His jaw dropped and quivered, and his breath wheezed out of his mouth in a low, horrified note.
Wilson followed the man’s finger, and he found himself looking at Dunlap. He blinked, let out a short breath, and felt his balls draw up into his abdomen even as his stomach dropped.
The wound that had been the officer’s throat was closing. As he watched, the flesh began to knit itself back together. Tendrils of skin reached, found each other, and intertwined. They thickened into cords, then flattened, becoming sheets of tissue. The flesh made a sound like crumpling newspaper as it repaired itself. The process seemed to take forever, and the men could only watch, transfixed.
He heard a voice from far away, a single word so soft it could have been a breath.
“Doc?”
He couldn’t tell if it was Aldo or Chale, and he didn’t really care. He watched Officer Dunlap’s new throat, fascinated. It showed no sign of damage. Where there had only seconds ago been a ragged mess of butchered tissue, now there was perfect skin, as smooth and clean as fine porcelain.
“Doc!”
He shook his head, looking up. It was Aldo; he could tell now. Terror sat thick in the man’s voice, a trembling note of sheer horror.
“It’s happening to the rest!”
Wilson eyed the remaining bodies and saw that, yes, their wounds were healing, as well. The room, which was always kept unnaturally cool, seemed to heat up until it was sweltering. His head spun, and he realized he was near fainting. As the last throat, Webber’s, sealed itself shut, the doctor realized he might best be served by thoughts of escape rather than diagnosis.
“Officer!”
The doors swung open at once, and the guard bolted inside, ready for action. A look of puzzlement fell over his face, however, when he realized Aldo and Chale weren’t beating the doctor to death. Wilson opened his mouth to explain.
And a cold hand gripped his wrist.
He screamed, and as three corpses opened their eyes and peeled their lips back to reveal teeth that were far too sharp, the others joined him.
***
“Yeah. You like this, Maggot? Maggot the Faggot. You like what I’m doing to you?”
Maggot squeezed his eyes shut and breathed through grit teeth. He kept his hands braced against the corridor’s wall so he would not get slammed face-first into it. Behind him, Officer Nicholas pounded away, grunting and groaning with each terrible thrust.
“Tell me you like it. You better tell me before I get pissed.”
“I like it,” Maggot whimpered. Tears rolled down his cheeks. Through the years he had spent at Burnham, he had been raped countless times, and each violation was awful, worse than the last. But no one was as rough as Officer Nicholas, the fat man who always smelled of sweat and meat. Maggot had learned long ago to do whatever he was told, or else Nicholas would either beat him down with his billy club or sodomize him with it.
“I like it so much.”
Nicholas let out a shuddering breath. “Oh, yeah. This is what you get for not making your work detail on time, you worthless little fuck. You gonna be late for work again?”
“No.”
A fist slammed against the back of Maggot’s head. Stars burst in his vision, and pain sang through his entire skull. He let out a hiss.
“Can’t hear you, asshole!”
“No!”
“That’s right.”
He tried not to scream, tried to stay nice and quiet so the guard could finish. The thrusts grew quicker, more violent. Pain that was all but unbearable laced his entire body. Nicholas always made sure it hurt. A meaty paw gripped his hair, twisted, and the scream almost escaped. An instant later the guard paused, went rigid, and finally gasped and pulled out.
Maggot wiped his eyes and pulled his grays back up.
Officer Nicholas smiled as he tucked himself back into his pants. “I’m not ever gonna get tired of you, Mags. You always feel like a virgin when we get together.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You better keep yourself