It was the most horrible thing Trout could imagine. Her body hijacked by mindless insects that functioned on a purely instinctive level, and her mind—Marcia’s beautiful, clever, cheeky, delicious mind—trapped and unable to control what the parasite made her body do. Like a ghost haunting a house that once belonged to it in life.
He wished he’d killed Volker. God, he wished he’d taken that gun and beat that fucking maniac to death with it.
Or, better yet, he wished he’d made Volker come with him. So he could see firsthand what horrors he’d wrought. Then he’d kick the son of a bitch out into the rain and let Marcia have her way with him.
He gagged and almost vomited on the dashboard.
Marcia was a monster. An actual monster.
Trout knew that if he stepped out of the car she would attack him. Or … rather, her body would. Marcia would have no control over it. She would have no choice. She would have to watch her body commit murder and cannibalism.
“Jesus Christ,” Trout said.
How widespread was this? How many people had been infected?
Where was Dez?
That thought ignited like a flare in his mind. Where the hell was Desdemona Fox? Was she alive or dead? And, if she was dead … what kind of dead was she?
Tears brimmed in his eyes again. He had the pistol, but Trout had no idea how to use it. He’d never fired a gun in his life. Even if he knew how, he was sure he couldn’t bring himself to use it on Marcia. Or Dez.
Maybe on himself, though. That thought was whispered constantly in the back of his mind. If Dez was infected, if she was truly lost to him forever, then he would use Volker’s gun and give her peace … and then he would join her. If he could not have her in life, then he would follow her into death.
Tears ran down his face and he wiped his eyes on his sleeve.
Screw this. Dez was probably already as dead as Marcia. Maybe everyone in town was. Say good-night, folks, and thanks for coming. So long.
Marcia took a small step toward the Explorer.
“Marcia,” Trout said softly. “I’m so sorry. ”
She took another step. Trout tried flicking the lights at her. Her lips curled in a brief snarl, but then settled back to rubbery slackness.
Trout took his foot gingerly off the brake, allowing the engine idle to move the SUV forward a few feet.
Marcia did not move. He stepped down on the brake pedal.
“Come on, Marcia … please,” Trout said, sniffing at the tears. “Cut me a break here. ” The pistol was on the seat beside him. Even a bonehead like him could suck on the barrel and pull the trigger.
He thought about Goat and what they had planned to do about this.
There were hundreds of kids at the shelter. Maybe more. If they’d gotten there when the storm started, then there was a good chance they were still alive, still safe within the blocky walls of the elementary school.
And Dez was out there somewhere.
“Fuck!” He yelled it.
Outside, Marcia heard him and took a more definite step toward the car.
Inside, a clock was ticking in Billy Trout’s head.
He eased his foot off the brakes again and the car moved forward once more, slowly closing the distance between the Explorer’s grille and Marcia. She didn’t move out of the way. She reached for the hood, and Trout watched her red nails scratch long lines in the paint. One of her nails bent slowly backward and then broke, tearing away a flap of skin. Trout yelped in imagined pain; Marcia did not.
The Explorer moved against her, bumping into her with a soft, heavy sound that made Trout clench his teeth. Marcia leaned into the car, pushing and clawing at it as if she could tear through it to get to …
A fresh wave of sickness washed over Trout as he realized with perfect clarity what Marcia intended to do. It was something he had known all along but not quite accepted. Until now.
“Please,” he begged. He hit the horn.