Good to the last drop

I told everyone I was going to use the “log of ease,” to borrow one of Roland’s terms. And I’ve found myself doing a lot of that lately. Penny didn’t get it at first, she hasn’t read the books yet, so I had to translate.

“I need to take a shit,” I said. She blushed and giggled in that utterly charming way that stole my heart. But I was lying. It was the only thing I could tell her that’d keep her away, though. I never wanted her to see what I had to do.

I went far enough away for privacy and then opened my backpack. No one questioned why I took it, maybe because Cuthbert’s guns were in there and they figured I just wanted to be armed away from the others. I pulled out a thermos.

It looked pretty normal, just a smooth, stainless steel tube that you might keep coffee in. of course, it was a little more than. There was a layer of insulation and a layer of liquid nitrogen or something to keep it cool. It was my blood.

I opened it and the smell hit me, repulsive and delightful at the same time. My nostrils dilated, drinking in the scent of blood, noting the staleness and noting the warmth as the coolant began to give out, but not caring. I shook the thermos a little and heard the thick sloshing sound come up from the bottom. Not much left.

I drank it down quickly, partly in hungry greed, partly to get it over with quickly. I’ve never savored the taste. I half swallowed, and then my throat closed up. This was the last. After this there was nothing with who knew how much wilderness to go before we could return to New York. I spat a red mouthful back into the thermos and stared down at the blood, turning it so the late afternoon sunlight could reach the bottom.

The jittery, suffocating panic that made me spit out the blood cooled down and hardened into something heavier. Trying to ration myself drop by drop was only going to drive me crazy. This was the last and there was no changing it. I put the thermos to my mouth and tilted my head back and felt the last slide down my throat…