Zombie Eyes bs-2

by Robert W. Walker

  Stroud recalled the strange fog that lifted off their bodies as they hit the air in the light mist and rain. Dr. Cline continued, saying something he didn't quite understand, and wasn't sure he could pronounce. He tried desperately to catch her, asking, "And this sulfonethylmethane?"

  "A narcotic, very powerful, especially in such concentration. This alone could turn a man into a zombie."

  "But your blood tests showed none of this?"

  "No ... very strange ... if it came from inside Weitzel. Almost as if it were stored like a hormone in an organ."

  They stared long into one another's eyes for several silent minutes.

  She pulled her gaze from him and continued. "We also found high levels of succinic acids, choline and..."

  "Yes?"

  "Mephitis, an odorous gas."

  "What does that tell you?"

  "Very little, except that none of this should have been in that hospital room with you men."

  "What is this acid and choline?"

  "In the human body, they are natural by-products of succinylcholine, normal body chemicals. They break down after death into their component parts."

  "Sounds to me like you had graveyard muck under your scope, Doctor."

  "Not so fast. The drug is also used in careful dosages as a muscle relaxant during surgery of the abdominal cavity. Its presence in a hospital room is not altogether remarkable."

  "But encased in fluid and mud spewed forth by a supposed coma victim?"

  She dropped her gaze. "You can't expect me and the others here to believe that some sort of demon possession is involved here, Dr. Stroud, can you?"

  "No, I guess I can't expect that from any of you medical people. Now, if I may, I'm out of here."

  "Dr. Stroud, please tell me this. Do you recall anything at all of your experience when you were under?" she asked.

  "I may in time, but for now ... sorry. Sometimes I have total blackout from which I recall literally nothing. Other times I may get fragments ... bits and pieces coming back..."

  "You can tell me nothing more?"

  "Sorry."

  "What about hypnosis? Would you submit to a test?"

  "A test? Do you ever do one test, Dr. Cline? Look, I'm on my way out of here. I'm surprised Nathan hasn't already sent a car for me."

  Stroud drained his coffee, got up and asked, "Will you please just do all that you can for Dr. Leonard?"

  "Of course we will."

  "Have you heard anything at all from Nathan? I have to arrange to see Dr. Wisnewski, and Nathan may be my only way in."

  A look of fatigue and perhaps defeat colored her features as she leaned back in her desk chair. Stroud saw something skitter past her liquid gray eyes, something she was hiding. He wondered a moment about her past, what had brought her to be here in New York at this time. She might well be wondering the same of him.

  Finally, she said, "I'm afraid Commissioner Nathan does not know that you ... that you are out of coma, Dr. Stroud."

  "What? But that was our agreement!" He was astonished.

  "My secretary has been trying to get through to him for hours, but--"

  "But? But what?"

  "He's about the hardest man in the city to reach right now and--"

  "And nothing, Doctor. We had an agreement. You broke it, pure and simple. Damn, you've just strung me along, and you're still trying to find reasons for me to stay put."

  "Don't you care about what's happening here? Don't you see this is the only rational way to proceed? I thought you were a reasonable man!"

  "I try to be, but sometimes, Doctor, reason is not enough."

  "Then think about this!" She rushed to catch him at the door. "You could very possibly be a carrier; by coming into contact with others, you could be exposing them to this unknown disease."

  He took a deep breath, realizing she was right. "I'll have to risk that."

  "Haven't you any moral compunction whatso--"

  He hated to do so, but Stroud closed the door in her face. He must rush as quickly as possible to Commissioner Nathan's. The man must be frantic by now, losing Leonard and Stroud to apparent coma, losing Wisnewski to madness and seeing the plague numbers rise without any idea what was going on.

  Stroud had to slip from the hospital quietly without any attendant press or other attention. He found a service elevator and made his way out the back. He had to get to Wisnewski.

