Unnatural Selection td-131

by Warren Murphy

  Struggling over his wide belly, he stooped to snatch up the keys.

  THE FETID AIR inside the lockup was thick with the smell of death. Remo and Chiun kept their breathing low. All the cell doors were ajar. The police had thought it safe to put normal prisoners in the lockup as long as they were separate from the more dangerous ones. With the keys taken from the late Officer O'Reilly, the creatures had made a feast not only out of the unlucky young police officer, but out of their fellow prisoners as well.

  Greedy chewing issued from the dank corners of some cells. Sharp snaps came as strong jaws cracked brittle bones.

  As Remo and Chiun made their way from the door, both men sensed hungry eyes tracking their every movement.

  Noses keener than those of mere men fed the scent of fresh prey to watering mouths. Yellow feline eyes stared unblinking from out the shadows.

  "You know the story of Daniel?" Remo whispered as they crept along. The cells opened right and left along the long corridor.

  Chiun nodded. "Yes," he said. "And do not believe every Bible you pick up off the sidewalk."

  A soft growl rose nearby.

  "Sue me for finding comfort in a story where a guy who's tossed to the lions gets out alive."

  "Find comfort in whatever nonsense you wish on your own time," Chiun commanded. "For the moment your unwillingness to accept the obvious has dragged me into this pit, so pay attention."

  No sooner had the old man spoken than Remo felt a sudden displacement of air to his right.

  There were six creatures growling within the nearest cell. As Remo and Chiun passed, one launched from the pack.

  Until that morning, Remo's attacker had been an investment counselor who had spent an hour every night pumping away on a treadmill. The powerful legs his nightly workout had given him launched him from his jail cell bunk. He flew from the dark, fangs bared.

  Outside the open cell door, Remo noted blandly that the man was coming in pretty fast. But for the Reigning Master of the House of Sinanju, pretty fast was not fast enough.

  Remo watched the man come, gauged his speed and-at the last possible moment-slammed the cell door into the lunging creature's head.

  Steel bars went clang, head went crack and the former investment counselor collapsed like a high-tech mutual fund after a lousy fourth-quarter-earnings report.

  Instantly the five other creatures inside the cell surrounded the body. One kicked at the unconscious male with an experimental toe. When he didn't object, the five creatures began to nip and claw. As a pack, they began to tear off his clothes. They were growling and devouring chunks of flesh as Remo turned from the cell door.

  "This might be easier than I thought," he said grimly to the Master of Sinanju.

  His reply came not from Chiun but from farther up the cell block.

  "Don't bet on it, kitten," purred a female voice. Remo glanced over.

  Elizabeth Tiflis stood in shadow two cells away. Her arms were crossed lightly. A knowing smile toyed at the corners of her very red lips.

  There was still a gleam of deep intelligence in the eyes of the Vaunted Press employee, unnerving since it was clear she was something far more savage than man.

  A few feet away from where she stood, six more creatures paced back and forth. Their yellow eyes stared with a predator's malevolence at Remo and Chiun.

  "Who ordered chink food?" one of the females asked, her voice a throaty purr. Her hungry gaze was locked on Chiun.

  "Quiet," Elizabeth commanded.

  She had seen Remo's speed with the cell door. Elizabeth understood they were dealing with something different here. The creature Elizabeth scolded fell silent.

  "Okay, here's the deal," Remo said. "We've had experience with your kind before, and there might be something that can be done to help you. But that doesn't mean we won't stop you if we have to. Now, you're not getting out of here, so why don't you be a nice kitty and get back in your cage?"

  The harshness of Elizabeth's features melted into a malevolent, Cheshire-cat grin.

  "Who says we want help?" she said. "Besides..." Slowly Elizabeth raised her hand. Around her slender index finger jangled the ring of cell-block keys. "You're fast, sweetie," she said. "But I can let them out as quick as you can lock them up."

  This time it was Remo who smiled. "Don't bet on it, kitten."

  But even as he spoke he saw the slight nod from Elizabeth. The creatures behind her took the cue. A symphony of furious growls rolled up from six throats as the animals launched from the floor.

