Monster

  But it was all a bad joke, and she wasn't laughing.

  The hell with them. I'm not serving appetizers. I'll bury what’s left of Grandfather in the trees. I'll wash his sheets. They'll enter a clean house. They won't leave it though.

  “They won't leave,” she muttered as she finished with the fuse and once more picked up one of the smaller bottles, wondering where to put it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Lieutenant Nguyen stood in the empty warehouse and stared at the dust-free circle on the concrete floor. He wasn't alone. Officer Williams stood nearby holding a flashlight focused on the floor. Williams was not like Martin. He preferred to be called by his first name – Kenny – and he was new to the force, not a wily old devil like Martin. Of course, few cops ever got as tough as Martin had been, even after twenty years in the force. Yet Martin hadn't been tough enough to stop what was happening from killing him. Nguyen wondered if he was. He kind of doubted it.

  Nguyen didn't know why he'd come to the warehouse again. He had already visited it the day before – Saturday – after Angela and her friend had made him aware of its importance. He had found the dried blood in the crack in the floor, as they had undoubtedly likewise discovered. But unlike them, he had been able to have the blood analyzed. It had come from four separate people, as Mary had said. Only an hour earlier he had received a computer report that matched the blood to the blood types of four missing people – two men and two women who had been on their way to the West Coast and who had only stopped in Balton for a drink. Nguyen tried to remember if Mary had suspected Jim and his pals of stalking only those who were from out of town. She had made so many other surprisingly accurate remarks – in retrospect.

  Then again, Mary had said they were dealing with monsters.

  “If you were to stand here and scream, Kenny,” Nguyen said, “do you think someone listening outside could hear you?”

  Kenny shifted uncomfortably. He had already commented on the bad vibes of the place. Nguyen didn't know much about vibes, but he sure knew when he didn't like someone, and he had hated Jim Kline from the start. If that kid had killed Martin, he was going to pay for it, and in a bad way. Nguyen would see to it, and he would make it look legal. There were always ways.

  “I doubt it,” Officer Kenny Williams said, glancing round in the dark. “This is a big place. You'd have to scream really loud.”

  Nguyen knelt and touched the dried blood. As soon as he did he knew why he'd returned to the warehouse. He needed to see once again that what he was dealing with was real, since he hadn't fully returned to his senses after his encounter with Angela at Mary's cabin. First there had been Martin lying on the floor with his guts hanging out. Poor Mike – Nguyen knew his first name. It had stung to see the flies crawling on his friend's face. Suddenly the war seemed like only yesterday; he thought he had left it all behind.

  This is worse than anything that happened in Nam. There the enemy had a name. You could see them coming. They were like everyone else.

  Then he had seen Mary lying dead in Angela's arms, the apparent victim of a suicide. That had added another layer of unreality to the situation. But Nguyen could have dealt with all of this, even though it caused him pain. But not Angela. Angela not just holding her dead friend, but touching her, wiping the blood off her incision and putting it into her mouth. That was too much.

  “Dear God,” Nguyen whispered. He felt sick, scared. He had never been this scared, even in the heat of battle with bullets whizzing over his head. Angela had let go of Mary and stood and met his gaze straight, and Nguyen had felt as if he were being hypnotized by a vulture. It was unthinkable that he had let her walk away. But then, in that place, there hadn't been a chance in hell he could have stopped her.

  “Quit following me. Let me do what I have to do. By the time you know enough to believe what is happening you'll be dead.”

  He sail didn't know enough, and now, finally, he had to ask himself if he wanted to know. But he'd been the one who'd had to tell Martin's wife her husband was dead. He had done the same thing many times in Nam, and then it had steeled him to go on. To get the job done, to drive off the enemy. Of course, the enemy had kept coming and had finally driven him away.

  But not this time.

  He wiped the dried blood off on his trouser leg and stood up. He turned to Williams. “The identity of the four victims has been established beyond doubt?” he asked.

