Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

  “He’s a reporter. I found this in his pocket,” said Jevne, handing Teague’s press card to Kedrick.

  Baldy came in, grunting under the weight of the oxygen tank. Jevne’s furtive eyes flicked toward it. Teague read fear in them.

  “Want to help?” Baldy said with a touch of malice. Jevne licked his thin lips, shook his head.

  “The stuff won’t hurt you,” the giant jeered. Kedrick’s cold face turned toward the man. Silently he pointed his cane toward the door. Grinning, Baldy went out, his bare skull gleaming with sweat.

  “I’ll take the gun,” Kedrick said. “Tie him up, Jevne.”

  Teague made no resistance as the little man obeyed. It would have been useless, anyhow. He flashed a glance of reassurance at the girl, and she smiled at him shakily. Her red hair was tumbled in ringlets about her shoulders, and her face, despite a smudge of dirt across one cheek, was very pretty indeed.

  Kedrick said gently, “I hope you have no injudicious ideas of acting the hero. I want some information from you, and I am in no mood to play melodramatic games.” He twisted the cane’s head and slipped out a glistening steel blade. “I want to know what brought you up here.”

  The sword-cane’s point steadied a few inches from Teague’s right eye. Kedrick went on, “I am not bluffing. If I catch you in a lie, I will blind you.”

  “Okay,” Teague said. “Fair enough. I’ve got no objection to spilling what I know.

  “Wise of you.” Kedrick’s voice was sardonic, though his face did not change. “Go ahead.”

  Teague did. He held nothing back. There was no point in doing so. He told of what he had seen at the bank, his visit to Doctor Morgan’s home, and his witnessing the girl’s abduction.

  “So I trailed you up here,” the reporter finished. “That’s the whole thing.” Kedrick brushed imaginary dust from his sleeve. “Then we have no need for this,” he observed, sheathing the sword-cane’s blade. “You say no one else knows of our—er—hideout?”

  “I didn’t have a chance to spill the news,” Teague grunted. “Your trained apes nabbed me.”

  Baldy, lounging at the door, rumbled an oath. Kedrick jerked his head.

  “Baldy—Jevne—come with me.” He glanced at Teague and the girl. “I advise you not to try to escape. I think you know my threats aren’t bluffs.” His cold gaze dwelt on the two; then he followed the others out and closed the door gently. Teague drew a deep breath.

  “A nice guy,” he observed. “A very nice guy. Yeah. It looks like we’re in a spot, Miss Morgan.”

  The girl tried a smile that didn’t quite succeed. “I—I’m afraid so. I heard your story—Mr.—”

  “Bill. Bill Teague.”

  “Bill, then. Thanks for trying, anyway. I’m sorry you got into this mess.”

  Teague tested the ropes that bound him. They were tight. Nevertheless he started to work on them as he talked.

  “Now that I’m in it, suppose you give me the low-down. Just what’s the angle?” Norma Morgan’s blue eyes were worried. “My brother—Kedrick has him a prisoner up here. He told me as we drove . . . Stephen has been working on the protein molecule. He created a new virus—a mutant.”[5]

  “I see,” Teague said, remembering the deaths at the bank. “What sort of virus is it?”

  “Something completely new. It’s self-selective. It doesn’t affect all people alike, but ferrets out the weakest parts of an individual organism. Man’s very specialized, you know—and the virus finds the loopholes in his armor, the flaws in each organism.”

  TEAGUE said, “Then those deaths at the bank—”

  “I can guess. The teller’s weak spot was his parathyroid gland. The virus worked on that. It’s incredibly fast in its effects, Bill. And Malley, the president—it affected his brain. Phobia—fear.”

  “Exactly,” a cold voice broke in. Kedrick sauntered into the room, swinging his cane. “Since you seem so interested, Mr. Teague, I shall gratify your curiosity. I heard of Doctor Morgan’s experiments. I visited him—wormed my way into his confidence, to use a cliche. I saw the effects of his virus on animals—and I decided to make use of the virus as a weapon.”

  “I get it,” Teague said grimly. “A shake-down.”

  “A shakedown. Nothing crude—but Pineville, as you know, is full of millionaires. They’ll pay up, under threat of death. I’m going to inoculate them with the virus, and charge them a certain sum each to cure them. There is an antidote, you know.”

