The mechanical box bolted to Massie's chest began to vibrate, as if somehow aroused by the closeness of the dead. He gasped as he entered the room.
"Are you all right, Mr. Massie?" the technician asked, looking him over for signs of trouble, then the young man smiled. "Hey, where's your cane?"
Massie shook his head and smiled. "I don't need it anymore," he said, again experiencing the sheer joy of saying the words. Absolom had taken away the debilitating illness, and all Massie need do in return was provide Absolom with the raw materials he needed to make his vision of the world a reality.
"That's awesome," Sanders said, nodding his head in approval. "Some kind of new medication they put you on or what?"
The pulse of the box was growing stronger, and so was he. Franklin Massie wasn't sure if he'd ever felt so alive before, and he realized that the device was likely charging itself--collecting the spirit energies that lingered in the room. How else could he explain how absolutely amazing he was feeling?
"You might say that," he said, flushed from the rush of energy.
"Maybe I need some of whatever it is they put you on," Adam said, walking around his desk to pick up a clipboard. "So, what was the name of the pickup again?"
Massie could hear the device working, felt the movement of its internal mechanisms as it continued to feed. He wandered into the center of the morgue, tilting his head backward, basking in his growing strength.
Sanders was calling his name, asking him about the fictitious body that he had supposedly come to collect, when he realized that it was time to complete the task Absolom had asked of him.
"I've come for all of them," Massie explained, trying to ignore the intensity of the pleasure coursing through him.
Sanders didn't understand, slowly lowering his clipboard as Massie approached.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"All the poor souls stored in these drawers and freezers," the mortician said with a wave of his hand. "I'm taking them all with me."
Absolom needed drones to carry out his tasks, in preparation for the arrival of a new world. To make this a reality, bodies were needed, but there were limits as to how many corpses were available to him on any given day. He needed bulk, and what better place to obtain these raw materials than a city morgue.
"I don't understand," Sanders began.
Then Massie was upon him, crushing the man's fragile throat in his hands, feeling it collapse beneath his fingertips.
Stunned by his own display of preternatural strength, Massie watched as the technician's body flopped to the floor.
"But you will understand," he replied to the corpse at his feet, feeling more alive at that moment than he had in his entire existence.
Soon, everybody will.
Hellboy sat at the back of the Chinook CH-47 transport helicopter, lost in thought, thinking about the plans of madmen.
Hadn't he been brought to the world for a similar purpose--as some kind of harbinger of a new age, a beast of the apocalypse that would reshape the world in its own horrible image? The similarities gnawed at him.
He stared down the length of the craft's fuselage, at the ten BPRD agents assigned to him as backup for the assignment on Gosnolt Island. A good group. He hoped they all made it back alive. Hellboy never minded risking his own butt, but he always resisted the idea of having backup. He didn't want anyone's death on his conscience.
He glanced at the large, phosphorescent dial of his wristwatch, attempting to distract himself from any more troubling thoughts. They had left Bradley Airport a little over thirty minutes ago, so they had at least another hour in the air before touching down on the tiny island that housed the Depot.
Hellboy sighed as he closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat, trying to relax. He listened to the powerful twin rotors of the helicopter, a kind of rumbling metronome easing him into a fugue state somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. He thought about Liz and Abe, off on their own mission, wondering what they would find in their reconnaissance of the house in Lynn. He wished he could've been there with them, but the situation at the Depot required a certain muscle. They'll be fine, he told himself, drifting down into the nap zone. And besides, how many robot zombies can these guys possibly have?
Unbidden, his mind drifted back to the plans of the Nazi madmen, and the similarities to what the Electricizers were attempting. Just what the world needs, he thought, another me.
A sudden chill in the air caused his flesh to prickle, the coarse black hair on his arms rising to attention. Hellboy pried himself from his nap, peeking out at his surroundings through a slit in one eye.
Uncle Steve floated in the air before him, a hint of a faint smile on his pale, ghostly face.
"Catching some z's?"
"Just resting my eyes," Hellboy responded gruffly, sitting up straighter in his seat. He really wasn't in much of a mood for small talk.
The ghost nodded in agreement, continuing to drift in front of him.
"Do you need something?" Hellboy asked, hoping to discourage any further conversation.
"Nope," Steve said with a shake of his head. "Just noticed that you've been sort of quiet since the meeting back at the BPRD--since Sally gave us the heads-up on what the Electricizers could be up to."
"Yeah, that," he said, unhooking a concussion grenade from his belt, tossing it in his hand. "Just got me thinking is all."
The ghost cocked his head.
"There are similarities to what the Electricizers are doing," Hellboy explained, even though he didn't want to, tossing the grenade from one hand to the other. "Y'know, similar to how I ended up here myself."
Steve nodded. "Oh, I get it."
Hellboy shrugged. "Just me being a goof, I guess."
"Yep," Steve agreed. "But you know what the biggest difference between the two is?"
Hellboy stopped tossing the explosive, curious. "No, what?"
"Something really good ended up coming out of what the Nazis were trying," he said, shaking his nearly transparent head from side to side. "But this?" the ghost paused for effect.
"I don't see nothing positive coming out of this."