  “That's what the FBI says,” Williams replied.

  “How old were they?”

  “I believe they ranged in age from twenty-two to twenty-six.”

  “Is the Bureau coming in on this?” Nguyen asked.

  “Not yet.” Williams added, “They want to see what else you come up with.”

  “Who’s this mortician you told me about earlier?”

  Williams pulled a pad of paper from his back pocket. He studied it in the beam of the flashlight. “His name is Kane. He wants to speak to you about the bodies of the boy and the girl Mary Blanc killed last week.”

  “They were buried a few days ago,” Nguyen said.

  “l know, and he knows that. But he still wants to speak to you. He says it's urgent. I asked him why, but he insisted on speaking only to you. He said you could get him at work tonight. He's there late.”

  “I hope he won't be working too late in the next few days,” Nguyen said grimly. He turned towards the warehouse door. “Let's get out of here, Kenny.”

  They began to arrive promptly at eight. They came individually. Angela met each one at the door. At first she welcomed them and asked if they wanted anything to eat, but since they didn't smile in response or appear hungry, she quit. When there was a knock at the door she just went over and opened it and let them in. No one spoke; it was like no party she'd ever been to. Everyone just sat and stared at one another. Many sat on the floor. To say that they gave her the creeps was not saying it strongly enough. Their eyes were dark. They reminded her of bats that had hung too long in a cold cave. Even when they sat and looked around they didn't seem to see much with their physical eyes. Yet they seemed to radiate something akin to radar. Subtle vibrations swept back and forth across the room that she couldn't quite catch. She didn't know what they were picking up from her.

  Mary had been way off in her estimates. Angela had half the football team and every one of the cheerleaders at her house. There was no one outside those two groups, though. Talk about cliques and peer pressure. You must eat your neighbour, Angie. Everyone's doing it.

  Angela sat near the door with her head down and played butler. She had two Bic lighters in her pockets and sweaty palms. Where the hell was Jim? Why was he, of all monsters, late?

  She was so terribly hungry. The pounding in her brain – would it never stop?

  Finally Jim arrived, and when he did Angela's heart stopped in her chest. Jim had not come alone. Kevin was with him – Kevin, with his big innocent smile. Jim must have talked to him in his human voice the whole way to her house. Jim came in behind Kevin and closed the door.

  “A and W,” Kevin said. “How come you didn't tell me about your party?”

  Angela had to fight to regain her voice. “Why is he here?” she asked Jim.

  “Why not?” Jim asked, his expression flat.

  “Angie,” Kevin said, hurt.

  “He's not one of us,” Angela said sharply to Jim. “Get him out of here.”

  “No,” Jim said.

  “Why not?” Angela demanded.

  “Excuse me,” Kevin said. “How come I'm not one of you?”

  “We need him,” Jim said.

  “What for?” Angela asked, although she had a sick feeling she knew the answer to that question. Jim's answer only made her more sick.

  “For you,” Jim said.

  Angela grabbed Kevin's arm and pulled him towards the door. “Get out of here. We're not having a party, and you're not invited, I'm sick of you always bugging me. Go annoy some other girl.”

  “Stop,” Jim said.
r />   “Yeah, stop,” Kevin said, shaking free. But he began to get suspicious – Angela could see it in his face – when Jim moved between them, separating her from Kevin. Angela had experienced the growth of her supernormal strength all day, but she knew she was no match for Jim. He was menacing, and Kevin cowered before him, although he tried to put up a brave front. He poked Jim playfully in the chest. “What's wrong?” he asked. “Haven't had anybody to eat today?”

  “Not yet,” Jim said. He raised his right hand and struck Kevin, hard, on the side of the head. Kevin didn't have a chance to react. He slammed into the wall and crumpled on to the floor, unconscious. Jim turned to Angela who was frozen in horror.

  “Have you had anything to eat today?” Jim asked.

