by John Saul
“They’re up in the park, I think,” Mrs. McLaughlin told him. “Sara said something about them taking Shelley’s sister and her friends for a picnic.” Then, as she examined Kevin’s sweating face, her tone had changed. “But I think you ought to go over and see Dr. Filmore,” she said. “You look sick, and I don’t want you going up to the park and spreading it all over the place. Okay?”
Kevin nodded, but when he got back to the car, he’d known he wasn’t going to the clinic.
He headed straight for the park.
Now that he was here, he felt worse than ever.
A terrible humming was starting in his head, and he suddenly remembered the other night, when they’d all gone to the movies together and then come up to the park.
The night Julie had first started acting weird.
And she hadn’t wanted to go anywhere near the power lines.
Now, as the throbbing in his head grew worse, he understood why.
He sat in his car for a few minutes, trying to clear his mind enough to figure out what to do.
The urge to turn away from the power lines was growing stronger, but he wouldn’t give in to it.
Not until he’d talked to Sara and Shelley and found out if they were all right.
And warned them what was happening to everyone who had gone to the movies that night.
If he could.
Steeling himself against the terrible buzzing in his head, and battling the almost overpowering urge to turn the car around and drive away, he put the transmission in gear and started forward.
The power lines were almost directly over his head here—much closer than on the road that led out to the farm—and the buzzing in his head rose to the level of a power saw screaming its way through a piece of plywood.
Gritting his teeth, Kevin forced his right foot against the accelerator and the old Chevy surged ahead, gaining speed until he came to the crest of the hill and the parking lot. The instant he came into the lot, he swerved away from the high-voltage wires. As soon as he did, the howling screech inside his head began to ease. The lot was almost empty, and he drove all the way to the far end, finally turning into a spot near the swings.
Shelley Munson’s sister was on one of the swings, and behind her was Sara McLaughlin, pushing the swing higher and higher as the little girl screamed happily. Kevin sat behind the wheel of the car, watching the little girl while he waited for the terrible throbbing in his head to ease.
A minute or two later Sara caught sight of him, waved, then came over to the car, her smile fading as she got a closer look at his face.
“Kevin? Are you okay?”
Kevin started to shake his head, but found himself nodding instead. “I’m fine,” he heard himself say.
But it wasn’t what he had intended to say at all! If he couldn’t even tell her how he felt—
“I feel—” he began again, but the rest of the words—the ones about the fever, the itching, and the terrible nausea—died in his throat, choked off by the force that seemed to have invaded not only his body, but his mind as well. “Jeff’s gone,” he managed to say.
Sara frowned uncertainly. “Gone? What do you mean?”
Kevin formulated the words carefully in his mind. Maybe if he didn’t try to tell her about himself, it would be all right. Maybe if all he tried to do was tell her that Jeff had gone up to a cave in the hills, where Julie was—
Maybe if he only told her that Jeff was sick, and so was Julie …
Maybe if he didn’t try to talk about himself at all—
“You want to go somewhere?” he heard himself ask. “Somewhere we can be by ourselves?”
Sara’s eyes widened. Was Kevin saying what she thought he was saying? He’d never been interested in her before! But the way he was looking at her now …
She glanced over her shoulder. Shelley’s sister was off the swing now, playing on the rusting merry-go-round with her friends.
And Shelley was sitting at one of the picnic tables, keeping an eye on them. If she and Kevin just went off somewhere for a while …
“Sure,” she said, pulling the car door open for Kevin. “Where?”
Don’t get out! Kevin told himself. Just pull the door closed, start the car, and go away! But even as the thoughts formed in his mind, he found himself getting out of the car and taking Sara’s hand. “How about over there?” he asked, nodding toward a thicket of shrubs in the center of which was a small clearing. “You got a blanket?”
Sara nodded, her heart beating. Was it really going to happen? Her and Kevin Owen? She could hardly believe it!
Hanging onto Kevin’s hand as if her life depended on it, Sara led him over to where she and Shelley had spread their blankets two hours earlier. Picking one of them up, she folded it quickly, then fell in beside Kevin once more as he led her toward the dense thicket.
They picked their way through the foliage, emerging half a minute later into the clearing. Just large enough to spread out the blanket, the open area in the middle of the thicket was littered with empty beer cans and used condoms, all of which Sara tried to ignore as she spread the blanket out and sat down, pulling Kevin down next to her.
“I—I didn’t even know you liked me,” she stammered. “I thought—well, I guess I thought you liked Julie Spellman.”
Get away, Kevin thought, screaming the words silently in his mind, struggling to give voice to them before it was too late. Get away before something awful happens!
Sara’s hands were on him now, unbuttoning his shirt, her fingers gently stroking the skin of his chest.
“You’re sweating,” he heard her say. “Why don’t you take off your shirt?”
His mind numb, his body refusing to obey the orders he tried to give it, Kevin stripped off his shirt, then lay down on his back, pulling Sara down with him.
It’s going to happen! Sara thought. It’s actually going to happen!
She leaned down, ready to kiss Kevin, then suddenly froze.
His eyes!