  Norma nodded. “There’s an antitoxin. It’s made easily enough and builds up antibodies that make the victims immune.”

  “Your brother is stubborn, Miss Morgan. We took a small amount of the virus from his laboratory, but he refused to make more. He said he had no apparatus—so we procured some just now. His own. However, we first tried out what we had on President Malley. We introduced the virus into a bottle of spring water in the bank, and threatened Malley with death if he didn’t pay.”

  Light broke on Teague. “So that was why he gave me the money! The virus developed his secret weakness—fear!”

  “I think you’re right. I have a better plan now. The virus was too strong. But if it’s introduced into the reservoir, It’ll be diluted sufficiently. The whole city will get a mild attack. That will save time—they’ll pay after that! And we can collect and leave sooner than I’d hoped.”

  Norma said desperately, “You can’t control the virus! Stephen doesn’t know enough about its properties yet. If you poison the reservoir, you may kill everybody in Pineville.”

  Kedrick smiled. “A very poor attempt to frighten me, Miss Morgan. Your brother will estimate the right proportions.”

  He turned, called a command. Through the door came Baldy, pushing before him a slight, bedraggled figure. Norma caught her breath in a little sob.

  “Steve! What have they done to you—”

  Stephen Morgan looked older than his thirty-odd years. Grey hair frosted his temples. His thin, scholarly face was worn and haggard.

  “God, Norma,” he whispered. “Kedrick said they’d got you, but I didn’t believe him!”

  Kedrick said smoothly, “The oldest tricks are often the best. No doubt you’ll prepare the virus rather than see your sister tortured.”

  Morgan’s lips twitched. He said, “You won’t—”

  “I am mild by nature,” Kedrick murmured. “I could not bring myself to hurt the girl. But Baldy is less sensitive.”

  The giant licked thick lips. His tiny eyes dwelt on Norma’s slim body. She shuddered against the ropes that bound her.

  “Damn you!” Morgan said tonelessly. “I’ll make the virus. I—I’ve got to.”

  “No, Steve—don’t!” Norma said, her voice unsteady. “I can—”

  Without looking at his sister Morgan snapped, “What are we waiting for? Come on!”

  Kedrick followed Baldy and his captive out of the room. The door shut. Teague again went to work on the ropes that bound his wrists. They were loosening slightly, he thought.

  Norma was crying softly. Teague said, “Cheer up. I’ll be loose pretty soon.”

  Her eyes widened. “What? Oh, Bill! If we could get hold of a gun—”

  Teague shrugged and continued his efforts. But it was twilight before he neared the end of his struggle. Twice Morgan, guarded by Baldy, had entered the room, selected apparatus, and left without speaking. And now Kedrick came in. He had a hypodermic syringe in his hand, and a vial of yellowish liquid.

  Baldy, Jevne and Morgan entered. Kedrick turned to them, said, “I’ve got the antitoxin. Since we’re working around this stuff, it’s a good idea to make ourselves immune. You’re sure this is the right dope. Morgan?”

  The scientist nodded wearily.

  “Good. Then I’ll try it on your sister first. That all right?”

  “Yes,” Morgan said. “I knew you’d do that. It’s the real anti-toxin, Kedrick.”

  NEVERTHELESS, Kedrick carefully sponged off Norma’s forearm and injected the fluid. “Tha
t’s the right amount, eh?”

  “Yes.”

  Teague winced as the needle dug into his flesh. He said, “You’d make a lousy doctor, Kedrick. That’s no way to make an injection.”

  “It’ll do,” the other said emotionlessly, and, refilling the syringe, shot the antitoxin into Morgan, Baldy and Jevne in turn. Then, with a nod of satisfaction, he went out, rolling up his own sleeve in preparation.

  “Jeepers!” Jevne said, the tic under his eye jerking. “I’d rather work around dynamite any day.”

  Baldy grinned. “Yeah, half-pint. You got a yellow streak down your back a yard wide.”

  The little man flushed. He turned to Morgan, said, “Come on, guy! Back to your lab!”

  The three went out. Teague said to the girl, “Do you think that was really the antitoxin?”

  “Oh, yes. The virus would have been transparent, not yellowish. Steve wouldn’t—I wish he had!” she cried suddenly. “If he’d poisoned us all, it might have been better!”

  It was getting dark. Teague freed his hands after five minutes of final struggle. Hastily he released the rest of the ropes.

