9 The Colour of Heaven

9 The Colour of Heaven

Faith. Trust. Affection. Some people are able to go to ridiculous lengths because of them. They die happily for something they believe in. For someone they trust. For someone they love. I wondered if I could still be capable of them, as I watched him getting closer and closer, breathing heavily in his PPE.
               "Wow, you need a bath," he greeted me cheerfully. "Impressive mess you have made."
               "Flirting with death, Captain?" I grinned at him. I was too tired to care about anything. I wanted to enjoy a little nap on the charming pile of bones I found.
               "I brought you lunch." He held out a plastic bag full of fresh blood. "It's not much, the morons refused to give me any from our supplies. But at least I got my own, freshly poured, no Es."
               I turned on my belly and stretched. "And what makes you believe that I won't take all of it once I'm finished with the bag?"
               "Well, I figured, if you wanted me dead, I would be dead already. So why not make the most of it?" He threw it at me.
               "You know you're just plain lucky, right?" I bit off the ending of the tube.
               "I'm Mr Lucky right now. Does this count as a lunch date?" He wasn't armed, I could tell.
               "Don't push it."
               I started drinking and the world exploded. I never had human blood before, just a few mutants. This was different. It tasted wonderfully. It was pure. It made me feel warm for the first time I remember. It made me feel alive. It filled me with acute awareness of everything.
               I knew I missed twenty eight rotten bastards, they weren't a threat, but I couldn't take the chance. I knew their exact location. I felt the soldiers, their movement and warmth mapped the entire base for me. I knew they were desperate, low on ammo, low on supplies. Fighting a war they could not win, looking for a cure that could not be found.
               And I saw him again. Still talking, without a clue, unable to comprehend what he just did to me. Unable to understand that he took my mind to a totally new level, on a joyride around the base and back. And then I was back, staring at him. Feeling the vibrations of his voice. His warmth, dimmed by the PPE. Remembering his smell. The brief touch of his hand as he hit me. His eyes.
               "Ok, now this hungry look does make me nervous. Could you please stop that?" he asked.

*     *     *

Sometimes I've believed as many as six unbelievable things before breakfast.

Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass, 1871