Connor had to tear his eyes away from Debbie’s smile – and her more distracting assets – when Dale started whooping like a banshee on heat. The kid had leaped off the bed and was bouncing around in circles, whirling his arms above his head and spraying saliva everywhere.
“Are you sure he’s been tested?”
Debbie laughed softly behind him. “Oh, he doesn’t have the virus. But anyone who comes into contact with him, if they have the virus, or any other virus – even if they’ve never shown symptoms – Dale’s special genes will reactivate the disease, accelerate it to the point where immune systems spike off the charts and the underlying virus burns itself out.”
Connor looked back at her. “So he’s the cure? You don’t need me?”
She laughed. So did Dale, but his was less jiggly. “You could say that. Dale will clean the world of every virus. But when they burn out, those viruses take the host bodies with them.”
Connor looked back at Dale. “The angel of death…”
Dale threw his hands in the air, head whipping back and forth. “Infamous! Butcher! Angel of Death!”
Connor took a step back from the manic scream that erupted from the little man’s throat. “What the…?”
“We let him listen to music now and again. He has a few favourites.”
Now Dale’s thrash fit was over and he beamed angelically across the room. “Debs, will I get my usual reward if I do what you ask? If I’m a good saviour?”
“Of course, Dale, my poppet.”
Dale’s eyes grew wide, seemed to spin in opposite directions. Connor spun round to the bars, but was too slow. Debbie was lowering her top back into place.
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Check out the Smashwords “Read an eBook Week” sale, now on. Free & discounted books, including mine.
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Cheers.
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