Pulses, p.43
Pulses, page 43
“Beats the shit out of me. Why don't you pay attention to what's out there? There may be some more naked psycho killers around here. The spiders can sort the rest of the shit out for themselves.”
Brent fell silent and stared out the side window.
“There's something up there at the top of that rise.” He leaned forward to get a better look as they approached. “Looks like some kind of wing tank. A big one though.”
The pod passed behind them as Carter sailed over the rise into the large front yard of the ranch house. He stopped fifty feet from the house and stepped out of the car keeping the open door between himself and the house. Brent exited from the opposite side with the riot gun. He nodded across the car top to Carter. It was deathly quiet.
There was no movement anywhere. No birds, no farm animals, no dogs, no cats, no people. Only the occasional twitch of a grass blade broke the stillness.
“They're here, all right. There's the black sedan the Doc said they were driving.” Carter checked the clip in his .45. “You go around back in case they try to make a run for it.”
Carter waited until Brent turned the corner behind the house. The grass off to the left was twitching in large patches now. The blades pointing first one way then another. Carter checked the leaves in the trees. There was no wind up there. The leaves hung lifeless.
“Dawson.”
The grass rustled at the sound.
“This is Special Agent Carter, Dawson. I have a warrant for your arrest. Miss White's as well. Come out. I don't want any trouble.”
The front door opened. Someone stood in the shadows behind the screen door.
Carter crouched by the car. “Come out where I can see you. Keep your hands in the open.”
The figure pushed the screen door open and stepped out onto the porch. Carter straightened up and edged toward the house, pistol in hand. At the front steps he paused.
“Wha...?”
The figure made a slurping sound. A hundred tiny eyes stared out from each eye socket.
Carter took a step backwards and swallowed hard. “Wha...?” he said again, “What happened to you?” He squinted into the porch shadows. “Dawson? Is that you, Dawson?”
A rapid succession of shots came from the rear of the house. Carter raised his weapon. “Don't move.” A flurry of high, panicky cries indicated Brent had run into some kind of difficulty. Carter edged back to the side of the house and glanced toward the rear.
Brent slapped at his pants legs and danced backwards in tight circles.
“What the hell's going on back there?”
“They're gettin' me, Dennis, they're gettin' me.” Brent kept slapping and dancing backwards.
Carter looked down at his own feet. The grass was beginning to come alive.
“What the shit?”
Little gray spiders gathered in a loose circle all around him. As he watched even more appeared and they all began doing quick little push-ups.
Chapter 45
Bourne held an icepack to his eye as he and Luke sat in the hospital hallway.
“The surgeon says her ribcage will be pretty sore for a week. The blade gouged the seventh rib quite deeply but deflected enough to exit without penetrating the diaphragm or lung. He figures the hilt of the knife hit hard enough to cause the crack in the sixth rib. To do that it had to have a lot of force behind it.”
“But other than that she's all right?”
“Yes. The blood loss wasn't enough to require a transfusion. I know she looked bloody, but a pint of blood goes a long way when it's splattered all over clothes and carpeting.”
Luke breathed out slowly and leaned back in the plastic chair. “How's the eye?”
“A bit sore.” Bourne lowered the ice pack and studied it for a moment before shifting it to a slightly different position. “Thanks to Special Agent Carter.”
“Yeah. I remember him.”
“He sure remembered you. Anyway, you need to be careful. Since Alex is gone, none of us are any further use to the people who've stepped in. If you aren't careful you could end up in custody somewhere, maybe worse. I don't think that would be in anyone's best interest.”
“What about all the people that went berserk? Any word from the doctors on the cause?”
“Brain infection is the consensus. I think I agree. Infection near the brain stem would be my guess. Something to block off the higher functions without hindering the rest.”
“How?”
“You mean what caused it?”
Luke nodded.
Bourne shrugged. “Who knows. Virus? That's too easy an answer. The CDC in Atlanta says it's nationwide, probably worldwide. And it comes on quite suddenly. That may be what happened to Mac.”
“And Sarah,” Luke added. “She must have already left before Dan got there.”
Bourne shook his head. “I hope that's not it. Many of the people who were stricken were seriously injured by their neighbors, or killed.”
“I can understand why. Bev almost killed Dan and would have killed me if she'd had the chance. She wasn't human. Have you seen one of them?”
“They brought two in while I was passing the emergency entrance. One got loose. A woman. About forty, forty-five maybe. It was hard to tell. Before they got her under control, both her arms were broken. In the process she attacked and killed the other patient. And broke the jaw of one of the men trying to restrain her. Those are the only two I've seen not under sedation. You were lucky.”
Luke looked up.
“To get out alive, uninjured,” Bourne added. “Dan was lucky too.”
Luke nodded.
A small, very haggard nurse approached. “The Townsend woman is finally out. White is conscious. You can see her if you want. We should be able to get her out of here in two days. We need the room.”
Dan was struggling to sit up in the bed when they entered. She shared the room with five others, none of them stricken with the disease.
“I'm all right,” she protested when both Luke and Bourne tried to get her to lie back down.
