VI.

Grant was on his knees in front of Dr. Joshua Silverman.

“What kind of therapy is this again?” Grant said. He was staring directly at the doctor’s giant ankh belt buckle.

“It’s called Ptham--,” Dr. Silverman started to say but was interrupted by the door opening and Nurse Barbara walking in.

“Doctor, we have a problem,” she said. “Davie Jefferson is outside and he’s naked. Something’s wrong with him.”

Grant stood up. “See! I fucking told you.”

“Watch your language,” Dr. Silverman said. “Barbara, get an orderly to put some clothes on him and then tell him to come into my office.”

Barbara nodded and left the room.

That’s when the screaming started.

Grant had never heard anything like it. The sound was like a tea kettle crossed with a dying goat.

Dr. Silverman rushed out of the office with Grant close behind. “Jesus Christ,” the doctor said. “Davie, what are you doing?”

Nurse Barbara was being eaten, her left breast hanging out of Davie’s mouth.

“Breast flesh! Breast flesh! Breast flesh!” Davie was on the other side of the nurse’s station, the bottom half of his body hidden. He stepped around the corner, letting go of Barbara. The corpse dropped to the floor with a wet clump.

“What the fuck is…,” Grant said. The bottom half of Davie’s body was just a hunk of glowing meat.

“Grant, get the hell out of here. NOW.” Joshua Silverman knew something fucked up would happen sooner or later. “Davie, just stay right there. Right there.”

“Black saucers! Black saucers! Black saucers!” The meat portion of Davie’s body glowed like neon beef. “You best run, doctor. Run, man, run!”