his neck. Guili dropped to the floor in a shower of fluid.
Silas wrapped his hands around the chopstick, dropped off the table and drove it into Occhialini's gut. The dead man's arm snapped up, slapping him away with incredible force. Silas fled.
Occhialini tore the chopstick out of his body. A five--inch-long intestinal tapeworm wriggled on its end, impaled but still alive. Membrane separated as the tapeworm grew a snarling mouth on both ends, filled with tiny teeth.
The boss dropped the chopstick. The worm freed itself and slithered across the floor, heading for Silas.
Cesare's body rose from the floor, eye liquefying and running down the creases of his face. Guili stopped shuddering and stood up. He tore his eyeballs out of their sockets and chewed on them with his new teeth.
Fitcher swore in every one of the six languages he spoke. Silas only spoke English, but he understood each word perfectly.
Silas sprinted for the door. Fitcher followed close behind, arms swinging as he ran. Silas glanced back and saw the dead men shambling across the floor like a trio of angry drunks. Guili's size-eleven shoe came down on the tapeworm. It shrieked and squirmed; its body flattened under his heel.
They sped through the cocktail lounge, their feet landing hard on the polished cherry hardwood, and into another spacious room furnished with plush leather sofas and a massive television. Fitcher slipped on a loose roll of medical gauze partially unfurled on the floor. Catching his balance, he avoided tumbling over an overturned first aid kit.
There were pools of blood on the largest sofa. Silas reacted first, skidding away from the bloodshed, his eyes focusing on the two bodies tangled on the floor just ahead of the furniture. The lead chef burrowed into his subordinate's chest with both hands, digging like a dog tunneling under a fence, tearing open a wide crater. His lips were smeared with blood, an ugly red line, like a prostitute's lipstick after a quick twenty-dollar transaction.
Occhialini and his men broke into the room, desperate hands slapping against the door frame, noses twitching as they sniffed the air. Their foreheads had melted down over their eyes, leaving a crest of thick wrinkles just above their cheekbones. Silas thought of the Phyllolepis's smooth, eyeless head, but only for a moment. He cut across the room, Fitcher trailing, then through a white door.
"Not left," Fitcher screamed, but it was too late. Silas had already spun through a second door. The lawyer stopped, hands spread. "Not in there."
Guili's hands grabbed Fitcher from behind, jerking him back. Silas reached out and caught hold of his hands, planted his feet against the door's molding, and pulled. Fitcher screamed. Cesare rounded the corner and dove headfirst on top of Fitcher, burying his teeth in the older man's shoulder, tearing through his shirt and the loose flesh underneath. Fitcher's scream ended as the strain on his vocal cords grew too intense and his voice failed.
Grunting, Silas leaned hard against the wall and pulled on Fitcher's arms.
Cesare bit down deeper. Silas heard bone snap.
Occhialini appeared over his henchmen's shoulders, grinning through a thick forest of needle-thin teeth.
Silas yelled and jerked hard on Fitcher's hands.
Fitcher came loose from their grasp and they fell into the room. Silas barely noticed that Fitcher's arm remained in the hallway, dangling from Cesare's mouth. It seemed to wave to them as Silas slammed the door shut, locking the monsters out.
Fitcher's hand covered the stump at his shoulder. He made hoarse little yelping sounds with every hyperventilating exhale.
The monsters pounded on the door. The dead goons were big men. Silas knew it wouldn't take much time for them to get through. He stood up, intending to survey the room for weapons. He didn't get the chance. Shock struck him, freezing him in place, until the sound of the wooden door cracking returned him to his senses. He asked Fitcher, "What is this?"
"It was . . . was an indoor . . . spa . . . but . . ."
Only a few feet into the room the tile floor descended into a massive pool. A massive filtration system hummed. On the bottom of the pool Silas saw dozens of Phyllolepis swimming in lazy circles.
". . . can't clone . . . just one . . . gotta clone . . . a whole . . ."
On the other side of the spa pool there was a set of glass doors leading out to a deck. Silas's eyes darted to the walls. There were only narrow ledges, maybe three inches thick, on either side of the water.
". . . school."
The door began to splinter. The dead were breaking through.
Silas bent down and tried to pry Fitcher off the floor. "Come on, you have to help me. We've got to get across---"
Fitcher shook his head. His face paled. "We both know . . . I'm not . . . going any . . . where."
The door gave way in a shower of wood splinters. Occhialini stepped over the threshold, a long tongue slithering out from between quivering lips.
Silas released Fitcher and scurried to the east wall. He stepped onto the ledge, hand flat against the tile wall, and carefully took three quick steps. He felt his weight shift and his knees wobble, but he kept his balance.
Occhialini pounced on Fitcher, hands and teeth tearing. Fitcher grappled with his employer, not pushing him away but pulling him close. They began to roll. The two men splashed into the shallow end of the pool, blood seeping into the water. Guili and Cesare followed, wading in, chasing down the slope to the deep end, until the water reached their waists.
The Phyllolepis swarmed towards the men.
