The medic glanced toward the path, realizing that his patient had been carried far ahead of him. He set off at a fast trot.
Bob and Brian also ran, soon catching up with the others. "Y'know, it just never ends, these days," Bob said. "Any goddamn bizarre thing can happen."
The run up the steep path was exhausting. "Too much bridge," Bob said, "not enough medicine ball."
Brian was too winded to reply.
The tumble of rocks ahead was so tall that it seemed as if they must have gone all the way down the mountain to get to the Traps. But it was only a hundred feet or so.
Finally the path smoothed out and the woods dropped away. They had returned to the parking area.
Theirs was the only vehicle left.
The last echoes of the rescue truck and the troopers' sirens could be heard dwindling toward Towayda. They would be taking the victim to the hospital up in Saranac.
"Let's follow 'em," Bob said.
They were both grateful to get back in the truck. For a moment, Bob hesitated. He waited for his heart to slow down.
They went through Towayda and back out onto the Northway. Saranac was forty miles farther north, farther from Oscola. Brian wished that there had been time to call Loi, but that was obviously out of the question. "I'd about convinced myself that Danny was right," he said.
"God knows how it must've felt to that poor woman in there, when she heard us quit."
It was too hideous for Brian to comprehend, and he did not reply. His mind turned to Loi, and he wished yet again that there was some way to contact her. There was nothing to explain, there were no more apologies to make. It was just that he suspected that her pride might make her pack her bags and leave. That he could not bear.
The forty miles passed quickly, though. Bob was using his siren, driving fast. Once he cursed when the electrical system faltered and the siren cut out, but it began working again and he became silent.
Soon they were passing through the outskirts of Saranac. The hospital was close to the center of town. The parking lot was full, and Brian could see the rescue vehicle still parked in the emergency bay.
It turned out that the woman, now classified as a Jane Doe, had been brought in DOA. "May I speak to the attending?" Bob asked the duty nurse.
"She died of massive internal injuries," the young doctor said as he came from behind a privacy curtain drawn around a bed. "Practically every bone in her body was broken. She was a victim of torture."
"I'd say so! She was buried alive."
"That was only part of it. Her arms and legs had been literally pulverized. The bones were liquefied. Frankly, we've never seen anything like it. Not remotely like it. They're gonna take her down to New York City for the autopsy. They've got pathologists down there who've seen everything."
"This’ll be news even to them," Bob said.
Brian was relieved when he turned to leave, heading toward the glass doors that led from Emergency Receiving into the parking lot.
"Hey, Officer."
Bob stopped. "Yes?"
"You want to see her?" The doctor's face was grave.
Brian didn't want to. "We've already done that," he said. "We were on the rescue."
But Bob turned around.
"Because she's definitely dead. The brain's reading goose eggs right across the chart. But the left eye is still moving."
They went. She'd been taken to the hospital's small morgue, which contained three aluminum tables and four refrigerators. She was the only cadaver, and she lay on the central table. Except for a green square of cloth covering her face, she was naked. Her arms were at her sides. Like her legs they were black and unnaturally thin. Her belly seemed enormous.
The pathologist, who had been making notes on a clipboard, looked up as they came in. She was a woman in her twenties, and Brian was surprised that he knew her. She'd been in Physics HI as a pre-med student. An efficient scholar, as he recalled.
"Oh my goodness, where in the world did you come from, Dr. Kelly?"
He fought for her name, but it didn't come. He smiled weakly. "I'm with him." He nodded toward Bob. "We have an interest in the case."
She wasted no time on pleasantries, given the situation. "She's an unidentified white female, approximately thirty-three years of age. Death due to traumatic injuries and shock. There are a number of strange factors. First, the condition of the arms." She lifted one of the loose, black appendages. It looped through her hand like a hose. "This is due to liquefaction of the bones. It's as if they were actually taken out and ground into a slurry of marrow and blood and bone, then poured back in. Obviously, that's not what happened because there are no corresponding wounds. We don't have any idea what happened to these bones."