  Norma said, “Bill! The window—”

  Teague looked out. Silhoutted against the sky he made out a small figure hurrying along, a bulky object in his hand. The reporter’s face went white.

  “The reservoir!” Norma whispered. “Jevne’s gone to pour the virus in—”

  The door opened without warning. It was Baldy, carrying an oil lamp. In the yellow glow his face looked gargoylish. He didn’t notice at once that Teague was free.

  The reporter dived forward. His shoulder smashed into Baldy’s legs. The giant went back, toppling across the threshold, the lamp crashing to the floor, and, luckily, going out. Baldy wasn’t unconscious though.

  Monstrous strength surged in the giant’s muscles. His great arms came up, trying to drag Teague into their crushing embrace. The reporter dug his knee into Baldy’s stomach, heard an explosive curse.

  An iron-hard fist thudded into his shoulder, sent him reeling back.

  Baldy was surging upright, a black colossus in the gloom. Teague looked around for a weapon. He saw a bottle of some liquid on the table nearby, and caught it up.

  Baldy lunged forward. A gun snarled viciously. Teague heard the bullet thud against the wall.

  He threw the bottle, with all his strength, at the giant’s head.

  There was a tinkling crash and a hoarse scream of rage and pain. The gun roared again. Baldy toppled to the floor, bellowing.

  Footsteps sounded, racing closer. Teague sprang to the girl’s side, tried to unbind her. The knots were difficult in the dark.

  She said urgently, “Don’t wait, Bill! Stop Jevne before he poisons the reservoir.”

  And, as Teague hesitated—“You’ve got to stop him!”

  BALDY was still thrashing around in the dimness. The door slammed open as Teague got to the window and flung it up. A bullet screeched past his head. He dived out, rolled over and over on the ground, and scrambled to his feet. Bending low, he ran down the steep slope to the road.

  What now? If he had Norma and Doctor Morgan with him, he might have tried to escape in his car. As it was, Teague went plunging perilously downward toward the reservoir, his eyes slowly accustoming themselves to the gloom. The moon had not yet risen, but a faint glow still hung above the hills in the western sky.

  Teague was sweating and gasping when he saw before him the slight figure of Jevne, stooping on the brink of a low bluff that overhung the reservoir. The water was a dull leaden color in the dusk. A cold wind blew up from it.

  Jevne jerked erect. His hand fumbled in his coat, came up swiftly. But Teague was charging down like a mad bull. Jevne had no time to fire; the gun was knocked from his hand, and he was sent toppling back under the impact of the reporter’s body.

  The little man wavered on the edge of the bluff. He clawed the air, yelling—and went over. His cry was cut off by a splash.

  Feet pounded closer. Teague glanced up, saw a bulky form lumbering toward him. Baldy!

  The reporter hesitated, braced himself. Light glinted on a metallic object near by—the gun Jevne had dropped. Teague dived at it, heard Baldy’s weapon bark. A bullet creased his arm with white-hot agony. Lying on his side on the ground, Teague swung up his arm and fired at the looming shape a few yards away.

  Baldy let out his breath in an explosive groan. The big form folded up, crashed down almost on top of Teague. Then another gun snarled, and the reporter felt a stunning blow smash down on his head. The lights went out.

  TEAGUE woke up with a dull, throbbing ache in his skull. His brain felt as though it was trying to crawl through the sutures. He opened his eyes, wincing, and stared up at a familiar ceiling. He was lying flat on his back, bound, in the same front room of the hideout. The oxygen tank stood beside him. Apparatus cluttered the floor.

  An oil lamp splashed yellow gleams on the walls. A toneless voice was speaking swiftly. Teague listened.

  “. . . strange epidemic seems to have affected Pineville only. Medical aid is being brought from Los Angeles. The Governor has been advised to throw a cordon of National Guardsmen around the city to prevent spread of the infection. Stand by for the next news-flash.”

  Music came. Teague realized that he was listening to a radio. He looked around. Norma was bound to a chair, asleep, her red hair tumbled about her face. Jevne, shivering a little, crouched in a sofa beside a portable radio. He gripped an automatic.

  The man’s face was flushed a deep red, and occasionally his body shook convulsively. He saw Teague, tried to speak, but a dry, hacking cough racked him.

  “Pneumonia,” the reporter thought. He said aloud, “What time is it?”

