Skin

by Ben Mezrich

  “If these men are just the beginning,” Scully continued, “what’s next?”

  Mulder wasn’t sure. But the sinking feeling in his gut told him where they would have to go to find out. “If Emile Paladin is experimenting on two thousand missing soldiers, he needs a private, secluded place to work. A place where no one would dare bother him.”

  Scully exhaled at his obvious attempt at melodrama. But Mulder was sure she was thinking along the same lines. As soon as he recovered his balance, they would be heading into the mountains that surrounded Alkut.

  Searching for a secret intensive care unit—and a mythological lair.

  25

  Scully sprawled next to Mulder against the fallen evergreen trunk, watching in awe as the three Thai guides hacked at the underbrush with their huge, curved machetes. All three men were bare to the waist, and their sinewy bodies glowed in the sweltering heat. A few feet away, the emaciated teenage monk guided their progress with abrupt flicks of his bony hand; even after seven hours of trekking upward through the dense tropical forest, he and the hired guides showed no sign of tiring. The sky had gone from orange to gray nearly an hour ago, and still they pushed forward, refusing to give up on the promise of reaching the mountain base before darkness set in.

  “Very close,” the teenage monk called over his shoulder, as he checked the sky with his eyes. “Trail ends over next hill.”

  Scully contained her enthusiasm. Malku had been making similar statements for the past three miles. What the teenage monk described as hills were actually small mountains covered in densely packed broadleaf evergreens, oak, laurel, and dipterocarps, a native Southeast Asian tree. And as far as Scully could tell, the “trail” was little more than a handful of disconnected breaks in the underbrush, separated by lush green barriers of tropical plant life.

  Mulder noticed the skeptical expression on Scully’s face, as he slipped off one of his combat boots and shook stones the size of marbles to the ground. A cloud of mosquitoes buzzed around his face, and he blinked rapidly, struggling to keep the irritating insects out of his eyes. “He knows where he’s going, Scully. It’s his religion, after all.”

  Scully glanced skeptically at her partner. It was a strange sight—Mulder in military camouflage, with combat boots and an assault rifle slung over his right shoulder. They had found the uniform and rifle at a shop next door to the town hall. Like the Jeep, the items were souvenirs of the Vietnam War—and both had been kept in surprisingly good shape. The uniform was frayed at the edges, and there were three quarter-sized holes in the lower back—but it fit Mulder’s frame. He had balked at wearing the uniform until the shop owner had promised him that the original owner had survived his wounds.

  The automatic rifle was a much easier decision. Mulder’s gun had vanished with his clothes, and they did not have time to navigate the necessary channels in search of a replacement. Mulder’s FBI training covered most models of assault rifles, including the CAR-15 slung over his shoulder. Basically, it was a shorter, carbine version of the M-16, chambered in 5.56 mm. The gun had come fitted with a single box magazine containing twenty rounds. The shopkeeper had done a good job keeping the machine oiled and clean, and it seemed battle-ready. A brutal weapon; surely capable of cutting through even the most durable synthetic skin.

  “I don’t share your confidence,” Scully finally responded, focusing on the thin young monk. His jutting chin and narrow eyes made him look like some sort of plucked bird. “Even if the place we’re looking for does exist, there are literally thousands of caves at the foot of See Dum Kao.”

  Mulder shrugged, pulling his boot back over his foot. He winced as the motion tweaked the edge of the fresh bandage around his calf. “You saw the map Ganon showed me in the temple. Malku has spent years memorizing its twists and turns. His whole life has been dedicated to understanding the legend of the Skin Eater. The cave is at the end of this trail.”

  Scully tightened the clasp holding her hair. It had been a struggle holding back her reservations when Mulder had brought her to Ganon and the Skin Eater temple. When the ancient monk had instructed his young apprentice to guide the agents to the legendary home of the Skin Eater, she had remained silent for one simple reason: The legendary mountain lair was their best bet for locating a private hospital large enough to hold two thousand burned soldiers. The myth was a good cover for unethical, radical experimentation. Emile Paladin could have set up some sort of private hospital during the war—and transferred control to Fibrol after his death. The company could have provided the funding necessary to keep the hospital functioning, while someone else—perhaps Julian Kyle—continued the transplant research.