Silas took another step. He saw Fitcher nod under water, signaling him, a moment before a fish latched over one eye and Occhialini tore out his throat.
Trembling, Silas put his left foot in front of his right. The battle in the shallower water had created a tide. Waves crashed over the ledge. Silas's right foot slipped as he took another step.
He plunged into the water.
Underwater, he saw half of the Phyllolepis turn and swim towards him, a volley of arrows shot from a line of artillery bows. He kicked off the bottom and swam, arms stretched out in wide arcs, towards the end of the pool.
He felt the first bite just as he broke the water's surface. The teeth felt like a dozen ribbed barbs, cutting deep into his right knee at crossed angles. He bit down on his bottom lip and flailed out his arms, swimming towards the edge. Another bite, this one lower on his leg but deeper, severing muscle. The next four fish hit his body higher, tearing into his abdomen. He tasted arterial blood in the water, his own, and something worse. He realized one of the Phyllolepis had bitten through a loop of intestine, spilling acid and waste into the pool.
Silas reached up and felt the tile ledge at the end of the pool. He pulled himself up, the fish still attached, and fell to the dry tiles. He felt himself fading as he crawled through the glass doors. The fish ate, devouring him, working themselves inside his body, traveling up his digestive tract.
On the other side of the po
ol, Occhialini wrestled Fitcher's remains from the water and dragged the corpse out the doorway.
Silas's eyes grew hot. He knew he was dying---and changing. Out over the balcony he saw the long driveway leading down to the street.
The lead chef, his coat stained with blood, stumbled past the estate's gates and headed out into the city.
Silas closed his eyes and felt them liquefy.
The last human thoughts that flickered through his head before death and prehistoric instinct took over were directed to Occhialini. I lied. I did write that paper on metabolic relativism. Maybe you didn't understand it. So here it is, served up cold: You really are what you eat. And you know what? If I can control my actions even a little bit after I die, I promise you this: I will hunt you down, I will eat you, and I will be you.
* * * *
Arch Enemy
by
Glen Held
"Tell me again about the dream, Stan," Joey said, his enormous frame taking up the entire office doorway.
I sighed; Joey always wanted to hear our plans for the future when he didn't want to concentrate on other things. That was okay this time since we hadn't had a customer for the last two hours and he'd just about cleaned everything up. Not that there was much to clean. Ever since the new highway opened, traffic in our little out of the way franchise was a quarter of what it had been and, at this time of night, virtually non-existent.
"It's like this," I began, "as soon as we save enough money and I graduate college, we're going to open our own restaurant. It won't be a crummy little franchise like this dump. It'll be a real restaurant, a nice place where people can sit down and enjoy a good meal. It's going to be big, biggest restaurant you've ever laid eyes on and the most beautiful, too."
"And we're going to be the bosses, right?" he asked.
"Right," I said, and he smiled.
"Thanks, Stan, that's all I wanted to hear," Joey said. "You're a good friend."
And, still smiling, he was gone.
At twenty-seven past midnight, Joey returned to my office. I knew that was the time since I had been staring at the cell phone display and counting down the minutes until I could shut down this miserable place for the night. The cell was Joey's which I had borrowed because I'd forgotten mine.
I sighed. "What now?"
"There's a guy knocking at the front door," he said.
"Tell him to go to the drive-thru."
Joey shrugged and left. Although franchise rules called for a minimum of four on duty at night, there was only the two of us. Haradakis, the owner, paid Joey and me extra for that, but only enough to keep us from complaining.
Twelve thirty-two. I put down my car keys that I'd been playing with and decided to check my emails on Haradakis's computer. Two minutes later, I looked up from the machine. Joey had returned.
"I told him like you said, but he won't go away," Joey told me, "and I think there's something wrong with him. He looks sick."
Joey moved aside as I got up. It's been that way since we met in elementary school. In our relationship, I'm the boss; the brains to his brawn. I watch out for him and he has my back.
With Joey lumbering behind me, I walked toward the front of our small restaurant where a figure was knocking at the door. "Inside's closed," I yelled. "Only drive-up's open." But the guy didn't listen. Instead, he started to yank harder at the locked doors. I got a good look at him. "Ugh!" He wore clothes way too big for him and he looked like he'd spent the better part of the summer in a dumpster.
"Should I call the cops?" Joey asked and fumbled around in his pocket. "Where is . . . . Oh yeah, you have my cell."
"Joey, we call the cops and we'll never be left here alone again," I said, although if traffic didn't pick up, the restaurant would soon be closed anyway. "We---" I looked back at the bum and saw the door starting to come off its hinges under the constant pulling. If that door broke, Haradakis would take it out of my paycheck or maybe just fire me outright. And I wouldn't put it past him to blackball me from working anywhere around here again. No way was I going to let that happen. I moved forward and opened the door.
"I told you to get out of here!" Before I could say another word, the freak rushed me. I tried to get out of his way, but the attack was too sudden. I went down, the guy falling on top of me. Drool rolled out of his mouth and onto my chest. My lungs almost exploded from his stink. Choking, I put up my arm to ward him off. I snatched it back quickly as I saw his mouth open and lips pull back.