  -6-

  Stroud had called for a cab but he was told it might be an hour, maybe two, before one could get to him. Every cab in the city was on call and when Stroud stepped out onto the street he knew the reason why. Sirens were blaring everywhere. Every medic, every cop and every good citizen in New York had been pressed into service as ambulances roared through the congested streets. Panic was rampant. There was evidence of some looting, and there was evidence everywhere of the alien disease. People who had contracted the disease were in such large numbers now that many lay in the gutters, alleyways and streets, others afraid to touch them. All of the plague victims, eyes staring wide from inside bodies they could not maneuver, were like zombies. Their muscles and minds were locked in various poses of frozen gesture where they lay.

  A man rushing by Stroud had tears in his eyes when he came face-to-face with Stroud and said, "There're too many of them! Too many! I ... I can't help it ... can't..." The man dashed off, stumbling as he went.

  The man who had screamed his frustration in Stroud's face had good reason, as mad as he sounded, for it came clear to Stroud that the streets were now filled with insanity. Stores were being openly looted, youngsters making off with VCRs, camcorders, tape decks, while older citizens were going in for jewels. The break-ins and looting had apparently become too much for police along with trying to contain the epidemic.

  Everywhere Stroud looked he saw the fallout from the evil that had been unleashed on the city; it could all be traced back to that damnable ship and Gordon's unquenchable desire to build yet another skyscraper the likes of which the world had never seen. It was apparent to Stroud that this ship below the city was meant never to be disturbed, but now that it had been, what were their alternatives? How did you combat an evil that worked through the body chemistry of mankind, taking control of their minds, turning them into unknowing servants?

  Stroud saw a pair of frightened children holding hands, zigzagging first toward him and then away, fearful of everything that moved. He shouted out to them not to fear him, but they raced on without turning an ear to him. Still he shouted, praying they would heed him, "Get to a church, a hospital or hospice!"

  The sound of sirens continued in Stroud's ears as he made his way toward downtown Manhattan and One Police Plaza where he hoped to locate Nathan. He'd been unable to reach the commissioner by phone.

  From an alleyway behind him a madman suddenly rushed Stroud with a claw hammer. Stroud sensed his presence moments before the hammer came down, grazing Stroud's shoulder when he bobbed and brought his fist into the man's abdomen. The blow seemed to have no effect on the man and Stroud suddenly realized from the look in the attacker's eyes, and the deathly pallor of his skin, that he was under the control of the affliction. Stroud saw the same unnatural glow in the whites of the man's eyes as he had in Weitzel's. Whatever this thing was, it seemed to be bent on destroying Abraham H. Stroud. Why? Stroud now grabbed the hand with the hammer in it, twisting and tearing, but the zombie's strength and grip on the weapon were incredible. Finally, Stroud brought up a knee to the thing's groin, and when this had no effect, he did it again and again. Still no visible effect and the thing was gaining strength while Stroud was weakening. The hammer was pulling free of Stroud's grip and would momentarily crush his skull, steel plate and all, when Stroud saw a speeding car coming toward them.

  Stroud knew his timing must be perfect as he backed the creature at his throat toward the street. He brought up a leg and wrapped it around the ankle of the mad zombie and, letting go of the hammer, shoved with all his weight, toppling the crazed man int
o the path of the vehicle which pinned him beneath its grillework. In the screeching of tires and horn, Stroud thought he heard a voice escape the dead man, or was it simply air? It seemed to say, Esruad ... Esruad. Stroud saw that the deadly claw hammer lay in the gutter down and across the street, where it had flown on the impact.

  Then Stroud saw another zombie mechanically bend at the waist and lift the hammer. Behind him, coming from doorways and from behind trash cans, other zombies wielding bottles, sticks, bricks, cordless drills--anything they'd found at hand--were closing in on Stroud.

  A man jumped from the car and shouted at Stroud, saying, "Here you are, Stroud! Get in!"

  It was Nathan's aide, Lloyd Perkins. "We learned from the hospital that you had gone. Very foolish of you to leave on foot, Dr. Stroud."

  "Just get us the hell out of here, Perkins."

  Stroud leaped into the passenger side of Perkins's car. Perkins backed off the man he had hit when Stroud pushed him into his path, dragging the body half a block before it was released to the other zombies. Stroud watched them gather about the remains to stare dumbly down at it.