"Why Eire her arms so black?"
"That might be a combination of bruising and cyanosis. Frankly, we're not sure about that either. It's one of the reasons she's on her way to Bellevue Hospital down in New York. Another is this eye." With that she removed the cloth covering the face.
In death, the woman's face had attained a hideous stillness. Hideous, because the expression was one of extreme pleasure, lascivious and wanton.
Brian must have groaned, because Bob dropped his hand onto his shoulder.
Silently, the pathologist lifted the lid of the left eye. The effect was startlingly lifelike. The eye moved, it seemed to rest on objects, people. You could almost feel curiosity—strange, malevolent.
"Cover it," Bob said quickly.
The pathologist dropped the cloth back onto the face.
"How can this be happening?" Brian asked.
"Obviously the muscles are receiving electrical stimulation. We've tested the voltages, they're low normal. But where's the energy coming from? It's a mystery."
"I gather that you never see this."
"Oh, absolutely not. None of it. Not the condition of the bones, not the eye. This is definitely the strangest cadaver I've ever seen or heard of."
It took an hour to drive back to Towayda, and on the way they followed the squawks back and forth as the state police brought heavy equipment up to the Traps and started digging for the answer to where the woman had come from.
For a long time nothing was heard from the dig. It was pushing five when Bob finally broke into traffic and communicated with the barracks in Saranac. "This is Lieutenant West. Could I hear a progress on that dig, go ahead."
"All the soil that was around her has been saved."
"What'd they find?"
"Nothing. Just the dirt."
Bob flipped the switch. "If that don't beat all!" He glanced over at Brian. "We've got a decision point here, buddy," Bob said. "Either we stop at Wally's for a burger or drive straight to Oscola. Choose your poison."
"I'd like to get to a phone when it's convenient."
That decided Bob on Wally's. He got off the Northway and went down into Towayda. "What's buggin' you, Brian?"
"What's bugging me? You must have nerves of steel! We've just seen an incredibly brutal murder and you're stopping for a burger."
"We have to eat."
"We let that poor woman in the mound die!"
"Now look here, Brian, it's time to settle down. She was probably in worse shape than this one, the way she sounded."
Bob pulled the truck into Wally's parking lot. It was a famous local place and the main reason to come to Towayda. The burgers were always perfect and the fried chicken basket could make a grown man cry on a night when Wally was doing the frying.
Brian called Loi from the phone in the foyer, but she didn't answer. "She must be at the grocery store," he said. He forced back the worry.
Wally's was a comfortable diner, open all the time, and often crowded at hours like three and four am. with hunters or fishermen. It was the real thing, too, made out of a couple of old railroad cars. There were pictures of the Republican presidents of the twentieth century on the walls above the window and a MARINE AND PROUD OF IT sign behind the counter. Wally was Mr. American Legion of
Towayda township. The fact that Bob was not only a trooper but also a vet and a Medal of Honor winner made him always welcome. Money was not discussed, and if there were no tables, Wally would kick some city people out to clear one.
In the event, the place was a graveyard. Usually at the dinner hour in the summer, Wally's was hopping. On this night there were exactly two other customers, a man and a woman sitting together in a booth.
Bob looked around. "This is getting mysterious. I mean, there just plain ain't nobody in Towayda."
"They're lucky," Brian said. "Considering." He wondered about the Evanses.
"Yeah, that's for sure."
Amy, who had been waitressing here since the days of the ponytail, got their orders. It took Wally all of five minutes to roll out of the back with the two burger baskets.
He was a big, tough guy, but he had the disposition of an Irish setter. "You goin' out of business, buddy?" Bob asked him.
"If I don't get a few people in here soon, I am. Been like this for a week."
Bob told him what had happened, and he was just as saddened and disgusted as Brian. "Tell you one thing, Robert. You catch the creep, you give him to me. Just remember to pass on the chili for a while. Let the city boys eat it."
