Ultimate Thriller Box Set - Crouch Blake - Страница 31

“Possible, but I think that's reaching.”

“What's another explanation?”

“Someone's been coaching him,” Andy said.

“Who?”

“I don't know. But his habitat is always being video recorded, right?”

“Yeah. So we just need to watch the recordings and see who's been paying him visits.”

“Right. And in the meantime, let's just play along with him. We know he's lying, but we don't know why. Better to let him believe we’re on his side.”

It made sense to Sun.

“Okay. But I still think letting Bub near Helen is a bad idea.”

“I'm beginning to think,” Andy said, “that a lot about Samhain is a bad idea.”

Andy punched in the code for the gate and they returned to Red 14. Race had wheeled Helen over to the pneumatic door on the side of Bub's habitat. The sheep's hatch was open, and he was talking to the demon through it. Sun and Andy got close enough to hear the exchange.

“I do have the authority, and the ability, to terminate you if I consider you a threat,” Race said. “There are several safeguards, installed before we knew if you were hostile or not. I'm sure you understand.”

“I want to heeeeeeelp yooooooou.”

Race hesitated. Sun noticed that he had a large white object in his hand, the size of a baseball bat.

“It will be fine, Regis,” Helen said.

Race touched his wife’s neck. “Lower your head, dear.”

Helen hunched down, and Race pushed her chair into the dwelling.

Bub waited, squatting down. Race moved slowly, the white object resting on the wheelchair's handles.

“Don’t beeeee afraaaaaaid.”

“This is called a cattle prod,” Race said, holding out the white stick. “It’s been modified, and has enough electricity to stop your heart.”

Bub took a step towards them and reached for Helen, his movements slow and steady.

Helen sat stock-still, even when Bub touched her face.

“Relaaaaaaaaaax.”

Bub picked Helen up, slowly and carefully, while Race stood by holding the prod like a broadsword.

Helen began to shake.

This was bad, Sun knew. Very bad. She took a step toward the habitat door, but Andy held her back.

“It’s out of our control,” Andy whispered.

Sun watched, helpless, as Helen’s tremors became worse.

“It's the chorea,” Race said.

“Waaaaaaaaaaaait,” Bub told him. The demon cradled Helen in his giant arms; close to his chest, like a child would hold a teddy bear. Her trembling gradually subsided.

Sun became aware she was biting her lower lip.

“I brought the bible,” Thrist said, bursting into the room. He stopped in mid-step when he looked in the habitat. “Sweet Jesus,” Thrist whispered.

Helen's head disappeared in Bub's massive claw as he appeared to anoint her. She yelped like a scared puppy. Race moved in with the cattle prod, but Bub set Helen down and quickly backed away.

      “It’s dooooooone.”

Race looked at Bub, then at his wife, who was lying curled up on the ground.

“Helen?”

She held up her head. “Race?

And then she stood up.

“Helen... you’re standing!”

Race dropped the cattle prod and ran to embrace her.

“My dear, how do you feel? Are you okay?”

“I feel wonderful, Regis. Just wonderful.”

Race began to sob, and then Helen sobbed as well.

“We've witnessed a miracle,” Father Thrist said.

He genuflected, kneeling down and making the sign of the cross. Sun sidled up to Dr. Belgium. She remained unimpressed.

“Did you run serum tests on that sheep leg yet?” Sun asked from the corner of her mouth.

“A few. It was still wiggling this morning when I checked. Some apoptosis—cell death, but it's still moving. Since there's no respiration or circulation, I think the leg is reabsorbing its own dead tissue for energy.”

“Anything conclusive?”

“I'm running an amino acid detection to ID proteins and enzymes.”

“Where are the recent video recordings of Bub's habitat?” Sun asked. “For the last week?”

“Uh... Red 4. I've been putting them there.”

“Look Regis! I can walk!”

Helen was strolling around the habitat, tentatively at first, and then prancing like a gazelle.

“Wonderful, Helen! It's wonderful!”

“We'll also need blood work on Helen,” Sun said. “I don't trust Harker. Can you do it?”

Belgium nodded, several more times than necessary.

“What should we do now?” Andy asked Sun.

“First the recordings. I'd like a chance to examine Helen myself. I'd also like to spend some time in Red 3 and see what else I can find out about Bub's physiology. Frank, are you sequencing Bub's mitochondrial DNA?”

“Hmm? No. Nuclear.”

“Mitochondrial?” Andy asked.

“The genome of an organism is found in the nucleus of a cell,” Sun explained. “Mitochondria are organelles that produce energy for a cell. They also contain DNA, but fewer genes than nuclear DNA.”

“I'lI test for short tandem repeats,” Belgium nodded. “I'm convinced Bub has a lot of the same genes that we do, and that other animals do, but so far I can't classify them. Maybe an STR of his mitochondria will turn up something.”

“I'd like to get back to the capsule,” Andy said. “See if I can make sense of that hot rock.”

Race and Helen were slow dancing, wet cheek to wet cheek.

Father Thrist was on his knees, hands clasped in prayer.

Dr. Harker had her nail clippers out.

Bub was staring at Sun through the Plexiglas, the expression on his face unpleasant.

Sun shivered. “I liked him better before he could talk,” she said. “Let's get started.”

She left Red 14, feeling the demon’s eyes on her the entire time.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Pathetic, Dr. Julie Harker thought.

Race had kissed so much demon ass his face was turning brown. The All Important Roosevelt Book had been left on his chair, forgotten. Race and Helen had danced out of Red 14 an hour ago, giggling like teenagers. Probably going to have sex, Harker guessed. The thought sickened her.

Just as sickening was Father Thrist, sucking up to Bub with sycophantic relish. He'd given Bub his precious bible, preaching endlessly about the wonders of Jesus and the Holy Spirit. Harker had been a Christian, once. Her parish priest offered no explanation for her daughter’s death, other than the lame “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

A child’s death wasn’t mysterious. It was reprehensible. Harker wanted no part of any religion that allowed such a thing to happen.

Harker sat patiently outside of the habitat, waiting. She had a question to ask Bub, but she wanted to be alone when she did. It was admittedly a long shot, but it kept Harker rooted to her chair, watching Father Thrist grovel and gesture. Harker passed the time by picking at her cuticles, a habit from her youth. A day didn't go by where she didn't draw some blood from one or two fingers, cutting down too deep.

After an interminable wait, the priest left. Running off to call the Pope, Harker guessed. The only two remaining in Red 14 were herself and that flake Dr. Belgium. Belgium was busy at the computer, engrossed in some gene program. Harker decided to chance being overheard, and she approached the habitat slowly.

“Dr. Haaaaarker. Are you maaaaaaaad?”

“Mad? Why?”

“I heeeeeeealed Helen. You could noooooot.”

“I haven't examined her yet, so I can't be sure the Huntington's is actually gone.”

“You have dooooooubt.”

“No. I just prefer facts to faith.”

The demon nodded. Harker eyed him, hoof to horn. He was certainly formidable. But supernatural? Harker decided she didn’t care, one way or the other.

“So you can raise the dead?” she asked.

“Yesssssssss.”

“How long can they be dead before you can raise them? Minutes, hours... years?”