Read Online The Doomsday Infection by Martin Lamport - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Martin Lamport
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world had buried it’s head when it came to AIDS, probably due to information overload during the 1980s and 1990s, what with the bombardment of charity gigs, and infomercials from minor celebrities joining the cause. It did not concern most of the American population as they had little or no chance of catching the ‘gay’ plague, and they quickly tired of the news items and tuned them out. Even today nearly forty million people worldwide suffer from the disease and an astonishing 1.6 million sufferers would die horribly each year from the syndrome, only to have 2.3 million newly effected victims replace them.
Big Mary would check his nightly conquests thoroughly, no point in taking chances, he’d thought. A rash or any sort of skin blemish would have him running for the hills, as would anyone severely underweight. He would check carefully for herpes-like symptoms around the mouth; blistering or evidence of cold sores would have him find a different partner. Flaky skin was another indicator, not that he would entertain sleeping with a guy with flaky skin however gorgeous h e was. Flaky skin? Urgh, heaven forbid. He’d always give anyone with fever or flu-like signs a wide berth naturally enough. Big Mary was overcautious. He’d also shun a guy with a cold. He'd look elsewhere because there would always be more guys willing to spend the night, thank goodness, plenty more.
Only the best, most gorgeous , fittest – and healthy - guys were good enough for him, like Dave, Daniel or Danny. He was sure it began with a ‘D’. He wished he could remember, he wanted to wake him and send him on his way, he had things to do, people to see, fish to fry. He was a sailor, he remembered that much, there was a submarine in town and the clubs were brimming over with muscular sailors, who after months at sea playing it ‘butch’, could finally let themselves go.
And boy did they let themselves go.
He shook the guy under the sheets, he’d have to wing it regarding his name. “Hey wake up.” He shook the guy’s shoulders. No reaction. Kevin flipped back the sheets and gasped. Black lesions covered the guy's torso.
“Holy shit, he’s got Aids!” Ke lvin leaped from the bed and paced the room, No, no, no, this could not be happening. The lesions weren’t there last night. He checked, he always checked. Yet these lesions looked different. His torso was black from where the ring-like lesions had multiplied. There also appeared to be lumps under the skin. He wrinkled his nose and detected the stench of feces. Christ, what had they done the night before? This wasn’t normal. He edged back the covers further to see the guy was laying in a pool of excrement. Kelvin felt tears running down his face and realized that through his carelessness the night before, he’d signed his own death warrant. He grabbed the guy and recoiled, as he was stone cold.
Stone cold to the touch and stone cold dead.
10: 30 AM
Trooper Stanley Willis pulled away from the scene of the accident in his Miami-Dade Police Department dodge charger. He’d contained the situation and he needed to get to see his mother. She’d get agitated if he was even more than a few minutes late on his weekly visit. God he hated the visits and God he hated her and these goddamned inconvenient trips. If she didn’t hold the purse strings, he would have said; sayonara to the old bitch years ago.
His mother had put him down and belittled him all his life; he lived in constant fear of the domineering old bat. She had made his childhood miserable with her endless harping that nothing he ever did was good enough for her. He’d remembered when he told her he was gonna be a baseball star and she’d scoffed at him calling him a fool. He told her the Coach had told him he had a natural aptitude for the sport, but his mom had sneered and mocked him. Telling him, he’d amount to nothing, like his bum of a father, a feckless, work-shy bigot, who’d blamed the Negros for
Big Mary would check his nightly conquests thoroughly, no point in taking chances, he’d thought. A rash or any sort of skin blemish would have him running for the hills, as would anyone severely underweight. He would check carefully for herpes-like symptoms around the mouth; blistering or evidence of cold sores would have him find a different partner. Flaky skin was another indicator, not that he would entertain sleeping with a guy with flaky skin however gorgeous h e was. Flaky skin? Urgh, heaven forbid. He’d always give anyone with fever or flu-like signs a wide berth naturally enough. Big Mary was overcautious. He’d also shun a guy with a cold. He'd look elsewhere because there would always be more guys willing to spend the night, thank goodness, plenty more.
Only the best, most gorgeous , fittest – and healthy - guys were good enough for him, like Dave, Daniel or Danny. He was sure it began with a ‘D’. He wished he could remember, he wanted to wake him and send him on his way, he had things to do, people to see, fish to fry. He was a sailor, he remembered that much, there was a submarine in town and the clubs were brimming over with muscular sailors, who after months at sea playing it ‘butch’, could finally let themselves go.
And boy did they let themselves go.
He shook the guy under the sheets, he’d have to wing it regarding his name. “Hey wake up.” He shook the guy’s shoulders. No reaction. Kevin flipped back the sheets and gasped. Black lesions covered the guy's torso.
“Holy shit, he’s got Aids!” Ke lvin leaped from the bed and paced the room, No, no, no, this could not be happening. The lesions weren’t there last night. He checked, he always checked. Yet these lesions looked different. His torso was black from where the ring-like lesions had multiplied. There also appeared to be lumps under the skin. He wrinkled his nose and detected the stench of feces. Christ, what had they done the night before? This wasn’t normal. He edged back the covers further to see the guy was laying in a pool of excrement. Kelvin felt tears running down his face and realized that through his carelessness the night before, he’d signed his own death warrant. He grabbed the guy and recoiled, as he was stone cold.
Stone cold to the touch and stone cold dead.
10: 30 AM
Trooper Stanley Willis pulled away from the scene of the accident in his Miami-Dade Police Department dodge charger. He’d contained the situation and he needed to get to see his mother. She’d get agitated if he was even more than a few minutes late on his weekly visit. God he hated the visits and God he hated her and these goddamned inconvenient trips. If she didn’t hold the purse strings, he would have said; sayonara to the old bitch years ago.
His mother had put him down and belittled him all his life; he lived in constant fear of the domineering old bat. She had made his childhood miserable with her endless harping that nothing he ever did was good enough for her. He’d remembered when he told her he was gonna be a baseball star and she’d scoffed at him calling him a fool. He told her the Coach had told him he had a natural aptitude for the sport, but his mom had sneered and mocked him. Telling him, he’d amount to nothing, like his bum of a father, a feckless, work-shy bigot, who’d blamed the Negros for
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