Petrified

by Graham Masterton

  Miranda left without saying anything else, not even goodbye to Doctor Berman and Doctor Mahmood. A man whom Braydon had never seen before was waiting for her in the corridor outside. Balding, bespectacled, late thirties, in a putty-colored windbreaker. Another asshole, most likely. The man tried to put his arm around Miranda’s shoulders but she twisted herself free of him.

  Braydon turned back to Sukie. He wasn’t surprised that she was having nightmares after being trapped in the back seat of a blazing vehicle. But he didn’t agree with Doctor Mahmood that the Spooglies were anything to do with he and Miranda fighting each other. Sukie used to have nightmares about the Spooglies even when he and Miranda had been getting along well, before he had lost his job and they had lost their house and he had even lost his ability to make love to her. That was what had wrecked their marriage in the end: Miranda’s feeling that he no longer loved her, no matter how much he had protested that he did, and his own feeling of impotence, both financial and sexual.

  Doctor Mahmood said, ‘I think it is vital for me to talk to your daughter about her nightmares, Mr Harris – only when she is well enough to speak to me, of course. If I can help her to understand what they mean, I believe that I can help her to grow out of them. I think it will also help her to deal with the obvious trauma of your break-up with your former wife.’

  ‘All kids have nightmares, don’t they?’ asked Braydon. ‘When I was a kid, I always imagined that as soon as my bedroom light was switched off, the bathrobe hanging on the back of my door was going to come to life, jump off its hook, and try to strangle me.’

  ‘Eventually, though, you came to realize that this was not going to happen, and that your bathrobe was only a bathrobe?’

  ‘Who’s to say?’ Braydon replied. ‘The world is only what we perceive it to be, isn’t it? And if Sukie thinks that Spooglies exist, maybe they do.’

  Doctor Mahmood gave him an indulgent smile, and gripped his shoulder again. ‘All I ask, Mr Harris, is that you try to control your feelings of animosity toward your ex-wife – at least while you are both at your daughter’s bedside.’

  ‘I’ll try, doctor. But – as you saw for yourself – it ain’t easy. Not by any means.’

  He went to the hospital commissary and bought himself a large mug of black coffee and a lemon Danish. He sat in the corner, looking out over the courtyard in the center of the hospital complex, while rain trickled down the window. He had never felt so lonely and depressed in his life; or so guilty.

  On the opposite wall a TV was playing with the sound switched off. A reporter for WPVI news was standing outside an apartment building in the rain. Behind her, there were five or six police cars with their red lights flashing and at least twenty officers in long yellow raincoats. The caption running along the bottom of the picture said TWO KILLED BY MYSTERY FLYING CREATURE: WITNESSES TELL OF ROOFTOP ‘BLOODBATH’.

  Braydon could manage to eat only two bites of his Danish. He left the rest of it, and took his coffee into the relatives’ waiting lounge across the hall, where there was another TV with the sound turned up. There were only three other people in it – two young men with shaven heads and tattoos who looked as if they had been involved in a fight, and an elderly woman who gave him a sweet but inane smile.

  Braydon sat down in front of the TV and leaned forward so that he could hear it better. The news reporter was interviewing a woman detective in a purple rain-hat.

  ‘. . . what those witnesses saw?’ she was asking.

  ‘Right now we’re keeping an open mind,’ the detective answered. ‘At the time of the incident it was dark, and whatever this thing might have been, it was flying real fast.’

  ‘But if it managed to kill two men, it must have been something pretty big, surely? And highly aggressive?’

  ‘Like I say, we’re not jumping to any premature conclusions. Only one of the witnesses claims to have seen the creature clearly. The other two didn’t see very much more than shadows.’

  ‘Well, we’ve talked to your witnesses, too, Detective, and even if they didn’t see too much, they all said that it scared them half to death.’

  ‘If I saw a large dark shape flying past my apartment window, I’m sure that I’d be scared, too, especially if I was twenty stories up.’

  Scary things flying through the sky, like shadows. She calls them Spooglies.

  ‘Can you tell us the extent of the victims’ injuries?’

  ‘Not at this time. We’re going to wait for the ME’s report before we release any specifics.’

