An elevator, Silverman marveled.
The truck pulled to the center of the lift and stopped. Johnson punched in another code, the doors closed and the elevator began to descend. As he heard the soft thump of the doors, Silverman was suddenly hit with a feeling of impending doom. He couldn’t understand the sensation, he should be giddy with his long awaited reunion with the text, and tried to put it out of his mind, but the further they descended the more it grew.
After what seemed like an eternity the lift stopped. The red stenciling now showed the number thirty. Thirty floors below the surface! Now, in addition to his paranoia, the professor felt trapped, entombed. He struggled to hide his growing trepidation from the others.
The high security procedures required to enter the facility overwhelmed him. Silverman thought nothing else would surprise him—then the doors opened and the vehicle moved on.
The vast cavern before him took his breath away. At three hundred yards wide and a hundred and fifty across with a ceiling so high it could not be seen beyond the overhanging lights, the cavity was truly a spectacle. In every corner technicians buzzed about, carrying out their duties with an urgency that would make any Queen bee proud.
As the vehicle rolled past a particular group of technicians, a loud explosion filled the air. Silverman glanced over and saw one of the techs holding a shoulder-fired weapon. The others in the group were inspecting a large steel plate with a smoldering hole in its center. Something didn’t seem quite right. Why were they testing weapons? What exactly were they doing with the formulas from the text? He started to question Thorpe when the vehicle stopped in front of two man-sized doors.
“Here we are,” said Thorpe.
The two men exited the vehicle and it pulled away.
Thorpe moved over to the right of the doors where a video display was set into the wall. Silverman could see an emblem rotating on the screen, the National Security Agency seal. Thorpe spoke to the screen. “Thorpe, Alex. Four, one, two, nine.”
A melodious female voice replied, “Thorpe, Alex. Voice recognition confirmed, security code confirmed. Please step forward for retinal scan.”
Thorpe leaned close to the screen as a thin beam of red light scanned his left eye. The display went blank, then said, “Retinal scan confirmed, entrance granted. Good evening, Dr. Thorpe.”
The sound of compressed air being released was heard and the doors moved aside.
Beyond the doors lay a well-lit corridor. The institutional I, with its white vinyl floor, gray walls, and acoustic ceiling, was an entirely different world from the cavern behind. The professor felt as though he had stepped through a time warp.
As they moved deeper into the corridor, the walls switched to glass. Behind the barrier different species of animals paced back and forth, unsettled by the small confines of their cells. In the lower left hand corner of each sheet of glass a small brass placard gave the common as well as the scientific name of the animal held therein. The extensive collection included lion, hyenas, panthers, bears, and several reptiles. Silverman recognized them all.
Near the center of the corridor, however, the professor came upon a creature he had not seen before. He glanced at the placard and spoke the words aloud, “Canis Dirus—Dire Wolf.”
Thorpe was ahead of Silverman when he heard the words. He stopped and turned back to the professor.
Looking away from the creature inquisitively, Silverman said, “Dire Wolves? From…"
“The Pleistocene epoch, amazing, isn’t it?” said Alex, finishing his statement.
“But they’ve been extinct for over ten-thousand years. How did you…”
“All your questions will be answered inside, Professor,” Thorpe said, indicating another set of doors.
Silverman took one last look at the gigantic creature, then hurried after Thorpe.
As they approached the second set of doors the air locks released automatically. Above the door, in bold lettering the words ‘human subjects’ was stenciled. The passage was identical to the one before, however, instead of animals, people resided behind the glass, though the placards still listed an animal species.
The ward seemed like an insane asylum. Dressed in gowns, the ‘subjects’ milled around their cells listlessly, or screamed for release, still others lay on the floor resigned to their fate. Silverman suddenly recalled stories his grandfather had told him about his time in a Nazi concentration camp and the experiments performed on the poor souls therein. He shuddered involuntarily, his mind screaming for him to turn and run before it was too late. But the academic in him kept his feet moving toward the mysterious revelation it craved.
