Hot Wafts

This is a section from a short story I've been working on. It's about people melting. And...other stuff.

See if you can guess who inspired the name of the main character! (NOT ACTUALLY BASED ON THAT PERSON)

if you'd like to read the whole thing. Let me know in the comments and I can harness the power of the internet to bring it to you!
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                       Hot wafts of stench assault the nostrils of Todd Anthony as he sleeps. It smells like the rot of stagnation. Millions of microscopic organisms feed and grow on the feast that is halcyon tissue. They have had time to digest and spread on a rooted titan. But now they have been excited and disturbed. Clouds of noxious gas and chemical bile excreted to break down cells have been expelled like the pyroclastic flow of an erupting volcano.

            Todd Anthony farts in protest of the smell as he wakes up. Then he realizes: this smell is sinister. He rises from his couch triumphantly only to have the blood drain from his head and blackout his vision. No matter! He knows the well-worn path between couch and door like—he bashes his big toe on the coffee table and howls in pain, still blind. Serendipitously, his collapse onto the floor allows the blood to return to his brain and with renewed sight he begins his journey again.

            He heads out into the hallway where the stench is intensified. He pounds on Tom Farrell’s door. There isn’t much time.
            “Tom? Are you in there? Is everything okay? Did you a buy a dog and feed it three pounds of cabbage?” Residue from Todd Anthony’s dreams spills into his speech.
            The door is unlocked. Todd Anthony pokes his head in and sees the empty living room. The full brunt of the smell causes him to stumble back out into the hall. He looks up and down the corridor, hoping for someone else to come and help. Then, he steels himself with a pump-up speech, “Todd Anthony! You are a man. Your neighbor is choking to death on some sort of supernatural stank and it is your responsibility as a MAN to save him. Even if the only time you two have ever interacted is when he told you to calm down during your Jurassic Park marathon and you told him ‘Dinosaurs can’t be contained!’ He is still worth saving. I want you to go in there…and get…the job…done. Liberty on three. One, two…three—“
            Charging into Tom’s apartment, screaming “LIBERTY” at the top of his lungs, Todd Anthony is unsure as to where to find Tom. All the while maintaining his battle cry he charges several times around the living room then checks the kitchen, then circles the bathroom, then the shower, then a coat closet. He has almost run out of air to maintain his scream when he opens the bedroom door and goes silent. Tom Farrell’s mattress contains only the stained outline of a man curled tightly in the fetal position.
            “This is way too much for me to understand at two in the morning while sober.”