Broken Dreams(117)

Claire backed off some. “But now you condemned Nick to live this life, as well!”

“For real!” Nick barked and grabbed his head. “Christ…”

“Do you not think I know this? It was a natural reaction and I couldn’t help myself. I was deteriorating. The virus was taking over my brain and body!”

“That’s no excuse!” she snarled.

“You don’t understand! Do you honestly think I want to live this way? I couldn’t stop myself, Claire! I had no idea that I did it until the fresh intake kicked in! It’s like sharks when there’s chum in the water! The virus was taking over my mind and directing me. The longer I go without a fix, the more the virus takes over my body. That’s why those people, those undeads, are doing what they are doing! It’s the virus that has taken over their brains. They know nothing except they need to get their fix! We are like heroin addicts. It’s no longer a want; it’s a need.” Henry was choking back tears. “It pains me to know what I did to you, Nick, and to know I could have done it to any one of you. What if I did it to you, my love?” He was having a hard time getting his words out. He could only think of what could have happened.

“So to keep the three of you from becoming truly undead, you need a fix like a heroin addict?” Claire was trying to process all the information without pissing off Henry too much. She seemed to be a little frightened that they would turn on her. I had a feeling they wouldn’t. I figured if they were going to turn on us, they would have already.

“In a way, but not as frequent. If we can get a large vial about once a day or every other day, and a large quantity once in a while, we would be in as normal a state as we can be in. But that’s not always feasible.” Claire tried to process what she had just heard. The punk ass kid had retreated to the corner and sat on the floor to watch the surroundings, and I still stood there like a moron, staring at Henry. Everyone was silent for a few moments.

“I cannot fucking believe I have to drink blood now.” Nick was in an entirely unpleasant mood. I can’t say as I blamed him.

I could see Claire was rolling everything through her mind. His truth was difficult to process. She looked at me and pulled me in close. The thought of human beings doing this to other human beings changed my perspective of how dysfunctional the world truly was. I didn’t want to hear any more. Then Claire, ever the inquisitive one, decided there were a couple more questions that she wanted answered.

“How did he get you tied up?” Claire pointed at the kid.

“I was weak, and he grabbed me from behind and hit me over the head with that bloody gun of his. Which is empty, by the way. I was trying to tell you that. By the time he got me tied up, I had started returning back to my normal state. But I was stuck and bound.”

“I’m still lost about your eye-coloring. Why did his change to the same as yours?” she asked.

“It is like a chemical reaction of some sort. Since it is a man-made virus, a lot of chemical components are involved. I don’t have all the answers, but if we change all the way, we would have the gray glazed eyes like the undeads.” I shuddered. The little boy’s eyes came back into my mind. Then I flashed to my dream about Henry.

“That’s why yours look gray sometimes? If we see more eyes like yours, then they are like you?”

“Yes.”

Claire shook her head at the thought of more people being like them. She was fearful of Henry and Sophie, but it was obvious that she felt sorry for them, too. They couldn’t help who they were.

“How many?” Claire shut her eyes, waiting for his answer. I was afraid of the answer myself.

“Before the virus was let out, there were ten of us living permanently here in the States. There are another ten waiting on standby for assistance, if necessary.” He gestured toward Sophie. “There are an additional twenty recruits currently working through the program.”

“And this Gunther can help?” Claire asked.

“Maybe.” Henry looked at me and stepped forward. The want was in his body language. His eyes spoke volumes. They were so full of love. I didn’t move away from him that time. “Please say something, love.” He reached for my face, and cupped it in his cold, almost dead hands.

“I…I…”

“It’s alright, love. Take your time.” His voice was soft and tender.

“I’ve been fucking a dead person,” I whispered. It was all that I had.

He raised an eyebrow. “I guess you could look at it like that.” He paused. “Elaina, I am just like you, but I’m sick.”