“I want to get the mucus sample from his mouth," he said.
"Great." C.J. looked disgusted. "Just ask him to say ahhhh."
"Let's not make this harder than it has to be," Calie admonished, then looked at the doctor. "Okay, then. What now?"
Perlman sucked in a breath, then jabbed a hand toward the vampire's face, swiping his fingers below the nostrils just out of touching range. As he had suspected, the child could smell fresh blood even in sleep; as his hand pulled away, the vampire's mouth stretched in a parody of a yawn, revealing a blackened maw ringed with jagged yellow and brown teeth from which strands of rancid saliva dripped. A second later the mouth closed.
"Gross." C.J.'s face twisted. "How the hell you gonna get him to keep it open long enough to cut? I'll bet he chomps on anything you stick in there, including your finger."
"He's right," Calie said. "You're likely to lose a piece of your hand if you try it."
"We'll tape his mouth open," Perlman suggested. "I don't need to cut, just run the depressor along the inside of one cheek. I will take a little flesh for a tissue sample, and for that we'll turn him facedown so it'll be harder for him to bite."
"Fine," C.J. said. He tossed aside the piece of duct tape he'd been holding and tore six longer pieces, layering them into one thick strand as he knelt behind the vampire's head with the tape spread like a garrote. "We're ready. But you'd better be quick. I really don't think this'll hold for long." Calie grimaced in revulsion as she grabbed the child's ankles to keep it from kicking; the body trembled slightly at her touch, and somewhere beneath the pain still sharpening his senses Bill thought he heard the word cold in plaintive tones. He pushed it away and bent to his work, thankful he no longer had to worry about avoiding the creature's eyes.
Slipping on a glove, the doctor pulled a tongue depressor from his pocket and tore it free of the sterile wrapping, then leaned forward. Before he could find an excuse, Perlman again passed a hand over the child's face. When its mouth widened he stared into the moist blackness leading down the thin throat, one glance lasering the image into his memory. All the internal tissues were black, including the tongue, though the doctor thought he could see an undertone of deep red. The front teeth were hideously overdeveloped, especially the canines, but the premolars sloped into the line of malformed gums on both the upper and lower jaws, and molars no longer existed at all, hence the sunken-cheeked appearance.
C.J. brought the tripled strip of tape into the open mouth with admirable speed, hooked it behind the bottom premolars, then yanked down, forcing the jaw open farther. A clot of nasty-smelling fluid sprayed from the vampire's mouth and settled over the skin of its face as it began to struggle sluggishly, trying through the coma-like sleep to snap its teeth. Muscles bulged in C.J.'s arms as he fought to keep the head against the floor while at the other end Calie leaned on its writhing legs with all her strength. Perlman didn't need to be told to hurry this time, though he had to fight his sense of self-preservation to make his fingers thrust the tongue depressor into the contorting mouth and drag it along the inside cheek. He was profoundly thankful for the protection of his glove; his thumb and forefinger had reached beyond the child's lips for only an instant, yet they and the depressor were covered with vile-looking, stinking saliva.
"Done!" Bill pulled back and nearly fell in his haste to get his hand out of the creature's range. In eerily synchronized movements, C.J. dropped the tape and yanked his arms up as Calie released the boy's feet; the body spasmed and Bill gasped as the vampire tried to sit up. C.J. crouched, the crossbow already in hand, but abruptly the child's shuddering ceased as it sank back into its daytime trance.
"Halfway there," Perlman said grimly as he snapped the depressor in two and dropped the pieces into one of the small dishes, then turned a cover over it. "The best is ahead."
"I can't wait," Calie said. Her calm was still holding, but she looked a little shaky. He glanced at her, worried, but she grinned wanly. "I'm fine."
Perlman pulled off the soiled glove and nodded at C.J. "Let's roll him over. One, two, three—" And it was done, the clammy coldness of the boy's arm lingering against the nerves of the doctor's fingers. C.J.'s face was stony, as usual, but Calie looked green and Bill couldn't blame her. How could a body that moved feel so much like a corpse?
"Where are you going to . . . take it from?" Calie asked in a hoarse voice. "Do you think it will hurt him?"
