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Prologue

The fluffy white cumulonimbus was a wisp of vapour in the air. No traces yet of billowing grey, lashing black streaks of rain onto the land. No signs of the hardened hailstones, or hints of the electrical turmoil which would soon be stirring within. Like a newborn infant, the growing beast had no idea of its future.

No suspicion of the latent energy that rested in its mass.

In the house, far below and as yet, far distant, a man lay in restless dreams. The clues had all been there, but he'd never read them. Never understood his past, nor the dormant power which lurked within.

His dreams were of hot light, and roiling energies.

A nightmare. Only a nightmare.

He sat up and checked the windows, seeing only a clear night with a sparkling of stars.

Calm, peaceful. He relaxed, and wiped the sweat from his face with the sheet.

Safe—for now.

It was the best he could do. Take the now as it comes and don't sweat the future.

He smiled, a little foolishly. Only a dream.

He, more than most, should have realised that all things change...

Chapter One

Nate Leighton chucked his day pack onto the worn sofa and made a big point of tossing in a pair of socks.

"I'm not looking," Aje Morton warned him. "I don't want to know." Behind Nate's back, he gestured to Brandon Weisner. There was a lot of wild pantomiming, but Brand had no trouble interpreting the mouthed "no fuckin' way!".

"I saw that," Nate told them, grinning. "Think of the hike—"

"I am. That's the part I don't want to know about."

"Up in the mountains," Nate continued, "away from all this city air." He smiled, then shook his head disparagingly. "Damned sceptics. It's a pollution survey, pure and simple."

Brandon Weisner snorted. "'Pure'? If it's so far away from all that pollution, why are you surveying for it?"

"Because he's simple," Aje supplied.

Nate smirked, then turned quickly, to stuff a shirt into his pack. "Lichens are a great monitor of air qualit-"

"I knew it was a crock! This is one of your 'collecting' trips." Aje shook his head disgustedly.

"That's my cue to leave," Brand said. "See ya."

Aje leaned against the door, to block Brandon's exit. "No way you're leaving first. Then he'll expect me to come along."

"The last thing I'd expect—hell! The last thing I'd want is to haul your big, dumb ass up a mountain—" Nate began.

"So now it's mountain climbing, is it?" Brandon lifted one eyebrow.

"And if I don't come along, then I'll get a phone call later. 'I'm stuck on a ledge, but don't tell anyone'," Aje mimicked.

Nate said reasonably, "That only happened once. It could've happened to anyone—"

Brandon looked at him pityingly. "'Anyone?'"

"He was just lucky his phone wasn't out of range or he would've been out there all night."

"Go to hell, Aje," Nate said genially.

"You're telling me his phone was charged? It actually worked?" Brandon asked dryly. "Only thing I find surprising."

"Who the hell dumps on a ledge, anyway? What'd you think you were doing there?" Aje gave him a mocking smile. "Brandon really wants to know."

"Brandon doesn't give a shit," Brandon replied, "so long as Brandon doesn't have to winch you off any ledges."

"Pollution studies. Measuring lichens." Nate grinned. "No coprophilous fungi involved."

"Whatever—Hubert." Aje grabbed his coat off the rack. "Let's just say I have plans for Saturday."

"Anyone I know?" Brandon asked him.

"Known her for years," Nate supplied. "First name's Play. Last name's Station."

"You should be so lucky," Aje retorted. "Not that it's any of your business, but her name's Antoinette—"

"First name Marie?" Nate offered helpfully.

"—and I met her at the Club."

Brandon grinned, and yanked open the dilapidated door.

Aje peered out. "Damned streetlights are out again." He scowled at Nate. "Why don't you complain?" Then he flicked the porch light switch, only to find it was out, too. "Is this thing broken again?"

"Surges?" Brand suggested. "Lights in your house, too?"

"Pop all the time," Nate admitted.

"Damned fire trap," Aje complained. "Let me out of here."

"You should move to a better part of town," Brand said.

"And have you guys visit me more often? No thanks. Besides," Nate added, munching on an apple he'd taken out of his pocket.

"I've seen him put other stuff in that pocket," Aje muttered distastefully.

Nate grinned. "Relax. It's been washed."

"Besides—?" Brandon prompted.

Nate looked at him blankly for a moment, then remembered. "Some neighbours might object to my hobby."