Something was wrong with his eyes!
All around the edges of them, creeping out from under his eyelids, were what looked like tiny gnats—hundreds of them!
Gasping, Sara tried to draw away from Kevin, but his fingers suddenly closed on her arms, his nails digging painfully into her flesh.
The black specks were flooding out of his nose now, and as a scream of terror rose in Sara’s throat, Kevin’s mouth opened.
Instantly, Sara’s face was engulfed in a stinging, searing black cloud.
The scream that had been building in her throat died before the onslaught. And for Sara McLaughlin, as for Julie, Jeff, Andy, and Kevin, the nightmare began.
CHAPTER 22
Ellen Filmore’s patience was finally running out. She was about to cross what she called her “temper threshold”—the point when it became dangerous for anyone to cross her path. Normally in possession of what she liked to think was a fairly sunny disposition, Ellen could quickly turn into a holy terror once she was pushed across that threshold, and the lab in San Luis Obispo was just about to do it.
Six-thirty.
She knew there was no point in trying to call them—they’d stopped answering their switchboard at five-thirty, and the last time she’d talked to them their operator had assured her (in tones that Ellen had, frankly, found to be a bit less than polite) that the technician wouldn’t leave until he had finished the job, and that—“for the tenth time, Dr. Filmore”—he would certainly call her with the results when he had them.
Well, what was he doing, counting every red and white cell in those samples one by one?
Ten minutes ago, when she’d begun to feel her temper starting to fray around the edges, she’d sent Roberto Muñoz home, seeing no reason to take out her hostility on him. After all, he had gotten the samples to the lab in record time—which was going to cost her whatever the price of his speeding ticket turned out to be—and had even volunteered to keep her company until the lab called. That, she’d dec
ided, was truly beyond the call of duty, particularly since Roberto knew exactly what might happen to him if he stayed. “Thanks,” she told him, managing a smile despite her already growing anger, “but you’re too good a nurse for me to risk losing. Besides, you have a right to a decent night’s rest, and if I blow up, you just might not get it.”
Now, as her eyes remained fixed on the clock, and she felt her blood pressure rising a notch with each passing minute, the explosion was imminent.
At 6:58, with only two minutes remaining in her countdown to temper blast-off, the phone finally came to life and she snatched it off the hook.
“Dr. Filmore?”
“Yes.”
“This is Barry Sadler. At the lab? I’ve been working up some samples for you?”
Oh, God, Ellen groaned silently. Not one of those people who makes everything into a question. “What do you have?” she asked. “Tell me about the blood.”
“Well, that’s the thing,” Sadler said, hesitant. “I’m afraid—well, there seems to be something in it I can’t identify. I mean, I know sort of what it is, I guess, but it’s not like anything I’ve ever found in blood before. I think what I’d like to do is—”
“Stop!” Ellen Filmore commanded, the force of the single word cutting through the telephone wire like an ice pick sinking into balsa wood. “What do you mean, you sort of know what it is?”
“Well, it looks like some kind of organism” Sadler said in a strangely hesitant voice that sent a chill of fear down Ellen Filmore’s spine.
“An organism?” she pressed. “What kind of organism?”
“Well, that’s the thing,” Sadler replied. “It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen before.”
The icy fingers of fear that had been playing along her spine began to close around Ellen. What was he saying? “You mean it’s not like anything you’ve ever seen in human blood,” she corrected, her voice taking on a slightly professorial tone.
“It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen at all,” Sadler said, his voice trembling so badly that Ellen could picture the beads of nervous sweat that must be breaking out on his forehead.
“All right,” Ellen said, struggling to keep from betraying her own rapidly rising fear. “Give me your best guess—what does this organism resemble most?”
For a long time Sadler said nothing, and when he did speak again, his voice was still shaking. “Larvae,” he said.
“Larvae?” Ellen echoed. “I’m sorry, but—”
“Look,” Sadler broke in, his voice gaining strength now that he’d spoken the words he knew were going to be hardest for the doctor to accept. “I’m a lab technician. I’ve seen a lot of things through a microscope, and I’m telling you that those samples you sent me are the weirdest things I’ve ever seen. They’re pretty much normal when you test them for all the usual stuff. But when I looked at a slide under the mike, there were all these … things! I mean, most of them—the big ones looked just like some kind of insect larvae. But there’s other stuff, too. Much smaller. I’d have to have an electron microscope to be sure, but my best guess—and I’m a pretty damned good guesser—is that what I’m seeing are the remains of the eggs the larvae hatched out of.”
Ellen Filmore’s mind felt numb. For a long moment she said nothing at all, then: “Are you telling me that I have two patients who are infected with some kind of parasite that’s living in their bloodstream?”
Now it was Barry Sadler who was silent for a moment. Finally he uttered a long sigh. “I guess so,” he said. “If I were you, I think I’d get them into a hospital as soon as possible.” He went on talking for a few more moments, explaining that tomorrow he would have some people from the biology department at the college look at the samples, but Ellen Filmore was no longer listening.
Not like anything I’ve ever seen before.
