AfterAge (19 page)

"Gross." C.J.'s face twisted. "How the hell you gonna get him to
keep
it open long enough to cut? I'll bet he chomps on anything you stick in there, including your finger."

"He's right," Calie said. "You're likely to lose a piece of your hand if you try it."

"We'll tape his mouth open," Perlman suggested. "I don't need to cut, just run the depressor along the inside of one cheek. I
will
take a little flesh for a tissue sample, and for that we'll turn him facedown so it'll be harder for him to bite."

"Fine," C.J. said. He tossed aside the piece of duct tape he'd been holding and tore six longer pieces, layering them into one thick strand as he knelt behind the vampire's head with the tape spread like a garrote. "We're ready. But you'd better be quick. I really don't think this'll hold for long." Calie grimaced in revulsion as she grabbed the child's ankles to keep it from kicking; the body trembled slightly at her touch, and somewhere beneath the pain still sharpening his senses Bill thought he heard the word
cold
in plaintive tones. He pushed it away and bent to his work, thankful he no longer had to worry about avoiding the creature's eyes.

Slipping on a glove, the doctor pulled a tongue depressor from his pocket and tore it free of the sterile wrapping, then leaned forward. Before he could find an excuse, Perlman again passed a hand over the child's face. When its mouth widened he stared into the moist blackness leading down the thin throat, one glance lasering the image into his memory. All the internal tissues were black, including the tongue, though the doctor thought he could see an undertone of deep red. The front teeth were hideously overdeveloped, especially the canines, but the premolars sloped into the line of malformed gums on both the upper and lower jaws, and molars no longer existed at all, hence the sunken-cheeked appearance.

C.J. brought the tripled strip of tape into the open mouth with admirable speed, hooked it behind the bottom premolars, then yanked down, forcing the jaw open farther. A clot of nasty-smelling fluid sprayed from the vampire's mouth and settled over the skin of its face as it began to struggle sluggishly, trying through the coma-like sleep to snap its teeth. Muscles bulged in C.J.'s arms as he fought to keep the head against the floor while at the other end Calie leaned on its writhing legs with all her strength. Perlman didn't need to be told to hurry this time, though he had to fight his sense of self-preservation to make his fingers thrust the tongue depressor into the contorting mouth and drag it along the inside cheek. He was profoundly thankful for the protection of his glove; his thumb and forefinger had reached beyond the child's lips for only an instant, yet they and the depressor were covered with vile-looking, stinking saliva.

"Done!" Bill pulled back and nearly fell in his haste to get his hand out of the creature's range. In eerily synchronized movements, C.J. dropped the tape and yanked his arms up as Calie released the boy's feet; the body spasmed and Bill gasped as the vampire tried to sit up. C.J. crouched, the crossbow already in hand, but abruptly the child's shuddering ceased as it sank back into its daytime trance.

"Halfway there," Perlman said grimly as he snapped the depressor in two and dropped the pieces into one of the small dishes, then turned a cover over it. "The best is ahead."

"I can't wait," Calie said. Her calm was still holding, but she looked a little shaky. He glanced at her, worried, but she grinned wanly. "I'm fine."

Perlman pulled off the soiled glove and nodded at C.J. "Let's roll him over. One, two, three—" And it was done, the clammy coldness of the boy's arm lingering against the nerves of the doctor's fingers. C.J.'s face was stony, as usual, but Calie looked green and Bill couldn't blame her. How could a body that moved feel so much like a corpse?

"Where are you going to . . . take it from?" Calie asked in a hoarse voice. "Do you think it will hurt him?"

"No more than he'd hurt us if he had the chance," C.J. said in a hard voice.

"I don't need much," Bill said quickly. This time he pulled gloves on both hands after setting out a dish. He picked up the scalpel. "I think the best place is the back of the calf. It'll be quick." He felt Calie's eyes on him and shook his head. "I don't know if it'll hurt or not. Even if it does, we don't have a choice. You ready?"

