Asylum (6 page)

So Gil couldn’t offer any comfort to Autumn.
He had learned long ago that America hated her gay children and
would sooner see them dead than acknowledge their basic humanity.
People talked about progress. The four states where gays could
legally marry. The celebrities that had come out and were living
open lives. The programs for gay teens to help them accept
themselves at a younger age. But it was all window dressing as far
as Gil was concerned; the country hadn’t changed all that much. It
threw its gay citizens a few crumbs now and then to appease them,
but it would never open its arms to them.

Gil poured another beer and looked around
the club. Except for Devon—whom Gil had always suspected was a
little off his rocker—everyone had paired off. Diva and Autumn in
the restroom, Lance and Jimmy, Clive and Toby, Curtis and Jarvis.
Ever since he was young, Gil had tended to think of people not by
their names but by labels he assigned to them in his head, and this
bunch was no different. So there was The Nut upstairs, The Boss and
The Whiner in the restroom, The Prick and The Slut (appropriately
enough) on the floor, The Snob and The Wannabe at the bar, and The
Virgin and The Brit also at the bar. And that left Gil as the odd
man out, but that was fine with him.

He slipped away and checked the back
entrance. Of the two doors into the club, this was the least sturdy
and he wanted to make sure his fortifications were holding up. From
the sound of the beating, there were fewer zombies here than at the
front, which was perhaps the only reason the door was still on its
hinges. He would give anything to take some of the tables apart and
nail them up over the doorway, but there was no hammer or nails in
the club. Besides, he was feeling rather weak and didn’t know if he
was up to the task.

Gil was no fool, and he wasn’t one to lie to
himself. He knew it was inevitable that those things were going to
get in here. The ten people in the club were going to die; all they
could do was postpone that eventuality. Gil had envisioned his
death many times—starting back in the jungles of Vietnam—but he had
certainly never imagined he’d go out this way.

In the early 80s, Gil had watched too many
friends and lovers die from AIDS. He had a theory that the
Government had released the virus to eradicate the undesirable
population, and it had almost worked. There was a time when Gil had
feared that homosexuals were on the verge of extinction, and his
group of friends had dwindled from many to only a handful within a
matter of a couple of years. Of course, these days there were
“miracle drugs” that could prolong the lives of AIDS patients—so
that the Government could make money off the undesirables even as
it killed them—and Gil was one of the lucky ones who had lasted
long enough to reap the pharmaceutical benefits. But it didn’t
change the fact that there was a time bomb inside him, ticking away
until it finally detonated. What was worse, wasting away from a
disease no one cared enough to cure or being pulled apart by
zombies? Gil wasn’t sure.

When Jarvis sat on the stool next to him,
Curtis crossed his legs and shifted slightly away from the stripper
to hide the incriminating bulge in his pants. That Curtis could
even feel sexual desire at a time like this was insane, but he
supposed the body never quit. He looked up at the stripper and
smiled. In the darkness of the club, Jarvis’s dark skin rendered
him almost invisible, just a Cheshire grin that was impossibly
white. The candlelight lay across his skin like melted butter, and
Curtis found himself wondering how the stripper would taste.

“
Hungry?” Jarvis
asked.

Curtis blinked and his jaw fell open, sure
for a second that Jarvis had read his dirty mind. He tried to
answer but managed only to make a sound that sounded like a
belch.

“
There’s a vending machine
upstairs,” Jarvis said. “Full of chips and chocolate bars and the
like. Do you want something?”

“
Oh, no. I’m fine, but
thank you for offering.”

“
You’re awfully polite for
an American. Are you sure you’re not British?”

“
Guess I was just raised
right.”

Silence settled between them, both of them
fidgeting and casting quick glances at one another then away.
Curtis noticed that Clive and Toby had moved further down the bar,
and when he looked their way, Toby gave him the thumbs-up signal
and Clive mouthed what looked like, “Go for it.”

“
Looks like your friend’s
method of dealing with this crisis is to get wasted,” Jarvis said,
pointing back toward Jimmy. The bottle of vodka was empty, and he
and Lance were sloppily making out on the floor.