  Unlike Elizabeth, they didn't view the two frail humans standing stock-still on the concrete floor as anything other than an easy meal. Humans were puny. Humans were weak.

  Humans were also-apparently-missing.

  The six pouncing creatures landed in the precise spot where dinner had stood only to find that the two men were no longer there. Curious growls rumbled up six throats.

  When the nearby voice came, sounding like the voice of death itself, the creatures jumped in fear. "The Master of Sinanju is not a meal, lowly beasts."

  The pack wheeled. Chiun was there, already moving.

  The old Korean grabbed two creatures by the scruffs of their necks and hurled them deep into an open cell. They tumbled in a heap of limbs onto a bunk.

  "Make that Masters," said Remo, who was suddenly among the pack. A pair of elbows found two soft bellies. With a violent expulsion of vile breath, two more creatures flew into the cell, knocking back the first pair, which had scurried to their feet and were heading back for the door.

  "Score two for the great white hunter," Remo said. Panicked now, the final two attacked blindly. Jaws snapped viciously, teeth eager to tear flesh.

  They chomped down on empty air.

  And while their teeth clicked futilely and their bellies grumbled disappointment, the final two creatures felt a sudden jolting pressure to their chests.

  They didn't see Remo's and Chiun's feet fly out. They only knew that one moment they had been charging; the next they were airborne.

  Howling in rage, the last pair soared inside the cell, knocking over the first four, who were still in the process of scampering to their feet. Outside, Remo slammed the cage door shut. A paw tried to snatch at him through the bars.

  "See?" Remo said, hopping clear of the swiping hand. "Only pantywaists use whips and chairs." Chiun was already moving swiftly away from Remo.

  "Hurry up, Great White Lunkhead," the old Asian snapped.

  He bounded from cell to cell, yanking doors shut. Remo raced along the other side of the block. Until then most of the creatures had remained in their cells, feeding hungrily on the unfortunate junkies, rapists and run-of-the mill murderers who'd had the misfortune of being arrested that day. None had been concerned with the two strangers, assuming they could be picked off easily at their leisure. But the clanging cage doors brought sudden realization. Roaring in anger, the beasts in human form abandoned gutted corpses, bounding across cells.

  Too late. As the last of the creatures skidded to a frustrated stop, Remo and Chiun slammed the final two doors.

  Snarls and howls of rage filled the cell block. Remo scanned the last few cells for one face in particular. As he feared, Elizabeth Tiflis was nowhere to be seen.

  "Where'd the one with the keys go?" he asked. As he spoke, panicked shouting suddenly erupted from the far end of the lockup. Gunfire rattled through the station house.

  "This way," Chiun insisted.

  The two men flew toward the disturbance.

  A second door was around a sharp corner at the far end of a row of empty cages. When they turned the corner, Remo found that he and Chiun had not been entirely successful.

  The door had been wrenched open. While the keys worked for the cells, the doors to the outside could only be opened from without. While Remo and Chiun had fought the rest, others had apparently been jimmying open the lockup door.

  When Remo and Chiun exploded through the cellblock door, a dozen guns aimed their way.
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  Sergeant Simon stood with a SWAT team. He was panting and red-faced from his sprint through the precinct house.

  "Are they after you?" Simon yelled.

  "They're locked up," Remo snapped. "How many escaped?"

  Simon didn't hear him. By the look on his face, Sergeant Simon was certain Remo and Chiun wouldn't be alone. Anxious eyes awaited the creatures that had to be chasing down the two FBI men. But no one appeared behind them.

  "Where are they?" Simon asked.

  "I told you, locked up. How many- Hey, Gunther Toody, will you knock it off and listen?"

  Sergeant Simon was listening. Angry howls came from inside the cell block. But they sounded far back. The SWAT team was already streaming past Remo, Chiun and Simon. They darted into the dank cell block.

  "How many got out?" Remo pressed.

  "Five," Simon panted. Numbly he holstered his gun.