  "The C.P.'s been in conference after conference on this thing since you and the others came out of the pit," said Perkins. "I've got to tell you, Stroud, everybody--I mean everybody in the city--is going nuts, and some are going nuts with fear."

  "You think we made a mistake going down there, Lloyd?"

  "Don't know that it made a difference either way, but the C.P.'s been monitoring your progress, along with Leonard's and Wisnewski--"

  "How is Dr. Wisnewski?"

  "For now he's safe; in a padded room at Bellevue."

  "Poor man." Stroud heard a voice emanating from the steel plate in his head which told him to go to Wisnewski, that it was urgent.

  "We've got more to worry about than Wisnewski at the moment. The whole city is going up for grabs."

  "Take me to Bellevue. I've got to see Wisnewski now."

  "I was sent here to bring you to Nathan, and that is what I'm going to do."

  "Bellevue first, and then, as soon as I see the old man--"

  Perkins pulled a .38 Smith & Wesson and lay it on his lap. "Dr. Stroud, you may pull a lot of weight in Chicago, but this is New York. You're going to see the C.P."

  Perkins escorted him into a conference room where Nathan was discussing the state of affairs with the mayor and City Council. There were some perfunctory introductions before Stroud saw that Dr. Kendra Cline was also here. James Nathan told the others that Dr. Stroud was one of three archeologists who had gone into the pit to investigate the sunken ship.

  "He is also the only man to have gone into coma induced by this ... this disease, and has come around," added Nathan. "Dr. Cline can speak more to that if you have any questions."

  "Am I to understand that you have some natural immunity to the disease?" asked the mayor, a tall man with thinning gray hair and a wide girth. He had the look of a man who was playing poker with thieves and he knew he could not win.

  "I never went into coma, Mayor. It was merely a blackout. Dr. Cline can verify that."

  Kendra Cline pursed her lips and nodded. "It would seem that that is the case with Dr. Stroud, from all our findings."

  "Then you never contracted the disorder in the first place?"

  "No, sir."

  "But Leonard did, and Dr. Wisnewski."

  "In a manner of speaking," said Nathan. "Dr. Wisnewski's aberration took the form of madness."

  "I am told he attempted to murder me with a pickax," said Stroud. "But that was not Dr. Wisnewski's doing."

  "He was surrounded by witnesses, Dr. Stroud," said Perkins.

  "Since I've come out of what Dr. Cline had taken for coma," said Stroud, "I have been attacked twice by ... by these controlled people. Dr. Wisnewski was not acting out of madness but control. Something is controlling this entire event."

  This caused a general stir throughout the room. The mayor stood and paced the length of the table. "Dr. Stroud, do you have any idea what this ... this something is that is in control?"

  "Only that it is beyond our normal reckoning, sir, and that without Wisnewski's help ... with Dr. Leonard gone ... I'm not at all sure we will understand what we are dealing with until it is too late."

  "What do you propose, Doctor?"

  "First, I would like Dr. Wisnewski released into my custody, and any and all objects that we brought out of the pit be returned to us for complete examination under controlled conditions--"

  "You want us to release a man who attempted to murder you, into your custody?" asked one of the men seated around the table, but the mayor raised a hand and silenced him.

  "Go on, Doctor."

  "Under my guidance and care, perhaps Dr. Wisnewski and I can carry on with our original plan to defuse this situation."

  "And what does that amount to, sir?"

  "First and foremost, we must understand the enemy, understand the meaning of the ship ... how it came to be here, why. To understand the meaning of the ... of the bones inside her hull."

  "Bones, like those you brought out?" asked Nathan. "Those were human bones."

  "Exactly."

  "I don't like it," said the deputy mayor, the man the mayor had silenced moments before. "Suppose Wisnewski attempts to kill Stroud again, and succeeds? And suppose the papers got hold of that, and--"

  "To hell with the papers and your office, Dennis!" shouted the mayor. "This ... this is war. We've called in the National Guard, and we've declared martial law and a curfew." The mayor's face had gone red, but now he settled down again. "Stroud had Leonard's backing, Wisnewski's backing, and despite what some of us may have read or heard about Dr. Stroud, he appears our only hope in this matter. Whatever Pandora's box we've opened, a bazooka shot to the ship isn't going to close it, or restore the faculties of some nine hundred to a thousand people who've succumbed to this thing."