C.J. stooped next to the side away from the vampire's face and placed both hands flat on the boy's back just below the shoulder blades. "Go for it."

Perlman glanced at Calie. She swallowed and gripped the boy's ankles, pulling the legs out straight. "Fast as you can, okay?" She looked ready to vomit.

Perlman inhaled, then gripped the knife and hunched over the vampire's leg. "Here we go," he said, and drew the blade in a fast swipe, carving out an inch-square chunk of flesh.

The beastchild convulsed, then kicked, knocking Calie's hands loose and flinging her against the wall. Incredibly, C.J. maintained his hold, keeping the snarling creature's face pressed against the concrete as the doctor dropped his sample into the dish. The vampire hissed once more and fell silent, its suffering apparently ending as abruptly as it had begun.

Calie sat up, then choked and pointed. "Lookl"

Perlman followed her extended finger and gawked. The wound was already healing, the exposed layers of gray flesh filling and meshing before their eyes. He bent closer, enthralled by this instantaneous regeneration; although it had once been a human child, he couldn’t help wondering if, like certain species of amphibians, this creature would actually grow an entire new limb if one was lost. The question was fantastic and frightening, and its potential answer scared the hell out of him.

"Well," Perlman finally said as they examined the unbroken skin on the boy's leg, "if it
did
hurt, it wasn't for long." He spent a few seconds studying the dish containing the skin sample, afraid that the flesh would disintegrate. So far it remained intact, and he sealed it and peeled off his gloves. C.J. and Calie watched until at last Perlman looked up and grinned. "That's all, folks."

They exhaled in relief, then Calie wrinkled her nose. "Let's get out of here. I need some fresh air in the worst way." C.J. nodded and Perlman thought he could see a sickly tinge beneath the teen's olive coloring. Though the whole escapade had taken less than twenty minutes, Perlman felt as if he'd aged five years.

"Jesus," C.J. said once they were safely upstairs, "I'm glad that's over. It's sure not something I want to make a habit." Calie looked away and the teenager's gaze found Perlman's carefully bland face. He scowled. "Aw, man. You ain't thinking of doing this again, are you?" When Perlman didn't answer, C.J. showed his anger by kicking the wall hard, just once. "Calie? Shit—that's just great. When do we do it again?"

"Tomorrow?" The question came from Calie.

"Tomorrow," Perlman agreed. “And every day after until we find the answer."

Looking at C.J.'s expression, Perlman was very grateful that the heavy Barnett crossbow in the kid's hands wasn't cocked.

~ * ~

"Well, what did you think you'd find? A miracle?" There was no one in the room to answer and Perlman sat back and ran his fingers across his forehead, then massaged his temples. "Yeah, maybe so." Frustrated, he dropped a hand to the sheaf of notes he'd spent most of the day scribbling. And what
had
he expected? Slice and dice the sample, slap it under the Wolfe microscope he'd power-rigged to a mini-generator, crank the magnification to 100x and
Bingo
! Instant Answer.

Wrong.

What he had was cramped fingers and nearly blackened eyes from sitting for hours with his face plastered against the eyepieces. Still, he had to look again. It was as though he'd discovered some incredibly complex insect that no one had ever seen before, and in a way he supposed that's exactly what had happened. His first glimpse of the sample had been hours ago, yet the doctor was still awed to see that everything was actually where it should be. Incredibly, the cells were pliable and even the right color, as long as the slide was taken from a deeper level of the segment; closer to the surface of the skin, it became dried out, gray, and tough. But they weren't
alive
. They were frozen, trapped in a state of suspended animation from which the vampire's mind could still demand movement, though nothing on the slide was in motion. Predictably, minute colonies of clostridia, common bacterial decay, were scattered here and there, locked into that same permanent paralysis. He could see no fungi and he'd certainly not expected to find any viruses on dead matter. He might as well be looking at a slice of cork.

