“Yes.” Maura nodded. “But as long as you keep healing the damage, we have a good chance. It gives us time.”
The alleged damage. They didn’t know for sure.
“Time.” As long as this was all correct, she had a chance.
As long as they evenfoundBig Daddy. And so she likely had GL tentacles, or fragments of them, growing in her brain… wriggling. She shivered. If they were wrong about this, she might be doomed?Worry about what is in front of you, remember?She pushed to her feet, bringing Rutger and Vargr with her.
“I feel this is a good time to say thank you, to all of you.”Because I might not be around much longer. However I will be nauseatingly positive and cheerful.“We’re going to get to this Big Daddy, you know. With people like you, that is a given. We will succeed.”
They had risen along with her, and she let her gaze drift around the circle. “You’re all fucking awesome.”
They didn’t cheer or carry on as if this were a celebratory party after a sports match, but they did approach her to say afew words. The first one to offer their hand was Vincent, and she moved to take it, then hesitated.Tentacle wrigglers, what if…
He zeroed in on his hand where it almost touched hers and she withdrew a smidgen then looked at him. He’d think she was rejecting him, maybe, but she was torn by the revelation that she might infect others.
She’d held his hand before so he’d get the message, wouldn’t he?It’s not you, it’s me.
“I’m sorry…” she began. “What if I?—”
He grabbed her hand and shook it. “If you were going to do that, you would’ve already. I’ve got worse things to think about than that, anyway. So shut up and shake hands.”
“Oh.”
Though the others had observed the exchange, none of them stepped away. They hugged her or shook her hand. It was strange to feel this almost daring inclusiveness, but she’d take it any day over being alone—with tentacle wrigglers inside her brain or without.
Yay team.
Go to Big Daddy. Grow nanites. Fix me.All the ducks were in a row.
Nothing was ever this simple.
42
The survivingrippers dragged themselves to the foot of his body swathe within which his nine brains swam about like fruit pieces in jelly—very bloody fruit pieces. He was still wondering if one could have too many brains. Were there drawbacks? Each one he’d added made his intelligence scramble to a new peak, made his thoughts faster, gave him more data to use in his attack on the remaining humans below. The only problem so far was that he’d become slower to move.
A bag of brains.
One of them had popped out that thought. He was not sure which it was as they’d merged in a way. Still separate, but their thoughts came from nowhere in particular.
A tissue, a tissue, we all fall down.
Which one was that? He figuratively scowled then did a search, and none of them appeared to be the culprit. Some were not alltherein the head and were probably damaged. He should do an inventory, somehow, and discard the sillier ones. When he’d had fewer it had been easier to tell them apart.
But back to the problem at hand. Lazily he dragged his fat tentacles about him, drawing random squiggles through thedust, dirt, and human remains that clotted and clogged this Top story. The sun blazed down upon the glorious landscape. Fewer and fewer humans dwelled, and the Ghoul Lords grew fatter. All around him the squat domes of blossoming queens prodded the sky, almost ready to erupt.
He especially had grown fatter. Half his genetic material had been destroyed, but he’d proved he could flourish nevertheless.
The rippers had brought him enough information of their foray into humanland that he could tell the beasters were located in the lower parts of the buildings and somewhat distant horizontally also. He would shift his body bulk to above their current location. The problem became, what to do about the depths they had travelled to? He would not venture that deep, and his skinsuit followers would probably not either.
Though he’d been considering rewarding some of the best followers with a brain or two, that would reveal his methods. He was loath to show the other Ghoul Lords how humans could be more than food, more than temporary brain boosts.
They were RAM to his ROM.
They were beautiful new drawers to put files in. Whole alphabetized filing cabinets. New beads on the abacus.
So many metaphors, so little time.
The queens would launch in a few months, and he wanted this revenge of hisdone. Before that happened, he wanted to taste her bones, her blood, her gristle, listen to her squeals as he drove his tentacles inside her cunt, her brain, and her stomach, so he could wriggle them about and mush her internal organs.Nom nom nom.He also had ideas about inveigling himself into the queue as a donor to a queen.