  But in no way did Scully give credence to the fairy tale itself. She had seen Allan and Rina Trowbridges’ bodies. She had read Emile Paladin’s death certificate. And she had found nothing in the underground laboratory that remotely suggested a connection to some sort of skin-eating beast. The skin sample that had been transplanted onto Mulder’s calf had disintegrated into dust—and during microscopic analysis, the dust itself had decomposed beyond the molecular level, making any conclusions impossible. When Scully and Mulder had returned to the hotel before setting off for the mountains, they had found no trace of the electrocuted corpse. Scully assumed that the body had been discovered by the owner of the hotel and carted off along with the Trowbridges. She had unsuccessfully tried to track the body down by phone, and had finally accepted the obvious: another autopsy that would never take place.

  All of the evidence pointed to a medical conspiracy: transplant experimentation with some sort of nefarious purpose, one valuable enough to kill for—and to spur a cover-up of violence and misdirection. In retrospect, Scully realized that their entire case had been watched, and to some extent guided, by sources unknown. From the missing John Doe to the outbreak of encephalitis lethargica, they had been steered away from the simple truth. In that, Mulder had been completely on target. The skin Perry Stanton had received was the source of his murderous rampage. But Scully was equally convinced that the source of that skin was science, not myth. And the people behind the skin were criminals: accessories to murder, conspirators who had at the very least falsified Vietnam War records—and at worst, kidnapped and experimented on American soldiers.

  “Mulder, it’s important that we keep focus. We’re here to conduct a limited search of the area, to see if we can find traces of a major intensive care clinic or a laboratory. We’re searching for criminal suspects—not monsters.”

  Mulder’s response was cut off by a terrified shout that rang out from one of the machete-wielding guides. Mulder leapt to his feet, the assault rifle spinning expertly to his hands. Scully’s Smith & Wesson seemed minuscule by comparison. The shouting changed to rhythmic chanting as the three guides backed away from the cleared underbrush. Scully moved between Mulder and the emaciated monk, her gaze shifting to the ground.

  The skeleton was half-lodged in mud, curled in a fetal position. The bones were yellowish, obviously weeks old, and the skull was partially destroyed. Scully noticed the bowed shape of the spine and the short limbs. The skeleton wasn’t human. “A gibbon. Dead at least a week.”

  “And picked clean,” Mulder commented.

  “By wildlife, yes. See the tracks in the mud over there? Cleft front hooves. Most likely a wild boar. Fierce animals. They’re easily big enough to kill a gibbon.”

  Mulder dropped to one knee, looking over the skeleton. Malku was talking in quiet tones to the three other Thais, who had retreated a good ten feet back. One of them had slung his backpack full of camping supplies over his shoulders.

  “Wild boars don’t skin bodies,” Mulder said.

  “But jackals do,” Scully responded. “There are at least two species indigenous to this area. Not to mention a number of feline carnivores, wolves, and flesh-eating insects.”

  Mulder nodded. They would need a zoologist to determine what had really happened to the gibbon. Mulder rose to his feet, then turned back towa
rd the guides. Malku was pleading in a high-pitched voice, but the three guides were all shaking their heads. It was plainly obvious what was going on.

  “They go back,” Malku finally explained, his eyes sad. “Back to Alkut. They say I must lead them.”

  Scully glanced at Mulder, then at the underbrush. There was a break in the green, about the size of a person, extending beneath a thick canopy of branches. There was no telling how far the break continued. “I guess that doesn’t give us much of a choice.”

  Mulder looked past her. “Malku, how much further is the base of the mountain?”

  “Not far. Just over hill.”

  “Mulder,” Scully said, “this trail could continue for miles. It’s going to be dark, and we don’t know the area.”

  “Before I became unconscious, I heard Kyle and the other man talking about the upcoming demonstration. It’s happening now, Scully. We can’t head back to town.”