They approached a third set of doors. Two soldiers stood guard on either side and seemed not to notice the two men. As they drew closer, the soldiers came to attention and the doors moved aside.
A huge state-of-the-art laboratory lay beyond. A host of technicians busied themselves with various tasks at their workstations. Off to the left, a bank of supercomputers processed information on the experiments while the technicians reviewed the output. Rows of tables were covered with high tech equipment that Silverman could not identify. The place moved like a well-oiled machine.
In the midst of the laboring mob, a lanky, slightly bent man gave orders and signed documents given to him by eager workers. They had found the Queen bee—Dr. Philip Voss.
Spotting Voss, Thorpe moved toward him.
“Dr. Voss,” Thorpe called, halfway across the room.
Hearing his name, Voss turned to the source. When he recognized Thorpe, a scowl showed clearly on his face.
As the two men reached him, Thorpe said, “Dr. Philip Voss, I would like you to meet…"
“I know who he is, Thorpe. Let’s get on with it,” said Voss, cutting him off.
Without another word, Voss turned away and headed for a doorway in the rear of the lab.
Silverman saw the look on Thorpe’s face and found that the animosity between them was mutual.
As they started to follow Voss, a commotion broke out in the lab.
A man, escorted by two technicians, became hostile, breaking away from his escort. One of the technicians managed to hold on long enough for the man to throw him the length of the room and into a filing cabinet. The technician did not get up.
Free, the man howled like an untamed beast and began tearing the gown he wore to shreds. The other technician hesitated, then closed in on the crazed man. The pitiful creature let out a cry of bleak despair as his eyes filled with golden light.
The sickeningly wet sound of bones snapping could be heard as the man’s chest suddenly jutted forward to an impossible degree. Thick knots appeared in his arms and legs, his muscles bulging and receding like some fleshy accordion. When the knots appeared on his face, he fell to the floor writhing in pain.
“I need tranquilizers! Fast!” the technician screamed.
The two guards at the lab entrance rushed over and began firing darts into the man. After a moment he lay still.
Silverman was horrified. Never, not any nightmare or horror movie, had he seen such a spectacle. He glanced to the exit. It seemed most inviting now.
“Professor Silverman? Tom?” It was Thorpe, grabbing him by the arm.
“Ye-yes?”
“This way, Professor,” said Thorpe, indicating the door where Voss had disappeared.
Still in shock, Silverman let Thorpe lead him to the doorway then guide him to a chair inside. Thorpe then took a seat opposite him.
Voss, apparently unimpressed with the events in the lab, was casually sitting behind his desk, smoking a cigarette. He took another puff, then put it out.
“Quite a little display out there tonight,” he said.
Silverman wiped the sweat from his forehead. His hands were shaking uncontrollably and he had a thick bile taste in the back of his throat. “Th-that happen a lot?” he asked.
“No, we usually keep them under control,” Voss replied.
“Who was he?”
“His identity isn’t important. The fact that we got him under control is.”
Silverman didn’t care for Voss’s casual manner. That man was in terrible pain and he sat there like it didn’t happen. The professor didn’t know what was going on here, but he did know one thing—he didn’t like Philip Voss.
Smith stood and stretched. He glanced at the video monitors, yawned, then said, “Guess I better make one more round before shift change.”
“Yeah, you do that. Maybe that’ll keep you awake,” Millwood said, sarcastically.
Smith buckled on his pistol belt, checked that his flashlight, weapon, and keys were secure, then headed for the door.
From his seat at the control desk, Millwood said, “Don’t get too friendly with your girlfriend.”
“I won’t,” said Smith, with a sheepish grin.
Millwood punched in the code that deactivated the alarms as Smith pressed the air lock release and stepped into the corridor. The ward was deathly silent, Smith’s echoing footsteps the only sound audible. Strange, he thought. Every other time he’d made his rounds, the prisoners had stuck their hands through the eye level slits in the doors and pleaded for release. This time they seemed content to wallow in their own self-pity.