"No more than he'd hurt us if he had the chance," C.J. said in a hard voice.
"I don't need much," Bill said quickly. This time he pulled gloves on both hands after setting out a dish. He picked up the scalpel. "I think the best place is the back of the calf. It'll be quick." He felt Calie's eyes on him and shook his head. "I don't know if it'll hurt or not. Even if it does, we don't have a choice. You ready?"
C.J. stooped next to the side away from the vampire's face and placed both hands flat on the boy's back just below the shoulder blades. "Go for it."
Perlman glanced at Calie. She swallowed and gripped the boy's ankles, pulling the legs out straight. "Fast as you can, okay?" She looked ready to vomit.
Perlman inhaled, then gripped the knife and hunched over the vampire's leg. "Here we go," he said, and drew the blade in a fast swipe, carving out an inch-square chunk of flesh.
The beastchild convulsed, then kicked, knocking Calie's hands loose and flinging her against the wall. Incredibly, C.J. maintained his hold, keeping the snarling creature's face pressed against the concrete as the doctor dropped his sample into the dish. The vampire hissed once more and fell silent, its suffering apparently ending as abruptly as it had begun.
Calie sat up, then choked and pointed. "Lookl"
Perlman followed her extended finger and gawked. The wound was already healing, the exposed layers of gray flesh filling and meshing before their eyes. He bent closer, enthralled by this instantaneous regeneration; although it had once been a human child, he couldn’t help wondering if, like certain species of amphibians, this creature would actually grow an entire new limb if one was lost. The question was fantastic and frightening, and its potential answer scared the hell out of him.
"Well," Perlman finally said as they examined the unbroken skin on the boy's leg, "if it did hurt, it wasn't for long." He spent a few seconds studying the dish containing the skin sample, afraid that the flesh would disintegrate. So far it remained intact, and he sealed it and peeled off his gloves. C.J. and Calie watched until at last Perlman looked up and grinned. "That's all, folks."
They exhaled in relief, then Calie wrinkled her nose. "Let's get out of here. I need some fresh air in the worst way." C.J. nodded and Perlman thought he could see a sickly tinge beneath the teen's olive coloring. Though the whole escapade had taken less than twenty minutes, Perlman felt as if he'd aged five years.
"Jesus," C.J. said once they were safely upstairs, "I'm glad that's over. It's sure not something I want to make a habit." Calie looked away and the teenager's gaze found Perlman's carefully bland face. He scowled. "Aw, man. You ain't thinking of doing this again, are you?" When Perlman didn't answer, C.J. showed his anger by kicking the wall hard, just once. "Calie? Shit—that's just great. When do we do it again?"
"Tomorrow?" The question came from Calie.
"Tomorrow," Perlman agreed. “And every day after until we find the answer."
Looking at C.J.'s expression, Perlman was very grateful that the heavy Barnett crossbow in the kid's hands wasn't cocked.
~ * ~
"Well, what did you think you'd find? A miracle?" There was no one in the room to answer and Perlman sat back and ran his fingers across his forehead, then massaged his temples. "Yeah, maybe so." Frustrated, he dropped a hand to the sheaf of notes he'd spent most of the day scribbling. And what had he expected? Slice and dice the sample, slap it under the Wolfe microscope he'd power-rigged to a mini-generator, crank the magnification to 100x and Bingo! Instant Answer.
Wrong.
What he had was cramped fingers and n
early blackened eyes from sitting for hours with his face plastered against the eyepieces. Still, he had to look again. It was as though he'd discovered some incredibly complex insect that no one had ever seen before, and in a way he supposed that's exactly what had happened. His first glimpse of the sample had been hours ago, yet the doctor was still awed to see that everything was actually where it should be. Incredibly, the cells were pliable and even the right color, as long as the slide was taken from a deeper level of the segment; closer to the surface of the skin, it became dried out, gray, and tough. But they weren't alive. They were frozen, trapped in a state of suspended animation from which the vampire's mind could still demand movement, though nothing on the slide was in motion. Predictably, minute colonies of clostridia, common bacterial decay, were scattered here and there, locked into that same permanent paralysis. He could see no fungi and he'd certainly not expected to find any viruses on dead matter. He might as well be looking at a slice of cork.
