Bartley hesitated, but saw the wisdom in what David said. He removed his arm, and stopped pulling at the ragged, bloody remains of her mouth. But as soon as he released his grip, she came back to life again, and began scratching wildly at his eyes. “My God!” David grabbed the rod she had dropped before and jammed it into her stomach, too sickened by the brutality of his actions to do it hard enough to have effect. He saw blood seeping out from under her fingers, which were clamped to Bartley’s face. God, she was gouging his eyes out! He hit her with as much force as he could muster, closing his eyes at the moment of impact.
There was a scream, then a plop, and a muffled, horrible yelling. He opened his eyes. Her nails had town at the skin below them, but Bartley’s eyes themselves had been untouched. Thank God. Then David looked down on the bed and wished he hadn’t.
Nurse Hamilton had fallen onto George’s body. It was now in the process of absorbing her. She had simply sunk into the sticky, translucent miasma of organs and bones, and kept on sinking, the stuff oozing into her mouth, cutting off her cries of horror and outrage. Her legs, which were sticking out of the bed, and hence were free of the substance which made up George’s form, kicked out and kept on kicking for moments until they finally stopped. David finally tried to pull her free, grabbing an arm which dangled from the bed. She would not budge. She had been suffocated inside George’s remains. David was in shock—he had just killed someone! Bartley seemed to sense what he was thinking and put his hand on David’s shoulder. “You saved my life, David. Keep reminding yourself of that. You saved our lives. And maybe many more.”
The machinery on the wall registered no life signs. George, too, was dead.
Bartley stood there a moment, staring down at his son and the woman George had virtually engulfed. There was nothing to do now but continue. David wondered if either of them could retain their sanity after this terrible episode. David also knew that if the Corporation could do this to a human being, they were fully capable, as Bartley had implied, of unleashing God-knows-what horrors on the unsuspecting town of Hillsboro.
“I’m sorry,” David said. “I’m standing here, and I can scarcely believe what I’ve seen.”
“I know. That’s all that lies between you and madness. Take my word for it.” The man seemed to lift himself up, full of vitality and renewed enthusiasm, turning away from the bed. “He’s dead. Perhaps it’s better this way. But we still have work to do. I will not think of this again until we’re through. Put what happened here tonight out of your mind, David. Put it out, banish it from your mind until later.” He leaned against the wall for a moment, suddenly fatigued. “I want to cry, I want to rail, I want to—” He lifted his fist and shook it, banging it into the wall. He stopped just as suddenly and composed himself. “But there’s . . . there’s no time for that. You’re committed now, David. Will you help me? Please?”
David was doing his best to keep from throwing up. Finally he ran into the bathroom and emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet. His mind was racing wildly. Murders. Corpses. Torn flesh and internal organs. What was he getting into? How was that hideous scene in the outer room going to affect his future life, his life with Anna? Bartley knew that he had done what he had done to save the older man’s life, but how would the police—the corrupt, pro-Corporation police—interpret his actions? He washed his face and rejoined Mr. Bartley. “I’ll do what I can to help you.”
“Wait until we get to the plant. I’ll show you things there that will make your hair stand on end.”
What could possibly be worse than this? “Why don’t we get help?” He said. “We can’t handle this all by ourselves. I know you can’t go to the police, but surely you must have friends, associates . . .”
“Like I told you, I alienated a great many former friends and co-workers when I was promoted. Besides, it would take too long to round them up, to convince them to come with us. No, we’ll go directly to the plant and hope that no one tries to call Nurse Hamilton.”
“She implied that she was supposed to call in at prearranged times. When she doesn’t call . . .”
“By then it will be too late. Besides, she may have been bluffing. We can’t worry about that. I’m hoping no one will suspect what I plan to do. No one in security will question my presence there at night, as I often stay late.”
“How will you explain me?”
“If anyone asks, I’ll tell them you’re a research assistant from New York who’s planning to join our little group. No one will doubt me. Now let’s get out of here.”
“Wait a minute,” David said. “Your back. You have to do something about it. The pain must be killing you.”
Bartley tore off the blackened remains of his shirt and grimaced. “My shirt bore the brunt of the damage. I can’t stop to worry about it now. I’ll get a new shirt and we’ll be off.”
They stepped out into the corridor and began walking to the other hall that led to the front door. David wondered if he was doing the right thing, allowing himself to be dragged along on some nightmarish quest for “evidence.” He had only Bartley’s word on everything, and Bartley had been known to lie before. Yet, he had seen what had transpired in the bedroom, seen the man’s righteous fury, seen what had happened to the thing on that bed—with his own eyes. He had heard the nurse’s threats. There had to be some truth to the man’s story. He had thought of breaking away from him once they’d stepped outside, running to someplace with a phone so he could tell Anna and have her pick him up. But he remembered that he had let someone down once before— Harry London in Milbourne—and had never seen the man sane again. His presence that night could have made the difference. Perhaps he would have just disappeared along with all the others. Or perhaps he might have offered just enough assistance to save the rest of them. He would never know. He decided that he would help Ted Bartley as best he could. He did not care for a second dose of guilt. Anyway, as Bartley had pointed out, he was already committed. His complicity in the death of the nurse saw to that.
