“You fiend! You fiend of hell!”
And his fingers crept up to the neck of the cat and closed in a mighty grip. He felt the animal give a single desperate effort in his grasp, but his grip tightened and he saw the mouth of the creature open wide and heard a faint hissing gasp as its tongue stuck far out and its eyes bulged in a last moment of life.
Then the animal lay limp in his claw-like hands and he dropped it to the floor of the rocket chamber, a growl of frustration leaving his lips.
He stared at the cat’s body for a moment, then his fingers stole up and touched his face. He felt the hairy coarseness of it, the furry tingle of his once smooth skin. And he screamed into the now fading glow that he knew was the energy of the cosmic rays.
“No! No! It can’t be true! I haven’t changed like this! I—I—meowrr.…”
Around him the thunder of the rocket fuel suddenly vanished into silence, and then the rocket gave a lurch.
Deep within his mind he knew that the instrument section had been released from the main body of the projectile, and even now he knew the sealed chamber was falling back toward the earth, back toward the atmosphere where the parachute would take hold and drift the chamber safely down to the Arizona soil.
And a dread closed over him in that moment. Back to the men. Back to the things of men. Back he must go, a mewing thing that was not a man. A thing that he felt was taking hold of him, driving the last vestige of human instinct from him.
He fought it. He fought it mewing on the floor of the rocket chamber.
* * * *
“He must have gone mad!”
Fred Trent pulled his gaze from the sky and looked with stunned eyes at the figure of Dr. Mathieson standing beside him. The scientist was trembling with an inner feeling, and his head was shaking in disbelief.
“Gaddon! The man is going to his death! It’s insane!”
Again Mathieson’s voice broke the silence in the huddled group of men. Then the newspapermen came to life and excited talk became a jabber of words around them. Trent took the arm of Mathieson and turned him. He tried to lead the scientist away from the newspapermen but one of them stepped forward and grabbed his arm.
“But why did he do it, doctor? The man must have had a reason!”
Mathieson shook his head numbly.
“I—I don’t know, unless.…” his voice trailed off for a moment and then he spoke again. “Unless he really believed what he said.…”
“What did he say, doctor?” the newsman asked.
There was a puzzled note to Mathieson’s voice as he answered.
“He disagreed with me on the supposed effects of the cosmic rays. It has been my contention that they are of lethal effect, and Gaddon maintained that I was wrong. He kept insisting that they were a source of life energy. That was why we decided to experiment with an animal—to see what effect the rays would have on a living creature.…
“But this! I never dreamed of such a possibility—to prove his point he signed his own death warrant!”
“That’s a story, doctor, a real story!”
Trent heard the newsman exclaim excitedly. And then it came to him that the real story was as yet untold. The real story that had been unfolded in his car earlier that day.
Fred moved suddenly away from the clamor of the newsmen around the scientist. He knew what he had to do.
He hurried across the ground to his waiting coupe outside the Administration building. Then he got behind the wheel and started the motor.
He drove to the gate and waited until the guard passed him through, then he turned up the road toward Tucson.
As he drove he felt an odd tenseness sweep through him. For he was thinking of what Gaddon had said on the drive up to the Proving Grounds. He was remembering the man’s words on the cosmic rays and the secret of eternal life they held. And Fred Trent knew that this was the biggest story. The story that he alone held. It was the big break that he had been waiting for. It would be his exclusive. The inside, personal story of a man who had died to prove his theory. Told as Gaddon himself had related it. With all the vanity of the man, all the pompous assurance he had shown. It would make the headlines and feature sections all over the country. The story of a man who had flown to his death in quest of immortality.
And then Trent’s thoughts grew sober suddenly. But was he going to his death? Could he be sure that Mathieson was right? That Gaddon was suffering from some streak of insanity that had manifested itself in this final venture of madness? Or could it be that Gaddon might be right, that.…
Trent set his lips and sighed. No, that couldn’t be true. It was beyond the comprehension of man.
