Rich used to watch Donnie eat. It’s his fault his lover is infected; the least he can do is make sure Donnie’s basic needs are met. And if it’s uncomfortable for Rich, just think how horrible it is for Donnie himself. Feeding on the uninfected, forced to rend and tear living flesh, lapping up blood and guts and brains…
As much as Rich hated to watch, he did so anyway. Donnie’s condition is his fault. He has no one else to blame.
But as nights turned into weeks, the faces began to blur—victims Rich lured back to the lab with the promise of safety, never asking their names, not caring about their fates. The sedatives he administered were strong enough to transfer to Donnie after feeding; he grew drowsy after a meal and usually slumbered on the floor of the glass-enclosed room. Some nights
