Coven
Page 31
“Wrong, brushhead. This is where you get out.”
“I—hey!”
Lydia shoved her out of the car. She landed on her rump.
“You can’t steal my car!” she wailed.
“Sure I can.” Lydia slid behind the wheel and slammed the door.
“Hey!”
“Shut up,” Lydia said. God, she hated girls who whined. “And fix your hair.” She jammed the gas and sped for Campus Drive.
««—»»
Professor Besser was a sight. Blubbering like a baby, he hopped down the servicepass. The .357 slug had exploded in his knee. Each time he fell down, he bellowed. But he had to get out. Any death was preferable to dying in the labyrinth. He would either be fed into the sustenanceprocessor or consigned to the communal holds where his rectum would prove a most welcome entertainment to the holotypes.
Mother! he thought.
Even the slightest weight on his bad leg sent bolts of pain up his spine. The shattered joint crunched like broken glass. He should have been wearing diapers, for all the crying and pants wetting. Oops. Here came a big number two now, to add to the disgrace. In truth, that’s all Besser was and ever would be: a three hundred pound pants pissing and shitting baby. Terror had a way of bringing out the best in a man.
“Mother!” he rejoiced. He could smell his own shit. But this was too good to be true!
The mindsign, though very weakly now, glowed its promise: POINTACCESSMAIN#1.
Besser crawled forward, blubbering. He took a deep breath, raised his key, and plugged it into the extromitter.
When he was out of the labyrinth, he found himself not in the safety of his office, nor the student shop, but in the grove. His eyes bulged.
—
CHAPTER 41
Wade sat up on the table, looking down at the dismembered torso of his friend. Jervis inclined his head up and smiled.
Wade assessed the agenda as thus:
1) It was now 11:35 P.M.
2) At 11:55 P.M., recharge would occur, whatever that was.
3) At midnight, the labyrinth would take off.
4) At one minute after midnight, the bomb would detonate and wipe out the entire campus and town.
5) Wade didn’t know where the bomb was.
6) Jervis wasn’t going to tell him.
Beautiful, Wade thought.
Next he assessed the obvious yet elusive elements of evil involved. (1) The labyrinth was a spaceship/genetic engineering factory that would someday return to earth and repopulate it with mindless integrated slaves optimally hybridized from various life forms. (2) The Supremate ran the show. (3) The Supremate enlisted certain natives—i.e., Tom, Jervis, Winnie, Besser—to assist in specimen procurements. (4) The Supremate was evil.
But evil was relative, wasn’t it? Certain people gave their allegiance to evil for certain reasons. Some of these reasons were voluntary. Besser and Winnifred, for instance, had sided with evil through their own greed. But Tom and Jervis had gone over involuntarily, which meant that their loyalties must be maintained by control.
Evil, Wade thought. Control.
He glanced at Jervis. “You’re not evil. Neither was Tom.”
“There’s no such thing as evil,” replied the head affixed to Jervis’ limbless torso. “There’s only idealism and reality. What joins the two together isn’t evil, Wade. It’s perfection.”
Hadn’t countless presidential candidates made the same assertion, as well as countless monarchs?
“All I know,” Wade speculated, “is that a couple of days ago, you were a good person. Now you’re evil. I want to know why.”
Jervis gushed laughter. It had—yes—an evil ring to it.
Wade hopped off the table. “It’s that thing, isn’t it? That thing they put in your head.”
Jervis stopped laughing.
“What would happen,” Wade wondered, “if I pulled it out?”
“Get away from me!” Jervis shouted. His torso was suddenly shrugging, rocking, inching back. “Stay the fuck away!”
“That’s it, right? If I take it out, you won’t be evil anymore.”
“I’ll die!”
“You know what I think, Jerv? I think you want to tell me where the bomb is. You want to tell me how to defuse it. Except that thing in your head won’t let you.”
“Don’t, Wade! Please don’t!” the torso yelled.
Wade grabbed the small black knob in Jervis’s head. It was about the size of a marble, and it was warm.
