2


REVELATION 13:7

And it was given unto him to make war. . . .

~ * ~

"We want everybody ready first thing in the morning," Alex said. "Make sure all your equipment—weapons, flashlight, whatever—is set out tonight. We should walk into Hanley-Dawson no later than eight. There we pick up the torch and the tanks and go on to the Mart."

"What time will we get to the Mart?" asked Elliot. He and the others looked at Alex expectantly.

"Nine o'clock," Alex guessed. "It's not that far." His gaze searched out McDole. "You're sure the torch works?"

"Well," the older man said, "we know it's got pressure. Elliot fiddled with it—"

"—but I really didn't know what I was doing," Elliot finished. "I figured if I kept going I'd probably blow up the place. I never used anything but propane in shop class."

Alex's forehead creased. "We'll find out tomorrow. An outfit like that is bound to have a couple of spare tanks anyway." He looked around. "What else?"

"How long to get the chains off?" McDole asked.

"I can't answer that without knowing what they're made of. My guess would be only a few minutes each."

"And the people won't get burned?" Ira asked.

Alex shook his head. "It's a directed flame. For the sake of speed I'll go through a couple of links away from the skin, and we'll cut the rest off when we get back here."

McDole held up a hand. "Getting them loose may not be the hardest part," he reminded them. "We still don't know how many people are actually there. It could be fifteen or thirty. No one's seen them all, not eyed—his gaze flicked to Alex—"Deb. Chances are they're probably weak and sick. They may or may not be able to walk, and they'll probably get frantic when they see us." He laced his fingers on the table. "We don't know what we're getting into here. The guard may be armed and he may fight. Every decision you make will be critical, so be careful and be sensible. No heroes—we don't want to hold any memorials next week." They all nodded grimly.

"What if it's still raining?" C.J. asked from the window. "Do we go anyway?"

"No." At Alex's surprised look, McDole thumped a knuckle against the map spread on the table. "It's just too risky. Cold, wet weather will triple the odds that we'll leave a track or imprint somewhere that could be followed, and God knows what it'll do to the travel time."

"And dragging those folks through the rain won't help anything," Ira commented.

"Exactly" McDole sat back "The object is to get everyone back here alive and safe, and if we have to wait for a dry day, then we wait." He leaned forward again, his expression grave. "We can't leave anyone behind, understand? Or we'll have to move both the people here and the ones we rescue."

"Christ," Elliot muttered. "How could we leave anyone anyway?" His mouth was tight. "Imagine being there and watching everyone else escape, knowing you're the only person left to face those creatures. Talk about a nightmare!"

"So we're set?" Alex looked at them, then glanced toward the door. "What's that?"

"Sounds like the doctor." McDole rose and walked to the stairwell, then his eyebrows lifted. "He's mighty excited."

There was a clattering on the stairs and Perlman burst into the room. "We've got it!" he cried. He waved a syringe and McDole flinched away from the swinging needle.

"What?" Alex asked warily.

The physician grabbed his arm and grinned, his eyes wide and wild.

"The way to kill the vampires!"

~ * ~

"This is it." Calie and Louise joined the group as Perlman raised the syringe for everybody to see. "Suspended in a glucose solution. It's safe, effective, and I tried it an hour ago. I've actually seen it work."

"What does it do?" Louise asked.

"It makes them decompose, the way a human body does when the person dies," Perlman answered. "The way they should have when they died."

"That's great," McDole said doubtfully. "But what do we do now? Ask if they want a shot?"

Perlman chuckled. "Watch." There was a collective gasp as he plunged the syringe into his arm, dispensed its contents, then drew out the needle. From his pocket he pulled a small packet containing an alcohol-soaked piece of gauze and dabbed at the spot. "I just became a passive carrier."

"It's not going to make you sick, is it?" Calie's face was frightened.

"It’s not going to make anyone sick—anyone living, that is. To put it simply, it feeds only on dead flesh. In or on a living organism, it stays dormant."

"How can you be sure?" McDole queried. "Don't you need more time to research or something?"

"I'm sure because I know my work," Perlman said. His face was sincere. "Besides, I've already tried it."

Alex started. "You have? How?"

The room went silent.

Finally, the doctor answered. "I gave it to Deb early this morning, Alex. The process has already started."

Alex made a choking sound. "But we—all of us—you never even asked—"

"Jo told me to," Perlman said, as though it was all the reason needed. "The credit—and I mean credit, not blame—goes to her. She actually . . . I don't know how to describe it. Made it work, I suppose. Everything was stalled until she showed up in the lab right after dawn."

"I wonder how she gets in," McDole said absently.

"Who cares?" C.J. came forward. "What matters is that this germ of yours works, right, Doc?"

Perlman nodded vigorously and Alex looked sicker than ever.

"How long does it take?" Elliot asked innocently.

"Not very." Perlman took a deep breath; the truth was unavoidable. "At the rate it's going, the process appears almost retroactive. I'd say . . . less than a day." Alex looked stunned and Perlman forced himself to continue, regretting his bold, insensitive announcement. "On some the process may be faster because they haven't—"

Alex bolted from the room.

"Alex!" When McDole started to go after him, Perlman's voice made him pause.

"Let him go," he said. The physician suddenly felt very weary, and very guilty. "There's no way to stop him from going to the shelter, and it doesn't matter anyway. Not only is Deb still sleeping, she's considerably weaker than she was last night. He'll be safe."

"Oh," Calie said softly. "She's . . . dying."

Perlman hung his head. "Yes."

"Is she in pain, Bill?" McDole's voice was filled with dread.

Perlman went to the window and stared out at the rain, thinking of how Michigan Avenue had once looked on a gray, wet afternoon like now. Then it had been all lights and shine on the streets; now it was dreary and deserted. "Yes," he said finally.

"God," Louise said in a small voice.

"She never hurt anyone." Calie's words were quiet.

Perlman's eyes fixed on the floor. "No," he agreed. "She never did." It was a cowardly thing to think, but Perlman was glad he wouldn't be at Northwestern when Alex opened the door to the bomb shelter.

Neither Alex nor Deb deserved what he would find.

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