"I can't understand why you don't keep that crap at work, with your other stinking fungus."

"Contamination." Nate took another noisy bite. "Nobody wants dung in their lab."

Brandon looked at the apple, and shook his head. "I'd better go before my nachos do." He rubbed his stomach. "Thanks for the snack—I think."

*

Communing with nature. Nate loved these times, when he could get out, and see only open spaces around him. As much as he liked working in the lab, there were too many constraints—like being in a box. Not only the workspace, but the protocols—the procedures. All systematic, all carefully mapped out. All scientific, and all about proof. Repeatable, verifiable, measurable proof. Proof that frequently required analysis on a computer.

Which is why he relished the freedom of his coprophilous studies. They were a type of systematics research he'd been introduced to as an undergrad, and that he'd really enjoyed. No matter how well he could predict what kind of fungus would grow out of a piece of rat or dog or elephant dung, there were always surprises. So far, he'd discovered eleven new species.

In contrast, now that he knew which techniques he could use, there wasn't all that much that was "new" about the stuff he was doing down at work. Mostly verifications of plant diseases. Testing for specific proteins. They'd learned early on not to let him near any of the computers, spectrophotometers, or electrophoresis gels.

Despite what Aje and Brandon had said, there wasn't that much of the "stinking" or "dirty" about his dung studies, either. Each specimen was in a covered container, and he discarded the source material as soon as he'd isolated its fungi.

It's just the whole idea behind it, he reasoned, grinning. But if it really grossed them out, they wouldn't drop by so damn often…

His first year at his "hobby" he'd had a standing order at the zoo, for samples of dung from different animals. A lot of the results had been standard stuff—nothing to rattle the systematics texts. But there had been that one new species, and it was enough to get him hooked. A few months later, when the zoo had started contracting all their dung out to a fertiliser company, Nate had been forced to go further afield. So he'd started taking these hikes up into the mountains. It was something he'd done as a teenager, years before, and he'd forgotten how good it felt to visit all that fresh air. Now, he got away at least once a month if he could. He'd already decided that some day, when the labs turned fully computerised, he'd go from specialist, to generalist—opt for being a field biologist, and turn the analysis over to someone else.

Today he'd found a path he'd never taken before—and he'd already promised himself he'd never take it again. Nature had been communing with him big time. He'd been tramping for less than two hours when the skies suddenly opened. Rain and hail—and they were coming down so hard it hurt. Nate was soaked before he could drag his rain gear out of his bag.

Good thing Aje isn't here, Nate thought. I'd never hear the end of this…

I probably won't, anyway. Aje, despite his protestations, would have half an ear tuned on the weather report.

Nate had never expected him or Brandon to come along. It was just a way of covering his ass, without sacrificing his pride. Brandon always insisted he needed to tell someone when he was going hiking on his own, and Aje had been adamant about it since that ledge goof-up. So, he'd tell them, they'd give him a hard time, and that was that. Except he'd always get a call on Sunday—just in case. In Aje's words, "If I have to save your stupid hide, I want to know before I make other plans."

Nate's thoughts were interrupted by a loud rumble, and a flash of brilliant white, that lit up half the sky. Lightning!

No! It was the thing that terrified him more than anything else. The thing that sometimes invaded his dreams. There was probably some name for it—for this kind of irrational terror, but right now, he didn't know—or care. The lightning was coming—heading his way.

A burst of adrenaline shot through him and he started to run, slipping and sliding in the muck and leaves. Panicked, he ran off the trail, heading toward an overhanging knob of rock.

Solid. Safe. It can't get me there.

It's okay, Leighton. You'll make it…

Only, he wouldn't. It was at his back, watching him ominously from the skies, and it was going to get him.

There was a tingling in his shoulder blades.

It was going to stab him, right in the back.

He'd never told anyone. How, when a lightning storm came, he'd hide behind the door, or in a closet. Deep in his house, or burrowed beneath the desk in his office.

His mother had said he'd been struck once, when he was little. A baby. He didn't remember it, but some part of him did. He'd been running from the stuff ever since.

It was coming. His hair was standing on end and his gooseflesh was doing a shivery dance. The pressure in the air was so thick he couldn't breathe…

The next moment, his world exploded, and was gone—in a massive blast of overwhelming white.