What mattered now was the story. The story that would put his name in a thousand papers all over the country. And he thought in that moment of Joan Drake. A warm smile pulled at his lips as he thought of her. This would force her to quit her job now and marry him. The one condition she had made—he had finally overcome.
He thought of the date he was supposed to have with her that evening. It would have to be postponed until later. The story came first. And then.…
He drove his car swiftly through the outskirts of the city and into the main part of town. Then he pulled up before the offices of the Tucson Star and left his car at the curb.
* * * *
He entered the building, took the elevator to his floor and walked into the city room. The clatter of typewriters met his ears and the sound was sweet to him in that moment.
He crossed swiftly to his desk and sat dawn. Then he motioned to a copy boy. The boy came up to his desk.
“Jerry, tell the chief to hold up the form on page one. I’ve got a special—an accident out at the Proving Grounds. Headline copy.”
The youth hurried away toward the office of the City Editor, and Fred picked up his phone and dialed a number. He waited a moment and then the voice of Joan Drake came across the wire.
“Dr. Fenwick’s office.”
“Joan, this is Fred.”
The girl’s voice laughed across the wire. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to break our date? Just when I get all dressed up.”
A smile crossed Trent’s lips. “You’re almost psychic, honey. Fact is, I was calling to tell you I’ll be a little late.”
There was a pause and when the girl spoke again there was an injured note in her voice.
“Well, that’s a fine thing. I wait here deliberately after hours for you to pick me up and now you tell me you’ll be late! Just what’s so more important than me right now?”
“I haven’t got time to tell you now, Joan, but believe me, I’ve got the break of the year. A story that will rock the front pages across the country. I’ll tell you all about it later. You can wait at Fenwick’s place. He won’t mind, will he?”
He could hear the girl sniff on the other end of the wire.
“I don’t suppose he will, but I don’t think I can say the same for myself.”
“That’s a good girl,” Trent laughed. “Just wait for me. It may be an hour or so—”
“An hour or so! What are you writing, the great American novel?”
He looked up and saw the frowning face of the City Editor approaching his desk. He spoke hurriedly.
“I’ve got to sign off now. The boss is coming up. I’ll see you later. Give my regards to Brutus.”
He replaced the phone as the editor reached his desk.
“What’s all this about a remake on the front page, Trent?”
Fred nodded. “That’s right, chief. The biggest story since the atom bomb. Listen!”
He gave a short account of what had happened, and then added the personal details of his talk with Gaddon. He saw the eyes of the editor widen as he went on, and by the time he had finished, there was a look of excitement on the editor’s face.
“Get to that story, Trent. Write it hot, and write it fast. I’ll hold the first form and tear down the front page. Stress the human interest angle. Play it up big. We’ll hit the news wires with it after we
go to press.”
Then a smile crossed the editor’s face. “And you’ll get a by-line on this, Trent, that ought to put you in for some big money. Nice work.”
Then he turned on his heel and was hurrying across the city room toward his glassed-in office, hollering for a copy boy as he went.
Trent turned back to his desk and slipped a sheet of paper into his typewriter. There was a tenseness around his eyes as he brought his fingers down on the keys. For a moment the old questions rose again in his mind. Was Gaddon right? Could it be possible that.…
Then he forgot everything but the story. And his fingers clicked against the keys, putting it down on paper.
* * * *
The rocket chamber swayed gently through the night air, whistling its way slowly downward, moving more slowly as the great parachute above it caught in the rapidly thickening density of the cabin’s atmosphere.
Inside it, the thing that had been Gaddon, the thing that was no longer a man, sat on the floor of the chamber, idly toying with the dead body of the cat.
Strange thoughts coursed through the mind inside its head. Half of the mind that belonged to Gaddon, and half of the mind that was an alien thing, a creature unnamed.
