The Arroyo by M. Caspian

Author:M. Caspian
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: humiliation, abuse, sexual assault, graphic violence, gay erotic fiction, humiliation abuse, erotica adult fiction, medical erotica, dystopia climate change, violence sex

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When Trace stepped down from the medlab, Pete was sitting on the ground in the dappled shade of the elephant tree.

Trace walked over and joined him. Pete passed him a protein bar and a lukewarm cup of coffee.

“Sorry it’s not hot. I didn’t think you would take so long.”

He didn’t say anything, just took them and swallowed down the tepid liquid in giant gulps, like he was trying to swallow his desire. He tipped the dregs out, and set his mug on the ground. A red-brown hawk circled overhead, playing in the thermals, zeroing in on prey far below.

“Got a cigarette, Pete? I’m all out.”

Pete passed him his own, lit but not yet burned down. He took a deep draw.

“This kid?”

He nodded.

“You’re taking a long time processing him. What’s the deal?”

He breathed in a lung full of smoke. “Coccidioides immitis.”

“What the hell is that?”

“A spore that causes a nasty little fungal infestation. He’s got coccidioidomycosis. Basically the kid’s got mold growing in his lungs. I’ll have to send the sample to the lab to confirm it, but I’m damn certain.”

“Fuck! Can we catch it? Will you catch it?”

Trace shook his head. “No. We’re breathing it in right now.”

Pete pulled his undershirt up over his nose and mouth.

“Don’t worry. We’ve been breathing it for years. Every time we come out here. Back in Yuma, for that matter. It’s everywhere. Invisible. Surrounding us all the time. We don’t even think about it.” He shrugged. “For some reason, in some people, it digs in, takes hold. Takes over.”

“Is it bad?”

“Right now he thinks he just has a cough. The flu, maybe. But the fungus in his lungs is sending spores throughout his bloodstream. They’re probably in all his organs, in his skin, maybe even in the soft tissue lining of his brain. I’ve started him on amphotericin.”

“You what? That sells for, what, two thousand a dose on the black market? Are you out of your mind?”

“And he’ll need monitoring and ongoing treatment for six months, at least, maybe a year. Without treatment he’ll be developing the first bout of chronic pneumonia any day now. Next month he’ll be coughing up blood. Give him a year, a bronchopleural fistula— a hole in the lungs that leads into the chest cavity. With treatment…” Trace shrugged. “He’ll probably be fine.”

“It sounds fucking terrifying. Why are you looking after him like this?”

“He’s not cut out to be a slave. He won’t last three months. We’re going to have to throw him back.”

Pete nudged him with his elbow. “I miss you,” he said. “It’s more than the processing, isn’t it?”

Trace nodded, dropping the roach end into the sand and grinding it with the heel of his soft shoe. A black ant ran across his instep, investigating.

“He’s me, Pete. He’s me who didn’t get picked. I’ve spent twenty years wondering what would have happened if I’d stayed free. He’s what happened. If he hadn’t stuck up for that stupid kid, hadn’t been harvested… I dream about the life I could have had, but would I have had all that much?”

“You’d have had something.

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