As he pulled, Jervis screamed.
The torso went stiff. The head arched back, mouth locked open in an unbroken howl of pain. The transceptionrod didn’t come easy; it creaked out a little at a time, like twisting a nail out of old wood. Two inches, then three, four, five. Finally, at the sixth inch, the rod came out.
Jervis’ head and torso fell still.
Wade threw the wet transceptionrod into the hall.
The reaper worked quick, giving Jervis an instantaneous refund on the time he’d borrowed from death. The torso and face began to rot in short order, going from gray to brown to…mush.
“Damn it,” Wade muttered. It had been worth a try, at least. But instead of removing Jervis’ evil, he’d only succeeded in removing life. In seconds, it seemed, the torso began to bloat.
Then the sagging brown face said, “Time.”
“Jerv! You’re still with me!”
The order of nature reduced Jervis’ voice to a sluggish, phlegmy rattle. “How much…time?”
Wade glanced at the clock. “It’s twenty till midnight.”
Jervis made a facial gesture of approval. Putrefactive slime oozed from his stumps, his shit dark face melting. He spoke in a liquid wisp. “The bomb is in my car, right outside.”
“Great! Tell me how to disarm it! How do I turn it off?”
“Can’t,” Jervis bubbled. “Preprogrammed. Can’t disarm it.”
Wade was outraged. “What do I do with it, then? It’s got a ten mile kill zone! I can’t just throw it into the woods and stick my fingers in my fucking ears! Tell me what to do!”
Jervis smiled, if in fact his percolating lips were still capable of it. “Put it…” he wheezed, hacking up slop. “Put it in the labyrinth.”
“If I go back in the labyrinth, the Supremate will know. He’ll send the sisters to tear me up.”
“Supremate won’t know.” A sputter. Jervis was going fast. “How do you think you got out so easy earlier? This close to recharge…no power. Sensorposts are dead. Supremate has no way of knowing you’re there.”
Wade stared down. Jervis was losing his race against autolysis. His lips split. His eyes had liquefied and pooled in their sockets. “Use my key. Pointaccess to first subinlet. Look for sign…”
“What sign?”
“Guidance…tracking…pah pah point.”
“Okay, what then?”
“Put bomb there and…get…out.
Wade touched the corpse. It was hot with rot.
Yet Jervis’ mush face still smiled in final freedom. The gas fat torso began to smoke. “Stick it up the Supremate’s ass.” A titter, like a giggle. Then: “I—I…”
“Aw, no, Jerv!”
“I’m gone.”
And he was.
««—»»
The bomb was black, a six inch cube, but it seemed like magic to shift minutely in size. It felt warm as a hearth brick.
He’d found it on the front floor of Jerv’s Dodge Colt, which had been turned, over the last day or so, into a hatchback gorewagon. The Supremate had transformed his friend into a murderer. It was time for payback.
Better get a move on, Wade thought. He jogged back into the building, back to the lab. What remained of Jervis was just a clothed rib cage around which had settled a large puddle of dark slime. The only remnant of the real Jervis Phillips was a pack of Carlton 100s stuck in the shirt pocket.
Wade snapped the extromission key off the corpse’s neck, then ran up to Besser’s office.
They were also stupid ones.
—
CHAPTER 42
Lydia slammed the brakes and skidded. In front of the sciences center, she saw Wade’s Corvette and another car behind it. Lydia backed up and wheeled in.
The other car was a gold Dodge Colt, Jervis’ car.
The spotter and Tom’s key remained where she’d left them in the Vette. Lydia grabbed them and rushed into the building.
It wasn’t hard to find where the confrontation had taken place, nor was it hard to discern the victor. Somehow, Wade had done the job on Jervis—the dismembered, smoking carnage was proof. But the cadaver’s neck lacked the extromission key.
Oh, no, she thought. He didn’t—he couldn’t have—
She picked the hewer off the floor and ran upstairs.