  "Then you will accept my recommendation, sir?" asked James Nathan. "That we give Dr. Stroud carte blanche on this matter?"

  "Up to a point, Nathan ... Stroud ... up to a point. We need results, and quickly. We need to show the public that we are acting to ward this thing off. To this end, Dr. Cline will assist you, Dr. Stroud, in any way she can."

  "What?" asked Cline, taken totally by surprise. "Mayor Leamy! I don't work for the city of New York, and I am needed at St. Stephen's. I've got patients and tests and experiments to oversee."

  "Dr. Wallace has already dispatched two of your colleagues to take over your duties," said Mayor Bill Leamy. "We've got to pursue this thing aggressively and from as many avenues as are opened to us, Dr. Cline. To that end I want you to monitor the progress of Dr. Wisnewski, and to give assistance wherever possible with this special approach. Is that understood?"

  Stroud saw that she was fuming beneath the nod. "I will do what I can, but I won't take responsibility for the consequences."

  "Good ... good," said Leamy, taking a deep breath. "Wiz is an old and dear friend of mine. I think it is time, Dr. Stroud, Nathan, that you go to him."

  Arthur Wisnewski's frustration rose and rose and rose as he beat his head against the padded door to the chamber the demons had thrown him into. He feared their return, feared what they intended for him once they returned, feared they intended to feed off his body as if he were a cockroach for them to swallow, so horrid and vile was their crablike appearance, and the thing that Stroud had become--so hideous that Wisnewski had felt his heart grip itself and squeeze as the blood suddenly pumped through his small body and he had lifted the pickax to dismantle the monster Stroud. The next time he saw Stroud, he would kill him.

  He knew Stroud for what he was now ... knew that his true name was Esruad and that Esruad was to be destroyed. He didn't know what the name Esruad meant, other than its inherent evil. He had never heard the name before, but something in his mind triggered the explosive hatred for what was below Stroud's mask.

  He had been screaming for them to bring Stroud to him for hours. Even
with his hands tied, he would find a way to kill Stroud, he promised ... promised himself? No, not himself ... someone else, but he couldn't recall who.

  He had rammed the door continually since finding himself here. He recalled very little of the tortures the bestial, vile things that were his captors had done to him; he felt no pain, only an enormous disgust and hatred for them--for all of them--but for Stroud in particular. Stroud was their wizard, their leader.

  "Use your spittle on Esruad," a voice inside his head kept telling him. But what good would spit do against a creature of Stroud's enormous strength and those bulging fangs and lower teeth like a wild boar, his body crawling with living parasites feeding over him.

  "Spit," commanded the voice inside him.

  Wiz did so, splattering the padded door with a burning brown syrup that sent up a smoke cloud. The smoke curled about the chamber, getting thicker and thicker, the feathers and tick inside the pads turning the smoke into a thick, ugly black cloud that made Wisnewski cough and cough and cough until it finally set off an alarm. The bells exploded in his ear and the door was thrown open, two of the vile creatures, their boars' heads heaving, their tentacled limbs reaching for him and gaining hold.

  "Stroud! Bring me Stroud!" he called out as they forced him through the choking smoke and outside.

  "Spit! Spit on them!" came the voice within.

  But Wisnewski suddenly felt dopey, dropping to his knees as the drug from the hypodermic sent him under. The last thing he felt was the hideous hands of the monsters grabbing him up by the middle, his arms still strapped tightly about him, alarms sounding in his brain, drowning out the voice there.

  Later Wisnewski awoke in another white, empty, padded cell. On the floor beside him was a huge globule of the syrupy liquid he had spat out at the pads in the other room. Wisnewski felt drained, weak, woozy and confused. He tried desperately to remember who he was and where he was ... what had happened to him ... why he was in a straitjacket.

  His mind felt like a blank tablet and when he looked at the reinforced glass window in the door, he found people staring in at him as if he were a lunatic.

  He fought to regain his mind, his memories, but they were fleeting, as if they'd only been stains wiped away with a washcloth. Who was he? Where was he? Who were his jailers?