  The police had sustained casualties. Two men lay dead. A third was sprawled on the stairs, a row of vicious raking gashes across his chest. He groaned in pain as others tended his wounds, awaiting the arrival of paramedics.

  "They could be anywhere by now," Remo said. "I guess we'll have to let the cops track them down again."

  Beside him, the old Korean frowned somberly. "Perhaps," he said, stroking his thread of beard. "Do you not find it odd, Remo, that some chose to fill their bellies while others schemed to flee?"

  "What am I now, the frigging Crocodile Hunter? Some eat, some run. It's what animals do. What?" He could see his teacher was giving him that look. The "Remo, you're an idiot" look. But try as he might, Remo could not see what he'd said to deserve that look. And the fact that he couldn't see why he was an idiot, and the fact that Chiun could plainly see that Remo couldn't see why he was an idiot, only acted to further cement the expression of irritation on the wizened Asian's face.

  "Animals flee as one and eat as one," the old Korean droned.

  "And mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy," Remo said. "So what? Hey, where are you going?"

  The Master of Sinanju had turned away. Shaking his head in annoyance, he padded up the stairs. "What did I not get?" Remo demanded of Sergeant Simon.

  Jimmy Simon was staring down through the open cell-block door. Jungle roars echoed from out the darkness.

  "Huh?" the police officer asked.

  "Forget it," Remo sighed. "I need a phone." Feet heavy, he climbed the stairs after the Master of Sinanju.

  Chapter 9

  Mankind was destined for extinction.

  No matter what bad human poets said, the end for mankind would not come with either fire or ice. There would be no deep comet impacts or continent-sized holocausts. No massive gravitational or tectonic shifts to alter the geography of the planet over which he lorded his supremacy. Man's Earth would not be swallowed by a massive solar flare or turned inside out by cosmic collision with a spiraling black hole.

  The ecologists who perpetuated the pollution myth would be proved wrong.

  The climatologists would be mistaken about the bogeyman of global warming.

  Even the entomologists and botanists who were predicting lower and lower crop yields with resultant mass starvation due to a dwindling population of pollinating insects would be proved wrong.

  In the end, the thing that would doom mankind was something so small it couldn't be perceived by the naked eye. Mankind would be undone by his own vaunted technology.

  The ultimate irony for a species that more and more valued science over nature.

  The species that was Man would die out because the first female of the species that would supersede mankind as lord of the Earth wished it to be so.

  While thinking thoughts of the end of human history, Dr. Judith White used her sharp white teeth to tug the stopper from the mouth of the test tube.

  The open end exposed a textured black rubber ball. With long fingernails, she delicately withdrew the eyedropper, careful not to lose a single drop of the brownish liquid that hung from its glass tip. With her middle finger, she tapped the hanging droplets back into the tube.

  A charcoal filter rested in a shallow pan of water on the desk before her. With great care, she brought the dropper over the pan and gently squeezed the plunger.

  Ten fat droplets of the brown solution plopped into the clear liquid in the pan. The pure Lubec Spring water darkened a deep brown.

  Judith quickly replaced the dropper in the test tube, clamping the stopper back in place. Slipping the tube in her jacket pocket, she lifted the pan by the edges. With gentle movements, she swished the dark water around.

  When she was satisfied that the compound had dissipated, she placed the pan back on the desk. She stood.

  "Let it sit for an hour, then reinstall it," she ordered.

  Standing before the desk, Owen Grude nodded understanding. "I think I can handle this now," he offered. "I've seen you do it dozens of times."

  Owen was fidgeting. Agitated. As if at any moment he might try to spring in two directions at once. Judith White had seen this sort of behavior in her young before. The cubs always had so much energy. She shook her head firmly. "This is too critical. The filters have to be treated hourly. You're still a cub. At this stage stomach will always come before duty."

  As if on cue, the quiet growl of Owen's rumbling stomach filled the room.

  "Sorry," he apologized.

  He was still trying to control his animal urges. But it was now against his nature.

  Of course, Judith did not allow her base instincts to consume her. She had mastered both body and mind-harnessed them into a single, perfect being.

