Occasionally, the insects would surface like fish in a pond, gathering in clusters just beneath the skin to "breathe."
They rolled and writhed, pushing Jameson's flesh upward, as if trying to crawl out and glimpse the outside world.
Jameson could feel it clearly—his body was being steadily drained, growing weaker by the day. And yet, at the same time, his power was slowly, relentlessly increasing.
It was a profoundly contradictory experience.
On one hand, the insects granted him greater strength.
On the other, Jameson understood all too well that if this continued, one day they would gnaw him down to nothing—not even bones would remain.
He had to find a way.
A way to keep himself alive.
—Jameson knew that the origin of everything, and likely its ultimate solution as well, lay underground, in that air-raid shelter that inspired fear in everyone who spoke of it.
Two or three days later, Lily came looking for him.