After their meal Brian called Loi again. The phone rang once, twice, rang again. He let it ring five times, then seven, then ten. Finally he hung up. "She should've answered."
It was after seven when they pulled out onto the Northway. "Tempus fugit," Bob said.
"It's hard to believe it's been all day."
"Fear compresses time. You notice it if you do enough accidents."
"Are you afraid?"
"Yep." Bob watched an eighteen-wheeler with only one headlight pass in the oncoming traffic. Bastard. Who knew what else was in violation on that rig?
The Blazer moved steadily south, the western horizon slowly went from gold to orange to red, and finally to deep purple. The evening star hung in the perfect sky.
South of Corey Lake the road emptied and narrowed, and the evening was broken only by an occasional passage of lights. A deep tiredness began to filter through Bob's body. The radio drifted in and out of static.
It was pushing ten when the Cuyamora County sign passed on the right. The night around them was clear, and stars hung in multitudes above the pines that crowded the road.
Feeling the Blazer shudder slightly, Bob blinked, put both hands on the wheel. He swept the gauges. The alternator needle was oscillating a little, the way it had earlier. The vehicle wasn't being properly maintained. Budget cuts, no doubt.
Then the headlights started flickering along with the oscillations of the needle. The engine was obviously having trouble. Bob began to think about radioing for help.
When the faint hiss coming from the speakers died, he toggled the switch. Too late. "Goddamnit," he said.
That brought Brian back from wherever he'd been. "What?"
"We got a problem. Bad alternator. It's taken the radio down."
The engine coughed and died, and Bob began wrestling with the now-heavy steering, guiding the vehicle to the shoulder. As he did so the electrics failed completely. He watched the gauges and lights die. By the time the Blazer was stopped, it was also stone dead and dark.
"We'd better start walking," Brian said.
"A state trooper never walks. We'll put out flares and wait for the divisional car."
Brian didn't want to be away from Loi for another second. Why hadn't she answered the phone? She'd known perfectly well who'd be calling. "When'll it come through?"
"Well, before the midnight shift change, anyway."
Three hours to wait. "Jesus, I don't need this."
Bob turned the key. There wasn't even a relay click. "Gone."
"Bob?"
"Yessir?" When he turned, he could see that Brian was staring fixedly out the windshield. The shadows transformed his profile into a mass of black ditches and tight lines.
When he followed Brian's gaze, Bob was shocked. He couldn't grasp what he was seeing. It seemed as if an enormous black curtain had dropped onto the highway about a hundred feet in front of them. "What the hell is it?"
"I have no idea."
Bob saw that the blackness had depth as well as form, like a kind of opening. A suggestion of movement made him strain to see more clearly. "There's something there!"
"I know it!"
It was the same kind of awful rushing Bob had seen behind the mask of whatever had been riding in that Viper. But this time it was huge, swirling around down inside the hole. He glanced over at Brian. It was incredible, but he was definitely seeing this, too. "Lock your door, Brian. Roll up the windows."
The rushing became a flickering, and suddenly a mass of glowing bright dots appeared in the darkness. For a moment they swirled as if in some kind of a vortex. They were so bright that they lit the walls of the opening, which gleamed as if it was wet. It was extraordinarily wrinkled, and the material was undulating rhythmically.
Then the glowing dots of lights resolved themselves into a tight ball, so bright that it was hard to observe directly.
Like a bolt of lightning they shot at the car. Bob was so surprised that he cried out. Brian was silent.
They came around the side windows, slid like a thick liquid down the rear window. In moments they had blotted out everything, and the interior of the Blazer was filled with their light.
Brian could even hear them scrabbling against the glass. His mouth was dry, his hands were trembling, but the scientist in him was observing. They were definitely insects of some kind, with six orange-red legs and fat, segmented abdomens. "We've got to get a specimen." He started to crack the window.
An iron-hard hand grabbed his wrist. "Are you crazy?"
Then the light went out. All of a sudden the vile, bright little things were gone—and both men were night-blind. Bob couldn't see the dashboard a foot from his eyes. Sweat was pouring down his face, tickling his underarms.