  ‘One of your witnesses talked about them being literally torn to shreds. Is this true?’

  ‘I don’t have any comment at this time.’

  ‘But their injuries were extensive?’

  ‘Both victims were killed outright. I think that gives you a fair idea how extensive they were.’

  ‘Thank you, Detective,’ said the news reporter. ‘Could you lastly tell me what advice you would give to the people of Philly regarding this mystery predator?’

  ‘Stay off your rooftops, or any other high exposed area. And when you’re out in the open – in a park, maybe, or up at the top of the Rocky Steps – watch the skies.’

  TWELVE

  Wednesday, 10:54 a.m.

  Aarif was slumped in his chair, his chin on his chest, looking as if he had died during the night. On the laboratory bench next to him, inside its cage, the phoenix was sitting on its perch, much more settled now, pecking at its dull brown feathers and occasionally warbling in its throat.

  Nathan approached the cage and stood looking at the phoenix with a feeling of triumph. The phoenix looked back at him, cocking its head on one side. Nathan would give it a thorough examination this morning, testing its heart rate and its blood count and its respiration, as well as its digestive functions, but on first sight it appeared to be fit and well and thriving. He looked into its feeding bowl and saw that it had eaten more than half of the strips of mouse meat they had given it, and drunk twenty-three milliliters of water from the glass tube attached to the bars.

  ‘Torchy – I can’t wait to tell the world about you,’ said Nathan. ‘You and me, we’re going to be famous. Fame, kid! We’re going to live for ever!’

  He poked his fingertip through the bars and the phoenix instantly pecked at it. The sudden burst of fluttering woke up Aarif, who jerked upright and said, ‘Oh! Professor! I am so sorry! I try so hard to stay awake! The bird is still OK, yes?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Aarif. The bird is still OK. In fact it looks better than OK. He’s fantastic.’

  Aarif stood up and stretched his back. ‘Kavita told me that he was very restless for the first two or three hours. Screaming, flapping his wings. But then she said that he gradually calmed down. By the time I took over from her, he was sitting on his perch very peaceful, like now.

  He passed Nathan a clipboard with columns of figures on it. ‘You can see from the stats. When Kavita first measured his heart rate, it was more than one thousand beats per minute, as fast as a bird in flight. The last time I measured it, at a quarter after six, it was beating at three hundred forty-five, which is no more than your average crow, sitting in a tree.’

  ‘Blood pressure?’

  ‘High. That is the latest measurement, right there. But of course all birds have high blood pressure. I would say it is not abnormally elevated for a scavenger hawk.’

  ‘Droppings?’

  ‘Aha! Only one motion so far,’ said Aarif. He peered into the bottom of the cage to make sure that the phoenix hadn’t passed any more. ‘But when I analyze it, what do you think I am finding?’

  ‘I don’t know, Aarif. What are you finding?’

  ‘For the most part his motion contained all that you might expect from a carnivorous bird kept in captivity. Maybe his uric acid level was a little low. But then – aha! – what am I finding? A very high proportion of a blood-clotting protein that is similar to fibrin, but which appears to clot very much quicker than fibrin. You could almost call it
“super fibrin”.’

  Nathan turned to the phoenix. ‘So that’s how you resurrect yourself, is it? Fibrous protein. You burn, you get better, because it’s all in the blood.’

  ‘I think we can cautiously assume that,’ said Aarif. It was obvious that he was deeply pleased with himself. ‘Once I have run some more comprehensive tests, I will contact the burns unit at Temple University Hospital, and see how many volunteers they can find for us. It will be fascinating to see how effectively this protein works on human beings.’

  They were still leafing through the test results together when a tall balding man in a chocolate-brown suit walked into the laboratory. He had a long face like a horse, a likeness that was emphasized by the dark chestnut suntan of somebody who takes at least three exotic vacations every year. He stopped, and inspected the fire damage for a second or two, and then he walked over to Nathan and Aarif.

  ‘Ron!’ said Nathan, cheerfully. He nodded toward the tortured metal framework of his vivarium. ‘Sorry about the mess. One of those experiments that got a little out of hand. But I’m very happy to tell you that it was highly successful.’