There was a thought of killing and the thought was good. The claw-like hands played with the cat’s dead body, fondling it idly, wishing it were still alive so that it might die again.
And the other part of its mind, the part that still knew it was Gaddon, rebelled against the thought. Tried to drive it away. Tried to move that alien intelligence into the rear of his consciousness.
A growl left his lips as he struggled with it. And then a whimpering sound.
For now the alien thought of killing and the joy it had experienced as the cat died scant moments before, was replaced by another thought. A thought of loneliness.
It was a weird feeling, an utter loneliness that came from the great void beyond man’s planet. It cried out in silent protest for it knew it was alone in this world of men.
And it knew it would remain alone, friendless. For what manner of men such as the other part of its mind showed would react in a friendly fashion? Where would be their common meeting ground? There could only be one, it knew. And that one was fear. Fear and the hate that went with it.
A growl left its lips again, and Gaddon’s thoughts tried to force their way through. Tried and failed again.
But was it necessary to want companionship? It thought about that for a moment. And then the alien beast thoughts grew sharper, clearer. It knew suddenly that it did not want man’s compassion. It knew that there was only one driving thought in it. Hate. Hate that would inspire fear. Fear that would freeze its victim into terror. And terror that would be replaced by death. And then it would be happy again. Happy to sit and fondle the thing that had been alive. And it knew something else. It knew that a hunger would have to be satisfied. A hunger that called for flesh.
Deep, primeval thoughts raced through it then. Thoughts that were spawned in the ancient jungles of a new and steaming world. A world where great cats roamed, where screams of cat-rage split the air as tawny bodies arced in lightning leaps to land on the trembling bodies of their victims. It was a satisfying thought. A thought that spanned the ages of Earth, a sense that was inherent in all cat minds through the ages.
And as the thought raced through that portion of its mind, the part that was Gaddon struggled to fight it back. For it realized with a sickness that spread horror through it that the thought was part of the animal existence that had been created in him. Part of the monster that lay by instinct in all feline creatures. And Gaddon knew that the dead creature at his feet, the limp and twisted body of the cat, had died long before his hands had crushed it in their mighty grip. For the essence of that life, that animal existence, had been merged with him, fused by a mighty source from outer space.
* * * *
And as he struggled with the thought, fought to regain the balance of control of the strange body that was now his, the rocket chamber swayed in a gust of wind from without. And as he clutched the sides of the chamber with his strong claw-like hands, the chamber gave a bounding lurch as it struck the ground a glancing blow.
There was a grating sound as the metal chamber gouged into the earth, sank its weight upon the Arizona soil. And the thing was thrown violently against the side of the chamber.
Then there was quiet again.
Gaddon’s mind fought to the fore, took control of that feline man-shape that was his, struggled to its feet and moved in a lithe bound to the opposite side of the chamber. A clawed hand reached up where Gaddon knew the release mechanism of the door lay, and pressed it.
The door slid back with a sliding sound and the cool night air rushed in upon it.
Gaddon moved his cat-body through the opening and bounded to the ground in a lithe, powerful movement. He felt new muscles react as he landed on the ground, and knew that there was a great strength in them. Strength that was waiting to be used.
And he felt the other thoughts starting to move forward in his mind again and he forced them back. He knew he must keep control of that mind. For there was something that he must do.
He thought desperately about it. And the pattern became clearer in his mind.
The cosmic rays. The reaction in his body. He had sought immortality in the door to outer space and had found a monster waiting for him. A force that had changed his glands, grown the shaggy fur on his body. Glands that had warped his mind. Opened an age-old cunning of feline thought.
Glands.
Gaddon’s thoughts whipped the word. Held it. Knew it must be the answer. And then it found a prayer of hope. And a name that went with that thought.
“Fenwick! I’ve got to reach Fenwick before it’s too late. Before it’s too late!”
His voice came hoarsely, strangely formed. And he looked wildly about him. He saw, off in the distance, a glowing of lights in the night. And he knew somehow that it was the city of Tucson.