Chapter 11
S ituated on an overgrown plot of land at the end of a rutted, winding, dirt road, the old farmhouse appeared perfectly harmless, except for the hearse parked by the side of the house, near the bulkhead.
"Looks like another delivery," Abe whispered. He was crouched behind a thick patch of overgrowth on the perimeter of the property, Liz at his side and Sally hovering between them. "Think we should go in for a closer look?"
Liz spoke softly into the headset she was wearing. "We're going in. I repeat: We're going in."
Abe's hand brushed reassuringly against the holster and sidearm he was carrying. He wasn't sure what good it would do if they were to come up against any of the robot zombies, as Hellboy called them, but it was enough to provide him with a certain sense of security. He moved forward cautiously and motioned for them to follow, Liz close behind, Sally floating just ahead, her hideously burned figure no less disturbing because she was a phantom.
Abe felt a pang of sympathy for the ghost as they neared the old house. It had been her home once, and now it was perverted, a nest of something entirely unnatural.
They crept up onto the porch and approached the front door. Finding it unlocked, Abe turned the knob and pushed it open. A wave of inviting warmth flowed out from the foyer to welcome them, a pleasant change from the bitter cold outside. Sally was the first to enter, drifting over the threshold into the entryway. Still the dutiful hostess, she motioned for them to enter. Abe wasn't quite sure why, but he found himself wiping his feet as he stepped into the home.
Liz carefully closed the door behind them as Abe surveyed their surroundings. It was silent, eerily so, and looked as though it hadn't been lived in for quite some time. Even so, he unsnapped his holster and removed the sidearm as they wandered from the foyer to the dining room.
Sally flo
ated into the room and hovered over a spot in its center. She seemed to be staring, lost in a memory, perhaps.
"That's where it happened," Liz whispered, close to his ear.
The ghost seemed frozen there.
"Sally, we have to keep moving," he said quietly.
Slowly, she turned her burned features toward him, and he caught sight of ghostly tears flowing from the spirit's eyes. She acknowledged his words with a slight nod, took one last look about her, then floated toward him.
"Hey--over here," Liz called softly from the kitchen.
As Abe and Sally entered the room, she directed their attention to a door, slightly ajar, leading down into darkness.
"Down there?" Abe asked Sally.
The specter nodded again as Liz opened the door wider, a damp, moldy smell wafting up from below. Abe started down first, gun ready just in case. There was a sensation of intense cold at his back, and he knew that Sally was directly behind him.
The cellar was lit by a single bare bulb hanging from a thick, coiled wire in the center of the ceiling. Except for boxes of varying sizes scattered about the dirt floor, the room was empty.
"Lots of boxes," Liz said softly beside him. "But no product. Don't tell me we've missed them." She too was carrying her sidearm.
"No, there's something still here," Abe replied, realizing that Sally was no longer visible.
He moved around, away from the light, and found her floating in front of a wooden shelving unit. The shelves were empty except for a jar filled with screws and a rusty pair of pinking shears.
Abe stepped closer, examining the unit. Carefully he ran his hands along the rough surface of the wood, searching for what he was now almost certain he would find.
The trigger was made of metal, and as he pushed down upon it, a sharp click sounded, and the unit slid forward on a hinge to reveal another doorway hewn in the rock and a set of steps leading even deeper into the earth. A powerful reek wafted out from the secret doorway, and Abe turned his head away from the offensive odor.
"Not a happy smell," Liz said, her eyes watering.
Abe had to agree. He glanced at Sally, who pointed down the stairs, her dark eyes wide with fear. Steeling himself, he turned back to the doorway in the wall and started down. It was treacherous on the plank steps, and he carefully tested the strength of each with a tentative foot before following through with his whole weight. A soft glow suddenly illuminated the stairway from behind him, and Abe turned to see that Liz had partially ignited one of her hands, holding it above her head like a torch to light their way.
"Thanks," Abe said.
"Don't mention it."
The disgusting smell grew stronger the farther down they ventured, but Abe was distracted by the addition of a sound--a single voice muttering to itself, its statements punctuated with the occasional whine of a power tool.
Abe flipped the safety on his gun and stepped into the subterranean chamber, then froze. The room was huge, extending far beyond the square footage of the house constructed above it, and it appeared to be set up as a kind of workshop. Several workstations littered with tools and raw materials filled the vast chamber.
And then there was the source of the putrid odor that hung in the air like a shroud--the dead. There were corpses lying on stretchers and others piled on the floor like cordwood, cadavers of every conceivable size, age and condition.
Abe glanced at Liz. She wore a look of disgust he was sure rivaled his own.
The wail of a power drill caused them both to jump, and Abe moved slowly toward the sound, circling around a large ceiling support constructed from individual rocks and thick gray mortar. Cautiously, he peered beyond the pillar, gun raised, and was shocked by what he saw.
An old man, muttering under his breath, hefted the naked corpse of a corpulent woman from the floor with ease and dumped it onto a large wooden table. He immediately set to work, his rubber-gloved hands moving so fast that they practically blurred. Within seconds, the corpse's stomach had been sliced open, its insides removed and tossed into an overflowing basin on the floor beside the man. Clearly, this wasn't the first body to undergo this treatment, and as Abe looked to the shadowy areas behind the busy man, he saw exactly what the man was doing.
