Read Online The Infected 3: Cast Iron by P. S. Power - Free Book Online Page A

about right even. Scott and Peggy had heaping plates of food, but Bridget got the most, and ate with a ferocity that showed the girl must have been starving, though she hadn’t mentioned it at all. Marcia had less. Not because she shouldn’t have eaten more, but because to her food was something to look at mainly. A texture in the mouth that was needed, but nearly tasteless at the best of times. She didn’t have a sense of smell or taste. It was a side effect of her powers.
    It made life a little difficult at meal times, because the amount of food she needed to eat was a lot more than she could manage to be interested in most of the time. She ate, but it was an exercise in will power, boring and too easy for her to just forget about. On the good side she didn’t get hungry either, so that part wasn’t a burden. On the bad side she could drop weight without even thinking about it. She didn’t look all that thin she didn’t think, about like any fit woman did really, but her actual body fat level was nearly non-existent. The sheer thickening fluid pockets under her skin helped there, but it wasn’t fat and didn’t keep her body running. If she failed to eat she’d eventually get weak and die, like anyone else. There was just no immediate payoff for doing it day to day. Other people had gourmet food on their plates, and it really did look good, but to her it might as well been a bowl of unseasoned oatmeal. Only the textures changed with each bite.
    No one making food for her bothered to give her too much anymore since part of it would go to waste. There was a drink this time, with a little note, from Mark, that just said “Drink me”. Because that wouldn’t set off her natural suspicion at all. It had a pale golden color and was in a cool bottle about the size of an old fashioned eight ounce Coke. The texture was thick, but she didn’t know what it was really. She downed it all at once, since Mark was watching her and nodded as she picked it up. Bridget saw the whole interaction and took the bottle from the edge of her plate, sniffing the thing and then nodding as if it all made perfect sense.
    “Oil. Vegetable oil I think. Straight. I can’t drink it myself, but I kind of wish I could. Maybe if I practice I could learn? A fast way to build up the daily calorie count. It’s a pain eating all the time.” She went back to the task easily enough though, Marcia noticed.
    Peggy stared at the bottle openly. She didn’t say anything for a long time, but then she hadn’t really said much for the whole trip, paying attention and listening, singing, but not joining in much otherwise. Marcia wondered if she thought the others didn’t want her there or something or perhaps thought they were afraid of her? She’d been branded a Killer and punished for it, but that wasn’t such a big deal with this crew. It was just the way it had happened that got her in trouble. Most of them had killed at one point or another.
    Well, many of them at least. Looking at the group with them it occurred to her that other than Peggy, Ink and Brian, she was the only other killer on the plane. That she knew of at least. Cellophane might have, of course. No one would know if she had, most likely. Not if she was careful about it. The idea was a good one and she decided to see about working with the girl on a few things. It would be hard for her to do, but worth it if they could pull it off.
    Peggy shook her head a little, more of an event than it was with most people, since her mouth was about sixteen inches from the rest of her face. Filled with sharp teeth too. That was how she’d killed the jackass, with a little nibble to his moronic throat. The man should have known not to mock someone that had just been in a fight to save his life.
    “I see the point. You don’t eat enough. Do you like it OK? I mean, you can drink that and it doesn’t bother you?” She actually sounded concerned, which was a little odd.
    Marcia started to not trust