Nathan sat on a green divan in Sandra’s lighter green living room.

She'd tried, in a broken way, to explain how the testing lotion had turned her into an irresistible treat. It was hard to tell if Sandra believed or was just humoring her until she could get a hold of the police. She wore a surgical mask as a safety precaution.

“Here. You'll want this.” Sandra passed her a heavy bottle of Jack Daniels.

“What for?”

“Don't be a fuckin' twat, Brains. Drink up.”

Ah. For the pain. “Where did you get a surgical mask?” she wondered, hoping perhaps it was left over from some sort of medical training she wasn't aware she'd taken.

“Old cosplay,” Sandra replied as she took hold of Nate’s extended hand and rotated the shoulder. “If ya' gotta puke, do it in the bucket. I'll kick your ass if you stain the carpet.”

“Why would I-” Sandra drew the forearm over Nate’s chest in an “L” and pushed sharply up on the elbow. It had been wise for her to set the pail nearby because this time she really did vomit. Sandra had to do it twice more before she got it right, but then it was well worth the agony. An instant flow of quelling relief accompanied the reconnection.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah,” she admitted, surprised. She spit in the bucket again. She had never broken, fractured, or even dislocated a bone. She didn't intend to do it again either.

“Your skin's so soft,” commented Sandra, trailing a thin hand over her arm. 

Glancing down, Nathan saw her skin had thinned, revealing blue-black veins. It hadn't been so this morning.

This was bad.

“I have to call Nabaclin,” she explained, strained. “They're the only ones who can help. Do you have a phone?”

“My cell.” Sandra looked suspicious. “You're really serious about all this turning-you-into-food business?”

“Yes! Can I use your phone now? Please?”

“Yeah.” The mask made it hard to see the bulk of her expression, but she guessed Sandra might be frowning. “Why would a big guy talk to you though, Nate?”

“They give us an emergency number. In case something goes wrong.”

“You've gotta real weird job, huh?”

“Yeah, I really ought to talk to the Union.” Nate’s idea of a joke. All the unions had been abolished long ago. “Anyway, can you give me the phone, please?”

She passed her cell and Nate dialed the number.

The first answer was an automated service, listing a series of menu options that would “guide” her through the rest of the process. She told the computer her full legal name ( “Nathaniel Ramsey Boulestin. No, Boulestin. Fucking computers...”), the research facility number, her personal identification number, and the last four digits of her social.

Eight prompts later, the voice of a real person arrived at last, “Nabaclin Emergency Response Team. What is the nature of your--”

“Four-Five-One-Four,” Nate replied, before she could launch into an endless string of questions. Four-Five-One-Four was the ultimate emergency code. If it was uttered, even jokingly, and without an actual emergency, the offending party was fired on the spot. It was tantamount to prank-calling 9-1-1.

“Are you sure you wish to issue this code?” asked the woman.

Her skin was growing paler and thinner by the second. In her mind's eye, she could see it swelling and sloughing off in great gobs. “Fuck yes!”

“Very well. Please hold.”

“Wha-no!”

On the phone, light, upbeat music played. An electronic voice periodically informed her that her party was being reached and asked her to “Please continue holding.” Occasionally an ad for Nabaclin Industries interrupted. 

Nate twitched each time the “Supernaturally Soft Skin” slogan repeated.

After an eternity, a deep, smooth voice came onto the line. “Hello Nathan. This is Roger Stalwart, CEO of Nabaclin Industries.” Like she really needed an introduction. Nate recognized the voice immediately. It was world famous. “I understand that you have run into a spot of trouble testing our newest lotion.”

“Your scientist tried to eat me!” Thrilled to finally have someone listening, she rattled off the whole story, starting with the choice to push ahead with human testing and ending with the assistance she'd received from Sandra, who still sat on the couch, watching warily.

Mr. Stalwart listened to her whole story without so much as a single interruption. It was only when Nate finished that he spoke. “I see. This is a matter most serious and I will attend to it myself. Where was it you said you were located?” Nathan gave him the address of her apartment building. “Very well. Go to the roof. I shall have my personal chopper there in about five minutes' time. And I will make certain the staff are wearing their masks. We’ll get you somewhere safe.”

“Great! Thank you so much, Mr. Sta-”

“Please, call me Roger,” he interrupted. “Now hurry. We must get you into solitary confinement. There is no telling what sort of danger you may be in.” Used to being obeyed, Stalwart didn't wait for confirmation. The line clicked and went dead.

Nathan sprang up immediately.

“Where are you going?” asked Sandra, alarmed. “You can't go off with your ass hangin' out like that. You gotta put on some new drawers or-”

“No time. Mr. Stalwart is coming to pick me up.”

“Err...who?”