*

"Brand?"

Brandon looked at his watch and growled into the phone, "It's eight-thirty am—on a Sunday. This better be good."

"I think he's been out there all night."

"Nate?"

"Yeah."

"D'you know where?"

"You were there. He didn't say."

Brandon was already yanking on his pants. "Did you check his house?"

"What d'you think?" Aje said sarcastically. "I'm here now."

"What about his cellphone?"

"Not in service." Aje hesitated. "I could be wrong. Maybe he just took off to have breakfast or something."

"Any sign of his day pack, or other gear?"

"Nope."

Brandon nodded. He knew Aje wouldn't have called him unless he thought there was something to worry about. The storm the night before had been the biggest in years. A bad night to be out in the weather.

Maybe we should have checked a little sooner.

"I'll be right there. I'll call in his plates on the way. Maybe somebody's seen his car."

"Nate's gonna love that. An APB on his hide."

"Better than a DOA." Brandon slammed down the phone, gave Rita an apologetic nuzzle, and tore out the door.

*

It was the cold that nudged him awake. Invasive, numbing his body—

Like a slab of meat in the deep freeze. He'd gone beyond shivering, and his first thoughts were nigglings of panic. Too cold. Gonna die if I don't get warmer.

There was a heaviness in his chest; in his limbs. If it weighed him down any more, he'd never get up again.

Gotta move.

Only, moving was synonymous with pain. With a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest, and a nasty pang in his gut. With the throb in his head, and the twanging aches in his leg.

Don't move the patient.

Better to stay here…The cold could numb him again, and then it wouldn't hurt. Some part of his brain assured him it was sensible, and he started to drift. He was almost there, in that chilly darkness once more, when the chills began.

He shivered, and groaned. His damned metabolism had been stirred up by those brief moments of wakefulness. The shivers were never going to let him have any rest. And the irregular movements were sending jolts of agony through his chest, his leg.

Hey—better I can feel. With the kind of stunting I must've done, it coulda been a helluva lot worse…

His headache was tightening his cranium like a vice, and he kept his eyes scrunched closed. He tried to force himself to relax, to ease the pain in his head…

Think about something else. Like where you are.

There were wet leaves. Under his face. Something was crawling across his neck. A whole lot of somethings. Ants.

Hope they're not the stinging kind.

Negative thinking, Nate—

He heard something buzz his head.

Yellow-jacket. Nate remembered catching a fish as a kid, and finding it later, covered in wasps. They'd stripped the flesh, and eaten their way down to the bones.

Nate for dinner.

Nate-carcass—stripped down to the bones.

Nate au tartare.

He realised he was drifting again, and brought himself back on track. It was time to get into action, and find his way home.

He opened his eyes, but everything was blurry. He fought to focus, and was rewarded with a painfully haloed version of his world.

It's the best I can do.

He wasn't on the trail, or even near it. Bleary-eyed, he sought the big chunk of rocky overhang he'd been heading for, and saw it far above him, and way to his right. In dawning horror, he realised how far he'd flown.

Hey, Leighton—on the plus side, you're a lot further down the mountain that you thought. And, you're still alive.

He tried to gauge by the light how long he'd been out. The air held a residual chill, although the storm had apparently passed. Maybe an hour, he thought. Be home before dark.

He grabbed a branch, and tried to pull himself to his feet. Home before dark.

The sun was growing hotter, and he was getting confused, but he couldn't read his watch. Something was wrong with the sun and the time. Something was wrong with his head, too, because he wasn't moving. He suddenly realised he was lying on the ground once more, and he didn't remember getting there.

Then, for a long time, he didn't remember anything at all.

*

When he opened his eyes again, everything was strange. He guessed that he'd missed dinner. The sky was dark, but it was the only thing that was. Everything else was sheathed in colour. He lay there stupidly, his eyes blearily studying his surroundings. Until he reached out his hand—and saw a bright white light emanating from his skin.

I'm dead…

His heart pounded, and his throbbing head kept time. In the next moment he vomited.

Dead people don't hurl.

I'm alive.

There's something wrong with my eyes. He started to panic again.

They can fix it. A little laser treatment and you'll be good as new.

But only if you're around for it. He shuddered, and groaned. Only if you can get out of this cold.

