It feels a wonderful, intoxicating sense of rebirth.
In the meantime, the pit is his . . . and it is time to make the jump. He wants out of this unpleasantly decaying body, and if he doesn’t make the switch soon, he never will.
When he opens the door, Brad Josephson rushes him. He has heard the gunfire, he has heard the screams when Ripton’s first shot hasn’t put his victim down cleanly, and he knows that rushing is the only option he has. He expects to be shot, but of course Cary can’t do that. Instead he grabs Josephson’s arms, calling on the last of this body’s strength to do it, and shoves the black man against the wall so hard that the entire prefab building shakes. And it’s not just Ripton now, of course; it’s Tak’s strength. As if to confirm this, Josephson asks how in God’s name he got so tall.
“Wheaties!” it exclaims. “Tak!”
“What are you doing?” Josephson asks, trying to squirm away as Ripton’s face bears down on his and Ripton’s mouth comes open. “What are you d—”
“Kiss me, beautiful!” Ripton exclaims, and slams his mouth down on Josephson’s. He makes a blood-seal through which he exhales. Josephson goes rigid in Ripton’s arms and begins to tremble wildly. Ripton exhales and exhales, going out and out and out, feeling it happen, feeling the transfer. For one terrible moment the essence of Tak is naked, caught between Ripton, who is collapsing, and Josephson, who has begun to swell like a float on the morning of the Thanksgiving Day Parade. And then, instead of looking out of Ripton’s eyes, it is looking out of Josephson’s eyes.
It feels a wonderful, intoxicating sense of rebirth. It is filled not only with the strength and purpose of Tak, but with the greasefired energy of a man who eats four eggs and half a pound of limp bacon for breakfast. It feels . . . feels . . .
“I feel GRRRREAT!” Brad Josephson exclaims in a boisterous Tony the Tiger voice.