He was trying to bite me!
The guy lunged forward, but his progress stopped almost as soon as it had begun. "Leave him alone!" Joey roared and ripped him off me. Then my friend carried the squirming intruder to the open door and flung him onto the sidewalk. "Don't come back or you'll get worse!"
Joey's voice was menacing, but that didn't amount to much since the guy lay unmoving where he had landed.
Joey and I looked at each other then slowly walked over to the fallen man. I nudged him with my toe, but he didn't stir.
"I didn't mean to hurt him," Joey whispered. "I was just scared what he might do to you."
I bent down and took hold of the guy's wrist. Nothing. Cautiously, I put my hand to the bum's neck. My blood went ice cold. "I don't think his heart's beating."
"He's dead?" Joey looked at me with fear in his eyes. "I didn't mean to kill him, Stan. I would never kill anybody."
"I know," I said and got to my feet. Now what were we going to do?
"Hey, I know this guy!" Joey suddenly said. "He's the e-nerd."
"E-nerd?"
"Elephant nerd." He shook his head up and down. "When I worked days, there was this big, fat guy who ate three Appeal Meals for lunch every day. He'd eat one and then buy two more fifteen minutes later. He was always alone and always typing away on some sort of computer. That's how he got the name."
I looked at the still-unmoving body and saw the way the skin hung off its face. I guess that also explained the loose clothing.
"I remember hearing somebody on days say they hadn't seen him for a while," Joey continued. "Something bad must have happened to him."
"No, something bad has happened to us." How much trouble would we be in for killing someone whether it was intentional or not? We could kiss off the idea of either of us owning a restaurant after this.
Suddenly, Joey's huge body tensed and his face grew dark. "You're not going to call the cops on me, are you, Stan?" he asked. Although we had been friends for years, I didn't know how he would react if I said yes.
"Of course not."
Joey relaxed then gave me a puzzled look as I again crouched down next to the body. "What are you doing, Stan?" he asked, as I rifled through the guy's pockets.
"Looking for some sort of identification." From inside his coat, I pulled out a rectangular object. But the thing wasn't a wallet. It was a thin, golden case embossed with the word next. Inside were two glass syringes, a dark liquid in each, and an indentation for a missing third needle. Suddenly, the liquid began to glow emerald green.
"I found his wallet in his pants," Joey said, holding out the e-nerd's wallet. Then he saw what I had. "What's that?"
I closed the case and put it in my own pocket. If this guy was on drugs, that would be a big help in our defense.
"Nothing," I said, not wanting to give Joey false hope.
I took the dirty wallet and searched through it. Inside were a few bills and an identification card from someplace called Next Defense Systems with a picture of one fat slob named Robert Binder: The e-nerd.
Whatever.
I shoved the wallet into the e-nerd's coat.
"Let's take him inside before someone sees us," I said.
Although most of the businesses in the area had closed down or weren't open this time of night, I wasn't taking any chances.
I grabbed Binder's corpse under the arms and Joey took his feet. We hoisted him up and headed inside. But no more than two steps inside, Joey dropped his end and stared at the body.
"Are you crazy?" I asked, then let go of my side as well.
The e-nerd's eyes were open.
"Meal," Binder said in a thick voice as he shakily got to his feet.
Relief washed through me. "He's not dead; he's just hungry," I said, although I could have sworn he was lifeless a few moments earlier. "Heat up an Appeal Meal, Stan. We'll give Binder something to eat then boot him out of here."
Joey's face was all smiles as he ran to the kitchen to do what I said. Maybe our dreams were okay after all.
"Listen," I said to the e-nerd, "I don't need any trouble so I'll give you a meal on the house and then you're out of here, okay?"
Unsteady on his feet, the e-nerd just kind of looked at me. I couldn't tell from his eyes whether or not he understood what I had said, but it looked as though something had seeped in. If it hadn't, then Joey would have to throw him out again, this time a lot further.
"Here's the Appeal Meal," Joey said, holding a bag out in front of him. "I made it to-go."
And that's when things started to go crazy. "Must think!" the e-nerd suddenly screamed out, then began to punch himself in the head. Little bits of dirt and filth flew off as he did. Joey backed away, but I just stood there as the e-nerd, eyes once again turning glassy, ran at me with teeth bared.
Once more I found myself on the ground and once more Joey came to my aid, grabbing the e-nerd by the back of his filthy coat and pulling him away from me. Binder fought like a wildcat, but Joey had the size and leverage. He put the e-nerd into a headlock, then threw him into the office and slammed the door shut.
Joey staggered back and I quickly leapt forward to grab the door handle. I held it tight as the e-nerd screamed and tugged at the other side of the portal. I didn't let go, even after the noises inside the office stopped. Then . . .
Click.
I let go of the door as what had happened dawned on me. Quickly, I stopped pulling at the door and tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge. The e-nerd had locked it and if he ruined things in there, we would be finished for sure.
