Belgium picked up a chair and swatted at them, knocking several out of the air. When they fell he picked up his knees and stomped marching band-style, crushing them with his heels.
One managed to escape the stomping, and hopped over to Sun’s hiding place.
Damn it, Sun, move! her mind screamed.
But her body didn’t listen.
The batling jumped up onto her shoulder. It’s maw stretched open, bloody drool leaking down its chin.
MOVE!
But she didn’t.
The demon bit into Sun’s shoulder, hitting a nerve, doubling her over.
The pain galvanized her. Sun clenched the batling in her fist, feeling the pointy little bones snap under the pressure. She threw it aside and scrambled out from under the desk.
Fear be damned, she was ready to fight.
The demons saw a new victim and swarmed.
Sun grabbed a computer keyboard, yanked it free, and began to whack batlings left and right. But for each one she hit, ten hit her. The pain came from everywhere at once, pain like gigantic bee stings, sharp and burning. Nipping at her arms and back. Going for her eyes.
They’re eating me alive, Sun thought
Something bit into her ear and she smashed it against the side of her face. Another became tangled in her hair, clawing and gnawing at her head. She pulled it off, taking some hair with it.
Bub’s giggling filled the room—a disturbing sound like a small child being tickled.
Sun could no longer see. Her torn scalp bled down into her eyes, burning like salt water. She wiped a sleeve across her face and saw a figure fall to his knees, covered with batlings.
Andy.
In four steps she was at his side, rearing back the keyboard, smashing it against his chest. Eight batlings dropped off. She repeated the move with his back, putting all of her strength into the blow.
It probably hurt, but not as much as being eaten alive.
The demons she killed were quickly replaced by others, covering Andy like a fur coat.
This is futile, Sun realized. We’re all going to die.
Which really pissed Sun off. She tried to block out some of the panic and think. They couldn’t hide, or get away. Killing them one at a time was too slow. What did she know about bats? They were nocturnal, they used radar to navigate, they were eaten by hawks, they hibernate when it gets cold…
“Cold,” Sun said aloud.
At the far end of the Octopus was a fire extinguisher. Sun beelined for it, tossing the keyboard aside. The extinguisher was a big one, at least sixty pounds, and the fire engine red color meant it was filled with carbon dioxide. She yanked it from the wall housing and pulled the pin.
In one hand, she grabbed the funnel cone and aimed at the cloud of batlings. With the other, she pulled the trigger.
A spray of sub-zero CO2 burst from the nozzle with an explosive SHHUSSH sound, freezing batlings as they flew. They dropped from the air, covered in frost. When they hit the ground they twitched and flopped around in a stupor.
“Cover your eyes!” she yelled at Andy before giving him a healthy spritz of healing cold. She then zapped Dr. Belgium, who had curled up into a fetal position near the Purple door.
“Help me! Kill the ones on the floor!”
Frank and Andy began to step on the fallen batlings, while Sun tracked down the remaining few still circling the Octopus. She ran out of CO2 with only one demon remaining, and she managed to swat that out of the sky with a clipboard.
When the last batling had been crushed underfoot, the childhood giggling began again.
Bub.
The demon clapped his hands in glee, his lips peeling back and his tongue obscenely bathing his own face.
Sun ignored the demon and went to Andy, who looked like he’d dipped his head in a bucket of red paint.
“You’re hurt,” she said.
“So are you.” He touched her cheek.
“Let me help you first.”
She sat Andy down and saw most of the blood was coming from two major wounds; one on his nose, and one on his scalp. She found a box of tissue in a desk drawer and gave him a handful to press against his face.
The head wound was worse—a four inch gash that went down deep.
“You need stitches.”
“Got a sewing kit handy?”
“No. But do you trust me?”
Andy offered a lame smile through the wad of bloody Kleenex. “Of course.”
Sun took a stapler off the desk.
“You’re kidding,” Andy said.
“Watch carefully. You’ll have to do me next.”
She opened up the stapler and pinched the edges of Andy’s wound closed. Then she lined it up and pushed down, hard.