  Ron Kasabian stared at Nathan for a long time before he said anything, and when he did his voice was a low, threatening rumble, like a stampede approaching from behind a nearby hill. ‘You do know that this laboratory was completely remodeled only last September, at a cost of more than one and a half million dollars.’ It was more of a threat than a question.

  Nathan stared back at him, unblinking. ‘I’m aware of that, Ron. But accidents do happen, particularly at the cutting edge of cryptozoology. As I say, I’m truly sorry about the mess, but I think you’ll agree that the end result has made it all worthwhile.’

  He nodded toward the birdcage. ‘Ron Kasabian, meet Torchy the Phoenix. It worked, Ron. We set fire to the dragon-worm and this is what we got.’

  Ron Kasabian approached the cage and peered at the phoenix with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. ‘Scruffy little sucker, isn’t he? Didn’t you tell me that phoenixes have bright red beaks and shiny golden feathers?’

  ‘His appearance is irrelevant, Ron. Aarif here has carried out some preliminary tests and we think we already have a good idea how he restores itself after being virtually incinerated. We’re in business.’

  ‘No, we’re not,’ said Ron Kasabian, shaking his jowls. ‘Not any more, anyhow.’

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’

  ‘We had an emergency stockholders’ meeting yesterday afternoon. By a substantial majority, the stockholders voted to pull the plug on any research that doesn’t have more than a ten percent chance of commercial profitability within the next five years. And I’m afraid that your cryptozoology program doesn’t cut the mustard.’

  ‘What? But that’s just crazy! Here it is, Ron – indisputable proof that CZ really has a future! We have ourselves a real live phoenix, Ron – a bird that we created from scratch out of a nematode! Not only that, he’s a bird that can stand up to five hundred degree heat! Look at it, Ron! It’s a goddamned miracle, and we made it happen, right here!’

  ‘Yes, sure, it’s a miracle,’ said Ron Kasabian, ‘but it’s a very expensive miracle, and it’s going to take millions more dollars to prove that it really has any practical application. You told me yourself that it’s going to be well over two years before you can be absolutely sure that it works. And at the rate you’ve been burning through your funding—’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ Nathan challenged him. ‘Throw away nearly nine million dollars and three and a half years of intensive research, just because your stockholders can’t see beyond their bank accounts?’

  ‘It’s called “cutting our losses”,’ said Nathan. ‘You’ve overrun this year’s budget by thirteen point two percent which means that you’re already spending money that was earmarked for next year’s R and D.’

  Nathan looked at the phoenix, preening itself on its perch. When he spoke, his voice was shaking with emotion. ‘Until the day before yesterday, that bird was only a myth. Like a dragon, or a wyvern, or a gryphon. But here it is, sitting in front of you. You remember Jurassic Park? Well, this is even more awesome than Jurassic Park, because this isn’t fiction, this is real.

  ‘OK – it’s going to take a hell of a lot more investment to establish that Torchy’s stem cells can be used by surgeons to heal third-degree human burns. But imagine the profitability for Schiller if they can. Not only that, think of your public image. Schiller, the company that gives burn victims their lives back. I can see the ads now. Burn victim before Schiller-cell treatment. Burn victim after Schiller-cell treatment. Barbecued Beast on the left, flawless Beauty on the right.’

  ‘No,’ said Ron Kasabian. ‘The decision is absolutely final. The CZ program gets no more money.’

  At that moment, Kavita walked into the laboratory, wearing skinny-legged jeans and a very tight red sweater, with a red silk scarf on her head.

  ‘Hi, Mr Kasabian, what do you think of our phoenix? Isn’t he just incredible?’

  ‘Hi there, you tempting young thing,’ said Ron Kasabian. ‘Yes, what you’ve done here is amazing – truly amazing. I’m deeply impressed, and I mean it.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Kavita,’ Nathan put in. ‘Impressed as he is, Ron didn’t come here to congratulate us on our zoological genius. Ron came here to shut us down.’

  ‘What? You cannot shut us down!’

