by Greig Beck
Mitch then began the internal examination. Greg had already placed a head block under the neck and shoulders of the old man. Its role was to hyperflex the neck, making the spine arch backward while stretching and pushing the chest upward to make it easier to incise.
Mitch began and didn’t use a standard Y-shaped incision, but instead a double T-shape with the first a line across the shoulder blades, then running down the front of the chest, continuing around and to just below the belly button. Then, another horizontal incision was made from one side of the lower belly to the other.
Expectedly, bleeding was non-existent because the pull of gravity is exerting the only blood pressure at this point, as there is a complete lack of cardiac functionality.
Greg helped Mitch pull the skin back to fully expose the ribs and sternum, and then used bone-shear clips to cut through each of the ribs so he could then lift the frontal ribs and sternum away like a large, grisly plate to expose the internal organs.
Mitch handed the rib plate to Greg who set it aside.
“Hooo-ley crap.” Mitch peered into the cavity.
“How was this guy even alive?” Greg asked.
Mitch blew air between his lips. “Maybe it happened post mort.” He grimaced behind his mask. “Okay.” He reached in.
The lungs, heart, and stomach were all a brown or black, but not so much from the corruption of the flesh and blood; instead, they had a grainy texture. Also running over everything were veins or webbing that looked like the spidery roots you find when you dig up a small tree.
“I’m betting Harlen would have had similar alterations in his head before he blew it off,” Greg said.
Mitch cut free the stomach, and rather than being its usual elastic grey-purple bag, it was now brown, hard, and more like a leather satchel. He set it on a lab tray and sliced it open.
Mitch hated this part of an autopsy and held his breath in anticipation—stomachs always had a mix of digested and undigested food, depending on how healthy the individual was. And inside Harlen were lumps of dog food, raw meat, and even a single mouse, still covered in fur.
“He ate a mouse?” Kehoe grimaced.
“Yeah, definitely carnivore,” Greg replied.
Mitch extracted some of the liquid into a test tube and stood it in a rack. He also cut away a few pieces of flesh from different organs and also from within the chest cavity, which he sealed in individual jars. He handed each to Greg who wrote their name and time of extraction on each.
“Just like with his dog, I’m betting we find the same sort of active influencing agent that is reorganizing his cellular structure, as well as his DNA. It’s the thing we found in the mine water.” He looked up. “Somehow, Harlen was infected, just like his dog.”
“From the dog,” Kehoe announced.
“I don’t know that,” Mitch replied. “Looks to me like their state of change was running in tandem, and not one after the other.” Mitch stood back. “His entire body was undergoing a radical alteration.”
“Transitioning,” Greg replied. He pointed to the trays of removed organs. “Look.”
“What the hell?” Kehoe craned forward.
The organs that had the whitish tendrils or spidery roots covering them were moving, and the webbing seemed to be trying to pull them all together.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say they’re trying to put themselves back together,” Mitch said softly.
“Pluripotent dedifferentiation,” Greg whispered.
“Say again?” Mitch turned.
Greg kept his eyes on the organs as they merged within the webbing. “It’s where plants regenerate tissue or even whole organelles after injury.”
“I have no idea what’s going on here.” Mitch shook his head slowly. “And we still don’t know what the biological objective is.” He sighed. “I’ll close this guy up later. Right now, I want a coffee, or something even stronger.”
He pulled his hands from his gloves and dropped them into a bio-hazard bin, and the group placed their smocks in a laundry basket.
Outside in the fresh air, Mitch turned to the sheriff. “Sheriff, we need outside help on this. The mayor is refusing to allow me to take it to any of the external bodies for fear of creating a panic.”
Kehoe nodded. “I know, and I can understand that.”
Mitch stood in front of him. “We don’t have an understanding or a handle on this yet. This could be cataclysmic for the town if we do nothing.”
Kehoe nodded. “But the mine is closed off now. No mine, no water from the mine, no infections, right?”