  Mulder pointed to one of the packs lying next to the fallen trunk. “We can carry what we need. Malku will come back for us. Right, Malku?”

  The young monk bobbed his head. Scully bit her lower lip, thinking. She did not like the idea of heading farther into the forest on their own, especially so close to nightfall. But Mulder was right—if they didn’t reach the mountain soon, there was no point in reaching it at all. She took a deep breath, tasting the steaming, wet air. “Another hour, Mulder. If we don’t reach the mountain, we turn back.”

  “The key is in the wrist,” Mulder grunted, bringing his machete down in a vicious arc. “Don’t let the weight of the blade control your swing. Like golf, only this sucker will take your head off if you mistime your follow-through.”

  Scully swung her own machete, severing a branch almost half her length. Her body was slick with sweat, and her shoulders ached beneath the weight of the heavy assault rifle. Mulder was carrying the backpack containing enough rations for two days in the forest. Overkill—Scully hoped. It had been only forty minutes since Malku and the guides had turned back, and already the forest felt as if it was closing in on her, an enveloping crush of nature. Her ears were ringing with the strange whistles and calls of tropical birds and monkeys, and she no longer noticed the carpet of blood-sucking insects stuck to most of her exposed skin.

  “It’s getting pretty dark,” she commented, as she stepped over the freshly cut branch and went to work on the next obstacle, a thick bush nearly twice her height. The effort seemed futile, and she was more than ready to turn back. All she could think about was a cool shower and a flight back to Washington. “We’ll have to make camp soon—and wait for Malku to return. Unless you think we can find our way back ourselves.”

  Mulder moved alongside, slashing deep into the fingers of green. “I’m not ready to give up yet.”

  “It’s not a matter of giving up,” Scully said, chopping into the bush with frustrated swipes. “It’s a matter of being reasonable—shit.”

  Scully watched as the machete slipped out from her sweaty fingers and somersaulted through a breach in the thick bush. The blade quickly disappeared from view, and a second later there was the loud clatter of metal against stone. Mulder’s face brightened. “That sounded promising.”

  Scully did not argue. She delicately stepped after the machete, working her way between the minced branches. To her surprise, the other side of the bush opened into a narrow rock canyon leading steadily upward. The canyon was little more than shoulder wide, running between twenty-foot-high rock walls. It was impossible to tell if the canyon had been purposefully carved into the rocks or was a feat of evolution. The rock walls were rough, with sharp, jutting protuberances and clinging green vines. Ten feet ahead, the canyon twisted tightly to the right, making it impossible to see beyond a few feet—but it seemed the agents might have finally reached the edge of the forest.

  “It’s a pretty tight fit,” Scully said. “We’ll have to go one at a time.”

  It was an unpleasant thought—but they had come this far already. Scully slid the rifle off her shoulder and held it lightly in her hands. She had not used anything as powerful as the carbine since her days at Quantico, but she was mentally prepared to fire if it became necessary.

  She quietly worked her way forward, Mulder a step behind. The rocks grew steeper on either side, until she could no longer see anything but the narrow incline ahead of her. She found herself turning sideways to fit through the walls, and every few seconds she felt a sharp pinch as she brushed against the jagged rock. She was getting scraped and bruised by the forward progress—and from Mulder’s cursing behind her, she knew he was suffering as well.

  “I’m beginning to know what a kidney stone feels like,” he whispered, yanking off the heavy backpack to make more room for his body. Scully silenced him with her hand as she came to an abrupt turn in the canyon. The walls finally opened up into a brief, rock-strewn plain, stretching upward in a gentle slope. The ground was reddish brown, a combination of packed forest mud and thin gravel. Other than a few knee-high bushes, the ground was clear of significant obstructions. It was strange seeing so much empty space after the long trip through the tropical forest.

  Just on the other side of the cleared, reddish plain, Scully saw sheer rock cliffs rising almost straight up, disappearing into the charcoal sky. The cliffs seemed staggeringly large, and she knew her and Mulder’s forward progress was about to end. They had reached the base of See Dum Kao.