“
Believe me, there doesn’t
have to be a crisis for my friend to get wasted. This is pretty
much normal behavior for him.”

“
But if ever there was a
time to indulge, this is it.”

“
Funny, Jimmy said
something very similar earlier.”

“
You know what they say.
‘Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow may never
come.’”

“
I’m not much of a
drinker, really,” Curtis said. “Jimmy says I need more
vices.”

“
Oh, I’m sure you must
have
some
vices.”

“
Well, I did once eat an
entire package of cookie dough all by myself.”

“
Such debauchery,” Jarvis
said with a warm laugh. “And yet you manage to remain so
thin.”

“
Crazy metabolism, I
guess. But I’m all skin and bones, no muscle in between. Not like
you.”

Jarvis shrugged. “I work out a lot. Too
much, probably. Ever since I gave up—”

“
Gave up what?”

“
Nothing. Let’s just say
that I gave up one addiction for another.”

“
Fair enough.”

Over Jarvis’s shoulder, Curtis saw Jimmy and
Lance stand and head toward the staircase. Jimmy was staggering
slightly, leaning on Lance for support. Gil, who was inspecting the
backdoor, spotted them and called out, “Where are you two
going?”

“
Just up to check on
Devon,” Lance said. “We’ll be back down in a few
minutes.”

Jimmy swatted Lance on the ass and said, “It
better be longer than that or I’m going to be hugely
disappointed.”

Without another word, the two started up the
stairs, leaving the scant candlelight and disappearing in the inky
blackness.

Jarvis smiled at Curtis and said, “Your
friend has remarkable recuperative powers.”

“
Apparently even hordes of
the undead can’t stop his libido.”

“
It’s a natural
reaction.”

“
What do you
mean?”

“
Faced with the
possibility of one’s own mortality, sex is often a way to reaffirm
your existence, to make yourself feel alive, keep death at
bay.”

Curtis laughed, and the sound was like music
to Jarvis. “You sound like a philosophy major.”

“
Sorry, I tend to get all
academic when I’m trying to flirt.”

Curtis suddenly seemed flustered, unable to
meet Jarvis’s eyes. “Is that what you’re doing?”

“
Trying to.”

“
Why?”

This gave Jarvis pause. Why was he flirting
with this shy, inexperienced guy? There were certainly far more
pressing matters to deal with, it was hardly the time to be laying
on the charm. But maybe his little speech about facing one’s
mortality wasn’t total bullshit. Perhaps he needed a little
comfort, a little warmth to reassure himself that he wasn’t among
the dead just yet.

“
Because I think you’re
cute,” Jarvis said, reaching out and squeezing Curtis’s
knee.

“
Well, I guess I may not
be the last man on earth, but pretty damn close.”

“
Hey now, none of that
kind of talk. You’re adorable, don’t you know that?”

Curtis shrugged, and even by the scant
light, Jarvis thought he could detect the young man blushing. “I
guess I’m not without cuteness, but I’ve never been a real
head-turner.”

“
You’ve turned my
head.”

“
It is dark in
here.”

Jarvis suddenly leaned forward and pressed
his lips against Curtis’s. At first the young man stiffened but
then he relaxed into the kiss, parting his lips slightly and
allowing Jarvis to sneak his tongue in. When Jarvis pulled back, he
purred into Curtis’s ear, “The self-deprecation only makes you
sexier.”

“
In that case, I’m a
worthless piece of shit.”

Jarvis laughed then turned to the bartender
and said, “Hey Gil, we’re gonna take one of these candles for a
bit.”

“
Be my guest.”

Jarvis wrapped his hand around the nearest
candle and pried it lose from its base of wax, holding it at an
angle so the wax didn’t drip on him. He took Curtis’s hand and
pulled him along.

“
Where are we going?”
Curtis asked.

“
Somewhere a little more
private.”