CHHHH-CHHHHK.
“Ow!”
“Only three or four more.”
Dr. Belgium wandered over. He’d wrapped his lab coat around his head, like a giant red and white turban.
“Me next,” he said.
Sun had to put six more staples into Andy’s head, and then three into Frank’s.
“Thank you for stapling my head,” Frank said.
“You’re welcome.”
When she finished, she handed the bloody stapler to Andy.
“Press down firm, to anchor them into bone.”
“You and your sweet talk.”
Sun sat and closed her eyes while Andy patched up the wound on her head. She reached up a hand and gingerly felt his work.
“Not bad,” she told him.
Andy looked like he’d been in a hockey fight, but he smiled shyly. Sun had a sudden urge to hug him, but didn’t want to hurt him any more than he already was.
“The doors are all closed,” Belgium said, looking around the room.
“What did you say, Frank?”
“All the doors in the Octopus. That means those bat things were contained. We wouldn’t want any getting out and hurting anyone else.”
“That wouldn’t be good,” Sun agreed.
“And speaking of anyone else—where where where is Dr. Harker?”
Dr. Julie Harker had been bathing her new daughter in the sink when she heard the voice over the intercom.
“Attention, this is Race. Everyone meet in the Octopus for immediate evacuation. Repeat, everyone meet in the Octopus, we’re all getting out of here. Move your asses, people.”
Harker frowned at the news. Evacuation. Bub must have gotten out.
“No need to rush.” Harker squeezed the sponge over Shirley’s head, rinsing the shampoo from her hair. The water was pink with the blood from Shirley’s creation.
Birth, Harker corrected herself. Shirley had been born today.
“Happy birthday to you,” Harker sang.
She wrapped Shirley in a bath towel and carried her to the bed.
“Mama needs to find a diaper for her Shirley, yes she does. Maybe an old sheet? What do you think, Shirley?”
Harker located a pillow case, and wrapped it expertly around Shirley’s bottom, securing it with three paper clips.
“There you are. Your first diaper.”
Harker smiled. There would be many more firsts. The first pee-pee and poo-poo. The first nap. The first steps. The first words. A whole lifetime of firsts to share together.
“How’s my little girl?”
Shirley gurgled, and Harker’s heart melted. She was so beautiful. So perfect. Harker wanted to savor this moment, to make it last, but she knew she had to hurry. Shirley was just small enough that she could fit in Harker’s suitcase. There was a good chance Harker could get her out of here without anyone knowing.
Julie set the baby down and searched the closet for her old luggage, coming out with a carry-on bag. Punch in a few airholes, and it should work fine.
“Perfect,” she smiled. “Now let’s dry you off.”
Harker put the towel over Shirley’s head and rubbed.
Shirley snarled, low and hoarse, making Harker jump back.
Her
daughter stared at her, deep blue eyes burning with hate.
Harker yelped.
Shirley no longer had a face. Harker looked at the towel in her hand and saw her daughter’s scalp.
She’d torn it off.
“No. No no no. Oh my, oh my…”
Shirley hissed at her, a glistening red skull. She stretched her mouth wide to cry and Harker noticed she was growing teeth. They breached her gums with alarming speed, long and narrow and impossibly sharp.
“Oh my Shirley…”
Shirley hissed at her. Her tiny body began to swell, tripling in size. Greasy fur sprouted all over her skin. Her shoulder blades jutted out in points, and her head inflated like a balloon, crackling as the skull bones separated, her eyes bulging out and changing from blue to milky white.
Harker felt faint. She turned to run for the door, but something wrapped around her ankle. Something sharp, that dug deep into the bone.
“MaaaaaaMaaaaaa,” Shirley said.
The pain was unreal. Harker screamed. She continued to scream as Shirley pulled herself toward her mother, her giant mouth snapping like a bear trap, getting closer and closer until—
SNAP!
The teeth closed on Harker’s foot.
A symphony of agony thundered through Harker’s nervous system.
