hoarse sounds that came out might have been words, but they didn't carry.
"Cop, don't say anything. I'm going to take care of you - "
Butch shook his head and began to move. With pathetic weakness, he stretched out his arms and grabbed at the ground, trying to pull his broken body through the snow. Away from V.
"Butch, it's me - "
"No..." The cop went all frantic, clawing, dragging himself. "Infected... don't know how... infected... you can't... take me. Don't know why..."
V used his voice like a slap, making it sharp and loud. "Butch! Stop it!"
The cop settled down, although whether it was because he was following orders or had run out of steam wasn't clear.
"What the hell did they do to you, my man?" V whipped out a Mylar blanket from his jacket and put it around his roommate.
"Infected." Butch awkwardly rolled onto his back and shoved the silver sheath down, his busted-up hand falling onto his belly. "In... fected."
"What the fuck..."
There was a fist-sized black circle on the cop's stomach, something like a bruise with highly defined edges. In the center of it, there seemed to be... a surgical scar.
"Shit." They'd put something in him.
"Kill me." Butch's voice was a chilling rasp. "Kill me now. Infected. Something... inside. Growing..."
V sat back on his heels and grabbed at his hair. Forcing his emotions to the back burner, he put his mind to work and prayed that his overdose of gray matter would come to the rescue. Moments later, the conclusion he reached was radical but logical, and it focused him to the point of calmness. He un-sheathed one of his black daggers with a perfectly steady hand and leaned in to his roommate.
What shouldn't be in there needed to come out. And given the evil that it was, the extraction had to be done here, in neutral territory, rather than at home or in Havers's clinic. Plus, death was breathing down the cop's neck, and the sooner he was decontam'd the better.
"Butch, buddy, I want you to take a deep breath, then hold still. I'm going to - "
"Be of care, warrior."
V whirled around in a crouch. Right behind him, hovering above the ground, was the Scribe Virgin. As always she was pure power, her black robes unruffled by the wind, her face hidden, her voice clear as the night air.
Vishous opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "Before you o'erstep your bounds and render inquiry, I will tell you, no, I cannot help directly. This is a matter of the sort I must stay out of. However, I will say this. You would be wise to unveil the curse you detest. Handling what is within him will bring you closer to death than ever you have been. And no one could remove it save you." She smiled a little, as if she read his thoughts. "Yes, this moment now is part of the reason you dreamed of him in the beginning. But there is another why of which you may see in time."
"Will he live?"
"Get to work, warrior," she said in a hard tone. "You shall make more progress toward his salvation if you act rather than offend me."
V leaned down to Butch and moved fast, drawing the knife over the cop's belly. As a moan left the man's cracked lips, a gaping hole opened up.
"Oh, Jesus." There was something black cocooned in the flesh.
The Scribe Virgin's voice was closer now, as if she were right over his shoulder. "Unsheathe your hand, warrior, and be of speed about it. How quickly that spreads."
V shoved his dagger back into his chest holster and ripped his glove off. He reached down, then stopped. "Wait, I can't touch anyone with this."
"The infection will offer the human protection. Do it now, warrior, and as you make contact, visualize the white glow of your palm all around you, as if you are skinned by light."
Vishous brought his hand forward while imagining himself surrounded by a pure, radiant incandescence. The moment he made contact with the black piece, his body shuddered and bucked. The thing, whatever it was, disintegrated with a hiss and pop, but, oh, shit, he felt ill.
"Breathe," the Scribe Virgin said. "Just breathe through it."
Vishous swayed and caught himself on the ground, his head hanging off his shoulders, his throat starting to pump. "I think I'm going to be - "
Yeah, he got sick. And as the retching tackled him again and again, he felt himself get eased off his arms.