“Mr. Bartley,” he said. “Does the town of Milbourne in Connecticut mean anything to you? “
Bartley stopped dead in his tracks. “How did you know about that?”
“Then it does have significance?” “Yes. Our Corporation had set up similar operations there for a time. Anton had a laboratory there.” “In the Forester Building?” “What? How could you possibly—” So there was a connection. David’s mind reeled with the implications. He could not stay behind now, no matter what. Ted Bartley was going to lead him to Jeffrey Braddon’s murderers. “I want you to tell me all about Milbourne while we drive to the plant,” David said. “Or I won’t go with you.”
Ted quickly acquiesced. “All right. Wait here! I must get another shirt before we go.”
Bartley was back in five minutes. David could tell that the man had been crying, at last giving in to his grief over the death of his son. David realized that he himself felt nothing. He could still not bring himself to accept that the mess on the bed had been a human being, let alone George Bartley.
They continued on they way. Just as they went by the living room, they heard an odd, musical sound drifting down the hall. They looked inside the room where only a couple of days earlier they’d sat and drunk martinis and told each other lies. Now the living room was occupied only by Clair Bartley. She was singing softly to herself, a drink in her hand, its liquid splashing out unnoticed onto the carpet. She danced to and fro against the rhythm of the music, and it was clear to both David and her husband that if it were not an alcoholic stupor that dictated such behavior, then the woman was quite insane.
Bartley hesitated for a moment, on the brink of stepping inside to go to his wife. “No,” he said sadly, “there’s no point.”
They continued down the hall, the sound of Clair Bartley’s madness following them until it was cut off abruptly by the hollow slamming of the heavy front door.
The Chevrolet sped through town, turning onto Route 30, heading out to t
he plant. “You don’t see anyone following us, do you?” Bartley asked.
David checked, but he didn’t see anything. “No one else is on the road.”
“It’s starting to get dark. It will be pitch-black by nine o’clock. We don’t have much time. I think I can stop what’s going to happen. If only I could be sure.”
“Just what is going to happen? And while you’re at it, what is it that happened in Milbourne? I’m more than curious about that.”
“What’s going to happen in Hillsboro is what should have happened in Milbourne. The town is going to be used as a test site—or at least part of the town. Tonight. God knows what they’ll pull tomorrow if we don’t stop them.”
“Slow down,” David complained. “You’re not making any sense.”
The speed of the car seemed to increase as Bartley’s words issued from his mouth at a reduced rate, as if he had to make up for the decreased vocal pace by physically barreling down the highway. “All right. I’ve already mentioned that the Barrows Corporation is engaged in recombinant DNA experiments. I didn’t tell you that they had succeeded in creating a new and extremely dangerous life form.”
“Like oil-eating bacteria?”
Bartley almost laughed. “We’re far beyond such primitive stages,” he said. “We moved past bacteria a long time ago. Our scientists, under Anton’s direction, have been capable of working with much more advanced life forms. They have actually succeeded in creating a horrible chimera, more horrible than anything out of a nightmare.”
“Chimera?”
“Named after the mythological beast which was part lion, part goat, part dragon and so on. Genetic chimeras are creatures made up of different animals, their DNA blended together to form completely new, hybrid life forms.”
“For what purpose? Just because it can be done?”
“No. The reasons are much more practical than that. You’ve heard of the ‘super soldier,’ a human trained to be absolutely perfect and invincible in combat? Well, the Barrows Corporation worked along those lines, and literally made a creature that could function in that manner. Not human, but a blend of various life forms. They used techniques that other scientists haven’t even thought of yet. Believe me, what the public and some journalists know about recombinant research just scratches the surface of what’s actually being done.”
“Let me guess: The Corporation hopes to sell these things to the military. Or to foreign countries perhaps.”
“I wouldn’t put it past them. But first they must test the capabilities of these creatures, these chimeras. In order to do that, they planned to simply let them loose on a large, if isolated populace.”
It finally dawned on David, the true horror of what they were up against. “I can’t believe it. That would be mass murder, for Christ’s sake!”
“You’re as naive as I used to be. You think this would be the first time that instruments of death have been tested on an unsuspecting populace? Before it was bacteriological agents, or chemicals, nothing that could be seen by the naked eye, nothing that could be suspected by the general public. This is different. The risks are greater. And the Corporation can’t afford for anyone who sees or knows of these creatures to survive. That makes them ten times more deadly than anything ever used before.”
“What exactly are these creatures?”
“I’ve never gotten a clear look at them. Haven’t wanted to—until now. Even I’m not sure of all their components. I hope to find out tonight.”
“They were set loose in Milbourne?”
