When the crystal-shrouded front of Water Tower Place was finally less than a block away, Louise shivered as C.J. planted his feet firmly on the snow-covered sidewalk and refused to go any farther. "I can't do this." The snowfall that had seemed so pretty now swirled ferociously around them and the sidewalk was crusted over with ice, leaving perfect depressions with each step. "The tracks will lead the vampires right to the front door."
Louise's voice was grim. "He's right." Although she was only three feet away, Jo seemed to blend into the harsh weather and Louise could barely see the white-haired girl.
"What tracks?" Jo asked gently.
Anger twisted C.J.'s dark-complected features. Are you completely crazy?" he demanded. A clot of snow tried to stick to one cheek and he slapped it away. “We might as well hang flags, for Christ's sake!" His black hair was sodden beneath a crown of quickly accumulating snow. When Jo smiled and touched his arm, he snorted in disgust and whirled to point at the indentations marking their passage, but his sound of derision ended in a shortened gasp.
There were no tracks.
The snow stretched along Michigan Avenue, unbroken and startling in its magnificent blanket of purity.
The blood drained from Louise's face and an absurd thought occurred to her: she and Jo must look like winter sisters right now, Jo, with her flowing mass of colorless, strangely dry hair, and Louise, with her snow-covered brown hair and shock-white skin.
"You two go in." Jo's voice was kind. "Louise was ill yesterday and shouldn't be out in this weather."
"What about you? Aren't you coming?" Louise grabbed
Jo's hand and clung to it; even without a coat in the subfreezing temperatures, Jo's skin was pleasantly warm. "But you'll die out here!" C.J. protested. "You'll—”
“I'll be fine."
C.J. and Louise stumbled after Jo as she crossed the final steps to the glassed-in entrance and pulled open the door.
"That's supposed to be locked!"
"It was." Jo brushed a new clump of snow from the young man's cheek and Louise's flesh crawled when she saw Jo's eyes darken again to that terrible, brooding shade of gray. For a moment the girl stared at them, then she turned back to C.J. "You just have to accept that. Sometimes you have to accept a lot of things." She glanced at Louise, and the brown-haired girl felt as though she'd been touched by a flash of love and . . . regret. Terror swept her for a second. Why would Jo look at her like that?
"Both of you be in Daley Plaza tomorrow at noon," Jo said suddenly. "Don't come earlier or you’ll miss him."
"Miss who?" C.J. demanded. He looked ready to explode. "What are you talking about?"
Jo's perfect smile, even in the midst of the surprise snowstorm, blanketed them with warmth.
"The key to the Mart."
Louise blinked at C.J. and his return gaze was perplexed. Both teenagers turned back to Jo—
She was gone.
And there were still no footprints.
3
REVELATION 13:14
And deceiveth them that dwell on the
earth by the means of those miracles. . . .
~ * ~
"I wonder if C.J. found that girl."
McDole's voice was loud and startling, but he had to say something to break the silence; he and Calie had been sitting there for nearly two hours watching Bill Perlman stare into a contraption he claimed was a microscope. McDole was amazed the doctor had gotten the thing to work, and if he hadn't believed the results would someday be worth it, McDole would've protested about the number of batteries used to provide power for all the lights and equipment the physician needed. He looked at Calie, but she only sat on her stool, rotating slowly and watching the men, occasionally glancing into the darkened hall of the basement where they'd hastily moved the laboratory after the tissue sample had started to disintegrate in the bright lab at Northwestern. They hated being in this dismal part of Water Tower Place, but it couldn't be avoided.
"Damn," Perlman said. He stepped back from the microscope.
"What?" McDole said. "Do you need something?'
Perlman shook his head. "No, but thanks for offering. You two have been very capable assistants. I couldn't have gotten this far without your help—and C.J.'s, too." Still, he looked tired and discouraged. "But today's great experiment was a bust."