The extromitter glowed weirdly in Besser’s dark office. When Lydia put two and two together, she didn’t come up with four, she came up with DUMB ASS. More than likely, and for some unknown reason, Wade had gone back into the labyrinth.
Besser’s desk clock read 11:44. She knew that the labyrinth was leaving at midnight. She also knew that five minutes before midnight, recharge would occur, and she had no idea what that entailed. One more thing she knew: Wade wouldn’t last a second in the labyrinth on his own. Goddamn imbecile, she thought. She saw no other choice but to go in after him. But as she reached for Tom’s extromission key, she heard…what?
What were they? Grunts?
She turned quickly, hefting the weight of the hewer. She thought it might be Wade, but when the shadow—and the sloppy, wet sound it brought—crossed the office door, she knew far too well who it was.
“Huh hi, Lydia. You’re sure lookin’ mighty pretty tonight.”
When she saw the state of the thing which stepped into the block of moonlight, all Lydia could say was, “Oh, fuck!”
“I always kind of had a crush on ya. Course, I never said nothin’, figured you’d laugh at me, you know?”
But Lydia was definitely not laughing. She was as revolted as she was terrified. The thing facing her was Porker.
Wade said he’d been killed in the grove by the sisters—disemboweled. But she needed no explanation when she saw the knob end of the transceptionrod in his head.
Porker was naked, huge, pale as turned cream. His completely eviscerated abdominal cavity hung open in plain view. No organs there, just empty space. The sisters had eaten his innards and brought him back for service, getting double their money’s worth of the poor obese slob.
“Where’s Wade?” Porker asked.
“How should I know?”
“Did he go back into the labyrinth?”
“He’d have to be crazy to do that.”
Porker’s boyish, chubby face turned up in a grin. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“All right, how about this: I don’t know where Wade is.”
“I think you do,” the young, insecure voice replied. Muddy bare feet trudged forward, thudding. “And you’re going to tell me.”
Porker had been gross enough in real life; dead, naked, and gutted, he was grosser still. Lydia swung the hewer, hoping the creature’s huge limbs would be too sluggish to respond. Instead the fat hands blurred, caught the hewer below the blade, and tossed it aside. The big boyish pumpkin grin blazed in the moonlight.
The clock read 11:45. Lydia shucked her Trooper, without much confidence. She remembered how effective bullets were against the dead. Nevertheless, she fired two Magnums into Porker’s plump face. His head jerked back, the face cracked. One more double tap from the Trooper widened the crack to a grinning fissure, but like a monster sleepwalker, Porker continued to lope for her. Flaps of white flab hung ragged around the opened belly, through which the obvious erection peeked. Porker grinned in spite of his divided face, and said, “You haven’t had it till you’ve had it from a dead man.”
Despair touched her frown. Lydia was sick to death of being a sex object to monsters and dead men. She shrieked, disgusted, as Porker’s body collided into her. Before she could even get off her last two shots, he dragged her down, straddled her, and began to open her pants.
««—»»
The labyrinth was cold now, like a meat locker. Wade’s breath condensed before his face. The psilight was so low he could see neither walls nor floor. Only the extromitter dot of each access guided him from place to place. Tracking guidance point, he forced steadily into memory, searching.
He shivered, yet the bomb in his hand seemed to be gaining temperature. Soon it would be too hot to hold. He glanced, almost casually, from the next subinlet. The sign hovered:
EMWGUIDANCETRACKINGPOINT.
“Eureka!” he whooped. He extromitted into the canted chamber of glowing red and yellow threads. The crisscrossing, intense light brightened even as he watched. Wade didn’t know this place from a hole in the ground, but there was one thing he felt sure of: something big was in the works, and it was going to happen soon.
Sweating, he dropped the bomb on the floor and extromitted back out.
Dead sensorposts extruded from the ceiling. Thank God they were inactive now. Getting in had been easy, and he saw no reason why getting out shouldn’t be just as easy. “Home, James,” he muttered. He plugged in his key, thinking down down down! and disappeared into the glowing black slit.