“Not exactly. They were destroyed before that could happen. They had been contained in the Forester Building, in a sub-cellar that had never been completed. The Corporation chose a building in the heart of town because they felt no one would suspect that such a place, in the middle of a populated area, would house such experiments. They were afraid of security leaks. It was all insane as far as I’m concerned, which should tell you the type of people we’re dealing with. Anyway, some of the things escaped from the cellar, burrowing under the town, until they reached an underground cavern in the outskirts and made it their home. It took them quite some time to multiply and to nurture, and Anton convinced his superiors that what had been a mistake— the escape of the animals from the lab—could easily be turned into a lucky accident. Instead of trying to contain the creatures again, or destroying them, why not test them in the field, why not just sit back and see exactly how devastating their killing capabilities could be? Anton was very clever.”
“What about that tremendous hole in the Forester Building I’ve heard about? Did that have anything to do with the creatures’ escape? “
“No. Before he got his ‘brainstorm,’ Anton panicked. He deliberately poured an incredibly strong acid through the floors, and claimed it was an unavoidable accident. He asked for a new location in which to continue his work, as the Forester Building had been made uninhabitable. He still had many of the creatures alive in the basement, and transferred them to the plant up here, hoping he could track down and destroy the ones who’d escaped before news of it got out. Unfortunately, one of his assistants talked. Anton convinced the Corporation to leave things as they were. They had to vacate the building, not only because of the damage he’d done, but because they wanted all traces of the Corporation gone by the time the killings started. Anton also knew how deadly his hybrids were, and he had no intention of staying in a town where they were literally running around loose and out of his control. Of course he kept someone in Milbourne to keep tabs on things, to step in and cover up later on at his direction.”
“So he continued his work in Hillsboro,” David said.
“Yes. Now tell me how you knew about the goings-on in Milbourne.”
“Just one more thing first. Are these chimeras—are they flesh eaters?”
Bartley paused before answering, God only knows what thoughts running through his head. “Yes. Yes, they are.”
David shuddered. Now he knew what had been at the body of Jeffrey Braddon. And where all those others had disappeared to. If the car had been at a standstill at that point, there was a good chance he might have dashed out of it and run screaming back to the relative safety of his home.
David then told Bartley about his end of things, about Anna’s brother. Bartley seemed pleased with the information. “Then she’ll be sure to help us, to aid us in exposing these people. What a lucky coincidence.”
“Not for her brother,” David said. “What about you, Bartley? You knew what was going on?”
“No. No, I swear. I didn’t know about all this until much, much later. Only recently did I realize what they had planned to do. You must believe me.”
“What happened to those hybrids in Milbourne?”
“They were apparently destroyed by a great fire in the night. Someone must have been responsible, but I don’t know who.”
David put two and two together and knew who had been responsible. Harry London! Harry had sacrificed his sanity to do it, too. He had been an unsung hero. The man had saved his town from terrible destruction. Could David do any less?
“The Corporation stopped at nothing to safeguard the existence of the chimeras,” Bartley said. “Paid off people. Or killed them. They even murdered some poor old man who’d been superintendent in the Forester Building because he might have seen something.” He shivered. “And these are the people I work for.”
Finally they reached the turn-off to the plant and drove up to the guard-house by the gate. Bartley pulled out his identification card; he didn’t need to, as the guard recognized him immediately and greeted him respectfully. He didn’t inquire as to David’s identity. They drove past the gate and or to the plant itself.
“So far so good,” Bartley said. David exhaled with relief.
They parked the car and walked to the wide glass double-doors leading into the inside of the plant. It was a formidable modern structure made of stone and glass, with marble walls near the entranceway and in the lobby. At least four
stories high—although it was hard to tell as there was no windows in front—it also had several sub-levels below ground. David had seen part of the inside as a boy when his father had worked there. He imagined great changes must have been made in some sections to accommodate all the new equipment needed for their special research.
Bartley and his guest went past the reception area without a hitch. They walked down a wide, brightly lit corridor towards Bartley’s office. Bartley closed the door and turned on the light, revealing a large, attractive room with red carpeting and wood furnishings. A massive desk had been placed against the far wall. “I run my administrative duties from here,” he said wearily. David surmised that the man was reminding himself that this was probably the last time he would ever see his office, this beautiful room which he had worked so hard and sacrificed so much for. It had symbolized a great deal in his life, and now the dream had turned into a nightmare. They had taken everything from him. Everything he had.
Bartley went to the desk and picked up the phone. He punched three numbers. “Hello. Is Anton there? Thank you.” He hung up the phone. “He’s out of the building for the moment. That makes things easier. We can go directly to his lab.”
“Won’t that cause suspicion?”
“Not immediately. I often go there to confer with him. As public relations man I must know what’s actually going on—if only so I will know exactly what to deny.” He smiled at the irony of it. “I’m not privy to everything, of course. But it’s always been my job to escort visiting VIPs and company men throughout the labs, so gradually I’ve pieced together most of what’s going on down there. I keep my eyes open.”
They left the office and headed for the nearest elevator hank. Bartley was carrying a briefcase he’d picked up off his desk. “If anyone asks who you are, remember our story. And let me do all the talking. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your coming along, David. I haven’t much strength left. You were George’s friend. Perhaps you can help avenge him for me. You’ll have to lend me your strength ‘cause I haven’t got much left.”
Spawn of Hell Page 32