Corpses reinforced with metal and gears, clockwork zombies, stood at attention against one wall. They were motionless, as if waiting for the command to come to life.
The old man was building them.
Abe was about to let the man know that he was no longer alone, when Liz Sherman beat him to the punch.
"Now that's just wrong," she said, moving around the obstructing pillar, her gun aimed at the old man. "Stop what you're doing and put your hands in the air."
Abe followed her lead, backing up her threat with his own weapon.
But the old man didn't even look up. He continued his chore as if they weren't even there, installing what looked to be some kind of small motor inside the cavernous belly of the dead woman.
"Hey, Dr. Frankenstein, I'm talking to you," Liz snapped, sighting down the barrel of her weapon.
The old man reached for something on the table and Liz fired a shot into another stone pillar directly behind him. The gunshot was nearly deafening in the cramped space, but still the man didn't seem to notice, picking up an electric drill and beginning to bore a hole through the woman's forearm.
"Think he's deaf?" Abe asked Liz, still aiming his own gun.
"I don't know, but he's pissing me off."
The old-timer had picked up a strip of metal and began to attach it to the corpse's arm, using a long silver screw.
"I can't stand to watch this," Liz said, growing more agitated by the second. "Hey, buddy, knock it off!" she yelled, advancing on the old man.
At last he looked up from his work, a scowl upon his wrinkled face. There were spatters of dried blood on his cheek and glasses, but he didn't seem to care. "I'm not deaf, just extremely busy."
The top two buttons of his shirt had come undone and Abe could see a metallic object attached to the pale flesh of his chest.
"I have to finish all of these by tomorrow," he said, gesturing around the basement at the multiple bodies lying there. "Wouldn't want to give me a hand, would ya?" he asked, a smile upon his face and a demented twinkle in his eyes. "I could probably teach you quick enough. Be a good trade to know once things begin to change and all."
His smile quickly faded with their silence, and he looked carefully from one to the other.
"He said you'd be coming," the old man said. "What did you he call you again? Oh yeah, the killers of the dream."
"Are you Absolom Spearz?" Abe asked.
The old-timer chuckled, shaking his head. "Me? No way. I'm Franklin Massie, but thanks for the compliment. Absolom is a truly great man."
Liz scoffed. "He's great all right."
Massie shook his head again. "All he wants is to help the world to become a better place--to help humanity reach its full potential." He pulled open the white dress shirt to show them the strange apparatus that was attached to the center of his chest. "Pretty impressive, eh?" he said. "Runs on spirit energy. Best thing anybody's ever done for me. I haven't felt this good in years."
"We're going to stop him, you know," Liz said, continuing to stare down the barrel of her gun.
The excitement seemed to drain out of Massie at that point, and the old man began to button his shirt. "He said you wouldn't understand, and I guess he was right. Too bad, really."
The old man turned his attention back to his work.
"Where is he, Mr. Massie?" Abe asked. "Where is Absolom Spearz?"
The old man was silent, as if attempting to recall where it was he'd left off in his work.
"Where is he, Franklin?" Liz asked again, with more force this time.
"Gone," he said, not even bothering to look up. "He left a few hours ago. Came with some trucks and hauled all his machines away, leaving me with just enough to keep working on the drones--which I'll never get finish
ed if you keep interrupting me." He sighed as he searched the tabletop for something, then located it, already placed inside the corpse's open stomach cavity.
"Ah, here it is," he said, holding up a remote control. He pointed the object over his shoulder. "He left you a message," Massie said, hitting a button on the remote, then dropping it and continuing his work.
A large television hanging on the wall near them came to life, illuminating the subbasement in an eerie white light. An ordinary-looking middle-aged man appeared on the screen.
"Is it working?" he asked someone off camera, and Abe heard the voice of what sounded like a child answer affirmatively.
"If you are witnessing this recorded message, then the time is growing near," the man, presumably Absolom Spearz, said, smiling gleefully. "The wheels are in motion, and soon nothing will be as it was."
Abe holstered his weapon, listening closely to the man's words.
"I urge you to stand down, agents of the BPRD, there is nothing that you...or your Hellboy can do to stop what was begun over one hundred years ago."
"I know it won't do any good, but would you mind if I shot out the screen?" Liz asked, her eyes locked on the grinning image of Spearz.
"Wait until he's finished," Abe said. "There might be a clue to his whereabouts in all this."
Spearz's expression grew grim. "But I doubt that you will listen," he said with a sigh, "even though your actions could very well jeopardize a glorious future for humanity." He shook his head in disappointment. "If only you could see that all of this is for your own greater good."
A voice in the background spoke to the man softly, distracting him for a moment, and then Spearz turned his attention back to the video camera. "I'm done here," he said. "But before I go, I wish to stress how sorry I am that this could not have ended peacefully."
He got up from his chair then and placed his face very close to the camera lens. "I really do abhor violence."
The camera was switched off, and the television screen went to static.
The God Machine Page 15