“You've had a number of stitches, Dan,” Bourne said. “Just lie back. It won't feel so all right when the local wears off.”
“Okay, okay.” She lay back against the pillow. “But crank the bed up will you. I’m fine.”
Once they got the head of the bed elevated, she relaxed.
“Do you remember any of what happened?” Luke asked.
“Yes, I think so. It's just that it happened so suddenly, I'm not quite sure of everything that took place. Someone stabbed me with a kitchen knife. A naked woman. Bev, I guess. Luke was struggling with her. It didn't make sense.”
“Then you blacked out.”
“No. There's no sense of having blacked out. When the knife went in it hurt. I just withdrew into myself.” She let out a shallow breath. “But I never lost consciousness. I just didn't know what was going on around me. But I was conscious. I've never done that before.”
“A natural response to that kind of trauma,” Bourne stated. “When the mind is missing data, it often fills in the blanks after it regains consciousness.”
Dan shook her head. “Not this time. Luke, you remember when we got back to the house after the first dream? I didn't need contacts anymore. And you didn't have scars on your stomach.”
“What's that?” Bourne had snapped his head around toward Luke. “You never mentioned that.”
“No, I guess we didn't. It didn't seem that important after all the other demonstrations Alex put on. I just accepted it as a little added benefit thrown in on top of everything else.”
Dan nodded. “I felt the same way.” She tried to sit up straight in the bed. “Until this morning. Alex did more than a little cosmetic surgery while he had us. That's why I never lost consciousness. I'm certain of it.”
“Excuse me.”
A short angular man, well-scrubbed, regarded them. His forearms sprouted hair that grew right on down the backs of his hands to the second knuckles of his fingers. He wore thin gold-rimmed glasses.
“Miss White?”
Dan nodded.
“Could I ask you a few questions? I'm Doctor Philson. I stitched you up this morning.”
Bourne stood up to leave.
“It's nothing very personal, Doctor Bourne, Mr. Dawson. Please feel free to stay if you wish. You might be some help. I've followed your activities with high interest over the past weeks.” He turned to Dan. “You're in no great discomfort I take it.”
Dan shook her head. “No. I feel fine.”
“I guessed as much.” He crossed the last few feet to her bed and sat on the edge of it. “Let me ask you something you may think is a little strange.” He glanced at Bourne then back at Dan. “Do you know your blood type?”
“Yes, certainly. A positive.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes. It's been tested a number of times over the years. Why?”
“We weren't able to type it this morning when you were brought in.”
Doctor Philson studied Luke. “I suspect we would find the same thing if we tried to type your blood,” then at Bourne, “and maybe even yours.” He paused, then, “What happened out there with that thing?”
***
Slaytor paced in front of the window watching the dome spin silently in the distance. Senator Thurgood had pulled rank to get the room. The hotel had almost shut down. The manager and his assistant had both been stricken as had some of the staff. Half of the others, the maids, cooks, and waiters were afraid to come to work. Some had already left town.
Thurgood's room stayed clean and tidy, though. His two staff members saw to that themselves. It was easier than trying to get the hotel to do it and far superior to listening to him rant about the service.
“The last word from Carter and the other agent was that they were heading for a ranch west of town,” Senator Thurgood was saying. “That was around noon. It's after five now.”
“Maybe they got whatever it is that's making everybody run around naked.” Slaytor shook his head in frustration. “I should have thought about having them picked up yesterday. At least we have the sergeant in custody again.” Slaytor pulled out a cigar, sniffed it, and put it back in his pocket. Thurgood didn't smoke, he remembered.
“Well, it's nothing we can't keep working on. Anyway, Carter may already have them. I'm reasonably certain they didn't get infected. My staff reports that there seem to be no new cases this afternoon. It hit around midnight. If you didn't get it then, you probably won't get it at all. There's still a lot of turmoil out there on the streets, but those guys know how to take care of themselves. It's Hershing I'm worried about now. He's a loose cannon that I would like to see strapped down before we hit really rough water.”
“This is his own little Theater of Operations. It's going to be hard to strap him down if he doesn't want to be strapped,” Slaytor said. He didn't completely understand why Thurgood considered Hershing a loose cannon, and he wasn't sure exactly what the rough waters were, but he was going to act like he did until he could figure it out.
“Burt, don't go stupid on me.” Thurgood stood up and joined him at the window. “The Joint Chiefs lost two men to the disease this morning. The Secretaries of both the Air Force and Army are down with it. So are twenty-one senators and about twenty percent of the house, including the Speaker. My Washington contacts haven't seen the Vice President or the President's wife all day. That's not normal. They may be hit too. The military is still trying to get a good count of what's left, but it looks like about a fifth of the force is kaput. That's a pretty large sample, Burt. I'd venture a guess that about every fifth person in the world has fallen victim to the disease, whatever it is.”
He turned to Slaytor. Slaytor still had no idea what was going on.
“I arranged for you to be on Hershing's team, Burt.”
Slaytor squinted at the outside light. He hoped his confusion wasn't showing. Thurgood continued.