His eye was caught and held by a brighter patch in the near distance. Someone has a light on, he thought.

A light. People. Warmth.

Nate began to crawl.

*

"They're waiting on satellite recon, but they don't hold out much hope. Too much overcast."

"Did they try the dogs?"

Brand nodded. "The rain washed away most of his trail, but they managed to track him nearly to the ridge. We've covered this side."

"Where next?"

Brandon donned the professional look he always used when he was trying to deliver bad news. "Down in that gully."

"Down there?" Aje squeaked. It was such a long way down. He didn't see how Nate could have survived a fall like that. He had a sinking feeling in his gut.

Brand nodded. "Yeah, dammit."

*

They were watching him. Nate opened his eyes to bison and woolly mammoths—lions and crocodiles and men dressed in animal skins. They were snagged in an eternal hunt upon the walls. It was only that weird light sheath—the one that pulsed in time to his headache—that made them seem to dance and shift.

Amazing, he thought, momentarily forgetting his discomfort in his astonishment.

Cavemen.

No. That was wrong. He was lying on the dusty floor, in touch with the pressure of their final footprints in this place.

Not cavemen. He closed his eyes, and saw a score of tunicked and cloaked intruders passing through. Fair, tall, robust.

It was a flicker—there, for a moment only, then vanishing as quickly as it had come. He'd had flashes before, but never taken them seriously.

You don't run your life on superstition and daydreams.

Only now, it seemed like daydreams might well be all he had left.

*

"W' f'd 'm." It was staticky, and Brandon could barely make out the words.

"What's that?" Aje released the branch he was holding, grabbed Brandon's arm, and forcibly yanked him around. "Did they find him?"

"Shut up! I'm trying to listen—"

"Can't you just call 'em back? You're a cop, for crissakes!"

Brandon gripped the front of his shirt. "Shut the fuck up!"

He listened for a minute longer. There was a garbled conversation going on—something about mice or deer or something. He lifted the radio higher, hoping that he'd get a little better reception. "They're going to bring a helicopter in as close as they can," he told Aje. He shrugged, and shook his head. "I just can't get the rest."

"Is he alive?" Aje whispered.

"He must be. Otherwise, they wouldn't take a chance on bringing in the helicopter at night."

Aje nodded. "They'll take him to Central?"

"Yeah."

"See ya." Aje turned and started climbing rapidly back up the slope.

He heard Brandon scrambling up behind him. "We'll take my car."

"No, thanks."

"It'll get us there faster."

Aje didn't say anything, but when they reached the top he just kept going—in a determined stomp toward his car.

Brandon caught up with him, and gave him a shove. "I'm a 'cop'—remember?"

Aje hesitated. "Red lights?" he asked. He knew this was as close to an apology as he was ever likely to get from Brandon. "What about the siren?" he pushed.

Brandon clenched his teeth. "Whatever it takes," he replied, opening the rear door.

"I'm not a prisoner—" Aje argued.

They'd been searching for nearly thirty-six hours, and Adrian Morton looked it. He was unshaven, dirty, ripped and scruffy. Damned unsavoury. Brand hid his smile. His temper had already snapped, back there on the mountain. He knew Aje's wasn't far behind.

"Get in, you dumbass. Otherwise, it'll be lights, siren—and cuffs —if that's what it takes."

*

Aje was at the hospital by seven the next morning. They hadn't let him or Brandon or any of Nate's well-wishers in to visit him the night before. Aje hadn't paid much attention at the time, but it seemed the numbers in search parties had tripled as soon as Nate's name was released on the news.

Aje wasn't surprised. Nate was one of those people everyone wanted to know. Not even his "hobby" was a deterrent. His personality drew people like a magnet.

Hell, look at Brand and me, Aje thought, amused. One thing he was sure of, though: if it had been him or Brandon out there, Nate would have been out searching, too.

After he and Brand had reached the hospital, it had taken an unbelievable three hours for Nate to arrive. By that time, Aje was sure they were waiting in the wrong place, and Brand had made a couple of calls. But it was Nate who was in the wrong place at the wrong time—in every way.

When they'd finally wheeled him in, the little Aje could see had scared the shit out of him. Nate was white and drawn and bloody. One side of his face was bruised, and his left leg was in a blow-up splint. They'd immobilised his head and neck.

