“Yeah. The cats, dogs, birds, rattlesnakes, the crying child… It was almost like a performance. As if it were bragging: “Hey, look what I can do; look how clever I am.” Jake Johnson's voice was just one more impersonation in its repertoire.”
“What are you proposing?” Copperfield asked, “Something supernatural?”
“No. This is real.”
“Then what? Put a name to it,” Copperfield demanded.
“I can't, damn it,” Bryce said, “Maybe it's a natural mutation or even something that came out of a genetic engineering lab somewhere. You know anything about that, General? Maybe the army's got an entire goddamned division of geneticists creating biological fighting machines, man-made monsters designed to slaughter and terrorize, creatures stitched together from the DNA of half a dozen animals. Take some of the genetic structure of the tarantula and combine it with some of the genetic structure of the crocodile, the cobra, the wasp, maybe even the grizzly bear, and then insert the genes for human intelligence just for the hell of it. Put it all in a test tube; incubate it; nurture it. What would you get? What would it look like? Do I sound like a raving lunatic for even proposing such a thing? Frankenstein with a modern twist? Have they actually gone that far with recombinant DNA research? Maybe I shouldn't even have ruled out the supernatural. What I'm trying to say, General, is that it could be anything. That's why I can't put a name to it. Let your imagination run wild, General. No matter what hideous thing you conjure up, we can't rule it out. We're dealing with the unknown, and the unknown encompasses all our nightmares.”
Copperfield stared at him, then looked up at Sergeant Harper's suit and helmet which hung from the meat hook. He turned to Pascalli and Fodor, “We won't search the alley. The sheriff is probably right. Sergeant Harker is lost, and — there's nothing we can do for him.”
For the fourth time since Copperfield had arrived in town, Bryce said, “Do you still think it looks as if we're dealing with just a simple incident of CBW?”
“Chemical or biological agents might be involved,” Copperfield said. “As you observed, we can't rule out anything. But it's not a simple case. You're right about that, Sheriff. I'm sorry for suggesting you were only hallucinating and—”
“Apology accepted,” Bryce said.
“Any theories?” Jenny asked.
“Well,” Copperfield said, “I want to start the first autopsy and pathology tests right away. Maybe we won't find a disease or a nerve gas, but we still might find something that'll give us a clue.”
“You'd better do that, sir,” Tal said, “Because I have a hunch that time is running out.”
Chapter 25
Questions
Corporal Billy Velazquez, one of General Copperfield's support troops, climbed down through the manhole, into the storm drain. Although he hadn't exerted himself, he was breathing hard. Because he was scared.
What had happened to Sergeant Harker?
The others had come back, looking stunned. Old man Copperfield said Harker was dead. He said they weren't quite sure what had killed Sarge, but they intended to find out. Man, that was bullshit. They must know what killed him. They just didn't want to say. That was typical of the brass, making secrets of everything.
The ladder descended through a short section of vertical pipe, then into the main horizontal drain. Billy reached the bottom. His booted feet made hard, flat sounds when they struck the concrete floor.
The tunnel wasn't high enough to allow him to stand erect. He crouched slightly and swept his flashlight around.
Gray concrete walls. Telephone and power company pipes. A little moisture. Some fungus here and there. Nothing else.
Billy stepped away from the ladder as Ron Peake, another member of the support squad, came down into the drain.
Why hadn't they at least brought Harker's body back with them when they'd returned from Gil Martin's Market?
Billy kept shining his flashlight around and glancing nervously behind him.
Why had old Iron Ass Copperfield kept stressing the need to be watchful and careful down here?
Sir, what're we supposed to be on the lookout for? Billy had asked.
Copperfield had said, Anything. Everything. I don't know if there's any danger or not. And even if there is, I don't know exactly what to tell you to look for. Just be damned cautious. And if anything moves down there, no matter how innocent it looks, even if it's just a mouse, get your asses out of there fast.
Now what the hell kind of answer was that?
Jesus.
It gave him the creeps.
Billy wished he'd had a chance to talk to Pascalli or Fodor. They weren't the damned brass. They would give him the whole story about Harker — if he ever got a chance to ask them about it.
Ron Peake reached the bottom of the ladder. He looked anxiously at Billy.
Velazquez directed the flashlight all the way around them in order to show the other man there was nothing to worry about.
Ron switched on his own flash and smiled self-consciously, embarrassed by his jumpiness.
The men above began to feed a power cable through the open manhole. It led back to the two mobile laboratories, which were parked a few yards from the entrance to the drain.
Ron took the end of the cable, and Billy, shuffling forward in a crouch, led the way Cast. On the street above, the other men paid out more cable into the drain.
This tunnel should intersect an equally large hole perhaps larger conduit under the main street, Skyline Road. At that point there ought to be a power company junction box where several strands of the town's electrical web were joined together. As Billy proceeded with all the caution that Copperfield had suggested, he played the beam of his flashlight over the walls of the tunnel, looking for the power company's insignia.
The junction box was on the left, five or six feet this side of the intersection of the two conduits. Billy walked past it, to the Skyline Road drain, leaned out into the passageway, and pointed his light to the right and to the left, making sure there was nothing lurking around. The Skyline Road pipe was the same size as the one in which he now stood, but it followed the slope of the street above it, plunging down the mountainside. There was nothing in sight.
Looking downhill, into the dwindling gray bore of the tunnel, Billy Velazquez was reminded of a story he'd read years ago in a horror comic. He'd forgotten the title of it. The tale was about a bank robber who killed two people during a holdup and then, fleeing police, slipped into the city's storm drain system. The villain had taken a downward-sloping tunnel, figuring it would lead to the river, but where it had led, instead, was to Hell. That was what the Skyline Road drain looked like as it fell down, down, down: a road to Hell.
Billy turned to peer uphill again, wondering if it would look like a road to Heaven. But it looked the same both ways. Up or down, it looked like a road to Hell.
What had happened to Sergeant Harker?
Would the same thing happen to everyone, sooner or later?
Even to William Luis Velazquez, who had always been so sure (until now) that he would live forever?
His mouth was suddenly dry.
He turned his head inside his helmet and put his parched lips on the nipple of the nutrient tube. He sucked on it, drawing a sweet, cool, carbohydrate-packed, vitamin-and-mineral-rich fluid into his mouth. What he wanted was a beer. But until he could get out of this suit, the nutrient solution was the only thing available. He carried a forty-eight-hour supply — if he didn't take more than two ounces an hour.
Turning away from the road to Hell, he went to the junction box. Ron Peake was at work already. Moving efficiently despite their bulky decon suits and the cramped quarters, they tapped into the power supply.