A blood sample, Perlman thought. Right out of its arm—won't C.J. just love that. And I need to find a way to tie a centrifuge into one of the diesel generators in the basement—now there was an adventure he could cheerfully put off until the next decade. The doctor frowned and drummed his fingers on the table. Obtaining a blood sample might prove nothing but a waste of time, if the blood turned out to be only that of the donor's. Or what if it was absorbed so rapidly that none was left, or no transfer of matter or cells occurred? He wondered if they could open the shelter door and toss in a meal just before sunrise, then chided himself on his foolishness. I'm spoiled, he realized sadly. For years he had simply submitted requisitions and purchase orders to obtain research supplies, samples, and equipment. At worst he had to attend a few administrative meetings. Now he'd have to make do.
A small tinkling from his alarm wristwatch—Calie's idea and a damned fine one—made Perlman realize he only had an hour of good daylight left. This makeshift laboratory was sinking quickly toward darkness, and he couldn't very well examine the tissue samples back in his original lab with its wall of large, northern windows. C.J. and Calie had provided three kerosene lamps to add to the battery-powered spotlight, and now the doctor noted that the spotlight's glow had faded to soft yellow and most of the room’s wan light came from those lamps. He pushed out of his chair and stood unsteadily; fatigue, the pain in his foot, and yesterday's blood loss still working on him. It was time to wrap it up and perform his final and irreversible experiment. He powered down the generator, pulled the slide from the microscope and carefully covered it with dark plastic, then swept the soiled slides, debris, and damaged samples into the trash; it was vital that he had fresh tissue to work with on a daily basis, no matter how difficult it was to obtain. That done, he snapped on the Maglite, extinguished the remaining lights, and hobbled back to his regular lab. Another five minutes' preparation and Perlman was ready.
He estimated that it only took four seconds to get the slide in place and flood it with nearly painful halogen light, yet already the tissue had started to disintegrate. Maybe, he mused, disintegrate was an incorrect term, one that implied decomposition. Dissolve was more accurate, or evaporate. He wished desperately for a higher magnification level. Perhaps a sudden, massive output of enzymes was causing the tissue to digest itself, with the sun’s rays as the catalyst. Or was it something more toxic, or a modulator, a type of noncompetitive inhibitor . . .
The slice of tissue was gone, like a fragment of shaved ice in August heat, before Perlman’s questions had even begun.
He sat back and mentally replayed the tissue self-destruction, comparing this viewing with the first experiment he'd performed on the fresh sample hours earlier. He flipped through his notes to make sure of the time—noon. The sun had been at its peak point beneath the gray clouds that had moved over the city yesterday evening. That small piece of flesh, purposely placed under the microscope by the window, had deteriorated at almost twice the rate of the one he'd just witnessed, a noteworthy example in terms of energy output versus retention. And more reason to get back to Water Tower, as another look at his watch verified. He stood hurriedly, glanced around, and decided everything could be left where it was overnight. His stomach growled and Perlman grinned; he'd quickly returned to forgotten habits—the days without meals and hours of not speaking to another person when he was heavy into a project. The future was sure to get him plenty of sleep though, since it remained impossible to work through the night. He'd be the most well-rested scientist in history.
Satisfied that nothing was running, Perlman slipped on his jacket and limped down to the first floor, letting himself out and locking up. Someone would be waiting for him at the Water Tower entrance, probably ready to come after him in another ten minutes if he didn't show. The freezing temperature and gusty wind made the empty length of Michigan Avenue desolate, especially against his memories of harried lunchtime crowds and the long-gone horns of the once-abundant taxis. Now it was . . . nothing, winding away to a gray, damp haze at either end, making him look forward to the company of Calie and the others, and maybe a hot bowl of canned stew, things that would warm him in body and spirit. He was tired, and it was nice to be heading home.
Home.
Now there was a good word.
6
REVELATION 3:11
Behold, I come quickly: hold that fast which thou hast.