A blood sample
, Perlman thought.
Right out of its arm—won't C.J. just love that. And I need to find a way to tie a centrifuge into one of the diesel generators in the basement
—now there was an adventure he could cheerfully put off until the next decade. The doctor frowned and drummed his fingers on the table. Obtaining a blood sample might prove nothing but a waste of time, if the blood turned out to be only that of the donor's. Or what if it was absorbed so rapidly that none was left, or no transfer of matter or cells occurred? He wondered if they could open the shelter door and toss in a meal just before sunrise, then chided himself on his foolishness. I'm spoiled, he realized sadly. For years he had simply submitted requisitions and purchase orders to obtain research supplies, samples, and equipment. At worst he had to attend a few administrative meetings. Now he'd have to make do.

A small tinkling from his alarm wristwatch—Calie's idea and a damned fine one—made Perlman realize he only had an hour of good daylight left. This makeshift laboratory was sinking quickly toward darkness, and he couldn't very well examine the tissue samples back in his original lab with its wall of large, northern windows. C.J. and Calie had provided three kerosene lamps to add to the battery-powered spotlight, and now the doctor noted that the spotlight's glow had faded to soft yellow and most of the room’s wan light came from those lamps. He pushed out of his chair and stood unsteadily; fatigue, the pain in his foot, and yesterday's blood loss still working on him. It was time to wrap it up and perform his final and irreversible experiment. He powered down the generator, pulled the slide from the microscope and carefully covered it with dark plastic, then swept the soiled slides, debris, and damaged samples into the trash; it was vital that he had fresh tissue to work with on a daily basis, no matter how difficult it was to obtain. That done, he snapped on the Maglite, extinguished the remaining lights, and hobbled back to his regular lab. Another five minutes' preparation and Perlman was ready.

He estimated that it only took four seconds to get the slide in place and flood it with nearly painful halogen light, yet already the tissue had started to disintegrate.
Maybe
, he mused,
disintegrate was an incorrect term, one that implied decomposition. Dissolve was more accurate, or evaporate
. He wished desperately for a higher magnification level. Perhaps a sudden, massive output of enzymes was causing the tissue to digest itself, with the sun’s rays as the catalyst. Or was it something more toxic, or a modulator, a type of noncompetitive inhibitor . . .

The slice of tissue was gone, like a fragment of shaved ice in August heat, before Perlman’s questions had even begun.

He sat back and mentally replayed the tissue self-destruction, comparing this viewing with the first experiment he'd performed on the fresh sample hours earlier. He flipped through his notes to make sure of the time—noon. The sun had been at its peak point beneath the gray clouds that had moved over the city yesterday evening. That small piece of flesh, purposely placed under the microscope by the window, had deteriorated at almost twice the rate of the one he'd just witnessed, a noteworthy example in terms of energy output versus retention. And more reason to get back to Water Tower, as another look at his watch verified. He stood hurriedly, glanced around, and decided everything could be left where it was overnight. His stomach growled and Perlman grinned; he'd quickly returned to forgotten habits—the days without meals and hours of not speaking to another person when he was heavy into a project. The future was sure to get him plenty of sleep though, since it remained impossible to work through the night. He'd be the most well-rested scientist in history.

Satisfied that nothing was running, Perlman slipped on his jacket and limped down to the first floor, letting himself out and locking up. Someone would be waiting for him at the Water Tower entrance, probably ready to come after him in another ten minutes if he didn't show. The freezing temperature and gusty wind made the empty length of Michigan Avenue desolate, especially against his memories of harried lunchtime crowds and the long-gone horns of the once-abundant taxis. Now it was . . .
nothing
, winding away to a gray, damp haze at either end, making him look forward to the company of Calie and the others, and maybe a hot bowl of canned stew, things that would warm him in body and spirit. He was tired, and it was nice to be heading home.

Home.

Now
there
was a good word.

REVELATION 3:11

Behold, I come quickly: hold that fast which thou hast.

~ * ~

“Alex?" Deb squirmed within the circle of his arms and heard him murmur. "Alex, wake up." She used her elbow to prod at his ribs. "Where'd you get these flowers?"