As he walked back behind the bar, Gil
watched The Brit and The Virgin disappear into the Men’s Room,
taking a bit of the light with them. He had a feeling that when
they came back out, he’d have to come up with another nickname for
the younger one.

Now there were only three in the bar, Gil as
well as The Snob and The Wannabe. He’d have preferred different
company, but in a situation like this, he was just grateful not to
be alone. Despite his gruff exterior and nothing-rattles-me
demeanor, this whole thing had him shaken up. Zombies…that was
horror movie shit; there was no way a person could be prepared for
something like this, no matter how hard they were.

Gil only became aware of the fact that he
was running his fingers through one of the candle’s flames when
Clive said, “Doesn’t that burn?”

He watched his fingers as if mesmerized for
a moment then looked up at the couple. “Not really, not as long as
you keep your hand moving. The trick is to not stay in the flame
too long.”

Toby chuckled. “I hear that. Pretty sound
philosophy, man.”

“
It’s not a philosophy,”
Gil said quietly.

Clive tried running his fingers through the
nearest flame but pulled them back quickly, sucking air in through
his teeth, and popped his index and middle fingers into his mouth.
“Well, I certainly feel like we’re in the middle of the fire right
now, and my ass is burning. I’d love not to have to stay around
here too long.”

Toby put a hand on the back of his lover’s
neck. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get through this, and who knows? Maybe
you can use it for inspiration for one of your novels.”

“
You know I don’t do
horror,” Clive said, wrinkling his nose at the thought.

Normally Gil wouldn’t have taken the bait,
but he was bored and more than a little frightened and needed a
distraction. “So just want kind of stuff do you write?”

“
Romance,” Clive said with
a raise of his head, nose tilted in the air, looking every bit The
Snob at the moment. As if romance weren’t an even more
piece-of-shit genre than horror. “Started out doing mass market
originals, but eventually I moved up to hard covers. My last book
sold almost as many copies as the latest Danielle
Steel.”

“
Well, don’t your shit
smell like roses,” Gil said, and though his voice was dripping with
sarcasm, Clive didn’t seem to notice.

“
The great thing about his
books,” Toby said like a proud papa, rubbing Clive’s neck, “is that
unlike most popular romances, the gay community is amply
represented in his books.”

“
Not as the main
characters, of course. That would never sell to the general
public.”

“
Oh no, of course not, but
there are still many gay supporting characters in Clive’s books.
That kind of exposure into the homes of mainstream America is
priceless.”

Gil’s lips twisted into an approximation of
a smile. “Let me guess, the female leads of your romances tend to
have a lot of gay male friends that help them with their hair and
pick out outfits before their dates.”

“
It’s not as cliché as all
that,” Clive said with a pout to his voice.

Toby was quick to come to his lover’s
defense. “These aren’t the usual neutered ‘gay best friends’ you’re
used to from modern romantic comedies. The gay characters in
Clive’s work are just as fully realized—and more importantly, just
as
sexual
—as the straight characters.”

Gil merely grunted and turned away to pour
himself another beer. He didn’t know why he felt it necessary to
needle The Snob and The Wannabe; it wasn’t as if Gil gave a damn
about those books, and he certainly wasn’t ever going to read one.
And let The Wannabe think his lover’s trashy romance novels were
somehow changing the very foundation of society, what did it matter
to Gil one way or the other? He was just feeling exceedingly
irritable. The scratches on his chest were itching something awful,
worse than any case of poison ivy he’d ever gotten. He thought
maybe that was a good thing, maybe meant the slashes were healing,
but there was also an underlying burning sensation that made him
worry about infection. Plus he was feeling a bit feverish and
queasy.

Gil took a swig of the beer then scratched
idly at the scratches on his chest.

Jimmy and Lance were making out on an old
sofa upstairs. Lance was sitting with his back against one of the
arms, Jimmy straddling him and grinding the bulge in his pants
against the bulge in the other man’s pants. Their kisses were
hungry and ferocious. At one point Jimmy felt the older man bite
down on his tongue, drawing blood, but Jimmy didn’t mind. He just
bit back, and harder.