  Angela ran. She didn't know where she was going and as a result didn't get far. One of the others tripped her and she sprawled on to the floor. Back on her knees, ready to make another dash for it, she was struck by something hard and powerful on the side of the head. Like Kevin she was slammed into the wall, and she crumpled to the floor. She didn't immediately lose consciousness, though. Rolling on to her back, she saw them gathered round her, ten-foot-tall statues from the wax museum of horrors. Sticky warm fluid slid over the side of her face. Jim knelt and touched her head. When he withdrew his fingers they were red. He touched them to his lips, tasting her.

  “Almost ready,” he said.

  Angela blacked out.

  Mortician Kane met Lieutenant Nguyen at the back door of his establishment. Kane resembled a corpse more than a live man, Nguyen thought. The man was elderly, white-haired, with an unnaturally smooth red face – he had on a thick layer of make-up – and smelled heavily of cologne. Better than embalming fluid, Nguyen figured. He had big, moist pale blue eyes; they appeared to be made of glass. Nguyen didn't understand how someone could grow up wanting to be a mortician. But he supposed it was good someone had such an inclination.

  “I’m so happy you could come,” Kane said, using both palms to shake Nguyen's hand. Nguyen had called him a few minutes earlier and told him he was on his way. He was alone because he had told Kenny Williams to go home to his wife and kids. If he could help it, he wasn't going to lose any more men this weekend.

  “No problem,” Nguyen said, stepping into the man's laboratory. Twin stainless steel tables glistened beneath harsh white lights. The body of an old lady lay on the far one. She was dressed in a long white wedding dress and had on ruby-coloured slippers. Kane had obviously been doing her make-up when he stopped to answer the door. Kane led him past the woman.

  “That's Mrs. Bevin,” Kane said. “She made a vow to her husband to re-enact their wedding once they were in heaven.”

  “Her husband approved of this?” Nguyen asked, gesturing to the white gown.

  “I don't know. He's dead. He died many years ago.”

  “I see,” Nguyen said. “What did you want to show me?”

  “These,” Kane said, stopping in front of twin metal containers set on a waist-level table. They were cylinder-shaped, both about four feet tall and a foot in diameter. Even before Kane removed the lid of the one on the right, Nguyen got a whiff of the repulsive odour. It was unlike anything he had smelt before, and yet it reminded him of a smell he'd experienced many times in Nam. The stench of death, of decay, of life lost. Yet this was worse than any rotting body on the battlefield.

  “My Lord,” Nguyen said, taking a step back.

  “I should have warned you,” Kane apologized. “I use these containers to hold the blood I drain from bodies before I embalm them. I used this particular container for the blood of both of the teenagers who were killed at the party. I understand that you are in charge of that case?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Has the girl said why she did it?” Kane asked.

  “The matter is still under investigation.”

  “I understand,” Kane said quickly. “Anyway, I drained the blood of both these young people and put it in this container. That was on Monday, the day before the funerals. Ordinarily I dispose of the blood immediately – the same day. Bur I was unexpectedly called out of town on a business appointment and was late taking care of the matter. In fact, it was only today, while working on Mrs. Bevin, that I remembered I had yet to get rid of the material.” He frowned and nodded to the container he had uncovered a moment ago. “But when I went to pour it away it was gone.”

  “The blood?” Nguyen asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps you disposed of it and forgot.”

  “Impossible,” Kane said. He cleared his throat. “I believe the blood was stolen. The lock on my back door had been forced open when I returned from my business trip on Thursday.”

  “I hadn't noticed.”

  “I had the lock fixed immediately. I cannot have my establishment unlocked at any time. If I were to have one body stolen, it would permanently ruin my reputation.”

  “I can imagine,” Nguyen said. “Were there any bodies here while you were gone?”

  “No.”

  “Who do you think took the blood?”

  Kane was disappointed. “I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on the matter.”

  “I’m sorry, I can't,” Nguyen gestured to the empty container. He assumed it was empty; he couldn't see over the top of it. “What's making that awful smell?”

