Parasite Read Online Free Page B

effect.
    It made him queasy.
    Walter turned his head to the other side, grinding his cheek into several cubes of shatterproof glass that littered the road.
    C’mon, where’s the bag? Where the fuck is the case?
    Then he finally spotted it: the black case was clutched between the fingers of… his hand?
    The fingers looked familiar, thin and red, with nails bitten to the quick, and the cross tattoo in the webbing between thumb and forefinger was indeed his, but it didn’t feel like his hand. It was his, it had to be, but he couldn’t feel it at all; from the shoulder down, his arm was completely numb.
    What the fuck? Is it broken? Dislocated? Fucking amputated?
    He tried to force his fingers closed, to squeeze the case, to feel it, but nothing happened.
    Walter tried to remember which arm he had shot into. It could have been his right, even though this would have been strange given that he was right-handed and preferred to inject into his left. But his arm had never felt this way, even when he had had no choice but to inject what he knew to be dirty drugs.
    Infection didn’t feel like this, not even the kind that turned his skin ashen and gave him palpitations. That was bad; this was worse.
    Maybe I hit a nerve?
    Walter finally mustered the courage to scan his numb arm, and when his gaze fell on the crook of his elbow, his heart sank: his pink, mottled flesh was relatively smooth and unmolested.
    No infection on his right arm.
    When his slow, rising gaze finally made it to his shoulder, Walter snapped to his feet so quickly that his head spun and he immediately fell back onto his ass. A bolt of pain flashed up his spine from his tailbone to the base of his skull, but it barely even registered. Instead, he began to frantically use his good hand to smack at his numb shoulder and arm, trying to brush off the cracker that was nestled there.
    “Fuck!” he screamed, still swiping at the characteristic shape.
    Every time his hand passed over the spot, he felt the creature, but no matter how hard he swiped, the irregularly shaped thing was still there.
    With a grimace, he took another look at his shoulder, forcing his chin to his chest to get the best possible view.
    Walter’s heart nearly stopped.
    It was patently obvious that no matter how many times he swatted at the cracker on his shoulder, it would not be brushed away like a pesky spider; no, it was clear that this cracker was more permanent.
    With his lower lip dripping blood and spit, Walter somehow mustered the strength to inspect the shape buried beneath his skin.
    The cracker was smaller than he had first thought, but the characteristic oval-shaped outline of the shell still covered most of his left deltoid. He could also make out the creature’s six legs, all folded and articulated so that they were completely pressed against his… well, against whatever was underneath his skin.
    “Fuck!” he swore, looking skyward, his eyes once again watering in the bright sun.
    Then he turned back to the shape and used a trembling thumb to apply some pressure to one of the thing’s legs. It was surprisingly pliable, despite the rigid outline beneath his skin.
    A quiver ran through his entire body as if he had just experienced a minor electrical shock.
    “Oh God,” he whispered, tucking his chin against his collar to get an even better look.
    The hard outline was horrible, of this Walter had no doubt, but there was something far more disturbing.
    The thing’s mouth, a small, silver-dollar-sized orifice, was directed out of a fairly smooth circular opening on his skin. Inside this hole, he caught sight of a horrible set of tiny, reciprocating teeth. Worse still was the fact that his skin around the hole seemed to be fused perfectly around the orifice. It was as if his pale flesh seemed to be part of the cracker’s mouth—some sort of macabre, surrogate lips.
    It was almost too hard to stomach, so instead, Walter tried to squeeze the case again. He was surprised to find