By the time we'd deposited all of the stage-threes on the court, other stage-threes were already streaming into the one open entrance. They were so intent on entering the arena that, just like the girl I'd encountered on the road months ago, they completely ignored us now and rushed mindlessly toward the basketball court.
Ian readied a syringe full of TGVx solution and stood at the entrance.
"It'll only take a few," he said as he began quickly injecting stage-threes in the ribs as they flowed by. None of them even noticed that Ian had pricked them with a needle at all.
"It's a sexually transmitted, disease," he said. "Right?"
I realized, finally what he was planning on doing. It was brilliant.
"A cluster."
"Yep," he said. "There's going to be a lot of sexual transmission going on in there tonight." He grinned sheepishly, and I couldn't help but blush. He injected the last milliliter of fluid into a passing stage-three and tossed aside the syringe. "If we just keep these doors open, every stage three for miles won't be able to help but go inside. The TGVx will spread from one stage three to the next. Before long, the whole arena should be filled with comatose stage threes by the thousands. They'll die in peace, and they won't bother anyone anymore."
Already, an eerie chorus of ecstatic moans was resonating from the depths of Madison Square Garden. We'd just created the largest orgy in the history of the world.
Chris was totally plastered.
We found him just before dawn at a bar in SoHo looking as happy and content as I'd ever seen him.
The bar was still packed with patrons, and everyone was celebrating. The air was imbued with a deep sense of hopefulness I'd never felt before, not even before the plague.
Just about everyone at the bar had bought Chris a drink for bringing the TGVx treatment to the city. He was with the tattooed girl who'd first made up the pamphlets. Her arm was draped around his neck, and she was whispering something into his ear.
With this, Chris held up his glass to make a toast.
"Normally my medical advice is always to practice safe sex," he slurred. "But if you got an injection tonight, all I can say is travel far, and travel wide, and spread the love!"
The bar erupted in cheers.
"And if not . . ." Chris's voice trailed off when the tattooed woman slipped what I was certain was a Trojan into his hand.
He caught my eye as she lead him out of the bar.
"You're a superstar, A—, er, Alison." He laughed, then he nodded drunkenly at the woman dragging him away. As he passed by me, he whispered, "It's about time I got laid!"
I smiled and waved him goodbye. "You deserve it," I laughed.
I had the feeling the bar was going to stay open all morning. The entire city was celebrating.
Three girls approached the bar, all of them holding out their forearms.
They ordered "Three Manhattans and a round of Ashley Travises."
The bartender poured their drinks and gave them an injection from the gallon jug behind the bar marked TGVx.
For myself, I ordered a beer. Coors. The only kind my father ever drank. I raised it up in no particular direction.
"Thanks, Dad," I whispered.
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You've reached the end of Part 12: Spread It
DEAD IN BED continues with Part 13: Falling To Pieces...