  “You’re awake, are you?” Jevne snarled. “I ought to smash your face. You killed Baldy—know that?”

  “Glad to hear it,” Teague said, wishing his head would stop aching. “You crawled out of the reservoir, eh?”

  “Yeah,” said Jevne, his flushed face twisted in a bitter grin. “After Kedrick shot you. And I poured in the virus, too. It’s starting to work. Listen!”

  The music halted; a voice said: “Volunteers are wanted at the Main Hospital. Do not use your cars. Automobiles are ordered off the streets. If you live near the Main Hospital and wish to volunteer, telephone Doctor Ferguson at Palm 1300. Otherwise remain in your homes.” The voice hesitated, went on, “A correction. Palm 1200. Palm 1200. We have been working for hours here at the station, and we’re pretty tired. However, we’ll keep on the air till things get better. The list of dead has risen to thirty-four. The driver of a bus leaving Pineville died at the wheel and the vehicle ran off the road into a dirt embankment. Two passengers were killed; the rest escaped with minor injuries. Stay off the streets! This is important! Stand by for more news flashes.”

  Teague felt sick. He said, “Nice going, Jevne. There won’t be a soul alive in Pineville pretty soon. What time is it?”

  “Four o’clock.” Jevne’s breathing was hurried and uneven. His nervousness was increased almost to hysteria. “God, that damned poison! I always knew—”

  The girl had awakened. She said, “Is the antitoxin finished yet?”

  “Yeah,” Jevne muttered. “Morgan finished it half an hour ago.”

  “If that’s poured in the reservoir—” Norma began.

  “Shut up!” Jevne said viciously. “Kedrick knows what he’s doing.” But there was a queer expression on the man’s flushed face.

  Teague’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth and closed it without speaking. As the radio voice came again Jevne turned toward the window, and the reporter hastily wormed his way toward the cylinder of oxygen. Could his bound hands reach the valve?

  No—but Teague shoved himself half upright against the wall. Silently he pressed his lips against the stop-cock, managed to turn it with his teeth. He let himself down quietly as Jevne looked around.

  “The Governor has ordered a cordon of National Guardsmen thro
wn around Pineville,” said the radio excitedly. “No one is permitted to leave the city. It can be entered only with a permit. The death list has risen to more than fifty—Chief of Police Haggard is among the dead. Doctor Ferguson reports by telephone that all the red blood cells in his body were destroyed by some unknown agency. Chief Haggard died for want of oxygen. Many have gone insane.”

  THE valve hissed. Teague hoped Jevne wouldn’t notice it. But the little man was too ill to hear the escaping gas.

  Norma had seen the reporter’s action. Her blue eyes watched him, puzzled. He winked at her warningly.

  Teague waited. A queer, heady exhilaration began to mount in his brain. His respiration increased. The effect on Jevne was even more pronounced. He was a shaking bundle of nerves.

  At last Teague said to the girl, “Norma, do you feel—funny?”

  She hesitated, trying to understand. “I—”

  “My God!” the reporter broke in harshly. “That damned virus!”

  “What?” Jevne glared down at the bound man, his face a twisted mask. “What d’you say?”

  “The virus,” Teague said tonelessly.

  “Your friend Kedrick’s infected us, that’s all.”

  “You’re crazy,” Jevne jerked out. A storm of trembling shook him.

  “Those hypodermic injections,” Teague went on. “They weren’t the antitoxin. Kedrick didn’t use the stuff himself, did he?”

  “He went outside—” Jevne said.

  “Yeah—so he could use the real antitoxin on himself. He’s killing us off, Jevne—all of us. We’re no good to him now. He’ll collect the shakedown money and beat it without splitting with you or anybody else. Baldy was lucky I killed him!” Teague said grimly. “He died quickly. This virus isn’t quick.”

  “You’re crazy!” Jevne almost screamed. “Kedrick wouldn’t pull a thing like that on me!”

  “Do you believe that?” Teague asked. “Kedrick’s out for himself. He doesn’t give a damn about you or anybody else. Listen, Jevne—you’ve got a gun. Do me a favor. Use it on me. And on Norma. For God’s sake, kill us! I can feel the virus starting to work on me already, I tell you!” Norma understood. She said to Teague, “I remember now. It wasn’t the antitoxin Kedrick gave us. It would have had an entirely different effect. You’re right; we’ve all got the virus in our bloodstream.”