Harker kicked with all of her might. She punched like a crazy woman. But Shirley hung on, continuing to chew.
Before Harker passed out, an ironic thought passed through her mind.
This is Shirley’s first meal.
• • •
She woke up sometime later. There was no more pain in her foot. Harker quickly realized that was because most of her leg was gone.
Her daughter was perched on the bed, eyes closed. She no longer resembled anything human. Shirley had six legs. She was pale white, with clawed feet and a body like a fat lizard. Her oversized head was crammed full of teeth, and they jutted from her closed mouth like fondue forks.
On the end of one, Harker spotted her skewered big toe.
Harker bit her lower lip to keep from screaming again. Shirley appeared to be asleep. Maybe she still had a chance to make it out of there alive.
She looked around the room. The phone was on the nearby dresser, but talking might wake the creature. Instead, she twisted toward the door, only a few feet away.
Harker pulled herself along the soggy carpet, using her arms and her remaining leg. She felt no fear. She was remote, detached from the situation. And cold. So cold.
I’m going into shock, she thought, shivering. The edges of her world began to blur and slip away. She bit the inside of her cheek to stay awake.
Almost there. Just a little more.
She made it!
Julie reached up at the door knob, turning… turning…
“MaaaaaMaaaaaa.”
Harker screamed as Shirley sprung from the bed, scurrying over to her on many legs.
The demon climbed atop Harker and hissed.
“All I wanted was to love you,” Harker moaned.
Shirley began to eat again. Harker closed her eyes, unable to put up a fight. She gave in to shock, grateful that the cold was overtaking her.
At least she wouldn’t feel any pain anymore.
As it turned out, Harker was able to feel more pain. For quite some time, in fact.
Andy leaned back in a chair, doing his best to fight exhaustion and one whopper of a headache. A search of the desk drawers had uncovered a bottle of Tylenol. They all took several. They hadn’t found any water, and Andy felt like the tablets were still caught in his throat.
“How long can Bub go without food?” he asked Sun.
“I don’t know.”
“I’m immoooooortal,” Bub answered through the bars of the titanium gate. The demon giggled again, making all the hair on Andy’s body stand on end.
“In his claws!” Dr. Belgium shouted, springing to his feet. He’d been scrutinizing one of the squashed little demons. “Yes yes yes. The sheep’s leg had a puncture wound. I didn’t know where it came from. But now I know.”
“Know what, Frank?”
Andy and Sun came over and looked. Belgium spread the claw open, and a tiny needle came out the center of the palm. When he released the pressure, the needle retracted.
“How Bub reproduces. No sex organs. When he fixed Helen and brought the sheep back to life, he touched them with his talons.”
Sun said, “Go on.”
“Bub uses the syringe in his palm to inject organic matter with some kind of serum, something probably containing hormones and enzymes. This serum can restructure DNA; restriction enzymes cut the DNA up, then it’s put back into any order Bub wants it to be in. Maybe he uses a virus, or a retro virus, to take over the cells operating machinery—that’s how we splice genes—and then during mitosis the cells change into whatever Bub preprograms.”
“That’s how Helen changed into that monster.” Sun said, nodding. “And how Rabbi Shotzen became those batlings.”
“Right right right. Remember, humans are 90 percent intron genes—genes that don’t code for protein. But they could be cut up with enzymes and patched back together so they can code for protein. There’s a wealth of raw material in DNA, if it could only be activated by enzymes or hormones.”
“That could also explain Bub’s rapid healing abilities, and why he doesn’t age,” Sun agreed.
“He can program his own DNA to heal itself.”
“So why are the batlings so easy to kill?” Andy asked. “Why can’t they heal themselves?”
Belgium shrugged. “Not mature enough yet. Their systems haven’t fully developed. They’re a generation removed from the host. I’m not sure. But there’s a scientific explanation.”
Andy stared at Bub and scowled. “Not a miracle at all.”
Bub growled, his eyes becoming malevolent yellow slits.
“Did you get a work-up of the proteins involved?” Sun asked Belgium.
