– Make for one hell of a stomachache. If he hadn’t poisoned it, I’d be licking the fridge clean right now.

He pushes his top hat to the back of his head.

– Well, sure, me too, man.

He considers.

– And still, might be worth the sick to have a drink.

I smell the blood on my fingertip.

– Won’t do you any good, ammonia killed it. Vyrus won’t want it.

He kicks the fridge door closed.

– Fuck.

I wipe my finger on a piece of old newspaper I peel from a stack under the stairs.

– Can you get a scent?

He flares his nostrils, inhales, grimaces.

– Ammonia’s overpowering most of it. You?

I shake my head. I’ve been sniffing around like a hound and can’t get one good trace of whoever did it. The mess spilling from what used to be Solomon’s belly, the ammonia and the basement overstock are killing the subtler human traces of sweat and skin. If I’d had some blood today the Vyrus might be running strong enough to peak my senses, but I didn’t. And Sol’s is making me damn hungry.

I toe the head on the floor and watch it rock back and forth.

– When’d you find him?

Christian is skirting a spill of intestine.

– Swineheart and Tenderhooks rolled over here right after sundown looking to score. They didn’t know the shop closed for Sabbath and rattled the gates for a while before they went round to the alley side and banged on the trap. Smelled the blood. Twisted the lock off the trap and came down here. Saw this shit and freaked out. Came and got me.

I poke around some boxes, shifting them, looking for God knows what. Moving the boxes releases sugary pink smells.

– Swineheart and Tenderhooks got freaked?

Christian points at the corpse.

– This shit? You bet they did. Who wants to fuck with a Van Helsing?

The answer is no one.

Fuck with some kid who stumbled onto the wrong scene at the wrong time and managed to get out alive and declares a war on the undead and comes after you armed with holy water, garlic, and a crucifix? Sure, no problem.