And in that city, at its very edge, was a house he must reach.
He stumbled away into the darkness, feeling his limbs move rapidly then, smoothly, covering the ground in great leaping strides.
And though Gaddon’s thoughts kept the balance of control, deep inside his mind, the monster growled with a cunning laughter.…
* * * *
Fred Trent pulled the last sheet of paper from his typewriter and leaned back in his chair exhausted. That was it, the end of the story. He waved his hand at a copy boy and the boy ran up to take the final page. Each sheet had been taken like that, to be immediately set in the composing room. Now it was finished, the story of the year.
And as Trent slowly lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, he knew that he had done a good job on the story. And a smile crossed his face as he thought of it. His future was assured now. There could be no more stopgaps, no more delays in his plans to marry Joan and settle down. And the girl would have to agree. For the first time in many months, Fred felt that his troubles were over with. And the feeling was nice. It spread through him and he was content.
He glanced at his wrist watch and frowned. The story had taken longer than he had anticipated. It was nearly eleven. Some of the enthusiasm ran out of him as he thought of Joan waiting for him at Fenwick’s. He could imagine how angry she must be by now.
He got up quickly from his desk and reached for his hat. As he started to walk away, the phone on his desk rang.
He stepped back and picked up the receiver.
“Trent speaking.”
“Fred!”
Trent heard his name uttered in terror across the wire and he felt a chill run through him as he recognized the voice. It was Joan Drake.
“Joan, what’s wrong?” he asked anxiously.
“Fred! Come quickly! Bring help before it’s too late—he’ll kill us!”
“Joan! For God’s sake, calm down! Now what’s the matter?” His voice held a tenseness in it as he spoke.
“It’s
Gaddon, Fred! Only it isn’t Gaddon—it’s a monster! He’ll kill us!”
“Gaddon?” Trent’s voice spoke incredulously. “But that’s imposs—”
“Oh, Fred, hurry— I—oh—no—no! Keep away—”
He heard the girl scream over the phone then. And he heard something else. A growling sound. A sound of animal noise unlike any other sound he had ever heard. And then as he shouted into the phone: “Joan! Joan!” the line went dead.
He stood for a moment, staring stupidly at the receiver in his hand. Then he slammed it back on its cradle and turned. He nearly knocked over the copy boy who hollered at him.
“Hey, Trent, the boss wants you in his office!”
But he swept by the boy unheeding. He didn’t wait for the elevator. He took the stairs in leaping bounds, and then he was on the main floor of the building and out on the street.
He slammed the door of his car shut and started the motor. His hands trembled as he meshed the gears and shot the coupe away from the curb. Then he was moving swiftly through the traffic.
As he turned down the street where Fenwick’s office was, Fred Trent’s mind was a whirl of confused thought.
There was fear there. Fear and dread. And there was puzzlement too. A puzzlement that made his brain spin. Joan had spoken with terror in her voice. Terror that had said somebody was going to kill. And Joan was not a girl to be easily frightened. And she had mentioned Gaddon’s name. Gaddon, the man who had shot into the heavens in an experimental rocket. Gaddon, who was supposed to be dead.
* * * *
He felt now that same feeling that had crept through him after the launching. The feeling that had whispered in his mind that maybe Gaddon had been right after all. That maybe he wouldn’t die. That maybe.… And now the dread swept him. For he thought of the sound he had heard over the phone. The last sound before the line went dead. The sound of an animal growling in wrath. And he remembered the girl’s scream about a monster.
A cold sweat was on his forehead as he pulled the coupe into the curb in front of the Fenwick house. He switched off the motor and closed the car door after him.
Then he was hurrying up the walk to the front door, his eyes taking in the house in a swift glance, noting that the lights were lit in the consultation room. Lights that slivered out from the closed venetian blinds.
The Dog Megapack Page 17