FORTY-FOUR

WATER GURGLED PAST the body that lay half on the sandy shore and half in the lazy river. It had been pulled almost a mile downstream by the current before catching on a fallen tree, spinning out into a surge of rapids where it was shoved onto the beach. Fish inspected the body and found that the legs and feet were clothed and inedible. But had they been able to taste the man’s flesh, they would have found it a replenishing food source; just as two rats on shore were helping themselves to a feast on the large open wound.

Despite the massive damage to his neck, Bishop lived. Though the near-fatal wound had slowed down his body’s unnatural ability to heal, it hadn’t stopped it. Rebuilding nerve bundles to a functional level took more time than rebuilding simple muscle. After several hours on the shore, the work on his spine was complete.

The muscles of Bishop’s neck grew quickly and stretched out, finding and connecting with the muscles and skin of his head. His jugular vein grew, spraying blood as it lengthened and reunited with its other half. The inside of his throat re-formed and had yet to finish when a new layer of skin grew over it.

The only remaining injury was on the side of his neck, where the two rats continued to munch on the regenerating meal.

Bishop sat up violently as his body expelled the water that filled his stomach and lungs. Three mighty heaves cleared the liquid from his system. He looked around. Eyes wide.

A breeze tickled his neck. He swatted at it.

A bubble popped on the river. He kicked at it.

One of the hungry rats, still thirsting for Bishop’s blood, bit his finger. The wound healed quickly, but the pain registered even faster. Bishop roared and reached out, snagging the rat by a hind leg. It squealed and scratched. Unable to free itself, the rat leaned up and buried its incisors into Bishop’s palm. Screaming, he brought the rat up and grabbed its chestnut-sized head. He yanked its head off his hand and then raised the body to his mouth like a corncob fresh off the grill. And he bit into it as if he could taste the dripping butter.

The rat squealed for just a moment before falling silent, before Bishop bit through its back, ribs, and spine, taking an apple-sized chunk out of its back. He devoured the flesh and bones, his insides healing quickly as the sharp ribs sliced his throat and stomach.

Movement caught his eye. Another rat. Rage filled him again and he discarded the dead rodent in his hands, giving chase to the second, pursuing it without cause, without thought, without hesitation—upstream.