  ‘I can, and I have. Every business across America is suffering from the current financial squeeze, and Schiller is suffering just as much as everybody else – if not more, because we have to plow so much of our profits into long-term research projects. A new faster-acting medication for migraine, that’s one thing. Or a week-after birth control pill, for sure. But creating phoenixes and dragons and unicorns, that’s way out there, Kavita. That’s a luxury that will have to wait for when times get fat again.’

  ‘Ron, you can’t do this,’ said Nathan. His voice was still trembling with anger and disappointment. ‘I’ve been dreaming ever since I first went to college of breeding mythological creatures. Now, with Schiller’s finance and Schiller’s facilities, I’ve done it. But this is only the first step. You can’t ask me to stop now.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to stop, Nathan. I’m telling you. I’ve already been through the figures with our accounts team, and the clinical trials you’ll have to do to satisfy the FDA will cost at least a hundred million. Probably much more, with insurance. Supposing you screw up some poor bastard’s face even worse than it’s screwed up already – did you think of that?’

  ‘But it’s going to work, Ron. I know it’s going to work.’

  ‘Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t. Unfortunately we’ll never have the luxury of finding out.’

  Nathan stood very still for a moment, both hands clasped together, eyes closed, almost as if he were praying. Ron looked at Aarif and Kavita and gave them a shrug, as if to say, I’m sorry, but what can I do?

  ‘Nathan?’ he said. ‘Nathan, I’m leaving now. Come up to my office later and we’ll talk this thing through.’

  Nathan opened his eyes but he didn’t answer him, or even turn his head. Instead, he walked over to the long bench on the opposite side of the laboratory, where there were two long shelves of stoppered glass bottles containing acids, alkalis and various reagents. The mid-morning sun suddenly appeared from behind a cloud and shone through the window beside him, so that the bottles were magically lit up, like lamps, and Nathan himself was given a golden halo.

  ‘Nathan?’ Ron Kasabian repeated. ‘What are you doing, Nathan? I’m leaving now.’

  Still Nathan didn’t answer him. He ran his index finger along the line of chemical bottles until he came to a bottle of methanol. He picked it up and took out the stopper.

  ‘Nathan.’

  Nathan turned around. He saw Ron Kasabian and Aarif and Kavita all staring at him and frowning, because they couldn’t understand what he was doing. But he knew exactly what he was doing, and he
knew exactly what the consequences were going to be. He knew how much it was going to hurt, but if there was no other way to show that all of his years of study and research and disappointment had at last been vindicated, then he was prepared to bear it.

  He held out his left hand and poured methanol all over it. It felt chilly, but it had almost no smell at all. He put down the empty bottle, and then he picked up the Zippo lighter which they used for lighting the laboratory’s Bunsen burners.

  ‘Professor—!’ Aarif protested, and started to dodge toward him between the laboratory benches. Unlike Kavita and Ron Kasabian, he had suddenly realized what Nathan was about to do, but then he had been brought up in a culture where self-sacrifice by fire was not the rarity it was in America.

  Nathan thought of Grace, and what she would say when she found out what he had done. But he was sure that he was right. He was sure that the phoenix could save him, and he was sure that the phoenix could save thousands of other people, too.

  ‘No!’ shouted Aarif. But Nathan flicked the lighter and held it under his hand. Instantly, the methanol burst into flame, and Nathan’s hand became a huge fiery glove. The pain was immediate and unbearable. He had known that it would be. All of our nerve endings are close to the surface of the skin, and the first few seconds of burning are by far the most agonizing. He screamed a hoarse, desperate scream, although he couldn’t hear himself screaming, and everything in his being told him to thrust his hand into the sink beside him and turn the cold water on to full.

  But he could see Ron Kasabian on the other side of the laboratory, staring at him in horror, and in spite of the excruciating pain he held up his blazing hand in a defiant salute. His fingers looked like a mockery of a menorah, with five candles instead of seven.

  It was then, though, that Aarif collided with him in a shoulder tackle and seized his left wrist. Nathan’s back hit the laboratory bench so hard that he heard a rib crack, and then he lost his balance and fell sideways on to the floor. Aarif dragged the dark green hand-towel from the side of the sink and wrapped it around Nathan’s hand like a turban.