They got out and crept across the damp grass toward the front door. The smell of baby powder was overwhelming, even before Lot jiggled the door ajar. Then, one by one, they stepped inside. The old carpet trapped years of dust, causing the air to feel fuzzy. There were family pictures all around them, on the shelves, on the walls. Their lil' old lady had a large family, many children, and their stares followed them through the pictures. They entered a small gloomy kitchen with a short narrow hallway. Following the breathing noises and heart beats, the claustrophobia weighed on Iggy heavily as they headed down the hall.
Lot claimed the lead. He halted in front of a shabby wooden door and nodded his head toward Aster. Then, he silently opened it. The elderly couple sleeping in the bed were easily in their eighties. Their hair was gray and brittle. The wrinkles shadowed their whole bodies. They appeared even older than they did in the photographs. Their smell was masked by heavy usage of perfumed powders, but their sour breath filled the air anyways.
As Aster and Lot came to the bedside, Iggy stood at the foot of the bed, and peered down at the couple while they still slept. They were old. He crooked his head, wondering what it would be like to grow old. Their bedside table was completely hidden under half full medicine bottles, and he thought, would I just get sick, too? He gazed at the pictures hanging around the room of the two happily smiling together in exotic places; deserts and oceans, mountains and farms. The depression weighed on him very suddenly. He wouldn't see such days with Emi. He wouldn't grow old. He wouldn't go anywhere as beautiful as the garden had been. He was stuck this way for the end of his very short days. His time was dwindling… He looked at the couple again, and imagined just what the virus could do for them.
Lot flipped his finger toward the old man, pointing him out as the next victim instead of the petite old woman that Aster had been craving for. Obediently, yet disappointedly, Aster nodded in agreement. Together, they snatched him out of the bed and thrust him into the hallway, a rapid kidnapping. Stunned and dizzy, the elder man's mouth and eyes opened. He pushed back with little strength, but Lot pinned him against the wall and sank his teeth into the artery of his neck without hesitating.
Iggy could smell the blood, he could hear the sucking noise, and the swallowing. He counted to thirty. Lot pulled back and Aster jumped right on. The man was pale. The light in his eyes was already fading. Iggy counted to thirty again.
When he got to thirty one a drop of sweat dripped down the side of his cheek. He wiped it away, noticing a thick dampness emerging all over his face. Watching Aster drink from the old fragile man and Lot licking his rust colored lips, Iggy couldn't withstand it any longer. He felt hot. Waiting in line just to have a taste was impossible. It was like watching pornography, and after so many minutes of watching the perfect scene, he simply couldn't handle a little pet to the penis. He needed the whole experience.
The thirst consumed him. He snatched the sleeping woman by her boney ankle and pulled her straight to the end of the bed. Upon opening her eyes, she screamed bloody murder with much more zest than her now belated husband. Iggy didn't care. He bent over and sank his teeth viciously deep into her loose neck. The first gulp tasted like heaven, of course, and as he sucked hard for the next, a fist struck him in the chest. The hit against his sternum burst into an agonizing pain that whipped him back. He dropped the woman and clutched his surgical incision, and unable to breathe or think, he tumbled down to his knees.
He looked back and saw Lot stealing her away, dragging her into the hall, too. While she wailed and swung her brittle arms in defense, blood squirted out of her pulsating artery, losing pressure fast. Iggy reached his hand out like a claw and hollered, "no! No! Give her back!" He pushed up on his knees, but the pain in his chest throbbed with each beat. The loss overwhelmed him as the thirst still scratched, pleading to be soothed. "When will this stop?" he whispered to himself. "When?"
Lot peeked in from around the corner, displaying his famous twisted grin. "Sorry Bobby," he said, "the red got to me. You know how it is." He strolled back into the room, planted himself, and leaned back so that his groin stood out. "Maybe next time you'll have better luck." He reached down, offering Iggy a hand up, but Iggy didn't take it. "Well, like I said before, we're stocked up at home. You'll have to pay me back for it though." Lot withdrew his untouched hand.
Lot went into the hallway to where Aster stood staring down at the dead man stacked against the wall and the woman tossed over his lap. Iggy was out of their view. Sweat lathered his forehead and dribbled down his cheeks. His fingers were numb with heat. He clutched his cheeks with his hot hands and closed his eyes as if he were fighting the urge to vomit. The thirst in his gums burned as though he had crushed gunpowder crammed inside of each tooth socket. He hated that feeling.
He wasn't good nor alright. With each millisecond he got hotter and hotter. He wrapped his arms around his stomach tight and the heat radiated through his shirt. He bent forward, leaned back, squeezed himself harder, but no matter what, the heat continued to rise.
Aster glanced up at Lot. "Alright, babe," he said. "Let's clean up a bit." They both knew the drill. She slipped her hands underneath the man's armpits and lifted him. Lot picked the woman up by the wrists and threw her over his shoulder. Together, partners in crime, they transported the bodies outside to the man-made pond in the backyard, loaded their sleepwear with big rocks, then tossed them into the water and watched the algae cover the evidence.
A silent pop in Iggy's brain caused a surge of pure energy to course through his whole body with a force that he couldn't have contained. The immense power passed through him, vibrating like a detonated bomb, and even for a moment, he was entirely invincible.
Then. It. Happened.
A dark flame emerged from the tips of his fingers down to his palms, engulfing his hands. It was neither red, orange, nor yellow, but black. Black fire. It was the darkest at the slow waving tips then it melted into transparent lightness against his skin.
In the corner of his eye he caught movement of a picture falling from the wall at a lagging speed. The drop seemed to last forever. His shirt burned beneath his palms. Smoke tumbled out like waves of the most patient water stream. He felt his hands touch his skin. He expected pain. There had already been so much pain. Everywhere he looked was painful. But now, there was none. Nothing. Not even his aching, damaged chest.
He pushed himself up to standing, touching the carpet beneath him. The carpet burst into flames at his feet. He stomped on it and rushed out of the room, igniting the house with each step. As he fell out into the night, he cradled his hands into himself and forced himself to breathe easy. Nice and easy. Nice and calm.