“Not yet. Didn’t have time.”
“How about the mitochondrial DNA?”
“Hmm? Oh, that. Yes yes yes. The Short Tandem Repeat got a hit on that.”
“And…?” Sun asked.
“His mitochondria encompassed 70 percent of the genome for Methanococcus jannaschii. An archaean.”
Andy blinked. “I speak thirty languages, and I don’t know what the hell you just said.”
“It’s a microscopic life form,” Sun answered. “It isn’t quite a bacteria, isn’t quite a plant or animal, and probably predates both, making it one of the oldest and maybe the first life forms on earth.”
“Archaea is an extremophile,” Dr. Belgium added. “It’s found in some of the harshest areas on the planet. It thrives in boiling water, in geysers, near black smokers at the bottom of the ocean, in extremely salty brines. We’ve also discovered archaea that live in rock, more than a mile deep in the earth’s crust. Think of it, bacteria living in solid stone.”
The scientist began to pace around the room.
“Archaea can also withstand below freezing temperatures. It doesn’t need oxygen. Many archeaens are autotrophic; they get their energy from inorganic sources; iron, sulfur, hydrogen. It’s suspected that there may be archaea on Mars, or on Callisto, a moon of Jupiter. Because it can survive in extreme environments, scientists expect archeae to be the first alien life form found in the universe.”
Belgium stopped pacing, and his eyes got very big.
“What is it, Frank?” Sun asked.
“Panspermia!” the biologist exclaimed. “Francis Crick!”
Belgium began to pace, eyes wide with excitement. “Crick won the Nobel Prize for discovering the structure of DNA. He had an idea called directed panspermia. What if an alien race shielded a microbe in some kind of spaceship and sent it to all corners of the galaxy, where it was likely to grow? Crick postulated it could be how life on earth began. It was planted here.”
Sun said, “If archaea was the first life form on earth, and it
didn’t need oxygen—”
“Which is exactly what earth’s early environment was like, no oxygen,” Belgium interrupted.
“—it could have hitched a ride here in a meteorite made of iron, which would not only be a food source but also protect if from radiation. It could survive the deep cold of space—”
“Archaea has been found in five million year old Siberian permafrost,” Belgium exclaimed.
“—and it could also survive the tremendous heat when it entered the earth’s atmosphere. So if Bub has archaea in his genes…”
They all looked at the demon. Bub grinned wide and giggled.
“I created yoooooooou,” the demon cooed. “I’m yoooooour god.”
Andy was slack-jawed. He noticed similar expressions on his companions.
“This isn’t happening.” Andy shook his head. “Life on earth isn’t some garden planted by this bastard.”
“It’s truuuuuuuuue.”
Sun said, “So where’s your spaceship?”
“Einstein proved interstellar travel was impossible,” Dr. Belgium concurred. “The nearest star is more than twenty four trillion miles away. That’s over four years travel if you were moving at light speed, 186,000 miles a second, and light speed is impossible to attain. The faster an object moves, the heavier it becomes.”
Bub didn’t answer.
“His capsule,” Sun said, snapping her fingers. “It had iridium in it.”
Belgium gasped. “Oh my goodness.”
Andy asked, “Iridium? What’s that?”
“It’s not commonly found on earth. But it’s abundant in meteorites, or other objects that come from space.”
“That gray thing is a spaceship?” Andy said, incredulous.
Sun put a hand on his arm. “Did you figure out the Egyptian glyphs?”
Andy’s shoulders slumped. He rubbed his eyes.
“Yeah. They told the story of a god who fell from the sky and helped them build the pyramids.” The linguist shook his head. “I don’t believe this.”
“So all that talk of God,” Sun said to Bub, “of heaven and Jesus and fallen angels. That was all bullshit?”
“Fraaaaaank gave me Inteeeeernet access.”
Andy shot Belgium a look. The scientist seemed to shrink.
J.A. Konrath / Jack Kilborn Trilogy - Three Scary Thriller Novels (Origin, The List, Haunted House) Page 19