  She could summon human intellect when it served her. She had the ability to squelch animal desire. And when it suited her, she could act on instinct better than any creature on the face of the planet.

  She alone of all the beasts to ever walk and crawl and swim and run across the Earth had attained utter perfection.

  Before her, Owen Grude shifted uncomfortably. He was trying so hard to be strong. But the urges at this stage were nearly overwhelming. Owen had a long way to go before he attained the perfection of Dr. Judith White. But perfection was on the way. Not that Owen or any of the other new mongrels would be around long enough to witness it.

  "You have a little time before this is ready. Go feed," Judith commanded.

  Owen didn't need to be told a second time. Spinning on his heel, he prowled out of the office. Once she was alone, Judith crossed over to a small, two-drawer filing cabinet. Beside it was a pair of pebbled black cases. She lifted one of the cases, setting it on a computer table below a long picture window. The softly sighing conifers of the deep Maine woods were framed in the window. The beauty of the scenery had no meaning to Judith White.

  Fingering the silver tabs on the case, she popped open the lid.

  Inside was lined with the gray peaks and valleys of special packing foam. Large glass vials were lined up neatly on the egg-carton foam. There were now as many empty as full. Slipping the test tube carefully from her pocket, she set it delicately in its own recessed compartment.

  There was a reason why she would not allow Owen or anyone else to handle the formula. There was simply no way she would ever entrust something so important with one of the others. The compound had to be measured just so.

  Too little would take too long to affect the humans, if it worked at all. Too much would be a waste. The process would be accelerated to two seconds from fifteen.

  And at the moment she didn't want to waste a drop. She could have more made, but it would disrupt her plan, which at the moment was proceeding precisely on schedule.

  The intellectual part of her that remained knew that the odds were increasing in her favor with every passing hour.

  "It's nothing personal, mankind," she growled to the whispering woods. "Just survival of the fittest." Purring, Judith White slapped shut the case lid.

  Chapter 10

  Dr. Harold W. Smith felt good.

  For most peop
le, feeling good was a normal sensation. Oh, sometimes it was fleeting, sometimes it lingered, but for the world at large it wasn't terribly unusual to simply feel good. But for the director of the secret agency CURE, feeling good was a strange, alien sensation.

  A dour, lemony man, Smith's moods generally ran the gamut from mildly concerned to deeply anxious. Sometimes he was peevish; very rarely he was angry. At times-when his country or agency was threatened-there were moments of full-blown panic or, more likely, steadfast resolve.

  Feeling good was definitely not part of his normal emotional repertoire. So on this day, as he steered his car onto the street on which he had lived for the past forty years, he resolved to savor the sensation.

  Smith parked his rusted old station wagon in the driveway of his Rye, New York, home. He grabbed his battered leather briefcase from the seat beside him. After locking the briefcase in the back compartment alongside the spare tire, he headed up the front walk.

  His wife had heard the sound of the car pulling in the driveway. She was at the front door to meet him. "Hello, Harold," Maude Smith said. She was wiping her hands dry on a well-worn dishrag. Mrs. Smith had been in the process of scrubbing the old copper pots that had been a wedding gift from her longdeceased mother.

  "Hello, dear," Smith said, giving the plump woman a peck on the cheek. He headed upstairs. Smith generally stayed at work from before sunup until well after sundown. Seeing Harold home at any other time of day would ordinarily be cause of great concern to Mrs. Smith. But although it was only eleven o'clock in the morning, his wife had not been surprised to see her Harold today.

  Smith had told her he would be home at this time. And since he said it, she was confident he would come. Maude's Harold was nothing if not reliable.

  In the upstairs bedroom, Smith found his special clothes folded on a chair just where he'd left them. His normal uniform was a three-piece gray suit, which he wore now. Smith changed out of the suit, hanging it carefully in the closet next to six other identical suits. He pulled on the powder-blue longsleeved jersey and green plaid pants. There were some fabric pills on the shirt. Smith plucked them off, depositing them in the trash.