  “That's the other reason I called you out. There was something in the blood of those kids who were killed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll show you.” Kane took a pair of gloves from his back pocket and put them on. He reached up and tilted the container slightly, being careful not to let it topple. A mass of what could have been dark green algae was growing inside – the stench unbelievable. Nguyen felt his eyes burning and took another step back.

  “What is that?” he asked, repulsed.

  “I don’t know,” Kane said gravely. “In forty years of experience I have never seen anything like it. I tell you those teenagers' blood was contaminated.”

  “With what?” Nguyen demanded.

  “I don't know.”

  “Some kind of organism must have grown in the container on the blood that remained.”

  Kane was firm. “No. I realize my leaving the blood in the container for so long before disposing of it must give you the impression that I am careless. But I assure you that I am seldom anything but a perfectionist. I sterilized these two containers before I embalmed the two teenagers. There were no organisms in the containers at that time. I could swear to that in court. Also, whatever is growing in here is very unusual.” Kane tilted the can more on its side, revealing a portion of the bottom. A narrow trail of the green stuff had made its way down the rear of the container. The trail led across the short distance to the second container. Nguyen had to lean over to see where it was heading and was surprised to find it had already crawled halfway up the back of the second container, which appeared to be well sealed.

  Crawled? It's not an animal.

  Nguyen didn't like to think it was an animal.

  “What's in this other container?” Nguyen asked.

  “Mrs. Bevin's blood.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Kane was grim. “It's as if this green matter is hunting her blood.” He leaned closer. “Whoever stole the blood from this container wanted it for some special purpose.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Angela dreamed of the alien world. The day the World died. The World remembered it well. Yes, even its own end. Because the World was unique. It could die and be reborn. The mind of the World took birth in Angela's mind in the nightmare. She saw what it saw. She felt its shock, its terror, as the men from the third planet, the one they called Earth, appeared to erect their mighty machine.

  The World was almost helpless against this invasion. The men from the third planet had been warned and didn't at first allow their silver spaceships to land on the surface. They knew what the surface of the World
could do, how the infection could get inside them and begin to eat them unless they ate others of their own kind. That's what brought on the victim's hunger. The parasite had to be fed, or else it would feed on its host. It hungered for the living iron in the dying blood – to bring about the polarity, the magnetism, that led to union with the mind of the World. It wasn't sufficient to be infected with the parasite for the transformation to happen. That could make a human being sick, nothing more. It was only when the polarity in the blood of the victim reached a certain level that the ‘phase transition’ to magnetism occurred. Then the hunter and the hunted became one. Of course, once a human was fully transformed, he could change others simply with his blood. He would change them rapidly – more rapidly than the water could. He could take over a whole planet with his blood.

  But these men would not give the World a chance to send its cells into their bodies to start the process. High up in the sky they sent forth a burst of light that exploded as it touched the World, rending the ground, carving out a crater where not a single one of the World's cells survived. Only then did the spaceships slowly descend into the safe haven of the exploded crater. It was there that they began to erect their machine.

  The World watched at first. It could do little more until the ones it had converted arrived on the scene. The men worked quickly. The thing they built began to take shape in less than a day. Yet it was not done at the end of the day, and the World waited until the sun had vanished to send forth its hungry legions. They came by the thousands. For aeons the World had stored them up in the bowels of it caves, not just people from the third world, but visitors from faraway stars as well, changed beings who lived only to eat and serve the will of the World.

  Once more the third world men had been warned. They never slept and were able to activate powerful red and green energy beams at the first sign of attack. These rays cut down the World’s legions of walking and flying dead. In a short time there was nothing but millions of twitching limbs surrounding the crater the men had carved for themselves. Many of the limbs, driven by the will of the World, rose on their fingers and toes and wings to try to reach the enemy. But these, too, the men fired upon, and soon there was only smoking ash in place of what had once been the World's great defence.