Calie rose and peered uncertainly at the slides. "What was the experiment?" The doctor started to answer and she held up a finger. "Keep it simple. Doctors run in your family, not mine."
The younger man looked rattled by Calie's comment, then began to speak as McDole leaned forward. "Well, I'm trying to . . ." Perlman frowned. "The vampires are dead," the doctor began again. "Or they're supposed to be. We don't know what animates them and probably never will. Maybe, and I'm very hesitant to say this, it takes place on a spiritual rather than physical level. However, the only arena in which we have experience is the physical, so that's where we have to try and tie the two together." His gaze stopped briefly on Calie and Perlman looked as though he would qualify his words, then decided against it. "So these dead creatures get up and walk around—"
"They do more than that," McDole interjected.
"Sure"—Perlman nodded—"but again, you're going into a new realm." He motioned to them. "Look here. What do you see?"
Calie positioned herself and studied the view through the microscope, then McDole took a turn. There wasn't much to see: a spattering of light and dark shapes around something that looked brown and dried up. Nothing moved. "Not much," McDole admitted. "Cells, I guess. But I didn't see anything alive."
"What were we looking at?" Calie asked.
Perlman scrubbed at his face with both hands without speaking. McDole could see weariness and frustration etched in the lines beneath the doctor's light beard stubble. Finally he answered. "Clostridia, one of the most common bacteria found in dead animals. This bacteria—which causes decomposition—is a major factor in the cycle of life. The brown spot was a microlayer of vampire flesh taken from our friend in the bomb shelter"
"But they don't decompose," McDole said.
"Exactly!" Brief excitement broke through Perlman's tiredness. "But if I could develop a bacterium or fungus, or mutate a clostridium that could survive introduction into a vampire's body and reproduce, maybe the decomposition process could finally begin, as it should have when the body first died."
"Like giving them a big dose of the flu," Calie suggested.
"Not at all. Influenza is a virus, not a bacteria. A virus always requires a living host; without one, it ceases to function, although it may not die per se. On the other hand, certain bacteria can exist in either living or nonliving environments."
"I'm out of my league here," McDole said, "but I didn't see anything moving under that microscope."
"You wouldn't have anyway," Perlman told him absently. "I haven't had time to isolate the substance which makes the vampire's body a hostile environment, either by indirectly attacking the bacteria or by being highly toxic to the organism. Besides, it's a moot point."
"Why is that?"
"The way I see it—and this is open for discussion, so let me know if you have any ideas—the vampires are not technically dead. Although life-force functions—cell division and activity—have stalled, enzymatic action doesn't take place."
McDole shook his head. "I'm lost. One minute you're talking about trying to make them rot like they're supposed to, the next you're saying they're not dead, which to me means they're not supposed to."
Perlman spread his hands. "I never said it would be easy to use technology to destroy what seems to be supernatural." He gave McDole a wry smile. "Remember the name for them in the old movies? The undead. Whether that's legend or someone's imagination, it's very appropriate; they're not alive, but they're not dead. They're like people-sized viruses, parasitically using a host for sustenance and reproduction."
"So what about today?" Calie asked. "What were you doing?"
Perlman powered down the
microscope. "I cultured a bacteria in the Clostridium genus," he told them. "Nothing spectacular; just a little stronger. Then I gave it vampire tissue. It should have gone wild feeding and replicating."
Calie twined her fingers. "But it didn't."
"I didn't expect it to—not on the first try, anyway.”
“But you seem so . . . disappointed," she said.
"I am," the physician admitted. “And a little flabbergasted, too." His fists clenched briefly, then relaxed. “I can work with cells and living and dead organisms, but I'm not sure what to do here." He stepped toward his equipment as though debating continuing his work. "Every time I put the bacteria or any living organism anywhere near a vampire cell . . . did you notice the brown cells of the vampire flesh extending past the cell membrane and into the cytoplasm of the bacteria? The bacteria are literally being transformed into vampire flesh in an instantaneous, yet invisible, metamorphosis. Not dead, but not alive."