“He's the head of Nabaclin. He's going to put me in solitary until they can engineer some sort of cure.”

“Gee, I dunno Brains. Don'tcha think you should call someone? Like your mom or dad or--”

“I don't have any of those,” explained Nathan. “It's just me.” Sandra’s eyebrows went up. She hated the pity in her expression, but tried not to let it show. Nate reached for the door knob. “Look, I have to go now but thank you so much for all of your--” 

She opened the door and cut off as she came face-to-face with the bleary-eyed, drooling vagrant from earlier. Before Nate could so much as shout, the other lunged.

Nathan stumbled back with a cry, trying to ply grasping hands from her throat.

WHAP!

In sprang Sandra with her bat, cracking him alongside the jaw and throwing him off of Nathan, who crabbed backwards as a flow of several more crazed human beings piled in through the door. Like others, they were vicious with drooling mouths, flared nostrils, and dilated eyes. And all wailed in hunger.

The nearest, a young man in a wife beater and pants two sizes too large, clasped hold of Nate’s aching arm and tried to pull her into the hall. Sandra swatted alongside his skull, and yanked Nathan into the bedroom by the front of her gown.

Using a chair, Sandra barred the door behind them and spun back in Nate’s direction. The end of the bat was stained red. Curlers hung loose around her thin face. She seemed not to notice or care. “How'd they find you?”

“My-My blood maybe. I-I was bleeding. They must have followed the Scent.”

Sandra nodded curtly. “Well, at least now I can believe you.”

Nathan hardly heard over her own horror. Her reflection stood in the full length mirror at the foot of Sandra’s bed. Large, purple bruises collared her throat. Under the fluorescents, she appeared translucent. 

“BRAINS!”

“Wha-?”

“I said we need to go,” hissed Sandra. She wasn't kidding. 

The door rattled and jumped in its frame. Already, the hinges were loose, starting to splinter from the drywall.

“Are you fuckin' listening?” Sandra slugged Nate’s shoulder and motioned to the window, where an old, twisted fire escape stood like a sickened horse on its last legs.

“But-”

“Just go!” Sandra roared. Then it was no decision because the door snapped off its hinges and a burly, square-headed man thundered through. 

Squeaking fright, Nathan leaped out onto the rickety fire escape, and fled toward the smoke-saturated night sky.

Sandra climbed right behind.

The hard steel stung her feet. She rounded turn after turn, spiraling up and up and up, all the while aware of the structure's constant creaking and shaking. It held as the behemoth stomped his way onto the metal skeleton, held as the vagrant and the punk kid followed suit. But there were only so many quickly climbing people it could support, and just as Nathan neared the top, the steel gave a groan, deeper and louder than the rest.

Throwing an arm around Sandra's slight waist, Nathan yanked her off the steel.

Rusty joints shrieking, loose bolts springing, the entire structure buckled and swayed. Then, with a resounding screech, the welding cracked from the brick wall and  the entire works warped outward, like a stricken sheet of metal.

Gravel crunched and bit through Nate’s paper thin skin as she hit the rooftop. 

Behind, a loud moan of steel ramped into a shrieking clamor, and then fell away with an explosive CRASH. 

Rotating on her hip, Nate crawled to the roof’s edge and peered over. Below, the contorted fire escape lay smashed on the ground with her pursuers still wedged and twisted in its grating. Bits of debris lingered in a dusty gray cloud. Immediately, the sounds of compressing steel were replaced by a cacophony of human wails.

She knew she should look away but morbid fascination held her still.

As the cloud began to clear, she discerned a number of twisted and bloodied limbs tangled among the bent bars. They madly flailed while their owners shrilled.

“O-Oh goddess. I didn't mean-- I didn't want--” Nate choked and reeled.

Sandra gathered herself with more composure and toweled the sweat from her brow. She cautiously peered and blanched a little but did not cry out. “Better run. Someone'll hear and--”

“NO!” Eyes streaming, she cut Sandra off. “No. No. No. Don’t you understand? There’s nowhere to go. If they catch the Scent…” Before she could further elaborate, the whipper-whomp of chopper blades drowned her out.

A white burst enveloped the pair. Nathan looked up.

Hovering above, spotlight glaring, was the jet-black body of a Nabaclin chopper. Not just any Nabaclin chopper, either. The Nabaclin Chopper, complete with bright white lettering and stamped by the official trademark. 

Half shielding her eyes from the glare, Nathan stepped back and wonderingly watched as a rope ladder clattered down in front of her.

When she didn't immediately climb, Sandra prodded with the bat. Though Sandra didn't do it hard, Nate found it still hurt. She glanced at her. “You better come too.”

Sandra nodded with a grunt.

And Nate ascended toward the light in the sky.

Continue to Part IV