He pulled the flashlight from his belt and splayed the beam across the slits, briefly catching golden flecks of light as they receded deeper into the darkness. Despite being on the detail of guarding the wing, Smith had never actually seen one of the prisoners, other than their hands or eyes. They were brought in through a separate entrance at the other end of the hall and placed in the cells at Dr. Voss’s direction. In his mind’s eye, he pictured hideously deformed people, shunned by all who saw them, and cursed to spend the rest of their days in darkness.
Smith reached the third set of cells and paused. The chamber to the right held the woman who Millwood had referred to as his girlfriend. She was the only exception to Smith’s wild fantasies about hunch-backed sub-humans. He pictured her instead as a voluptuous beauty whose paperwork somehow got screwed up and was placed in the wrong shipment. He had spoken with her briefly on several occasions, nothing beyond normal chitchat, but he felt a bond with her.
“Serena?” Smith whispered.
No answer came from the cell.
“Serena?” he called again.
“Yes,” a sweet voice answered.
“Did I wake you?”
“No, I was just lying here.”
Smith stepped closer to the door. “How are you?” he asked.
“As well as can be expected, considering where I am. Can you move a little closer? I can barely hear you.”
Smith looked around, then inched a little closer.
Millwood’s head lolled forward, drowsiness overtaking him. As his chin touched his chest, his head popped back up. He tried to shake the tiredness off. Glancing at the monitor overlooking the hallway, he saw Smith shining his flashlight into the cells. Pissing the prisoners off as usual. Millwood’s eyelids grew heavy, his head slowly settled on his right shoulder. He watched as Smith stopped at one of the cells, then drifted off to sleep.
Smith halted just beyond the where the motion detectors began. “Can you hear me now?” he asked.
“Better, just a little closer?”
Smith hesitated. Dr. Voss had strictly forbidden anyone from communicating with the prisoners. He’d also said that Serena was dangerous and should be handled with extreme caution. Smith didn’t believe it. After all, Voss was a nut case.
“Don’t be afraid,” said Serena.
Serena’s statement had a profound effect on Smith. His pride getting the better of him, he boldly stepped half the distance to the cell door, out of the monitor's view. I’m not afraid of a woman or that asshole Voss, he thought.
“Is that better?” he asked, a bit more forcefully than he wanted.
“Yes, perfect,” Serena replied, two beautiful green eyes appearing at the opening. The cheerful look in her eyes told Smith she was smiling behind the door.
“Serena, why are you in here?” he asked.
The mirth in her gaze quickly faded, replaced with one of remorse.
“I…” she hesitated as though searching for the right words. “I made a mistake and this is my punishment.”
“It must have been big for you to end up in here.”
“Yes, I guess trusting the government is a huge mistake,” said Serena, more to herself than Smith.
“What was that?”
“Never mind. You’re looking well. Been working out?” she said, quickly changing the subject.
Smith blushed. “No, not really,” he said with a grin.
An uncomfortable silence settled over them.
“Jay?” Serena said, calling him by his first name.
“Uh-huh.”
“Can I ask a favor of you?”
“If it’s within reason, sure.”
“Would you…no, forget it.” Serena turned away from the door and disappeared into the darkness.
“What?” Smith asked, inquisitively, stepping a little closer.
“Never mind. It’s too embarrassing,” said Serena, from somewhere in the shadows.
“Come on, you can tell me,” said Smith. He knew she was a little flaky and was worried she might cut their conversation short as she’d done in the past.
“Well, it’s just that I haven’t been with a man in quite awhile. You know? I was wondering if I could touch your face.”
Smith felt a burning in his stomach. He was surprised by the request and excited.
“No. I’m sorry. I can’t,” Smith replied, somewhat crestfallen.
