Skinless

Chapter 2

"You quarantined the house?" I asked Brice McMillon. The M.E. was wearing a yellow hazmat suit, currently without the headgear. Gray tape wrapped his wrists and ankles, sealing the gloves and black booties. McMillon pulled me to the side, away from the bustling scene in front of the house. He signaled for me to be quieter.

"They aren't the first we've found like this," McMillon whispered. "We're trying to avoid a city-wide panic." His red hair was comically sticking up in odd bunches, probably from the helmet he recently removed.

"I think the public needs to know if there's some sicko running around skinning people," I pointed out. It never pleased me when people were unnecessarily kept in the dark by misguided politics.

"Lower your voice," McMillon said, pulling me farther from the scene. "This wasn't done with a knife."

"What?"

"How long were you in there?" McMillon asked. A shiver ran up my spine. The quarantine and hazmat suit was beginning to paint an ugly picture.

"I don't know, maybe thirty minutes tops," I answered, "less than five the first time, a little longer the second to make sure the rest of the house was empty. What the hell is going on?"

"You, and anyone else who entered need to be checked out," McMillon said. "You're probably fine, but it wouldn't hurt to make sure." He spoke like he was trying to comfort a child.

"What the hell, Brice?" He quickly glanced around me, making sure our conversation was private.

"It's some kind of bug or parasite," McMillon said. Another shiver ran through my body. My mind began to analyze every nerve ending in my body, trying to identify any unwelcome movement.

"A parasite?" I asked, rubbing my left arm to make sure the twinge I just felt wasn't some unwanted creature.

"Millions actually," McMillon said, "they work incredibly fast. The biology of it would be intriguing if it weren't for the effects." I brushed my other arm as my mind imagined tiny creatures crawling along my skin.

"They were eaten while sitting on the couch? They had to be dead already to just sit there."

"That's the problem," McMillon said, his voice getting quieter, "all indications are that they were still breathing after it was done. Basically, they died of exposure."

"Eaten alive?"

"Well, the skin, some connective tissue, and fat were consumed," McMillon said, "a fairly specific diet. Rarely see anything like it in the natural world."

"Would you sit still while something was eating you?" I asked. My hand ran down to my left knee, scratching at nothing that felt like it might be something.

"I'm working on the theory that they secrete some kind of anesthetic, like vampire bats. Possibly a paralytic robust enough to render the victim immobile."

"How many bodies have you found?"

"These are numbers six and seven, the first ones we've found indoors." McMillon replied, " The rest have been in the woods, by the abandoned factory district on the east side. That's what puzzles me. I thought they were tied to a geographic location, but we're miles away from the initial attacks. Stranger still, we haven't found any remnants of these things. You'd think at least some of these creatures would die at the scene, or leave some sort of trail. They have to live somewhere."

"You don't even know what you're looking for," I summarized.

"In truth, no. It's mostly educated guesses. We know they are small and numerous. Millions upon millions of tiny bites." McMillion paused a second and looked back toward the townhouse. "I hate to admit that these deaths don't fit the pattern that was emerging. Whatever these things are, they are more mobile than expected."

"Or there are more of them then you know," I pointed out.

"That's a possibility. The CDC is sending people now that we have multiple cases. An entomologist from Cornell will be here tomorrow morning. We're hoping he can locate these things."

"And we aren't warning the public."

"Warn them of what? You are already imagining these things crawling on you. Just think of the mass panic, people flooding out of the city and possibly taking these things with them."

I forced myself to ignore the slight everyday tingles on my skin. They were normal feelings I would have subconsciously discounted in the past. He was correct, the public would panic. I was in a slight panic myself.

"Mr. And Mrs. Adams were retired," I said, gesturing to the townhouse, "the neighbors said they volunteered a lot at a soup kitchen. I think the kitchen is on the east side." I pulled out my pocket notebook, a ratty looking thing that looked like it had survived a rainstorm. "The 23rd Street Mission."

"That's something," McMillon said, "could they have transported boxes back and forth?"

"Nothing inside looked out of place," I replied, "there were boxes in the basement, but they look like they've been there for years. We did find her wallet out of her purse in the bedroom. No cash inside, but that may not mean anything. All the credit cards and IDs seemed to be intact."

"I doubt money interests these things," McMillon said with an inappropriate chuckle.

"They were known to bring some of the indigent home. You know, let them get cleaned up, a good meal to help straighten them out. A couple of the neighbors were less than happy about the idea of bringing that element into the neighborhood."

"Maybe one of their guests brought some luggage with them."

"Could help explain the lack of cash. Though, I can't imagine anyone sticking around while two people got eaten alive. Certainly not pick up and take infected luggage with them." I said, thinking out loud. "Could it be done purposively?"

"I have yet to see trained insects," McMillon replied, shaking his head. "Nor have I found them to be discriminatory. The guest would have been attacked as well."

"The Mission is the only connection I've got to work with," I said. "I'm guessing this happened a week ago. Is that about right?"

"The rate of decomposition says sometime last Thursday, but that may be off. The lack of skin could have sped thing up. I'll have to do some more research to be specific."

"Well, I'll go with Thursday and see if I can't piece together their last few days."