  “Scully,” Mulder whispered, his cheek almost touching hers. “Over there.”

  He gestured toward a huge black oval carved directly into the sheer cliff, about thirty yards away. It was the mouth of a vast cave, exactly as Ganon had described. A foreboding sight. The opening was at least twenty feet high, with a span nearly twice as wide. Twisting green vines hung down across the cave entrance like a living portcullis.

  “It looks deserted,” Scully commented.

  “There’s got to be another entrance,” Mulder explained. “There’s no way they move supplies back and forth the way we just came.”

  “Well,” Scully said, shaking sweat out of her eyes. “Let’s take a look.”

  She started forward, casting a glance at the sky. In a few more minutes they would be in total darkness. Isolated in the middle of nowhere, waiting for Malku to lead them back to Alkut. It was not a pleasant thought. On the bright side, at least night would bring relief from the overwhelming heat. If the cave was as deserted as it looked, they would have a place to camp out and wait.

  They made short work of the rocky glade, angling along the sheer cliff toward the opening. See Dum Kao seemed to rise straight upward forever to Scully’s right, a dagger stabbed deep into the dark skin of the sky. She wondered how many thousands of caves pockmarked the ancient mountain—and how many miles of subterranean caverns spread out like a hollow circulatory system beneath the stone.

  She slowed as she reached the edge of the opening. One of the vines hung down just inches from her body, and she reached out, gently touching the thick green rope. Its outer layer was rough, speckled with tiny prickers like an elongated cactus. She looked up, searching for the plant’s center, but she could no longer see the arched top of the cave entrance. She carefully unslung the automatic rifle and handed it to Mulder. Then she withdrew her handgun.

  Without a word, Mulder slid between two of the vines and into the dark cave. Scully followed, noting how the air seemed to change instantly. The temperature dropped by at least ten degrees, while the humidity seemed to increase, causing an involuntary shiver to move down Scully’s back. A dank, mossy smell filled her nostrils, and she fought the urge to cough. She knew there was a danger of inhaling poisonous gases—carbon monoxide, methane, even cyanotic compounds resulting from natural decomposition. But she hoped the wide opening kept fresh air circulating enough to provide sufficient oxygenation.

  Beyond the entrance, the cave opened up into an oval chamber, similar in size to the laboratory beneath the church. Huge stalagmites rose up at random intervals across
the red-mud floor, sparkling with crystal deposits. Some of the stalagmites were nearly fifteen feet tall—thousands, if not millions, of years old. The ceiling was shrouded in darkness, but Scully could make out the points of similar stalactites hanging down like dulled fangs. Directly across the room was another arched opening, leading deeper into the mountain. A yellowish light trickled across the stone floor, coming from somewhere beyond the second entrance. Scully could not tell for sure—but the light seemed artificial. Still, it was possible that some sort of natural aperture was directing reflected light through the cavern. Perhaps the moon had broken through the clouds, and its light was funneling through fissures in the surrounding stone.

  Mulder touched her shoulder, pointing past one of the larger stalagmites to a cleared-out area by the far wall. A glint of reflected light caught her eye, and she held her breath. There was a large, rectangular object at the edge of the chamber. From the distance, it seemed to be made of glass.

  Mulder advanced, the automatic rifle cradled in his arms. Scully weaved behind him, circumnavigating a huge stalagmite. As she moved closer to the reflection point, she saw an enormous glass tank running waist high along the wall. The tank was at least twelve feet long, perhaps four feet wide. A series of rubber tubes twisted out of the bottom of the tank, disappearing into holes drilled straight into the stone wall.

  Scully’s thoughts swirled as she stood next to Mulder, peering into the tank. It was half-filled with transparent liquid, and a strong scent wafted in Scully’s nostrils. Salty and familiar. It reminded her of the many thousands of hours she had spent in bio labs during college, medical school, and beyond.

  “Ringer’s solution,” she said, softly. “It’s a biochemical solution used to keep organic cells alive. Tissue cultures, bacteria—”

  “Transplant materials?” Mulder asked.