The Uninvited (19 page)

“Are you serious, Bruce?” Dr. Terry asked. “Hell, man, I don't know anything about bugs!”

Dr. Masterson stuffed his pipe and stuck it, unlit, in his mouth. “Are you suggesting, Bruce, that the prisoner is going to change into a ... oh, come on, man!”

Long's smile was totally without mirth. “No, Doctor, I'm not suggesting he's going to turn into a bug. But the bite from those creatures must be extremely toxic. More so than anything I have ever witnessed, in the sense that the venom can drastically alter the victim's makeup, physically and chemically. That man”—he pointed to the strapped-down prisoner—
ate
a newspaper. Now, either he's gone completely mad, or is undergoing some strange sort of metamorphosis.” He looked hard at the doctors. “If you disagree, please give me your diagnosis.”

Neither man chose to reply. The prisoner screamed. Outside, in the gathering dusk, the mutants were on the move.

“Mike,” Sheriff Ransonet said, “have your boys go over Tommy's house carefully. Dr. Long wants to know if he left any notes behind about his experience with the bugs. He thinks Tommy may have left something to help us.”

“Level with me, Vic. What have we got going? Drs. Ashley and Bond left outta here like their asses was on fire, heading for Lapeer.”

“I don't know, Mike. And that's the truth. The deputy I sent over to the clinic, the doctors chased out as soon as Dr. Whitson arrived. He came back here with some wild tale about the prisoner changing into a monster or an animal or a bug, or something like that.”

“A bug!” the Baronne Parish sheriff yelled over the phone. “You mean a bug like crawls on the fuckin' ground?”

Slick sat in a chair beside the Sheriff's desk. He shook his head. “I am not believing any of this crap,” he said. “I refuse to believe any of it.”

Vic looked at him. “Slick, shut up, will you? Mike? I'm telling you all I know about this. All I can say is stay loose.”

“Loose? If I get any looser, I'm gonna crap my pants. We've got to have state help on this, Vic. I'm understaffed. We can't handle it, can you? We've got to tell the people—”

“What do we tell them? What do we tell them that they would believe? Do you have any hard evidence that would warrant an evacuation? I don't—not nearly enough, that is. But be that as it may, if this situation is any worse by dawn, I'm going to evac—God help us all. It'll be total panic.”

“Vic?” the lawman spoke softly.
Do you even have an evac plan? I don't.”

“No, not much of one, Mike. Right now, I've got people trying to figure out just how many buses and large types of transportation we have at our disposal in this Parish. I would suggest you get to work on the same. How about the phones in Baronne?”

“About half of them are out. You?”

“The same thing. And there is another problem. How do we get to all the people?”

“Oh, hell, Vic! I don't know! I'm just a country sheriff, just like you, without enough men, without enough money, without enough everything, including sense. If we had any sense, we wouldn't be in this kind of work.”

“I'm going to call in the Chief of police here, Mike—lay it on the line for him. You better do the same.”

“You've got to be kidding! The Chief up here is a damned idiot. He has one year of law enforcement experience. At least your Chief was a deputy for a few years.”

“You're not going to inform him of this situation?”

“Hell, no!”

“I don't think that's right, Mike. I don't like the Chief here in Bonne Terre, but he is the Chief of Police and he has a right to know. I'm going to tell him and I think you ought to do the same.”

“I don't take orders from you, Vic.”

“He's cracking,” Vic said to Slick. “The pressure is getting to him. There's gonna be chaos in that Parish.”

“When do we see the Chief?”

Vic stood up. “Right now.”

 

 

“Are you out of your mind?” Chief Lewis asked. “Bugs? What the hell have you been drinking, Vic?”

“I'm not going to go into great detail about this situation, Lewis, other than to tell you to keep your mouth shut about what I just said. And be ready to assist me at a moment's notice. Is that clear?”

Chief Lewis looked hard at Sheriff Ransonet. “I'm not sure you have the authority to give me orders, Vic.”

Vic returned the hard stare until Chief Lewis's eyes fell away from his. Vic said, “I'm sure.

 

 

Dusk.

Tommy Sabatier crouched in the brush by the side of the Parish road. Some degree of lucidity had returned to him, but he did not know how long it would last. He knew, though, it had returned to him only because he was forcing his mind to overpower the alien elements fighting within his system. He also felt he was in a no-win struggle. And he knew that for a time, when he first felt his body changing, he had wanted to kill.

Had he already killed anyone? Or anything?

But the feeling he had experienced had been more than a matter of self-protection. He had wanted to destroy. He did not understand what was happening inside him. What was happening to him?

It had to be the bites he had received earlier that day. Of course, that was it. But how could they take effect so quickly? And could he do anything about it?

“No,” he said aloud. No, he didn't think so. He wasn't even sure he wanted to do anything about it.

As he crouched in the brush by the ditch, he absentmindedly reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He began nibbling on the paper. He ate all the paper, then removed his belt and began chewing on that. The leather tasted good. He slobbered a thick, ropy foam.

 

 

“I set the ditch on fire.” Dr. Long finished the short note found tacked to the wall of Tommy's house. “That's it?” He looked at the deputy from Baronne Parish.

“That's all we could find, sir. He really wrecked his house. Went wild, I guess.”

Thank you, Deputy. You'd better get back to Baronne. I understand you're having the same problems up there that we're experiencing here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell Mike to take it easy,” Dr. Ashley said. “Try to get some sleep, but stay close to a phone or a radio.”

“Yes, sir. I'll do that.”

When the deputy had left, the medical men from the two-Parish area looked at Dr. Whitson. He was examining the prisoner, who was now wide awake, slobbering and snapping and clicking his jaws. He was restrained at the table with wide leather belts, which he kept trying to eat.

You have treated this man with what?” Dr. Whitson asked.

“He first received a tetanus shot just moments after being bitten,” Dr. Long replied. “Since he's been here, he's received massive doses of Dicloxacillin, Penicillin G, and Ampicillin. He responds to none of them. Perhaps I should have started the rabies series?”

The old man shook his head. “Hyperab would not have done any good, Dr. Long. The man doesn't have rabies. However, the next bite victim should be, I believe, treated with Garamycin. I'm not saying you'll have any different results with that, but the microorganisms might be Rickettsia. Might respond to Garamycin. Might, I say.” He returned to his examination of the prisoner.

“Well?” Dr. Long asked impatiently.

“Well, what?” Whitson shrugged. “The man is undergoing some kind of rapid metamorphosis. Hell, you're all doctors, you know that. Have you examined this secretion from his mouth?”

“Yes, sir,” Dr. Terry replied.
As best we could.”

“Well?” the old professor demanded. “Don't just stand there looking like a schoolboy wanting to go to the bathroom. What did you find?”

I, uh,” Dr. Terry stammered. “We, uh, don't know, really. It's human saliva, but with added elements we can't identify. What do you think is happening to this man, Doctor Whitson?”

Dr. Whitson looked as if he would be right at home in a late-night horror movie. He was thin to the point of emaciation, with a narrow head, and arms that were almost too long, and huge gnarled hands.

I think this man is highly infectious. I think he has gone mad. I think his brain has turned to pus. And I think he should be disposed of as quickly as possible.”

“Disposed of!”

“There is no need to become agitated, young man,” Dr. Whitson said, a pained look on his face. “You asked for my opinion and I gave it to you. Look at the man—all of you! He's changing, physically, almost by the minute. His blood count and cell structure are changing just as rapidly. But I don't know what they are becoming. The secretions from his lungs and—I will wager—his brain, as well, are highly infectious. His eyes are changing as well. Have any of you noticed that? No? Well, I suggest you do so.”