Spawn of Hell (48 page)

Bartley felt as if he were on the edge of the deepest pit of the underworld.

Their cries of ecstasy filled the air, and the water in the pool splashed over the edge. It was a nightmare come to life. Bodies turning, twisting every which way in horrible copulation. Creatures that could not have mated before, when they had been separate species, were now all
one
creature, capable of inbreeding, capable of producing more and more of their kind. The fools—

Anton, all of them! Had they not realized that
they
could become the dominant species,
would
become the dominant species before long? Superior to man, without scruples, with endless appetites, aggressively feeding on their enemies.

And everyone would become their enemy. The manic thoughts filled Bartley’s mind, numbing him to the horror around him, the sounds of splashing water, bubbling over as if the water were boiling from sexual heat. They had to be stopped before a new generation came into being. They had to be stopped now!

Bartley had to look. Just once he had to look. My God —he saw the faces they had—faces of people he knew, the entire town, fornicating in a grotesque, inhuman parody of some horrible orgy. The whole town locked together in sexual hysteria.

He lit the fuse. He had connected all the dynamite with an ingenious network of wires. He ducked into the tunnel, knowing it offered little protection, also knowing there was nowhere else to go. He clutched the briefcase to his chest, his arms wrapped about it as if it was a precious child.

He heard the sizzle of the burning wires, saw the sparkling light travel towards the clumsy piles of sticks. Then there was a booming noise, and a sudden glare that singed his eyebrows. The first explosion came, then the second. The pool seemed to lift right out of its basin, creatures and all, as more explosions followed. Pieces of the hybrids flew through the air, bouncing against the rocky walls, leaving smears of foul fluid. Heads, horrid little limbs, those slimy bodies, bursting apart, smashing against the rocks, drowned by sudden towering waves. The walls began to crumble and the ceiling fell in.

As if it had been shot from a cannon, most of the water in the pool was pushed out by the incredible force and hurled down the tunnel at breathtaking speed. Ted Bartley was dragged along with it. He felt so flimsy and small, engulfed in a smothering whirlpool, his body helplessly swung over and over, this way and that. He had no time to feel more than a stab of fear, a clutch of regret and dread. He was spattered against the steel door at the end of the tunnel like a bug against brick.

On the other side they had been working with acetylene torches, cursing the engineer who had insisted on putting a locking mechanism within. They did not panic until they heard the explosions. Bartley’s surmise had been astute. No one had thought that he would attempt sabotage, only that he would try to escape with the damaging papers. Why hurry? He had no place to go. Escape was impossible, wasn’t it?

Then the blast of water hit the door with hurricane force. The steel barrier—already weakened—flew off its tearing hinges and fell over, smashing the men working on it and Frederick Anton to a pulp. Blood and brain tissue spattered the walls, floor and ceiling. Unchecked, the water continued in its mad rush, down the hall, flattening everyone, smashing through open doors, and coming into contact with the sophisticated electrical equipment that had cost the Corporation at least half a billion dollars.

The resulting explosion blew the very ceiling off the plant and was heard over fifty miles away.

When David and Anna heard the explosion, the hospital shook all the way down to its foundation. In the distance the sky over Bannon Mountain was a miasma of black soot, gray debris and hot, white light. A crimson hue began to dominate as flames shot up in the air, in wildly spreading sheets. Porter Pharmaceuticals no longer existed.

He did it,
David thought. Bartley actually did it. He wondered if the man had survived. Probably not. Probably nothing had survived. Probably not even those horrible creatures, unless some were left in the woods. But they’d track them down, kill them, every last one.

The village had been avenged. Anna’s brother had been avenged. It was too bad the innocent had to go with the guilty. Perhaps there had been no other way.

He assured Anna, still trembling, that the explosion was not a harbinger of some new terror, but rather that it signified, if anything, the end.