It appeared that nothing had gone right with the rescue, either. The helicopter which had airlifted him out of the gully had nearly gone down before it cleared the pass. Something about the instrumentation going haywire and having to make an emergency landing. They'd taken him by ambulance from there.

It didn't get any better. The gauges in the ambulance were screwed, and none of the monitors worked. They were blaming the faults on surplus electromagnetism in that area—maybe even some remnant of the storm. Aje blamed it on the faults in the system.

Brandon wasn't so sure.

Things hadn't improved when they'd reached the hospital. The monitors kept screaming, and the third time the crash cart had come running, they'd turned the damn things off. There were complaints of "trying to work in the dark", and then they were all yelling when the lights in the room flickered out, and they actually were working in the dark.

"What the hell's going on?" Aje had asked Brandon. "It's like some kind of sabotage."

Brandon shrugged, and gave him a grim look.

The silence began to play on Aje's nerves. He paced, then found he was just too damn tired after all their mountain-climbing. "Leighton finally got us out there to do some hiking," he mused.

"At least we didn't have to gather any specimens," Brand murmured, with a smile.

"Think he'll be okay?"

Brandon nodded. "As long as it's not his spine." He stretched out his left leg across several of the chairs. Brand had been shot in the thigh three years before. He never complained, but Aje knew it stiffened up on him sometimes.

"Leg hurting?"

"Nope."

Of course, he wouldn't admit it. Wouldn't do anything that might prematurely curtail his police work, or stick him behind a desk. He loved being out in the field.

Like Nate.

Aje grinned. Brandon like to think of himself as a rock—igneous and staunch as hell. Right now he looked like he'd have trouble routing a pebble. Just then Brandon sighed, and his head tipped forward in a doze.

A few minutes later, Aje stuck a steaming cup of coffee into his limp hand. "Wake up, Brand. Quit drooling on the furniture."

"I wasn't drooling…"

"Just snoring. The patients were starting to complain." Aje gave him a nudge. "We're going. Hospitals suck."

"What about Nate?"

"Surgery. He won't be out for hours. The nurses begged me to take you home, so they can get some sleep. You're too close to the staff room."

"Very funny."

Aje jiggled some keys. "My big chance. I've always wanted to drive a police car." Brandon tried to snatch them, but Aje was already heading toward the exit. "What button was it that made the siren go?" he threw back over his shoulder.

Brandon grunted, and stumbled after him down the hall.

*

Aje sat impatiently in the chair next to Nate's bed. He'd told his boss he'd be an hour late for work, but he was having trouble sitting still. It was damn boring watching someone just lie there. He was sure Brandon could do it all day.

A stake-out.

"Wake up, Nate!" he muttered, just loud enough for Nate to hear him, but not loud enough for any of the nurses outside to claim he was bugging him.

He sat there for a moment longer, then casually booted the bed—gently at first, then with a repetitious thunk-thunk-thunk. "Wake up, you dumbshit!"

He remembered Nate calling him a dumbshit a few days before, and sentimental tears sprang to his eyes.

It was what they were worried about—the waking-up bit. That, and the fact Nate couldn't be monitored by a machine. A staff member wandered in every five minutes, just to check his vitals.

Aje wiped his eyes. He'd be damned if they'd catch him weeping. Thunk-thunk. "If you don't wake up," Aje said solemnly, "I'm going to personally dump out your latest batch of cultures. Take 'em out of that stupid incubator, and flush 'em down the sewers. After that—" thunk-thunk, "—I'll start in on those crocks of shit. Too bad." At this he managed to invest a little enthusiasm into his tone. "One of them had this really interesting purple mould on it this morning—"

"Which one?"

Aje grinned widely. Leave it to fungus. "I lied. So, shoot me." He plopped a newspaper onto Nate's chest. "Did you know you're famous?"

Nate opened one eye, then quickly closed it against the light. "Can you whisper?" he pleaded.

"You're famous," Aje told him in a loud whisper. He punched in a number on the phone by the bed. "Hey, Brand—yeah, it's a bad connection," he said loudly, and Nate groaned. "Here—talk to someone."

"Arrest 'im," Nate pleaded. Nate opened one eye and looked at Aje. "I can't, Aje," he whispered. He'd gone really white around the mouth. "Sorry—"

"Talk to you later," Aje told Brandon abruptly, and slammed down the phone. "You okay, Nate? Want me to call the nurse?"

