Deadly Genes td-117 Read online

  It seemed to take forever, but she finally made it to the door.

  There were more than the original two voices by now. She could hear several more inside, grunting and swearing.

  Judith fumbled for the doorknob. A distant, lucid part of her mind was surprised when she managed to catch it on the first try. She flung the door open wide.

  The startled eyes that looked out at her from the long corridor did not belong to the BBQs.

  There were a dozen of them. They wore skintight black mime leotards. Black gloves and black sneakers covered their hands and feet. Their heads were shielded by solid black ski masks. White eyes stared out through rough triangular holes in the masks.

  The black-clad figures had been busy.

  Most of the BBQs were gone. The last two creatures were even now being herded down the hall to the adjoining lab.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Judith demanded. Her voice was a guttural snarl. Through her blurry, surreal vision, Dr. White could see that one of the floor-to-ceiling panes of glass in the next room had been shattered. More figures in black hefted a BBQ out the broken window. There was a fire escape beyond.

  The figures nearby seemed paralyzed for a moment.

  Judith staggered into the room.

  If the injection would only clear... It didn't take long. Once it did, she'd be able to...

  "I'll take care of her," snapped a gruff female voice.

  One of the leotard-clad figures ran over to Dr. White. Judith held up one hand in an odd defensive posture. Her back arched visibly as she readied for the attack.

  But the injection she had given herself was just too strong. Disoriented, she swung down at her attacker's head.

  And missed.

  She didn't get a second chance.

  Something appeared in the hand of the dark figure. A flashlight. The beam played wildly across the wall as the intruder's arm swept up and then down viciously across the side of the scientist's head.

  The pain was sharp and bright. It exploded from around the point of impact, racing through her already numb brain.

  Judith dropped to all fours on the cold floor. Weakly, she tried to push herself up. No good. She collapsed over onto her side.

  A wave of blackness bled through her mind.

  "There's another one in here!" she heard the woman who had struck her exclaim. The voice echoed.

  Judith's distorted vision caught a final glimpse of black sneakers scuffing past her and into the main lab. They seemed fuzzy, far off.

  There was a final, plaintive moan from the last BBQ.

  Then a night shroud of warm oblivion swept in. The wave of intense darkness engulfed Dr. Judith White.

  Chapter 2

  His name was Remo, and he was explaining to the inmate that he had just masterminded a prison break. It was a tough sell, considering they were sharing a tiny solitary-confinement cell in the Supermax maximum-security federal prison in Florence, Colorado.

  "What are you talking about?" Todd Grautski blinked, his voice thick with sleep. He was a gaunt man with a face that appeared to have been tied in a knot at one time and never completely unloosened. Wild eyes darted beneath a mop of uncombed, graying hair. His gray beard was like an unkempt ostrich nest.

  It was dark in the small cell. A silvery pool of dull light spilled in through a barred panel in the door of the cell. The closed door.

  The solemn red numbers on the cell's new digital clock told Todd Grautski it was after midnight. Grautski was suspicious of the clock, just as he was of all things mechanical. Unfortunately, the timepiece was not his.

  "Keep your voice down," Remo whispered. He held a finger up to his lips. In the darkness, his deepset dark eyes gave him the appearance of a shushing skull.

  Remo was sitting on the edge of Grautski's bunk. The inmate tugged his blanket toward his chin as he sat up.

  "What are you doing in here?" Grautski asked fearfully. His voice was stronger now that he was more awake.

  Remo rolled his eyes. "I told you," he said, even more quietly than before. "I just engineered a prison break."

  "So what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be outside?"

  "Ohh," Remo said with a smile. "Now I understand the source of your confusion. You don't get it. I didn't break out. I broke in."

  Grautski looked at the door. Still closed. There was no evidence that it had been opened since it had been locked with a chillingly mechanical click more than four hours before. However, there was still the vexing problem of the thin young man sitting on his bed. He wasn't a ghost; therefore he was real. He must have gotten in somehow.

