Re-Animator (18 page)

When Burk had finished, she motioned Officer Karlin over from the curb. He pocketed the handkerchief with which he stood wiping his mouth, then took a folded sheet from the trunk of the squad car. He used it to cover the victim’s body, then returned to the curb.

“You shouldn’t eat till you learn to control that,” Papa said as he marched to and fro.

Papa hated wimpy cops; he would give Karlin a backbone if it was the last thing he did. More than gutlessness, though, he hated waiting. He was a man of action, but he didn’t want to start knocking on doors until reinforcements arrived. The last thing he needed was for Karlin to get sick again and fail to stop a passerby from stepping on the soft mud which had washed from the lawn during the last rain. There was the faint outline of a footprint in the mud, and it didn’t belong to the woman jogger who’d found the body.

Something clicked in Detective Papa’s head when he saw the two young men round the corner. He watched as they stopped, looked, and then headed the other way down the street. He ceased his pacing and sent Karlin to collect them; he smiled with self-satisfaction as Daniel Cain and Herbert West were escorted over.

“I thought it was you.”

“And you were right,” said West. “Now, may we go?”

The young man snatched a look at the sheet. There was blood in the area of the face and throat. Teeth had obviously been used against the victim, not hands. The hands must have been full . . .

Papa glowered down at the youth. “A bit uppity this morning, aren’t we?”

“We’re in a bit of a rush this morning.”

The detective took a deep breath. “A bit early for a class—”

“It’s an experiment in progress,” West said. “We can’t afford to be late.”

“I see. Sure, you can go—just as soon as I ask you a few things.”

He motioned to Karlin, who looked away as he lifted the sheet.

“You know this guy?”

Cain looked down then away. “It’s Len Wengler. He owns half the town.”

“Probably has a lot of enemies,” West offered.

Papa eyed West. “Probably. On the other hand, you guys have this weird knack for showing up whenever there’s trouble. I mean, you were there when the dean went fruity and carved up a corpse, and here you are again, minutes after someone had his face chewed off near the dean’s house. Is it just that you’re lucky, or is something going on I don’t know about?”

West locked his hands behind his back. “As you know, we are friends of Dean Halsey’s daughter. It’s hardly a coincidence that we are in the neighborhood.”

“Both
of you . . . at this hour?”

“Daniel’s alarm didn’t go off. I came to get him.”

“And didn’t see the body?”

“I came down Hecate Lane. Unless the victim was maimed there and then jogged here, determined to get in that last block before dying, how could I see him?”

Papa pushed out his lower lip. “If that’s the case, why did you head the other way when you saw me here?”

“To avoid precisely the kind of delay we’re experiencing.” West made a point of pulling back his coatsleeve and tapping his watch. “Detective, we really do have an important experiment going on at the school, and if we’re late several months of work will go down the drain.”

Papa looked from West to Cain. “Is that so? You look nervous, kid. Anything wrong?”

“No, sir.”

“You had more color up at level L.”

West said, “He hasn’t slept since then.”

“I’m talking to
him.”

West stared hotly down the street, the toe of his shoe doing an angry dance on the pavement. Though Cain towered over Papa by more than a head, at the moment he seemed the smaller of the two men.

“So, Cain? What gives?”

Cain took a deep breath and said quietly, “The truth is, sir, I may have AIDS. That’s what we’re going to the hospital to find out.” He looked down at his feet. “And if you must know, that’s why Dean Halsey was so upset.”

Papa took a step back. At that moment, West saw in his face everything he hated about the human race: fear, prejudice, self-absorption, and ignorance. He could see that, unlike most doctors, he would have to administer his serum very selectively. Certain people just didn’t deserve immortality.

The detective’s mouth curled wryly. “So I was right about you, huh?” Cain said nothing. His voice tinged with superiority, he said, “You’re queer, and you bullshitted me. Let’s hope that’s all you lied about. Yeah, get out of here, but I’m warning you. If you happen to be anywhere near another crime, you’re both going to jail—sick or not.”

Papa resumed his pacing, and the young men continued on their way. When they were out of earshot, West said, “That was very clever. I’m proud of you, Daniel.”

“Christ, I hated to lie like that, but I was thinking about Megan.”

“As well you should.”