"No." It seemed like he slept for a while, but when he woke up, he realised someone was still there. "Aje?"

"Yeah?"

"Why'm I famous?" He smiled weakly. "My prat fall?"

"Your discovery." This time Aje was quiet as he moved the folded newspaper to the bedstand. "The cave paintings. Leave it to you to go hunting for faeces, and find some Neolithic art."

"Not cave men," Nate told him earnestly.

"What do you know about it?" Aje retorted sarcastically, then remembered where they were, and Nate's diminished condition. "What do you know about it?" he asked again, but this time, in a whisper.

"Vikings," Nate told him, his eyes becoming distant. "Norsemen."

"And my ass is brass," Aje scoffed. "Speaking of which, my ass is going to be canned if it doesn't get a move on." He was about to head out the door when he stopped. "Brand and I must've climbed forty mountains searching for your worthless hide. So don't do anything today to wreck it," he warned. He sounded slightly choked.

Nate forced open his eyes, and grinned weakly. "No way."

"And—don't let this go to your head—but it's damn good to have you back." Aje was smiling as he went out the door.

*

Brandon was going in, just as an orderly came tearing out of Nate's room.

The man's obvious panic made his stomach sink. "What's wrong?" Brandon asked. Something in the guy's reaction didn't sit right. He was definitely distressed—but there was something else there, too.

Revulsion.

"Rats," he gasped, pushing Brandon aside.

Wuss. Brandon shook his head in disgust, then pushed open the door.

And froze when he saw the company Nate was keeping. "Holy shit!" he whispered.

Nate's bed was littered with furry brown bodies. There were a few restless newcomers scurrying across the floor, but the rest were curled up on the bed, in a kind of soporific disarray. One fat sewer rat had so forgotten himself as to lie on his back, mouth hanging open.

Brandon had never seen anything like it.

And I never want to again.

His eyes went to Nate's face, but he appeared to be sleeping, as peacefully as the rats. Sleeping or passed out. Brandon didn't have to wonder which it would be if it were him.

I hate rats…

A few of the smaller ones had crawled onto Nate's chest. Brandon wondered if any had found their way under the covers.

They might be chewing on him, even now.

Jesus Christ!

Brandon couldn't control his shudder.

Bubonic plague. Rabies. Vermin. Brand's lips curled back in disgust. What kind of hospital is this? How could they let this happen?

"Nate!" he whispered, wondering if it was the safest move.

Maybe the rats won't want to go, Brandon. Maybe they're perfectly happy clinging to that cushy bed.

"Nate!"

The giant sewer rat twitched. Brandon took a wary step back, and rested his hand on his gun. Some of these fuckers were mean. If it went for Nate's eyes—or any other vital bit—he'd let the ugly fucker have it.

That's right, Weisner. Shoot off a few rounds in the hospital. I'm sure the captain won't mind…

Brandon stood there blankly—the only weapon he had that could safely deal with that ugly rat was the only one he couldn't use.

It took him a moment longer to make up his mind. Open the windows and go for broke. If he didn't, he'd lose his nerve. He could picture himself jumping around on a chair while rats and mice seethed around his feet. No good to anyone.

Brandon tightened his jaw and grabbed a newspaper off the table. Determined now, he rolled it up.

This is pitiful, he thought, looking a little desperately from his pathetic weapon to the fat piece of vermin lying near Nate's feet. There were a couple of others, too, that were nearly the same size. Somehow, though, Brand was sure the fat one was gunning for him.

It had this look…

He gulped. Its eyes were open. Staring right at him. Showdown time.

 

"Two things wrong with this scenario, Weisner," he muttered in a soothing monotone. He even smiled, so the damned rat would get only good vibes. "One, your 'weapon' would barely flatten a housefly. Two, it means you have to get close enough to beat on the damned thing." He gave the rat a particularly sweet smile. "Of course, you could always smash it with the chair. Nate might object to that, though…" Brand moved closer; trying to shift sinuously like a snake, in hopes of mesmerising his victim. "When I get to you," he warned it cheerfully, "I'm gonna bash you off the bed, then crunch you with my boot…"

At that moment, Nate woke up.

