Madlands by K. W. Jeter

Author:K. W. Jeter
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Editions Herodiade
Published: 2012-05-02T06:00:00+00:00

TWENTY

I HAD to get cracking, if I was going to get anything done.

As the pseudo-L.A. rolled over the horizon toward me, I tried to work out in my mind what I was going to do next. My brain refused to cooperate; suddenly, inside my head there seemed to be vast empty landscapes, as though the dry desert hills had seeped through the curved bone and established themselves in the soft tissue at the center.

The steering wheel sweated in my hands. I still felt woozy and sick from all the blood out at New Moon’s junkyard work site. Dimly, I wondered if Harrison and the rest of the gang back at the corporate headquarters had heard yet about what had happened. Or when they did, if it would make any changes in their plans. They still had the satellite; screw those guys in the white lab coats . . .

My thoughts, what there were of them, went along in this descending spiral until I had to pull the car over, open the door, and lean out. My gut heaved until it was empty. I wiped my mouth and spat to get rid of the sour gastric taste.

I drove on, heading for the last apartment I’d been in. I suddenly felt the need to be inside walls that were at least marginally familiar and safe.

Part of my feeling sick was due to not knowing just what I was going to do next. I’d been lying to Harrison when I’d told him I had my plans all figured out, that all he had to do was sit back and give me my shot. The truth was, I had had some vague notions about what would be a smart way to go about killing Identrope, doing it in such a way that I was exposed to the least risk and the most chance for living long enough myself to cash in on my slice of the New Moon pie. The trouble with vague plans is that from a distance—when they’re way off in time, out there on the horizon—they look as solid and substantial as well-thought-out ones with all the bolts and screws tightened down. It’s only when they come up close with the earth’s inevitable turning that you see all the holes and pieces stuck on with masking tape.

I parked the Hudson down the block and walked. A night wind, hot and choking, swirled around me. Now my knees felt wobbly, the bone workings replaced with a loose pudding. I leaned against the door for support as I waggled my key in the lock.

This was more than just getting the shakes from close-up death observation. Standing in the middle of the apartment’s front room, I looked around at the walls and windows receding from me on waves of nausea. I felt deep cellular dismay, little fires and ice cubes. I laid a hand on my forehead; a sweating fever licked my palm.

“The flu.” I muttered the words aloud. “Goddamn it.” I had probably

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