2.b.ix
Mr. Jones and
Tanya wrenched the D.O.S. from the toilet seat and dragged him, bare assed, out
onto the bathroom floor. A trail of foul
slime traced his journey along the tile.
“Isn’t this
one a real piece of work?” a deep burbling voice said with the mouth of the
D.O.S. “Absolutely no consideration for
the well being of others. Anything for
that almighty dollar. But you know the
best thing? There are thousands more,
just like him, all across the city. And
I can move through them all.”
A terrible
gurgling boil sounded in the pit of the D.O.S.’s stomach. He thrashed and writhed and his body began to
bloat. His shirt stretched taught across
his expanding torso.
“Oh shit,”
said Mr. Jones. “I think The Greed’s
planning an explosive exodus.”
“Aw god,
no. Count me outta this,” Tanya said,
tossing her arms into the air.
“We can’t let
him go.”
“Oh yes we
can. He’s
about to let go and I want no part of that.”
“Get back over
here and help me,” Mr. Jones yelled.
Tanya cringed
and moved back toward the D.O.S. A belch
ripped from his mouth and she jumped back, shaking her hands as if flinging
away something foul and watery.
“Come on. Don’t get all timid on me,” Mr. Jones said.
Tanya bit her
lip, charged forward, and grabbed a hold of the D.O.S. His body shuddered and the gurgling sound
intensified. The seems of his shirt tore
in slow succession as the stitches gave way.
“Oh lord,
Jesus,” Tanya shouted.
“Point his ass
toward the corner. Away from the
drains,” Mr. Jones said.
The two
maneuvered the D.O.S. so that his backside faced the tiled corner. The possessed executive struggled against
them, bucking and frothing and swelling.
Then he stopped moving, except for his lips which quivered slightly with
a small tremor. The tremor became a
shake and the shake turned into a spasm which racked his entire body.
The D.O.S.
opened his mouth wide. The sound was
like walruses mating in a tub of pudding.
Mr. Jones and Tanya closed their eyes, flinching away from the impending
catastrophe; Tanya screaming about the nastiness of it all. Then a deep hiccupping wretch belched from
the D.O.S.’s esophagus and a fire hose of vomit spewed from his mouth.
“AH! Ah god it stinks. Ah god!” Tanya yelled.
The vomit
splattered against the wall behind them but did not leak down to the
floor. Instead, it slithered upward into
a vent and slurped through the grilled opening.
And was gone.
Tanya yanked
the D.O.S. away from Mr. Jones, discarding the limp form roughly into one of
the stalls. She yelled, shook her arms,
and kicked her legs. The she took a deep
breath, repeated the exercise, and stomped into an open stall.
“I need to
pee!”