“Jesus, what’s going to happen when Papa goes to the house? He’s going to see the smashed door and come after us.”

“Let him come.
We
didn’t break the door,
or
kidnap Miss Halsey. Her father did that, under the direct orders of that ogre Hill. Let the detective question him and then dare to cast aspersions on
us!”

His face twisting with apprehension, Cain began to jog. West fought to keep up with him, his hard-soled Florsheims clip-clopping as he ran.

They reached the hospital within minutes, West breathing hard as they made their way through the main lobby to the elevators.

“Where to, Herbert? Office or morgue?”

“The morgue. I’ve got a feeling that abducting Miss Halsey isn’t the only mischief he has in mind for this morning.”

They waited for an elevator, but Cain grew impatient and hurried to the steps. He feared the worst when he emerged in the basement and saw that Mace was not at his post.

“He might have killed him.” West read his mind. “Mace would make one hell of a powerful reanimate.”

Walking cautiously to the door, they listened for a moment. All was quiet within, and slowly, gently, Cain tried the knob. It was locked. He pointed to Mace’s desk, and West went over. He retrieved a key from the top drawer and handed it to Cain. His heart driving hard against his throat, Cain slowly opened the door. West snuck through the opening.

Circling the room, he was more amused than repulsed by what he saw.

“I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Eh?”

Hill’s reply was muffled, his vision blocked. He immediately ordered the hands to raise him. Gore from his neck dripped down the insides of Megan’s thighs. She had to bite her lip to keep from shrieking.

Hill’s mouth turned up at the edges.

“Missster . . . Wesssst! An unexpected . . . surprise!”

West shook his head. “I must say, Dr. Hill, I’m very disappointed in you. You steal the secret of life and death, and here you are trysting with a bubble-headed coed. You’re not even a second-rate scientist.”

“Weee . . . are . . . in love!”

Megan screamed in protest and slapped violently at the head with her free hand. The body moved out of reach. It held the head close, waist-high, like a huge, ugly tumor.

“She has . . . much to learn . . . as . . . do . . . you!”

“At
your
side? I doubt it.” West paced a moment, weighed his words. Without being obvious, he looked past the head toward the door. Cain was creeping gingerly toward Megan. West wanted to buy him time to get Megan out, to make Hill jealous, irrational. Careless. “I doubt very much there’s anything you could teach me,” he went on, “save for a better way to lie and deceive.”

The head smiled. “You . . . flatter . . . me. The truth . . . Mister . . . West . . . is that I am . . . actually glaaaad . . . to see you!”

“Why? Run up against a problem you can’t solve?”

The head cocked a brow in Megan’s direction. “I doubt . . . Mister West . . . whether that was something . . . of which you have . . . any . . . knowledge.”

West slid his hands into his pockets, his gaze wavering. He took the insult, concentrated on the larger goal.

“No,” the head continued, “I am . . . glaaaad . . . to see you . . . because it saves me the trouble . . . of haaaaving to . . . send for you!”

“And why, I wonder, would you have sent for me? To kill me?” West felt for the hypodermic in his pocket and took a few steps closer to the head. “To pump me of anything else I might know?”

“Arrogant . . . fool! I am . . . finished . . . with you!”

“That’s what you think.” West saw that Cain had reached the table and was undoing the straps. “You’ll never get credit for my discovery. Who’s going to believe a talking head?”

Hill’s head puffed to the best of its ability. “Seeing . . .
is
. . . believing!”

“Only at the circus, Dr. Hill, and I suggest you get a job there, in a sideshow. That’s all you’re good for now.”

The head sunk in its hands. “I have had . . . enough. Though I am . . . puzzled. Tell me . . . why an intelligent young man . . . like yourself . . . should make such a foolish, fatal mistake . . . of coming here . . . to challenge me.”

West rocked on his heels, encouraged as Cain finished freeing Megan and handed her her robe. “Oh . . . I have a plan.”

Hill had his hand pluck a hair from his mouth. He grinned. “Do you? Well.” His voice was unusually flip. “So . . . do . . .
I!”

It wasn’t until the dead had risen that West even noticed them. The corpses had been wheeled from the morgue and left casually about, in the shadows beyond the surgical spotlight, where no one was likely to see. Now a half-dozen body bags burst in unison, their occupants surging in different directions.

