We Are Monsters by Brian Kirk Page B

hefting it in his hand. Not near as tough as you, he thought, then dipped the needle into the vial and filled the chamber to the designated mark. Jerry’s words echoed in his mind as he leaned over, placing the needle’s tip against the inside of his brother’s eye socket and angling it upward. “You may feel a little pressure, but it shouldn’t hurt.” I hope, he thought.
    He could sense the faintest tremor threatening his fingers, so he pressed forward and pushed the needle through. Be tough, brother.
    It only took a few seconds and the needle was out. Alex returned it to the bedside table and plugged the puncture wound with a ball of cotton. Jerry’s vital signs remained strong. Now, the only thing to do was wait.
    Alex was rising from his chair when Jerry began to convulse violently, his body thrashing against the bed. Alex grabbed Jerry’s head and held it steady, clamping his jaw closed. It took all of his strength to hold it in place.
    â€œOkay, I could use a little help in here,” he called out, trying to sound calm.
    Jerry’s back was arched high overhead and his legs were pumping like pistons, causing the pinewood bedframe to screech against the floor.
    The door burst open and Rachel rushed through. She stopped as soon as she saw Jerry’s condition and spun back around. “Jesus, what’d you do!” It was the panicked voice from the night Popeye died.
    â€œGrab his feet. I need you to help restrain him.”
    Rachel peeked over her shoulder and winced. She thrust clenched fists down by her side and stomped. “Please! Make it stop!”
    Jerry’s throat became tight, bloated; he wasn’t getting any air. His body went rigid, his hands curled in and his toes pointed down. He began to gurgle—a protracted nnnnnhhhhggggg —and his mouth began to foam. Then the convulsions returned, more fearsome than before.
    â€œGoddammit, get over here!” He had to insert a breathing tube. He needed to help Jerry get air. He looked around the cluttered bedroom, the walls closing in, the seconds slipping away.
    Maybe it’ll look like natural causes. Even his internal voice sounded scared.
    â€œRachel! Now!”
    She turned. Her face crumpled in disgust. She shook her hands as though they’d been stung. “Just fix him! Hurry! Hurry!”
    Alex stared at her in disbelief. He’s going to die because of her. Then the realization hit him. No, he’s going to die because of me.
    He released Jerry’s head and used his hands to pivot, swinging his legs up over Jerry’s body, straddling his hips and pinning him against the bed. He placed his palm against Jerry’s forehead and pushed it back to open his airway, but his tongue was clogging his throat.
    Alex looked around, searching for his cache of medical supplies. But this was not a hospital room or even a test lab. It was just the small, dingy bedroom where his brother was about to die.
    Jerry’s face was turning purple. Spittle continued to foam from his lips. Alex pried open Jerry’s mouth and shoved his fingers through his teeth, grabbing the tongue and pulling it forward. A reedy gasp escaped. Then another. Alex dug his thumbnail deep into the tongue tissue to maintain his grip as his brother struggled to breathe. Shallow and hitched at first, catching in his throat, and then deep and unrestricted.
    Alex let go of Jerry’s tongue and it fell back into its natural place. His breathing became regulated. Then his body began to relax, so Alex slid off and stood beside the bed.
    Jerry’s eyes fluttered, revealing two crescent moons, and then they sprang open all the way. The eyeballs rolled backwards, and Jerry squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again they remained in place. They found Alex and fixated on his face. There was life behind them, a spark of lucid recognition.
    Rachel released a ragged wail, and Alex and Jerry both turned their heads. She