"But how can that be?" McDole demanded.
"How can a vampire be?" Perlman shot back. "The problem is understanding a new biological function that I simply don't have the resources to research. That's what's happening here—like when two living animal heart cells are placed in proximity to each other and they synchronize almost immediately."
"Synchronize?" Calie asked.
"Heart cells beat," the doctor explained. "Literally. Two of them will gravitate to each other and find the same rhythm. The heartbeat of a sleeping human will synchronize with a dog's if he falls asleep with a hand resting on the animal."
McDole looked perplexed. "What's that got to do with the vampires?"
"Maybe nothing," Perlman said wearily. “And I have no idea why blood would affect the kind of rejuvenation it has on these creatures. In a man it would be understandable—"
"Blood?" Calie looked dismayed.
"Don't think of it as blood, Calie," Perlman pointed out. "Think of it fundamentally as food. Feed a malnourished person and the body begins to repair itself by using the vitamins and energy supplied by the food source. But a vampire's body isn’t living, so how does it convert food to energy? Not only does it obviously do so, but apparently a constant food source causes an amazing and rapid improvement in physical condition."
"So you're saying," McDole cut in, "that every time you feed that kid in the bomb shelter he gets stronger, while the person donating the meal . . ." His voice trailed off as he recalled the woman who'd offered her arm and a half pint of blood this morning, their prisoner's second easy meal.
Perlman nodded solemnly. "Yes. And while I'd love to have a healthy vampire for my research, the risk is too great. The strength these things possess is immense. Calie can verify that getting the tissue sample this morning was far worse than yesterday, even though you and Ira were there." Calie nodded unhappily. "If we feed him tonight, trying to get a piece of him tomorrow could be disastrous. We simply can’t let that happen."
Calie choked and both men turned to look at her. The young woman's expression was grim in her pallid face. "So you're suggesting that we stop feeding him? Isn't that like starving a caged animal?"
McDole looked to Perlman pleadingly. "I suppose it is," Perlman answered. "But we don't have any choice. It comes down to the lesser of two evils—use a once-human child for our tests or watch mankind become extinct." Perlman set his jaw, and McDole was impressed to see him meet Calie's eyes without flinching. "I can't say that it's right or wrong, Calie, just that it has to be this way. The best we can do is put the boy out of his misery as soon as possible."
Calie nodded and stared at the floor, then her glum look brightened and she hopped to her feet. “Are you through?" She sounded impatient. "C J.'s back."
Perlman nodded, then frowned. "How could you know that?" he asked as he and McDole followed her out of the lab.
Calie didn’t bother to answer as they extinguished the last of the halogen camping lights around the room. "Come on, come on!" she said excitedly. "Not only is he back, he's brought company!"
McDole had to laugh at the look on Perlman's face.
4
REVELATION 12:6
And the woman fled into the wilderness,
where she hath a place prepared. . . .
~ * ~
"I've got to go."
Alex struggled up from the sleeping bag, trying to push the last of the night's sleep from his mind. "What?"
"I've got to go," Deb repeated. "I've got to get back to the Institute. It’s starting to snow." Deb was already pulling on clothing, her voice a muffled jumble as she tugged a sweater over her tangle of blue-black curls.
"The Institute? You mean the Art Institute? Wait a minute," Alex protested. He began reaching for his own clothes. "If it's snowing, you shouldn't leave the building."
"It just started."
"Deb—" She wouldn't answer, just kept gathering her things and dressing rapidly, blue jeans, heavy woolen socks—already she was lacing the black high-tops he'd found so amusing. He suddenly felt helpless and embarrassed, as though last evening had been nothing but a one-night stand and this extraordinary woman a cheap bar pickup whom he'd never see again. He couldn't let that happen.
"I'll go with you—"
"NO!"