Larvae … eggs …
Her mind raced as she thought of the possible ramifications of a parasite living in the human bloodstream.
Living, and multiplying.
Feeding on … what?
And as they multiplied, what happened to them?
Larvae. If the technician was right, what did the larvae develop into? And where were the adults of whatever it was?
Her voice hollow, Ellen thanked the lab technician for his work and made him promise to call her the next day. “And I’ll want to talk to your man at the college, too,” she added.
“Don’t worry,” Sadler replied. “I have a feeling he’s going to want to talk to you, too.”
Hanging up the phone, Ellen sat at her desk for a moment, trying to sort it out in her mind.
The most important thing was to find the kids.
Fipping through her Rolodex, she picked up the phone and dialed the Bennetts’ number.
Busy.
Stabbing one of the buttons for a new line, she flipped through the Rolodex again and dialed Russell Owen’s.
Busy.
Her frustration growing, she tried Marge Larkin, wanting to scream with frustration when that line was busy as well.
The police.
Flipping through the Rolodex yet again, she found Mark Shannon’s home number, dialed it, and drummed her fingers impatiently on the desk as she waited for him to answer. “What have you done about the missing kids?” she demanded without preamble when he finally answered on the seventh ring. “Julie Spellman, Jeff Larkin, and Andy Bennett?”
The deputy groaned. “Come on, Doc. You know the rules—we can’t just go chasing after every kid who takes off for a few hours. Not unless—”
“Unless there are extenuating circumstances,” Ellen finished for him. “How about if they’re sick? Would that qualify?” Before he could respond to her questions, she added, “At least two of them have something more serious than flu. I already know that Julie and Jeff have something I’ve never seen before. Andy Bennett might have it, too, judging by what Marian told me this morning.” As quickly as she could, Ellen explained to him what the lab had found in the blood samples she’d sent them.
Mark Shannon heard her out, then sighed his acceptance of her demands. Ellen Filmore wasn’t merely an overwrought parent, and he knew her well enough to know that if he didn’t give her at least some satisfaction, she might well badger him for the rest of the night. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll take a look around tonight, ask a few questions and see what I can find out. And if they still haven’t turned up by tomorrow morning, I’ll put together some people and take a look up in the hills. But you know as well as I do that kids who don’t want to be found rarely are. All they have to do is get to the interstate and hitch a ride either way. They get to L.A. or San Francisco in a matter of a few hours, and that’s that.”
“But you’ll see what you can do?” Ellen asked, intent on nailing him down. “You’ll at least try to find them?”
Mark Shannon hesitated, then gave in. Better to spend a few hours cruising around in the car, checking the motels up and down the interstate and talking to the people at the cafés, than have Ellen on his case all night.
Not that it would do any good, he was sure, and he suspected that deep down inside Ellen knew it wouldn’t accomplish much, either.
If the kids wanted to come home, they would.
If they didn’t, the odds were that no one would hear from any of them until they did.
Unless, of course, the guy at the lab in San Luis Obispo was right and something truly weird was going on.
Mark Shannon didn’t even want to think about that possibility.
Carl Henderson switched off the light in the kitchen, then moved quickly through the darkness to peer through the window into the night outside.
All evening, ever since the sun had set, he’d felt eyes watching him, but so far he hadn’t been able to catch whoever was lurking in the darkness, spying on him.
Not that they would have been able to see anything, for he had been clever.
Very clever.
All evening he had resiste
d the urge to go down to the basement, where his laboratory was waiting for him.
Instead he had stayed upstairs, moving through the rooms of the main floor of the house, following what would appear as a perfectly normal routine to an observer.
As long as whoever was watching didn’t suspect that he knew someone was out there, he would be safe. All he had to do, Carl thought, was be patient and make no mistakes, and after a while everything would be all right again.
Keeping that one imperative—that everything must look normal—firmly in his mind, he resisted the urge to come directly home after his visit to the clinic, refused to give in to the desire to begin working immediately with the contents of the little brown vial, to determine for himself how a compound that should only have affected the egg of a bee could also have had such a dramatic effect on a human being.
Had he created something even he didn’t fully understand? And if he had, what were its full effects?
But he had controlled his scientific curiosity, and instead of going directly to the lab, had gone about his normal routine, stopping in at a couple of farms, even dropping by the Owen place for a few minutes to volunteer his help in locating Julie.
Julie, who, he suspected, might finally be dying out in the hills somewhere. Which was a shame, really, for if she was going to die anyway, it would have been nice to have put her in his darkroom for a while.
Nice to have listened to her screams as his colonies swarmed out of their nests to creep over her, exploring her body in the darkness.
Otto Owen’s screams, which had only lasted a few short minutes, hadn’t been nearly as satisfying as those of the girl. What had her name been? Dawn Something-or-other.
Julie’s screams, though, would have been wonderful.
But it was probably too late, although he wouldn’t truly give up hope for her until he’d determined exactly what the contents of the brown vial would do when injected into a warm-blooded creature rather than the incubation cell of a beehive.
Even when he finally allowed himself to come home, he’d sat at the kitchen table for a while, taking care of some paperwork, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
