around the black, diseased wounds was mottled red and shot through with burst blood vessels, like fresh burn marks.
“I didn’t do that to him,” Pilar said. “What is that? What’s going on?”
“I know you didn’t. I did.” Ramon pointed back to the floor. “Just watch.”
The man stopped fighting. As Pilar watched, he sank to the floor and went still. Pilar’s brow furrowed. Had he just died? It sure looked that way. But then, he climbed to his feet, stood there stupidly for a moment, and then started to look around the room.
“This is the tricky part,” Ramon said. “Sometimes they don’t attack. They just stand there.”
Pilar looked at him. “What are you talking about? What is this? What did you do?”
“Always so many questions, Pilar. Even when you were a little girl, you always questioned me. What have I told you? Don’t ask questions. It keeps you from hearing the answer.” He pointed to the window. “Ah, good, he’s one of the movers. See? Look.”
Pilar turned back to the glass. Inside, the man with the ruined face was staggering forward, advancing on the man that Pilar had hit in the throat. Pilar didn’t react when the first man attacked. She didn’t react when he pushed the man’s chin up and leaned into his neck, exposing the bruised throat. She thought maybe he was checking the damage she’d done to his friend. But when the man started to tear into that bruised throat with his teeth, pulling huge strips of flesh away with the broken stubs of the teeth he had left, Pilar gasped.
“My God,” she said.
“Oh, no,” Ramon said. “God has nothing to do with this, I assure you. That right there is good old-fashioned American biomedical research. Nearly a billion dollars of it, in fact. It took my labs almost two years to modify the Clostridium bacteria that’s causing that reanimation.”
Pilar’s only response was a long, muted groan. The man was eating that guy. Actually eating him.
“Ramon, what have you done?”
“Incredible, isn’t it?” Ramon said.
“It’s ghastly.”
He laughed. “Pilar, I’m surprised at you. Don’t you see what’s going on out there?”
A gunshot kept her from answering.
Inside the room, the third man was backing away from his two companions, a look of abject horror on his face. He held a pistol on the man with the ruined face, but Pilar was unable to tell where the shot he’d just fired had gone. The cannibal was climbing to his feet now, so he hadn’t been hit.
Or had he? There was a blackish-looking hole in his right shoulder, and as he lurched forward, that arm didn’t come up.
Four more shots rang out, all of them solid center mass hits to the chest.
Pilar nodded in approval as the man with the ruined face fell backwards onto his butt and sat there, staring up at the man who had just shot him. Strong will, Pilar thought. The human body, she knew from experience, could withstand a huge amount of violence and damage and still carry on. She’d once slashed an American soldier’s belly wide open, and then been surprised when the man ran away from her. She’d chased him for four blocks through the slums of Ciudad Juarez, the man cradling his intestines as he ran, before finally putting him down. It all depended on the amount of fight an injured person had in them. This man, with four gunshots to the chest and one to the shoulder, might still hang on for a few hours, though he wasn’t going to be getting back up.
But he did.
Pilar gaped at what she saw. The wounded man was actually getting back to his feet. His moans did not surprise her. The man must be in terrible pain. But the fact that he was on his feet, and stumbling toward the man with the gun again, shocked her. It wasn’t possible.
“He only has one chance,” Ramon said. “He needs to take out the medulla oblongata, here, at the base of the brain pan.”
Pilar glanced at him.
Ramon pointed at the back of his own head, where his skull met the spine. “Right
“I didn’t do that to him,” Pilar said. “What is that? What’s going on?”
“I know you didn’t. I did.” Ramon pointed back to the floor. “Just watch.”
The man stopped fighting. As Pilar watched, he sank to the floor and went still. Pilar’s brow furrowed. Had he just died? It sure looked that way. But then, he climbed to his feet, stood there stupidly for a moment, and then started to look around the room.
“This is the tricky part,” Ramon said. “Sometimes they don’t attack. They just stand there.”
Pilar looked at him. “What are you talking about? What is this? What did you do?”
“Always so many questions, Pilar. Even when you were a little girl, you always questioned me. What have I told you? Don’t ask questions. It keeps you from hearing the answer.” He pointed to the window. “Ah, good, he’s one of the movers. See? Look.”
Pilar turned back to the glass. Inside, the man with the ruined face was staggering forward, advancing on the man that Pilar had hit in the throat. Pilar didn’t react when the first man attacked. She didn’t react when he pushed the man’s chin up and leaned into his neck, exposing the bruised throat. She thought maybe he was checking the damage she’d done to his friend. But when the man started to tear into that bruised throat with his teeth, pulling huge strips of flesh away with the broken stubs of the teeth he had left, Pilar gasped.
“My God,” she said.
“Oh, no,” Ramon said. “God has nothing to do with this, I assure you. That right there is good old-fashioned American biomedical research. Nearly a billion dollars of it, in fact. It took my labs almost two years to modify the Clostridium bacteria that’s causing that reanimation.”
Pilar’s only response was a long, muted groan. The man was eating that guy. Actually eating him.
“Ramon, what have you done?”
“Incredible, isn’t it?” Ramon said.
“It’s ghastly.”
He laughed. “Pilar, I’m surprised at you. Don’t you see what’s going on out there?”
A gunshot kept her from answering.
Inside the room, the third man was backing away from his two companions, a look of abject horror on his face. He held a pistol on the man with the ruined face, but Pilar was unable to tell where the shot he’d just fired had gone. The cannibal was climbing to his feet now, so he hadn’t been hit.
Or had he? There was a blackish-looking hole in his right shoulder, and as he lurched forward, that arm didn’t come up.
Four more shots rang out, all of them solid center mass hits to the chest.
Pilar nodded in approval as the man with the ruined face fell backwards onto his butt and sat there, staring up at the man who had just shot him. Strong will, Pilar thought. The human body, she knew from experience, could withstand a huge amount of violence and damage and still carry on. She’d once slashed an American soldier’s belly wide open, and then been surprised when the man ran away from her. She’d chased him for four blocks through the slums of Ciudad Juarez, the man cradling his intestines as he ran, before finally putting him down. It all depended on the amount of fight an injured person had in them. This man, with four gunshots to the chest and one to the shoulder, might still hang on for a few hours, though he wasn’t going to be getting back up.
But he did.
Pilar gaped at what she saw. The wounded man was actually getting back to his feet. His moans did not surprise her. The man must be in terrible pain. But the fact that he was on his feet, and stumbling toward the man with the gun again, shocked her. It wasn’t possible.
“He only has one chance,” Ramon said. “He needs to take out the medulla oblongata, here, at the base of the brain pan.”
Pilar glanced at him.
Ramon pointed at the back of his own head, where his skull met the spine. “Right
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