Germline

Germline (The Subterrene War) by T.C. McCarthy



I didn’t give a shit, not about the stupid.

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the kid aged without my noticing, but when I looked at him closely, I saw it in the way he carried his carbine—not like a weapon, a separate piece of kit, but like it had grown out of his body. It was meant to be there. On one hand, it was sad to see him warped, but on the other hand, it was a necessary thing, because if we made it out and he wound up back in the world, at least he’d be alive; the warping would keep him safe. And a life twisted was better than no life at all.

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You forgot more than you remembered, but you remembered more than anyone should.

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the real horror of it all was time, and how slowly it passed, giving you ticktocks to think about the millions of ways you’d buy it—slow or fast, dirty or clean—and then when the action ended, you had more time, slow days to remember everything you saw, and if you couldn’t remember it at that moment, it didn’t matter; those things popped up in nightmares so that someone had to shake you awake

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“You’ll take, eventually. It’s not going to settle in for a while. But one day you’ll forget about everything except the good stuff, and believe me, there was good stuff, and even the ones you lost won’t be so scary to think about anymore, and then every once in a while you’ll start smiling again.

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Most of us are on our own, except for when we’re not.”


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