by John Saul
The fur on the rat’s neck had been shaved away and there was a dark bruise, in the center of which was a puncture mark, as if a needle had been used to pierce the rat’s skin.
Both the animals had small metal tags attached to their right ears. Sharon had to fish in her purse once more to find her reading glasses before she could make out the tiny letters stamped on each of the tags.
The tags were nearly identical. Each bore the same series of numbers and letters: 05-08-89/M#61F#46.
But on the tag on the rat there was an additional number: GH13.
Sharon stared at the creatures for a moment, trying to figure out what the numbers might mean. The first six digits, she was absolutely certain, were a date. But the rest?
And then she thought she knew the answer, but it didn’t quite make sense.
Quickly returning the two small corpses to her purse, she put the car in gear and sped away, her mind already trying to figure out a way to confirm her suspicions.
Was it really possible, she wondered, that the two animals could have come from the same litter? And if they had, what had been done to the second creature that could have made it grow so large?
She shuddered, knowing already that she didn’t want to know the answer—and at the same time knowing that nothing would stop her from finding out exactly what that answer was.
Mark closed his notebook as the three-ten bell rang and fished under his desk for his book bag. He hadn’t taken much in the way of notes today; indeed, he’d found it hard to concentrate on the history class at all. Instead he’d found himself fidgeting and glancing at the clock every few minutes, waiting eagerly for the bell to ring. Now, as the last echoes of its shrill clanging died away, he was on his feet and out the door. He took the stairs to the main floor two at a time, then paused as he heard Linda Harris calling his name. She hurried up to him, her expression apologetic.
“I’m sorry about this morning,” she told him. For the first time in nearly three weeks, she hadn’t met him at the corner three blocks from the school so they could walk the rest of the way together. He’d waited a few minutes, then decided she wasn’t coming at all. When he’d gotten to school he found that she was already there, sitting on the steps with Tiffany Welch. When he’d spoken to her, she pretended she didn’t hear him for a minute, then been cool when she finally acknowledged his presence. “I—I guess I acted like a kid this morning, didn’t I?” she asked now.
Mark shrugged. “I just don’t see why you’re so mad,” he said.
Linda fell in beside him as he started toward the main doors. “I guess I’m not mad, really,” she said. “I just …” She looked at him a moment, her brows knit into a frown, and decided not to utter the words hovering on the tip of her tongue. “Never mind,” she said. “Where you going? Want to go get something to eat?”
Mark shook his head. “Can’t. I have an appointment with Dr. Ames.”
Suddenly the frown was back on Linda’s brow. “How come?”
“He’s just checking me over,” Mark replied distractedly as his eyes scanned the crowd of students that filled the hallway. “Did you see Robb anywhere?”
Now Linda’s expression grew bewildered. “Robb?” she asked. “I thought you and Robb had a fight yesterday!”
“We did.” Mark grinned. “And I could have taken him, too, if your mom hadn’t stopped us. Anyway, he’s going out to the center, too. He said he’d meet me here.”
Just then Robb came around the corner from the eastern wing and tossed his book bag to his sister. “Take it home for me?” he asked. Linda gave him a sour look.
“What if I don’t?” she challenged.
“But you will,” Robb teased. “You don’t want to look like a brat in front of your boyfriend, do you?” He snickered as both Linda and Mark reddened, then delivered a light rabbit punch to Mark’s upper arm. “Come on—Ames hates it if we’re late.”
Mark hesitated only a second, turning away before he saw the dark look that came into Linda’s eyes. Following Robb, he trotted down the steps toward the rack where the other boy’s bike was parked. As Robb got the bike moving, Mark jumped onto the rack on the back, feeling the metal tubing give slightly as it accepted his weight.
“Jesus Christ,” Robb complained. “How much do you weigh?”
“Five pounds more than last week,” Mark replied. “And it’s all muscle, so you’d better watch out!”
Linda, standing at the top of the steps as she watched the two boys ride away from school, felt a strange mix of emotions. She supposed it was nice that Robb and Mark were becoming friends again, and she’d already decided that she couldn’t expect Mark never to change, but still, there was a little voice inside her that kept telling her something was wrong, that Mark wasn’t really changing at all.
Instead she had the weird feeling that he was being changed, and that he didn’t even know it. Disconsolately, she slung Robb’s book bag over her arm and started home.
“There’s my boy!” Marty Ames exclaimed as he strode into the examining room where Mark was stripped down to his underwear. A nurse had already checked his blood pressure and pulse, weighed him, measured him, and checked his lung capacity. “How’re you feeling?”
“Great,” Mark told him. “I’m up another couple of pounds, and I’ve grown almost half an inch.”
Ames’s brows arched appreciatively and he scanned the newest statistics the nurse had entered into Mark’s computerized medical record. “Lungs up a few cc’s, too,” he commented. His eyes shifted to Mark, The bruises on his face had almost completely disappeared, and only a thin scar marked the spot where his forehead had been cut. “Any pain in your ribs?” Mark shook his head. “Well, in that case, I pronounce you healthy.”
Mark’s face registered his disappointment. “You mean that’s it?” he asked uncertainly. “I’m done out here?”
