The Girl with All the Gifts

21

The shock of that first taste of blood and warm flesh is so intense that it almost makes Melanie faint. Nothing in her life has ever been this good. Not even having her hair stroked by Miss Justineau! The rush of pleasure is bigger than she is. The part of her that can think bends in that cataract, broadsided, and clings to whatever it can to keep from being swept away.

She tries to remind herself what’s at stake. She attacked the man because he was going to hurt Miss Justineau, not because of the irresistible fresh meat smell; she didn’t catch a whiff of that until she was astride him, and she bit down before she’d even thought about doing it. Her body didn’t need her permission for this, and it wasn’t prepared to wait. Now she bites and tears and chews and swallows, the sensations filling her and battering her like the torrent of a waterfall pouring into a cup held right under it.

Something hits her hard, dislodging her from her prey, from her meal. Another man stands over her, leans down towards her, a knife raised in his hand. Miss Justineau tackles him from behind, her hands beating at his head. He has to turn to defend himself, and Melanie is able to get a solid grip on his leg. She wraps herself around him, lifts herself effortlessly off the ground with her strong arms, locks to him like a limpet.

The man bellows incoherent curses and hammers at her frantically. The blows hurt, but they don’t matter. Melanie finds the point where leg joins body, driven by some instinct so deep she can’t even tell where it comes from. She fastens her teeth on to the man and bites through the leg of his pants until the blood wells thick and spurting into her mouth. She knew it would. She sensed the artery singing to her through folds of flesh and fabric.

The man’s scream is a scary sound, shrill and wobbly. Melanie doesn’t like it at all. But oh, she likes the taste! Likes the way his opened thigh becomes a fountain, as though raw meat was a magic garden, a hidden landscape that she never glimpsed until now.

It’s too much, finally. Her stomach and her mind aren’t big enough. The whole world isn’t big enough. Numbed with delight, with repletion that melts her muscles and her thoughts, she doesn’t resist this time when hands pluck her loose and lift her up.

From under the reek of chemicals comes the Miss Justineau smell, familiar and welcome and wonderful. Pressed to Miss Justineau’s chest, she emits a satiated purr. She wants to curl to sleep there, like an animal in its burrow.

But she can’t sleep, because Miss Justineau is moving, running fast. Each footfall jars Melanie. And the full feeling doesn’t last. Her torpid hunger rallies quickly, prods at the edges of her mind with eager intimations. Already the smell means something different, is urging her to feed again. She turns and wriggles in a grip too weak to contain her, butts with her head against the underside of Miss J’s arm, mouth open to bite again.

But she can’t she mustn’t she can’t! This is Miss Justineau, who loves her. Who saved her from the table and the thin, scary knife. Melanie can’t stop her jaws from closing but she jerks her head back, at the last moment, so they close on air instead of flesh.

A growl wells up from inside her, from the same place that mewled like a kitten only a few moments ago.

has to

mustn’t

has to

She wrestles with a wild animal, and the animal is her.

So she knows she’s going to lose.