“That’s not enough,” Greg said. “Johnson Nightfoot, who, ah, worked with Doctor Wainright during the first outbreak, said this will go on, and even may get worse, while the mine is flooded.”
Kehoe raised his eyebrows. “Then our problem is solved. I checked on the mine this morning: the water is all gone.”
CHAPTER 28
Greg and Mitch skidded to a stop at the bottom of the side road leading up to the mine. The pair stepped out, and Greg approached the seven-foot gate that barred access.
He turned. “Well, the sheriff did as you suggested.”
“Yeah, he’s a good man.” Mitch fished in his pocket for the keys that Kehoe had given him. “I kinda get the feeling he believes us as well. And I bet quietly supports us too but just won’t go on record. Yet.”
Mitch unlocked the padlock and dragged the huge gate open. “We’ll drive up the hill. Get out at the top.”
He drove the car in and jumped out to close the gate behind them. But left it unlocked. Then they headed up the half-mile incline until they came to another gate.
“I think you’re right—Kehoe definitely believes you.” Greg got out, and the pair walked forward to peer through the fencing.
Mitch unlocked it and they stepped through. He left the gate open this time; for some reason, Mitch had the urge to have a fast and clear path back to the car if they needed it.
Greg threw a hand out to Mitch and grabbed his arm, stopping him. “You hear that?”
Mitch turned back and concentrated. He then did hear something. It sounded like a rattle and a low chanting. And there was also a smell, like rosemary and eucalyptus leaves burning.
He looked about at the dry trees and spindly underbrush. “Not a great place to be caught if there’s a brushfire.”
“Well, we’re here now, so we need to check it out. And if there is a fire, we need to report it,” Greg said and nodded forward. “Besides, I’m dying to see this mystical mine of yours.”
They crested the steep hill and slowed. The last time Mitch had come here, the dry and dusty mine had been converted to an oasis. Now the water had evaporated or drained away, but the banks of the dry pond were still lush and green, and the trees closest looked bountiful and healthy.
Greg walked forward and stared into the basin. It had a greenish tinge on the bottom and sides that gave off an odor like overcooked broccoli.
Greg waved a hand in front of his face. “Phew. Tide is out.”
“Yeah, whatever those seeds and spores were, they’re not rotting just yet.” Mitch turned about. “The ground must be saturated, as the plants are still enjoying the wet.”
Greg stepped into the basin, put a hand over his eyes, and squinted into the dark hole. “Can’t see a thing.” He walked up to the mine edge and peered in. “Hallooo!”
The echo bounced back several times, but that was it. He turned. “Still smells damp in there.”
“Yeah, Kehoe was right. The mine pond has dried up, but it seems to still be receding.”
“Back to where it came from,” Greg replied. He turned to Mitch. “What do you want to do?” He shook his head. “You know what? I can still smell that weird smoke. It’s even stronger here.”
He turned back to the mine, just as a figure appeared out of the stygian darkness of its mouth.
“Jesus.” Greg fell backward.
“Not quite, but close.” Nightbird laughed out loud
as he stepped into the light.
“That’s how assholes get themselves shot.” Greg scrambled to his feet.
“What are you doing here?” Mitch demanded.
The old Native American shrugged. “Same thing you are, I guess. Checking on the state of the mine.”
“I’m betting that smoke we can smell is your doing?” Mitch replied.
“Yep.” Nightbird briefly turned to the mine entrance. “I performed a barrier spell. But I doubt it will hold for too long.”
“Barrier spell, huh?” Greg scoffed. “Welcome to the dark ages.”
“That’s right.” Nightbird glared. “And given you two men of science are baffled and I’m the only one that has dealt with this before, I suggest you quit the sneering and pay attention.”
He went on. “This outbreak, or madness, or curse, will go on until it decides it is finished. It may end today, or tomorrow, in a week, or a month. The last time, nothing we did stopped it. It decided to stop itself when it was good and ready.”