“ I understand. You probably wouldn’t want to get close to someone like me.”
“Yes I would, I really would.”
Serena appeared at the slit again, her eyes registering hope. “Maybe just a quick touch then?”
“I don’t know,” said Smith, glancing around nervously.
“Come on, I won’t bite,” she said with a seductive giggle.
“Well…”
“Just let me touch your cheek. Nobody will know.” Serena’s voice echoed in Smith’s head. Everything else became nonexistent.
“Come on, Jay, real quick, no one will know.” The alluring inflection of her voice was now a siren song, promising pleasures beyond any tawdry fantasy he could imagine. Smith was genuinely beguiled.
Serena’s sensual lips appeared at the slit in the door, succulent rosy beacons that longed to be moistened by his.
“Yeah, real quick,” said Smith, mesmerized. He leaned forward.
“Just let me touch you, Jay. Come on.”
Her lips were mere inches from his. He could feel her breath on his face, almost taste the sweetness of her mouth.
“Yes,” he said.
Suddenly, a hairy, gnarled hand shot through the opening, grasping Smith’s throat in a vise-like grip. Searing pain shot through his body as thick black talons sank into his flesh. Smith tried desperately to push away, using the wall as leverage, but Serena held on tight. He made an attempt to yell, but with his larynx being crushed he only managed a gasp. Hot blood filled his mouth, cutting off what little oxygen he got. Then Smith heard a snap. His neck was broken. The last sight he saw were two malevolent golden eyes glaring at him from the opening in the door. Then darkness.
Serena lifted Smith’s limp body, the bones in her arm reforming to her will. It had taken her awhile to realize her new body’s capabilities and even longer to master them. She had experimented every day until she was confident she was ready to put her plan into action. The modification of bone and muscle required extreme concentration and an iron will—mainly because it hurt like hell.
While talking to Smith, she’d carefully reshaped her right arm. The painstaking process almost caused her to cry out several times, but her longing for freedom had held it in check. After preparing her attack, luring Smith in was simple. Over the past few months she’d hinted to him about her feelings, stringing him alon
g, manipulating his urges.
Her arm extended until Smith’s belt came into view. She could see the key ring. With her free hand she plucked the keys from their clasp, then carefully lowered Smith’s body to the floor, keeping it inside the boundaries of the recess and out of view of the monitors.
Using the elongated arm, she tried one of the keys. It wouldn’t turn. A vicious snarl escaped her. Patience, she thought. She tried another. Wrong again. The cell became uncommonly hot. Sweat trickled down her back. On the third try, she heard the soft click of the tumblers releasing. Serena almost laughed with glee.
Serena slowly pulled the door open, praying the alarm wouldn’t sound. She grabbed Smith’s body and dragged it inside the cell. At the door again, she peered around the corner, the corridor was clear. How long had it been? She thought.
Serena slid around the corner, staying flat against the wall. In her half-form she was silent as a cat.
Suddenly a deep guttural voice came from her right. “Don’t leave us.” Serena swung around. “Be quiet, I have to deal with other one first,” she hissed. The lantern eyes at the cell door said nothing else.
Turning again toward the exit, Serena quickly covered the distance. Upon reaching it, she found that there was no way of opening the door from the inside, short of ripping it from its hinges. To the right, a small red button was affixed to a panel. Serena remembered hearing a metallic buzz before the door opened earlier. With no alternative she pressed the button. The soft buzz sounded. Nothing. She pressed it again.
Millwood dreamed of home. In the dream, he was sitting in his living room watching television. The Vikings were driving down the field and about to score. He sat forward in his chair excited by the drama unfolding on the screen. It was third and goal on the six-yard line, with thirty seconds left in the game. The quarterback dropped back in the pocket. Oh baby, he’s got a man open. He looks. He fires and—buzzzz—was that the doorbell? No, couldn’t be. Buzzzz.
Dire Symbiosis Page 4