blowfly drones

“Okay, impress me,” I suggested.

“You see any flies around?” asked Doc sweetly.

 “It’s a fisherman’s wharf and there are corpses everywhere,” I said. “I’m ass-deep in flies.”

“Then keep your Hammer Suit zipped up, honeybunny,” she said, “because you are surrounded by the delivery system for this thing.”

“Flies? How? They’re not all that bitey. I mean, if it was mosquitoes or wasps or something then I could see it … but how are flies spreading this thing?”

“You tell me,” she said slyly.

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

Doc said, “How closely have you looked at them?” I looked down at a pair of flies crawling on my left knee. They were fat blowflies, one a little larger and darker than the other. I was about to swat them when I stopped and gaped.

“No…,” I breathed.

“Ahhhhh,” said Doc. “I think our favorite stud-muffin just figured it out.” The flies were similar, but they were not identical.

I bent closer to look and saw that only one of them was really a fly. The other one, the slightly larger one, was a goddamn drone.

And jutting out from under its head was a very thin, very sharp needle.

-Rage pg. 325-326, Kindle Edition.