“It?” Greg turned to Mitch.
“Adotte Sakima, the tree god, right?” Mitch replied evenly.
“That’s right.” Nightbird walked further out a few paces and looked up at the sky. “Sundown is coming soon. I don’t want to be around these parts in the dark.”
“Why, what happens after dark?” Greg asked.
“Maybe nothing,” Nightbird replied. “But look around.”
Greg and Mitch did as requested. Mitch saw it then—the footprints, lots of them. Some of them barefoot.
“Many people have been up here.” He frowned. “Some without shoes. And they seem to head into the mine. Not many come back out.”
“They must have come out another way,” Greg replied. “Or the tracks were obscured.”
“What were they doing in there?” Mitch asked.
“Serving the tree god,” Nightbird replied. “Like I said, if they are in there, I don’t want to be here if they come out to feed. Or are looking for more food for their god.” He lifted his chin. “But that’s just an old superstitious injun talking, right?”
“Lighten up. We’re trying to protect the community, just like you,” Mitch replied.
Nightbird turned back and his expression softened. “Okay. Come on, let’s get out of here. Maybe you can return the favor and buy me a beer.”
“Hey, you made us pay for those beers last time,” Greg scoffed.
Nightbird held his arms wide. “Part of my consultancy fee.”
Mitch laughed softly and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “There’s nothing else we can do here. The upside is the mine pond is draining away, so at least there should be no more Angel Syndrome cases turning up.”
Greg turned back to the mine. “Barrier spell…now I’ve heard everything.” He shook his head and followed his friend.
CHAPTER 29
Joanne and Gary Adams stood on the back porch just staring out over the grass hedge to the land beyond their property line.
Both held bottles of Eldon Spring Water—Super Health Tonic, and neither bothered checking on their son James anymore. Ever since he had returned from hanging out with his friends up at the mine, he had been sullen and then withdrawn to his room where he had pulled the blinds, eventually crawling beneath the bedcovers and staying there.
He had said, when he was still speaking to them, that he heard singing. Joanne and Gary had thought it was a hallucination brought on by a passing fever accompanied by a pebbly rash that had covered his body.
But now they heard it too.
CHAPTER 30
“The tribes had no written language.” Johnson Nightbird put his beer down. “The first written language, as Europeans know it, was created by the Cherokee, in the early 1800s. It was a syllabary, because each of the graphic symbols represents a syllable.”
“Always wondered about that,” Greg said. “How you passed along information from one generation to the next without some form of writing.”
Nightbird nodded. “Our history is one that is spoken and sung. But there were also symbols that had wide meaning across the tribes. The bear symbol meant strength; the turtle, long life and health; crossed arrows meant friendship; and so on.
“We carved these images in stone and drew them on rock faces, and our symbols for a word or a phrase have been found dating to 5,000 years ago.” He leaned forward. “But the original people have been here longer than that. They most likely arrived 15,000 years ago over the land bridge to the far north.”
He held up a finger and waggled it at them. “And there is also an ancient symbol that was universal among the tribes from the frozen north to the southern deserts, and it was for the ‘great tree.’”
He smiled. “For years, Europeans interpreted it to mean life, or abundance, or protection. But we knew it as something different. We knew it as a warning of great danger.”
“Your tree god,” Greg said.
“Everyone’s tree god,” Mitch replied. “Whether we like it or not.”
“Yeah, I’m not buying that.” Greg sat back. “Everything I’ve seen and heard to date will have a scientific explanation, and not some legendary being or tree or entity hidden down in caves below Eldon. To me, I see an ancient contaminant or biological pathogen that is infecting people. An ancient germ leaks to the surface that we have little immunity defenses against. End of story.” Greg looked to Mitch. “Frankly, Mitch, this should have gone to the CDC for their quarantine and clean-up, and the mayor can go to hell.”