Brian saw an opportunity that must not be missed. He fought for control of his shaking hands, forced himself to open his door.
"Are you nuts, man?"
Brian's heart was leaping in his chest, his throat was so dry he could barely talk. "We need to gather a specimen," he managed to say.
"We don't need to gather anything, we need to pray!"
"Look, I'm scared, too, but I'm gonna go out there and do what I can, because this is important. It's so important, you have no idea"
Because he knew his fear would stop him if he didn't act at once, he stepped quickly into the dark.
Bob had never been so scared that he couldn't move, and he wasn't quite that scared now, but he was closer than Brian. He cracked his window. "Don't do it, Brian."
"We need that specimen."
"We need to stay alive."
"These things—they attacked Ellen Maas a couple of nights ago. We've gotta find out more. Without a specimen, we're nowhere."
Bob put his hand on the door handle, felt it, hesitated. God, he didn't want to go out there. But he couldn't let Brian down. He pulled the handle, opening the door into the cool night air. "What's that smell?"
"I don't know."
To Bob it smelled like an overcrowded drunk tank on a hot night.
Side by side, the two men approached the dark area. "Brian, what the hell is going on?"
"It's a nest. Or maybe some sort of a trap."
"Keep well back, man."
In its depths there was a faint purple glow. There was also a deep, persistent sound, impossible to identify. It was a mixture of buzzing and sighing, punctuated by the crackles of static electricity.
"Sounds like bacon frying," Bob said.
The purple light grew, and Brian backed away. He wanted no part of that, ever again.
Without the slightest warning a stream of insects burst forth. In an instant they were scrambling over Bob. He didn't even have a chance to scream. Then he couldn't because if he opened his mouth they were going to
get in.
"Get one," Brian shouted, "get one and kill it!"
They clogged Bob's nose, slinking like sweaty farmworkers. He danced, a gilded man, plucking at them, trying to get them off him. Their legs were like wire, pulling at his eyelids, his lips. He struggled, but they were strong and they would not stop. They pried his lips open, poured down his throat, cutting off his screams. Then they came swarming up his pants legs and invaded his privates, pushed into his anus. The horror of it froze him.
Then he felt his feet leave the ground. He knew he was moving, and fast. It was so surprising and bizarre that his emotions turned off. He was watching a movie, Bob West being carried down a hole, Bob West going deeper and deeper and deeper and all of a sudden they were gone, all the light was gone.
He was in a damp, warm room. The floor was thick, like sponge. Great, rhythmic pulsations heaved all around him, and the walls got closer, pushing against him. He shrank away but the oozing, gulping motion became stronger, closer, until finally he was completely surrounded by a mass of what had to be wet, muscular living tissue.
There was a wet crackle and the flesh pressing against him flickered with purple light. He could see veins and some distant structure like bones far away in the seething, gelatinous mass. The flicker came again and he was for a moment knocked senseless by a burst of sheer, total pleasure. The sensation was beyond anything he had ever known. It made the best possible moment of bellowing, gasping sexual release seem empty.
It came again and again, and in the back of his mind a voice said: it's a weapon.
But the voice was drowned out, and he was overwhelmed by wave after wave after wave of shivering, glorious, soul-bursting ecstasy.
2.
Brian battled his way through the mass of creatures, grabbing for them. Their bodies were as pliant as rubber and their legs were springy and strong. Even so, he might have crushed one if they hadn't been so fast. If he got one in his fist it wriggled out between his fingers before he had a chance to bear down. Their curved pincers seemed almost artificial, so carefully burnished and sharpened were the edges.
Brian was awash in them, smelling their sweaty-skin stench, feeling them crawl over him. He fought to keep his reason. "Use your gun, Bob! Fire the damn thing! Maybe we can get some fragments." They were lifting him, they were actually picking up a human being! "Bob, they've got me!" He struggled wildly. "Bob, where are you? I can't see you!"
The Forbidden Zone Page 11