Alex stuttered and stopped in midsentence at the ferocity of her voice. "I–I'm sorry," she said then. "I didn't mean to yell. I . . . just need some time, that's all. It's all so much—meeting you, us. . . ." She faltered, then continued. "I just want to go home and—and think things out, get cleaned up and change. I'll come back after the snow melts."
"No, you won't."
Alex's flat statement brought an instant of surprise, then Deb recovered. "Of course I will," she insisted. "Why wouldn't I?" She pulled on her jacket while Alex stood dumbly, his feet still buried in the folds of the crumpled coverings. She'd dressed so quickly that all he'd managed to don was his pair of long underwear; now he felt absurdly exposed and vulnerable.
"You can't even look me in the eye," he said.
Then she did just that, and Alex was sorry for his challenge because the terror he saw in those crystalline blue eyes was paralyzing. Deb pulled her gaze away. "Tomorrow, after the snow melts—"
"What makes you think it'll be gone by then?" he interrupted. He had to keep talking, stalling, until he thought of a way to change her mind.
"Sure it will," she said. "It's almost April."
Alex wished he felt as confident as she sounded. "We've had plenty of spring blizzards."
"After the snow melts," Deb continued patiently, "you can come and . . . get me."
Alex's hopes rose, then plummeted again. Why had she paused like that? Would she even be there? Perhaps she was already planning to leave—but why? "How will I find you?" he asked. A wistful note had crept into his voice. "That place is huge."
Deb was already by the door to the stairwell. Now she lifted the metal bar, pushed the door open, and stepped into the cold darkness; once again he heard that terrible split second of indecision. "I'm in the Arthur Rubloff Auditorium on the lower level. Come when the snow melts. I'll unlock the front entrance." She turned to go.
"Deb—"
"Don't follow me, Alex." Her voice had taken on a sudden, horrible coldness. "Swear to me that you won't.
"But—"
"Swear it!"
"All right!" he snapped. As soon as he said the words, he regretted them. But she was gone and it was too late to retract the hurt and frustration that had taken charge of his mouth when what he should have done was enfolded her in his arms and kissed her, and told her yes, he'd see her tomorrow, and by the way, did you remember that I love you?
He scrambled to the door and peered down the stairs, but the stormlight that filtered in from the office would only show one landing down. Far below he heard a faint clang as the fire door on the first floor swung shut. Shivering, he went to the south windows, draping one of the sleeping bags across his shoulders as he stared out at the plaza. Sixty seconds more and he saw Deb,
first jogging, then flat-out running in those oh-so-funny-looking shoes across slick granite stones already dangerously covered in powdery snowfall.
I shouldn't have let her go! Alex railed at himself. He watched helplessly as she angled across the intersection of Washington and Dearborn and disappeared. Catching her now would be impossible, and going after her to begin with was unthinkable—after all, he'd promised. A stupid, stupid thing to do, but done, nonetheless.
Alex could still see the soft outline of Deb's prints a hundred feet below, though they were already filling in and fading. In another half hour it would be as though Deb had never existed at all.
5
REVELATION 6:8
And I looked, and beheld a pale horse:
and his name that sat on him was Death. . . .
~ * ~
C.J. and the girl were a dripping mess, so laden with melting snow that it was leaving tiny, tear-like trails down both of their faces. Calie's first thought was for C.J.'s safety, yet there was another, more important question. Even she was too slow.
"How deep are the tracks you two left?" McDole's voice was harsh with fury. "Can they be brushed away?"
"Didn't leave any," C.J. responded immediately. The girl, a pale, pretty teenager about C.J.'s age, said nothing; she looked like a terrified rabbit, frozen by the glare of an onrushing truck. Her dark blue eyes flitted nervously from C.J. to Calie to McDole and back again.
McDole's expression relaxed slightly, though fear was still apparent in the crevices across his forehead. "Are you sure?" He glanced at the girl. "Absolutely positive?" She nodded timidly, and Calie guessed the girl was struggling more with shyness than fright.
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