“I know, I know,” Mitch sighed. “But this is my home now, and if it means I have to be super vigilant and watch out for more cases, I’ll do that. If I saw anything significant happening again, then yeah, sure, I’ll do that in a blink.” He crossed his heart. “I promise.”
“Well, that’s good enough for me.” Greg chuckled and leaned back in his seat. “So, what now?”
Mitch shrugged. “The water has receded and should be totally gone soon. We’ve seen or heard nothing out of the ordinary, so for now, we just watch and wait.”
“Harlen wasn’t out of the ordinary enough for you?” Greg raised his eyebrows. “Or the dog, or your rat?”
“I’m hoping he was the last. And I think that rat went to rat Heaven… or Hell,” Mitch replied. He turned to the old Native American. “What do you think, Johnson?”
“Maybe it’s over, maybe it isn’t.” Nightbird waved his hand to the barman and ordered some more drinks. “If it’s still all quiet in 24 hours, then maybe our work here is done and I can go back home.”
“Here’s hoping.” Mitch lifted the beer and clinked the bottle with the two other men.
Nightbird sipped and let out a long sigh of pleasure. “And if it is over, then we can all agree it was my barrier spell that did it.”
“Of course it was.” Greg chuckled and took a long gulp of beer. “Mitch, I’ll hang out for another day, then I’ll head back home as well. But I think I’ll do a little more digging on those missing Eldon people from way back in the seventies. I don’t mind telling you I think it’s all a bit freaky, and one X-Files level mystery.”
Nightbird stared into his drink. “Maybe you should leave it be.”
“Too late for that now,” Greg replied.
Nightbird looked at the man from under lowered brows. “You might not like what you find.”
Mitch gripped his shoulder. “If you do poke around, let me know what you find. And thanks for everything. I know it’s been tough.”
“Anytime.” Greg grinned. “Yeah, been wild, but my pleasure.”
“Pfft, pair of city pussies,” Nightbird scoffed at the pair.
“So, we’re pussies now?” Greg laughed.
The Native American put his beer down. “Mr. Greg, one bit of advice for the road: curiosity killed the cat.” He winked at Greg. “The pussycat.”
CHAPTER 31
Nine days later
“So, it’s over?” Karen raised her coffee mug in a toast.
Mitch clinked
his steaming mug against hers. “I think so. Or at least I hope so.” He smiled. “No more skin rashes, abnormalities, or even psychotic kids. I would have felt better if I could have brought in some outside experts, but…” He shrugged. “Politics.”
“Keith mentioned it,” Karen replied. “I don’t blame the mayor for trying to look out for the town’s interests. I mean, yelling contagious disease in a small town reliant on tourism, is the same as yelling shark at a beach.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He looked out through the window at Karen’s sasanqua camellia trees as the wind rustled their leaves, making them shimmer in the late afternoon sun.
He turned back, suddenly feeling relieved, and happier than he had in years. He loved Eldon, no matter the weirdness he had encountered. And he loved it here even more because he had a growing affection for Karen, and even better, he felt her for him too.
On the other side of the living room, Benji was on his knees, brows knitted as he worked on some sort of Lego model with the intensity of a nuclear scientist working with radioactive fuel rods.
Mitch turned back. “I’m just glad we managed to keep the local kids out of the mine pool when it filled up. Seems that was the source of our infection, and if it had of turned into the local swimming hole, everything might have gotten a lot worse.”
Benji stopped his Lego building and half-turned. “What?”
Mitch turned back to Karen’s son. “Yeah, it seems there was something in the water that made people sick.” Mitch raised his eyebrows. “But it’s all gone now. All leaked away.”
“What do you mean by sick? Like vomiting and stuff?” Benji fully faced him, his eyes like moons.
“Yes, and worse.” He narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t swim in it, did you?’
“Me, no.” He looked back down at his Legos but didn’t start working on it again.
“Benji, did you go up there when it was full of water?” Karen asked.