“He didn't want you. You should be aware of that, Burt. He said you were an idiot. His words, not mine. But he can't hold a theater operation together without senate cooperation. He knows that.”
“What do I do?”
“You've been with this thing from the start. You're an advisor. An active advisor. You can't advise if you don't know what's going on, so you will be at the center of things.”
Slaytor began to get it pieced together. “I'll keep you on top of what's happening,” he said.
“Atta boy, Burt. I knew we could count on you.”
Chapter 46
General Hershing's first staff meeting was nearly over. Reports from the intelligence community; status of weapons and troop arrivals; assessment of the twenty-three percent loss of personnel already in place, both from the disease and from attacks by those infected; reviews of known and suspected capabilities of the ship; and projected layout of defensive forces around the landing site took up most of the morning. It was a grim picture. Slaytor sat in the rear of the meeting in a straight chair pushed back against the wall. The time he had waited for was about to arrive.
Hershing went around the table pointing to each officer to give them a chance to ask questions or provide additional information. Then around the ring of more minor staff surrounding the table. Then to Slaytor.
“Yes, sir.” He stood and directed himself to the privileged staff at the table. “A lot has been left out of your briefings.”
A low murmur rippled through the gathering.
“Please, Colonel Slaytor, elucidate,” Hershing said without rancor. The man served on his staff, like it or not. Hershing would treat him with dignity so long as he earned it.
“The Intel report covered the storage spheres but neglected one important aspect about them. The report also missed altogether another tool available to the ship.” He had their attention now. He stepped forward away from the rear of the room.
“The spheres you saw during the news coverage of the first formal government delegation to the site can do more than store and move modest amounts of material. The ship can adjust the volume of the spheres. They can be made as large as necessary for the task at hand. They can be made as large as the field of armor you are throwing up around the ship, for instance.” A shadow of comprehension crossed Hershing's face. “Or as large as the earth, if need be.”
A momentary uproar spread around the room.
Hershing let it run for several seconds. It would be good for his staff to appreciate that they had missed some important material this morning.
When the commotion died down, Slaytor continued. On his first word the room fell absolutely silent. He had them now.
“You have made considerable effort to secure this room and other of the operations areas from surveillance by the ship. None of it will work. The ship can have a direct open one-way window into this room and no one could detect it. There is no way you can hide your plans from the ship except to develop your plans in your head and never put them in any form but thought.”
Slaytor had a hard time maintaining a professional demeanor. The rest of the staff quailed at this last revelation.
Hershing held his hand up for attention.
“How do you know all of this, Colonel Slaytor?”
“Senator Thurgood and I debriefed Sergeant Redleaf last night.”
“The man attached to the Dawson team?”
“Yes, sir. He was there for most of the contacts the team had with the pilot. I'm trying to locate Dawson and the rest of the team now. No luck so far.”
“You think they might be in hiding?”
“I think they may have been given some of the tools the pilot demonstrated. Like the generator that makes the spheres.”
***
Bourne leaned back from the microscope. In the other room the squeals and chattering of frightened simians rose and fell as one of the large chimps pounded his food bowl against the bars of his cage.
“Seventy-six. I would never have believed it. And it's evidently in every cell in your body.”
“What's the normal chromosome count?” Luke asked. “Forty-six or forty-eight isn't it?”
“Forty-six for humans. Twenty-three pairs. Twenty-four for the other primates.” He looked back into the microscope. “Did Alex ever give any hints that he might do this?”
“No. Not any that I picked up on, anyway. And he told us he wouldn’t do something to us like this without asking first.”
“I don't understand how he could do it to every cell. Why would he do it? Is there a message here, or did he just do another of his good deeds for you and Dan while he was still able?”
“Maybe we're not the only ones. You were around him quite a bit.”
“That was the first slide I looked at, Luke. My own tissue sample. The count was normal. No. It's got something to do with you and Dan.”
“I don't feel any different.” Luke held his hand out and turned it over. “And I don't seem to look any different. Maybe a little fresher. The roughness of the skin on the backs of my hands is somewhat less than it was, and then the scar tissue on my stomach is gone too. That was done during the first dream.”
“Anything else you noticed after that dream?”
Luke studied his hand again. “Yes. There was one other thing.” He began to unbutton his shirt. “It's still here,” he said extending his right arm. “This light scarring. I never had it before the first dream.”
“Where did it come from?”
“This may be a little hard to believe, Doc, but I got it from a bayonet wound I dreamed about.”
Bourne thought about that for a moment then sighed in frustration and pressed lightly against his injured eye. “I think a couple of aspirin would help,” he said. He flipped the microscope light off and stood up. “There're some out front in Sarah's desk. I don't understand this at all. Not at all.”
Luke wandered over to the expanse of window front. Across the street the cat gazed out from the bannister of the upstairs porch. The house looked like it always had. Everything did. He started to turn away but something caught his eye. Several large cars slowed in formation and stopped in front of the house. Then the last car spun its tires and roared up the driveway, its doors flying open and disgorging three men. Other men fanned out along the front of the house and headed along the side yards. Up on the porch the cat stood stiffly and surveyed the action coming toward it.