In a single, sweeping glance, West recognized each of them. Meatball. Burn Victim. Cracked Rib. Shotgun Wound to the Head. Hill had reanimated them all. Even Rotten came to life, her arm hanging by a few tendons, her neck and breasts half eaten. Then Malpractice awoke and bellowed at Hill, confirming West’s suspicions. But the zombie quickly remembered its programming and snarled at West.

The young scientist watched with amazement. How was Hill controlling them? What power did he have to suppress and activate the reagent—and all at once?

It was only when Shotgun Wound to the Head passed under the bright surgical spotlight on his way to the door that he understood. Amidst the creature’s other wounds was a small fresh hole just beyond the hairline. The corpses had been lobotomized by the laser drill. One—Cracked Rib—had also been decapitated, no doubt a prelude to a more advanced form of control. Hill may not have had much scientific know-how, but there was nothing wrong with his imagination. He was an entrepreneur.

Still facing West as his zombies spread slowly through the room, Hill craned around his own waist and yelled, “I know . . . you’re back there . . . Missster Cain . . . and so . . . do they!”

Cain said frantically, “Hill, stop this madness!”

“Why . . . Missster Cain? So . . .
yoooou . . .
can have . . . sweet . . . Megan?”

When the zombies were positioned along every wall and corner of the room, Hill laughed heartily, blood trickling from his mouth.

“Taaake . . . them!” he gasped. “Clooose . . . the . . . circle . . . and kill them!”

Wailing like banshees, the zombies rushed forward. Cain and Megan dove under the stationary operating table, but Meatball easily wrenched it from the floor and tossed it aside. The couple scurried toward the exit where Halsey stood.

West needed a diversion. “Mace!” he yelled, his cry turning Hill toward the door. There was no one there, but it gave the young scientist the instant he needed to duck from a pair of closing zombies and withdraw his hypodermic. Arm cocked, he charged Hill’s back.

“Foooool!” Hill sneered as one hand hoisted his head onto the stump of his neck, staring straight back, while the other locked around West’s wrist. “Did you think . . . I would fall . . . for thaaaat?”

“You
bastard!”

West clenched his teeth as Hill’s powerful fingers crushed his forearm. His hand went numb, and he released the hypodermic; with a disdainful flick of the wrist, Hill tossed him into the arms of two waiting zombies.

“Ahhhh . . . my impetuous friend . . . you will sing . . . a different tune . . . verrrry soooon!”

Behind him, Hill heard the sounds of scuffling feet. He shut his eyes and looked through Cracked Rib’s head, which sat on an overturned bucket in the sink. He had injected some of his own brain cells into Cracked Rib’s skull along with the serum; it was his mind which had been duplicated in the dead man’s brain. The image was blurry, but he could see Cain and Megan in the clutches of his army. He watched as the reanimated John Doe reached for Megan’s face, his fingers bent like claws. The young woman screamed. The joy of their recapture, of his ability to see through the eyes of another, thrilled him.

Hill shouted suddenly, “Enough!” The zombies went still but didn’t relax. Their prisoners were held firm. Only two of the six slaves, those holding West, were at all uneasy: Malpractice, who was shifting slowly from foot to foot, blood pouring from his mouth as he snarled at Hill; and Meatball, who used one hand to fish around in its mouth and reel out its tongue. He snapped it off and tossed it aside, happier once he was able to release a full-bodied roar without the impedence. A dark look from Hill silenced him and caused Malpractice to fall still.

Hill ordered the zombies to bring West to the operating table. He had his body place his head back in the bloody pan while the zombies forced West onto his belly, facing their master.

Hill smiled. “I will show you . . . power . . . Missster West.”

The hands squirted in more blood, and he paused, moaning contentedly. A dreamy expression came over him, and Hill once again regarded his prisoner.

“My discovery . . . the laser surgical drill. . . makes possible . . . a new technique . . . in lobotomy! It results . . . in total mastery . . . of the human . . . brain.” He threw a manic look around the room. “These . . . reanimated subjects . . . have proved to be . . . a successful test. They . . . and more like them . . . will give me power . . . undreamed of . . .
power.”

“You corrupt man!” West charged. “Look at these creatures! You’ve created stupid mutes. That isn’t why the formula was invented!”