“I didn’t say that.” Ames chuckled. “In fact, now’s when the real work begins. The vitamins are all fine, but you still have to do most of the work. Pull on a pair of shorts and come with me.”
Mark fished in his book bag for the gym shorts he’d started carrying with him the previous week, then put on his socks and tennis shoes. Leaving the rest of his clothes and the book bag where they were, he followed Ames out of the examining room and through the halls to the gym. He’d spent time here before, learning how each of the machines worked and how it acted on his muscles, but today Ames led him through a door into a smaller room where Robb Harris was already working out on a rowing machine, his eyes fixed on the screen that curved around in front of him.
Mark hesitated as he saw the needles in Robb’s thighs and the I.V. tubes attached to them. “What’s going on?” he asked.
As Mark settled himself onto a rowing machine that was an exact twin of the one Robb was using, and one of the aides began adjusting it to fit his body, Ames explained the monitoring system and its purpose.
“We need to know exactly what happens to your body when you work out. The easiest way to do that is to analyze the chemical changes in your blood. And for that,” he added, grinning in a parody of sadistic pleasure, “we have to puncture your veins and stick needles in your flesh.”
Mark chuckled at Ames’s exaggerated villainy, but still winced as the needles were slipped into him then taped securely in place. A moment later, as he began rowing, the first of the images flashed on the screen, and soon he found himself involved in the illusion that he was actually competing in a race with other rowers.
He leaned into the machine, increasing his pace, and a sheen of sweat broke out on his brow.
Then, as one of his two-dimensional competitors slipped by him on the left, he felt a surge of anger. Swearing silently, he pulled yet harder on the oars and a moment later overtook the image on the screen.
He rowed steadily for a while, keeping pace with the other oarsmen, but then they began to creep up on him, and he felt his anger begin to grow once more.
Almost imperceptibly, the
image on the screen flickered. It happened so quickly that Mark was barely aware that it had occurred at all. The other boats were gaining on him now, and the muscles in his arms and legs were beginning to ache. Sweat dripped from his forehead, stinging his eyes, and he could feel it running down his back and under his arms as well.
The image on the screen kept flickering, but he was oblivious to it, his anger growing steadily as the other boats inexorably overtook him. He was furious now, almost trembling with the rage he felt toward the other rowers.
Then, slowly, he began to think of his mother.
He didn’t know why she came into his mind, for he was totally unaware of her image as it was flashed subliminally on the screen, far too quickly and too briefly for his conscious mind to register.
But deep inside himself he was becoming convinced that it was her fault he was losing the race against the other rowers.
Her fault—for babying him all his life, for making excuses for him, for insisting that he was different from the other kids.
But he wasn’t different.
He was only smaller, and weaker.
He rowed harder, grunting with the strain, trying to catch up with the other rowers. He would catch up—he knew it.
He was growing now, and getting stronger, and maybe it wouldn’t happen today, but in the end he would win.
And he wouldn’t let his mother stop him.
An hour later, after Mark and Robb had left the sports center and were on their way home, Marty Ames called Jerry Harris. “I think it’s going to be all right,” he said. “I have a feeling our latest problem may just solve itself after all.”
Ames smiled to himself as he hung up. The experiments with Mark had taken a new turn. He was already feeling the tingle of anticipation that always came to him when he was on the verge of discovering something absolutely new.
If it worked—if the aggression that he was able to induce in his subjects could truly be focused on a specific object…
He put the thought out of his mind, refusing to savor it fully until he knew whether or not the experiment had succeeded.
19
Kelly Tanner knew they were out there, knew the creatures were hunting for her. She didn’t know how she’d gotten there—wasn’t even quite certain where she was.
Mark had taken her for a hike up in the hills, and at first it had been fun. Chivas had been with them, and they’d followed the stream up into the hills and found a little waterfall. A grove of pines was clustered around the pool beneath the falls, and she and Mark had sat down in the scented bed of needles beneath the trees while Chivas sniffed around the boulders at the edge of the river, scratching at a hole some animal had dug there. Suddenly Mark had picked up a rock and hurled it at Chivas. The dog, yelping in pain, had whirled around, crouching low to the ground, stared at Mark for a moment then slunk off into the woods.
“Why did you do that?” Kelly had asked.
Mark hadn’t answered her. Instead, he’d just gotten up and walked away, disappearing into the foliage after Chivas.
She hadn’t liked that—she knew Mark wasn’t supposed to leave her alone—but at first she wasn’t worried. He’d come back in a few minutes, she thought, and Chivas would be with him. Then they’d start back home.
But Mark hadn’t come back. She’d waited and waited. And suddenly everything had changed.
The branches of the pines—so sheltering only a moment before—now seemed like arms reaching out to grab her.
The sun, too, had disappeared, and at first she thought it was nothing more than a cloud drifting by. But then the darkness had closed in on her and she felt the first pangs of fear.
She called out to Mark then, but there was no reply.
She scrambled to her feet. All she had to do was follow the stream, and pretty soon she would be out of the hills and back in the valley, and there would be the familiar houses and stores of the town.