*

"How did he take it?"

"How do you think? How would you take it, if you found yourself buried under a tonne of stinking rats?!" Brandon smirked as he recalled the scene. "Nate started yelling and kicking—rats and mice flying everywhere." He chuckled. "One of 'em ran up my pant leg, and I couldn't get it out. I was hopping around and shaking my leg, until—wouldn't you know it?—I hopped right onto the big one." Brandon shook his head. "I'll never forget that squeal till the day I die."

Aje snorted with laughter. "What was Nate doing?"

Brandon grinned. "Going nuts. He kept shouting, and chucking things. Here I was, trying to shake the mouse out of my pants, and all this stuff flying my way. I didn't mind his pillow and cup, but he got me with the water pitcher. The last thing to go was his IV."

"Where'd the rats go?"

"I opened the windows," Brandon admitted.

"Three storeys?" Aje asked. He wasn't exactly a rat lover, but he looked slightly shocked. "Anybody get 'rained' on?"

Brandon looked a little sheepish. "Rita," he admitted.

Aje looked blank.

"My girlfriend. She was coming to meet me for lunch when 'the skies opened'."

Aje's lips twitched. "Does she know it was you?" he asked seriously.

"Could be," Brand said dryly. "My yells of 'take that, you fucker!' just might've given me away."

"A little thing like that." Aje was trying to stifle his laughter. "You'd think she'd be more understanding." Brandon was silent, so Aje added, with mock seriousness, "I know you don't give a rat's ass for my opinion—"

"Shut up, Aje," Brandon said.

*

"Get 'em off me!"

Clawed feet and fanged teeth. They were crawling all over him—trying to squirm in, under the sheets—wanting to slice and bite his skin on their way to gnawing off his toes. Nate lashed out in a panic, and somebody grabbed his arms.

"Relax, Dipshit! They're gone!"

Aje. Nate stopped thrashing, but it wasn't so easy to rid himself of the nightmare. He lay there, panting slightly; unaware that he was trembling. "Just a dream," he muttered. "Sorry."

"Yep," Aje said in a voice that was just mocking enough to be soothing, "you owe it all to Brando. He's giving up police work to go into rat wrestling."

"Half the time that's what I'm doing anyway. Only, the rats are a lot bigger." Brandon grinned and relaxed his grip on Nate's other wrist. He lowered the arm with the IV back onto the bed. "Thought they were gonna have to redo it again."

"Sorry," Nate muttered. "Caught a whiff of Morton, and thought it was rat."

"Everyone disparages my character—"

"It wasn't your character I was disparaging."

Aje smirked. "That means so much coming from a man who plays with faeces."

Brandon grinned. "Did you do any damage this afternoon?"

"Not as much as you did." Nate grinned. "That room was a mess."

"I meant to yoursel-"

He was interrupted by a knock. Nate's co-workers had arrived.

More well-wishers arrived moments later, as Nate's friends and neighbours descended en masse.

"They shouldn't let so many people in," Aje complained. "He looks wiped."

"If they decide to de-select people, I'll remind them to start with you," Brandon whispered.

"And I'll remind them the rats arrived about the same time you did." Just then Nate's obese supervisor stepped crunchingly onto Aje's foot.

"Oh—sorry." The man shifted out of Aje's way.

Aje grinned his okay, but Brand noticed he was limping a little as he moved over against the wall. "Anything about this remind you of this afternoon?" Aje whispered jokingly. "Want me to open any windows?" Aje waited for Brandon's response. At his continued silence, Aje told him, "In that case, I'll just use the door."

Brandon would never tell Aje, but his own thoughts were running in a similar direction. Something about all the people crowded around Nate's bed did remind him of the rats.

A magnetic personality.

For just a second, he wondered whether he and Aje were just two more rats in the pack.

No way, Weisner, he decided, remembering with amusement the fat rat, lying there in open-mouthed slumber.

And I'd be damned if I'd ever consider curling up on his bed…

Brandon gave an involuntary snort of amusement, that made Nate's boss look at him strangely.

Probably thinks I'm telling "fat-man-on-foot" jokes.

Brandon decided to go before any more unfortunate comparisons sprang to mind. Still grinning, he waved to Nate, and followed Aje out the door.

STATIC (a Sir Julius Vogel Award nominee!)

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