~ * ~
“Alex?" Deb squirmed within the circle of his arms and heard him murmur. "Alex, wake up." She used her elbow to prod at his ribs. "Where'd you get these flowers?"
He opened his eyes and smiled; looking at him, she decided she liked the way his grin carried into little crinkly lines around his eyes, which were a deep, puppy-like brown and filled with warmth. Instead of sitting up immediately, he lightened his hold around her. "What flowers?"
She tugged the two daisies gently from his fingers and held them up. "These, you big goof. Where'd you get them?"
He jerked as though she were waving something nasty under his nose, then he was on his feet, gripping the machete and hurrying in one direction, then another, as he peered suspiciously into the afternoon shadows of the store. Deb sat staring on the couch, stunned and very aware of the cool draft where only a second before his arms had been.
"What's wrong?" she demanded. "Did you hear something?"
Another explosive ten seconds passed while she sat frozen, one hand cold against the pistol in her jacket; finally Alex let out a shaky breath and turned with a bewildered look. "Someone else was here," he said, his eyes still probing the unseen corners and making a lie of his calm, flat voice.
"I never left you!"
~ * ~
"Look at this," Deb said. They stood by the store's front entrance, the same one from which Deb had fled the day before. State Street Mall stretched away on both sides, empty, cold, and windswept; occasionally pieces of trash skittered along, pushed by a wind that was becoming frigid beneath heavy, mercury-colored clouds. "Look," she said again, the breath pluming from her lips. "They even have roots, Alex. Roots." The shock had worn but not evaporated; it was mind-boggling enough to realize that there really was another person in the downtown area, though Deb knew Alex had already been convinced of that, but to know that someone had stood within a foot of them, perhaps even touched them while they slept . . . Every time she got to that point, her mind shut down and gave her nothing but a gray, blank fog. It was simply unthinkable.
"I'm sure it was that girl," Alex said suddenly. "The one I told you about."
"Why?"
For a second he looked sheepish, then his jaw set stubbornly. "Because she was . . . weird. Crazy enough to come out before sunrise, then just walk right into the arms of that vampire, like she wanted it. Yet by the time I got down there the vampire was nearly dead and she'd disappeared." He looked thoughtful. "If that'd been you or me we'd have been killed. I just can't figure it out."
"How can you grow daisies in Chicago in March?" Deb asked wonderingly. She bent her nose
to the sweet-smelling blossoms. "Maybe we can plant them. Do you think they'll grow? I always thought they were outside flowers."
Alex sighed, then his expression softened. "I don't know, Deb. Tell you what, we'll go by Woolworth's and get some dirt—"
"Soil," she interrupted.
"Okay, soil. And we'll get a pot and stick them in and see what happens." He grinned. "We'll worry about where they came from some other time."
"Sounds good to me." Deb smiled at him. "Let's go." His words brought the sadness creeping back and she strove to keep it from her voice. Alex's warm gaze faltered, then smoothed as Deb put a little more effort into smiling. Her eyes had always been naked little windows into her thoughts; best to turn Alex's mind to other things, because if he pushed, she'd probably spill everything and spoil their too-short time together. "Do you think it'll be safe?" she asked. "I thought the garden stuff was in the basement."
"Then let's try somewhere else," he suggested. "I know—Carson's has a floral shop on the first floor. Probably nothing but dead plants now, but there'll be plenty of light and pots."
"Say," Deb said severely. "How come you know where the florists are in this town? Guys are only supposed to know where to buy footballs and beer."
Alex lifted his nose and gave her a smug glance. "Because, my dear girl, it was formerly necessary to keep my harem in fresh flowers on a daily basis."
"Harem, huh?" Alex dodged the mock swipe of her fist. "Obviously a group of backwoods girls who never had a city woman like me to show them the ropes."
"They were willing slaves to my many charms."
"Oh, jeesh!" Deb snorted. "This is getting deep!"
Alex laughed, then shoved his hands into his pockets and began walking backward. "It’s getting cold." The chilly wind made a soughing noise as it spun between the buildings and past the door fronts and he indicated the flowers with a nod of his head. "You better put those away or we might as well not bother."
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