Except that as she walked, the trail seemed to change, growing narrower and narrower, until she could barely make out where it was at all.
That was when the sounds had started.
They were faint cries at first, coming as if from a great distance away. Then she heard them again, nearer this time, and Kelly froze in the path to listen.
The sounds came ever closer, and began changing.
First they were moans—strange, strangled sounds, like someone crying. But then the moans shifted into a cacophony of shrieks that echoed in the hills around her, and Kelly shuddered.
She searched the cloying darkness around her, looking for the source of the terrifying sounds.
A twig cracked somewhere behind her, and she spun around, but could see nothing.
Another twig cracked, but this time the sound came from a different direction.
She started running then, but every step seemed to take forever. Her feet felt heavy; she could barely move them. She tried to cry out herself, tried to scream for Mark to come and help her, but her voice strangled in her throat and all that emerged was a faint rasp.
They were all around her now—whatever they were—and she thought she could hear them sniffing at the air, searching for her scent.
She knew what would happen when they found her. They would circle around her, closing her in, then come to get her, their yellow eyes glowing evilly in the darkness, their fangs dripping with saliva.
Suddenly she saw one of them.
It was big—bigger than anything she’d ever seen.
It had long arms, with curving claws extending from the fingers, reaching almost to the ground.
It was grunting, pushing its way through the brush, and she could smell a sour odor in the air as it breathed.
It was almost there, almost upon her, and she gathered what was left of her strength for a final scream.
That was when she woke up, her whole body jerking in a spasm of fear.
In the darkness the image of the monster still lurked, and in the distance she could still hear the cries of the others. She whimpered, gathering her blanket close around her, and then another, softer scream burst from her throat as her bedroom door opened.
“It’s all right, darling,” her mother told her, snapping on the ceiling light and filling the room with a brilliant glow that washed away the terrifying shadows. “You were just having a nightmare, that’s all.” Sharon came and sat on the edge of the bed. She put her arms around her daughter and held her close. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
Shakily, Kelly tried to repeat what had happened in the dream, and finally she looked up at her mother, her eyes large. “Why did Mark just leave me like that?” she asked.
“But he didn’t, sweetheart,” Sharon reassured her. “It was just a dream, and the things in dreams aren’t real.”
“B-But it felt real,” Kelly protested. “And Mark was so different from the way he really is. At least,” she added, her voice dropping and her eyes shifting away from her mother’s, “he was different from the way he used to be, before we moved here.”
Sharon felt a knot of tension twist in her stomach, but when she spoke, she did her best not to betray her own feelings. “What do you mean?” she asked.
Kelly shrugged elaborately, then snuggled down into the bed, pulling the covers up under her chin. “I don’t know,” she said, her small face screwing up into an expression of intense concentration. “He just seems different, that’s all. I mean, he doesn’t even care about his rabbits anymore, and I don’t think Chivas likes him the way he used to.”
Sharon laid her hand on the little girl’s cheek. “What about you?” she asked. “You still like Mark, don’t you?”
“Y-Yes,” Kelly replied, but there was a hesitation in her voice, as if she weren’t really sure. “But he is different. He—He even looks sort of different.”
Sharon smiled tightly. “That’s because he’s getting a lot of exercise, and because he’s starting to grow faster.”
Kelly scowled and shook her head. “It’s no
t that,” she said. “It’s something else. It’s like—”
She suddenly stopped speaking as a sound drifted through the night. Though it seemed to come from far away, Kelly recognized it instantly.
It was the same high-pitched scream of fury she’d heard in her nightmare only a few minutes before. Her eyes widened into fearful circles and she clutched the covers tighter. “D-Did you hear that?” she asked.
Sharon hesitated, then went to the window and opened it. The chill night air poured in from outside, and she drew her robe tight around her. It was silent outside, and in the east the first faint hints of dawn were silhouetting the mountains against a brightening sky. She listened for a moment, but heard nothing.
She was just turning away from the window when the sound came again.
There was no mistaking it this time. It was some kind of animal out hunting in the night, but it sounded now as if it were in pain. An image came suddenly into Sharon’s mind of an exhibit she’d seen in a museum years ago. It had been a diorama, and behind the glass, caught forever in a moment of agonizing pain, had been a stuffed mountain lion, its mouth agape in a silent roar, one of its immense feet caught in the jaws of a trap. Smears of realistic blood stained the fur of its foot, and the skin was torn away from its leg above the trap, where the creature had tried to gnaw itself loose.
The sound that rent the night as Sharon stood at Kelly’s window was exactly the sound she had imagined coming from that trapped and wounded cougar’s throat.
The cry died away, and Sharon closed the window tightly. “It’s only an animal, darling,” she told Kelly, who was sitting straight up in bed now, staring at her with frightened eyes. “It’s up in the mountains somewhere, and it can’t hurt you.”
“B-but what if it comes down?” Kelly asked, her voice quavering.
Sharon glanced at the clock on Kelly’s dresser. It was almost six, the sky outside was brightening by the minute. “Tell you what,” she said. “Why don’t you and I get dressed and go downstairs? We can fix a nice breakfast, and surprise your father and Mark.”