««—»»
Porker was drooling on her, fumbling with her pants. Lydia couldn’t even squirm against the tremendous, dead weight. The broken face and toothy grin twitched in lust.
Gagging, she poked the Trooper. The blue steel barrel entered the spreading crack and she squeezed off round number five. Gun smoke and bits of pulp gusted back into her own face. She heard something clink, and Porker stiffened.
She fired the last round, keeping the barrel deep in his face. Like a lid, the top of his skull blew off—the transceptionrod flew across the room. Porker made a deep, lowing sound, like an impaled cow, then sidled over, dead.
“Thank you, Colonel Colt,” she whispered, and glanced at the clock: 11:47. What bothered her most, as she grabbed the hewer and began to extromit, was this: If they’d seen fit to bring Porker back from the dead, what had they done with…
««—»»
Sergeant J. T. Peerce stepped out of the final subinlet before the main point access. “St. John! Over here!”
Wade froze. A reflex nearly caused him to use his jeans for a bathroom. Peerce waved from the servicepass, wearing a clean police uniform and the same redneck sneer he’d been born with. In other words, Peerce looked normal.
“I saw you die,” Wade stammered. “Last night, in the grove.”
“Do I look like I’m dead, you daddy rich nitwit?”
But how could this be? “I saw the sisters kill you!”
“You musta been seein’ things, then, ’cos I’m standin’ here, ain’t I? I got away from them bitches after you and Chief White split. Come on, will ya!”
Wade considered this. He’d been scared shitless last night, and come to think of it, he wasn’t really sure what he’d seen. Sometimes the trauma of horror played games with the mind.
“What are you doing here?” Wade asked, still unsure.
“Lookin’ for you, ya moe ron. Prentiss got half the force out searchin’ for ya. She said ya might’ve come back here when we found that punk Jervis’ body with no key ’round his neck.”
Wade took several cautious steps forward. The power of suggestion plus seeing Peerce alive and well left him no choice but to be convinced.
“Come on, goddamn it! We gotta hightail it outta here. Prentiss told me thi
s place takes off in ten minutes. Move it!”
But seeing was believing, wasn’t it? Or at least seeing what you wanted to believe. Right now all Wade wanted to see was someone on his side.
He shed his reservations and approached Peerce.
“By the way,” Peerce inquired. “Why’d you come back in here anyway? It don’t make no sense.”
“Before Jervis died, he told me to plant the b—” A quick shock hacked off the last word. Wade’s knees locked up.
A whorl of intestines had popped out of Peerce’s shirt.
“Aw, shee it,” Peerce griped, looking down. Then he looked at Wade with a dead grin. “Almost had ya goin’ for it, huh?”
Wade turned and ran, and Peerce ran after him. Peerce was faster, despite the inconvenience of dragging intestines. The iron hand snatched Wade by the neck and raised him off his feet.
“I wanna know what ya were doin’ in here, St. John.”
Wade, choking, noticed that Peerce was chewing tobacco. He also noticed the transceptionrod sunk deep in his head.
“I was looking for some cuff links I lost,” Wade wheezed.
Peerce spat brown juice. He opened a switchblade. “Punk rich boy piece a shit. Start talking by the time I count three. If ya don’t” —Peerce grinned— “then I start carving.”
The blade flashed in front of Wade’s left eye.
“One.”
Did I come all this way just to get snuffed by a dead redneck cop? Wade asked himself against a hail of incredulity.
“Two.”
His heels kicked high on the wall. He could feel his face turning blue.
“Maybe you’ll feel like talkin’ once I pop one of them rich boy eyeballs out,” Peerce said. Then he said, “Three.”
««—»»
As she’d guessed, Peerce had caught Wade. She swung the hewer low right to high left. The unimaginably heavy blade was suddenly aerodynamic; it glided through the air with the greatest of proverbial ease—swoooooooosh—and took Peerce’s head off in a perfect line.