DEAD IN BED By Bailey Simms: The Complete Second Book

PART 12, SECTION 16

"I have an idea," Ian said, eyeing the stage-threes warily. "Remember how clusters attract other stage threes from miles away?"

How could I forget? The spectacle of Jason swathing down the orgy of stage-three in the field months ago would be forever scored into my memory.

"Watch this" Ian said.

He walked toward a small park across the street where a pair of stage-threes were quietly screwing in the shadows. This was such a common occurrence in New York, I'd barely realized they were there. With the expert quickness of an EMT, Ian injected each of them in the aorta. He'd moved so quickly, they hadn't even seemed to notice him.

He did the same thing to ten or so more couples and threesomes behind various bushes.

Just like the stage-threes who had arrived with Ian at the dwellings, in an hour all of the people he'd injected had fallen into a stupor.

With Lindsay's help, we dragged all of the comatose stage-threes into the camper van, now mostly emptied of all the syringes we'd distributed. We had to pile their knocked-out bodies on top of one another, but I counted at least thirty.

Already this concentration of stage-threes in the camper was attracting a growing crowd of even more stage-threes.

I was feeling a little uneasy, and so was Lindsay.

"Okay," she said to Ian. "Now what?"

"Anybody know how to get to Madison Square Garden?"

None of us did, but a passerby gave us directions.

Ian drove slowly through the streets. A mob of stage threes started following in our wake. I hoped Ian knew what he was doing.

By the time we reached the arena, we'd attracted hundreds of stage threes. People on the streets were rushing away, terrified at the crowd we'd created.

But the arena was totally closed down.

By the time Ian finally found a security guard who was reluctantly willing to open up all of the many entrances, stage-threes were already clustered around the camper, either banging on its tin walls or tearing each others' clothes off.

The security guard dropped his gun and ran off as fast as he could. 

Ian opened the camper door, and, one by one, we dragged the comatose stage-threes into the basketball arena.

Inside, only dim emergency lighting illuminated the endless rows of empty seats. The squeaks of our shoes on the hardwood echoed through the massive empty space as we lay the limp, peaceful bodies in a cluster at the center of the court.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Please VOTE 🌟 before continuing. xxBailey