  Grautski wasn't sure if he should call a guard. "Don't call a guard," Remo suggested, as if he had read Todd Grautski's mind. "They only get in the way. We want this to be neat, don't we?"

  "Want what to be neat?" Grautski asked. He pulled the covers more tightly to his chin, as if the wool might protect him. There were a lot of people who wanted Todd Grautski dead. He had a sudden sinking feeling that his skull-headed visitor might be one of them.

  The stranger's reply surprised him. "Our escape, silly," Remo said.

  "You're getting me out?" Grautski asked doubtfully. "Thanks but no thanks. I'll take my chances on appeal." Fearful of his guest, he pulled the blankets over his head.

  "Don't you want to be free?" Remo asked Todd Grautski's trembling bedcovers.

  "Go away," came the muffled reply.

  "Don't you want to soar like an eagle over these prison walls?" Remo gestured grandly to the wall of the solitary-confinement cell. It was plastered with magazine pictures of naked women. He paused, studying the photographic images. "You know, when I was in prison they didn't allow dirty pictures," he commented.

  "They're not mine," Grautski mumbled.

  "They mine," interjected a voice behind Remo. Remo had been aware of the second inmate since before he'd even entered the cell. But the man had been snoring softly until now. Remo turned to the speaker.

  The face peering from the adjacent bunk was as black as the darkest cell shadows. Bloodshot white eyes stared at Remo.

  "Do you mind?" Remo asked, irked. "This is a private prison break."

  "You gettin' out?" the other inmate growled. He glanced at the closed door.

  "No!" Todd Grautski mumbled through his blanket.

  "Yes," said Remo.

  "I comin', too," the other prisoner insisted.

  "No," Remo said.

  "Yes," Grautski stressed. "You can go instead of me. And take your damn soul-stealing clock with you."

  The second convict sat up, swinging his legs over the side of his bunk. "Don't mind him," he said, waving dismissively at the Todd Grautski-shaped mound of blankets. "He don't like any o' that technology stuff. You realize that is the one and only Collablaster you talkin' to?"

  A flicker of something dark and violent passed across Remo's stern features. "I was aware of that," he said icily.

  The second prisoner nodded energetically. "They call him the Collablaster 'cause he mail all kinds of dumb-ass bombs to all kinds of college types. Twenty years an' he only killed three guys."

  "Allegedly," the Grautski blanket squeaked.

  "I did more than that in one day," the inmate boasted.

  At first, Remo had been irritated by the man's interruption. But as the other convict continued to speak, something familiar about him tweaked the back of Remo's consciousness.

  "Do I know you?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

  "Kershaw Ferngard," the prisoner announced proudly. "I in here for shootin' up a railroad car full of white folks. Allegedly," he added quickly. He winked knowingly.

  Remo nodded. It seemed like an eternity ago, but he remembered the images of Ferngard on TV. His lawyers had attempted to use a "black rage" defense, his racial anger thus excusing him for the six people he'd killed and the other nineteen he had injured in his shooting rampage on the Long Island Railroad. Like Todd Grautski, Ferngard had dismissed his lawyers, opting to represent himself.


  "What are you doing here?" Remo asked. "This is supposed to be solitary confinement."

  "They paintin' my cell. I didn't like the color. Damn racist prison overcrowding." Ferngard hopped to the floor. "If we gettin' outta here, I needs my toofbrush."

  "I'm not going anywhere," Todd Grautski's muffled voice insisted.

  "Don't listen to Mr. Anti-Technoholic," Ferngard instructed Remo. He was fumbling in the medicine chest. "He be afraid ever since I plug my clock in this mornin'. When I turn on my razor, it took two guards wit mop handles to pull him out from under his bunk."

  Ferngard turned. A bright pink toothbrush was clamped in his mitt. The handle was shaped like Porky Pig. He clicked the business end between his molars. "Ready," he mumbled.

  Remo looked from the eager face of Kershaw Ferngard to the quivering pile of wool that hid the infamous Collablaster. Remo was only here for Todd Grautski, but opportunities like this one rarely knocked.

  Under the blanket, even though he was in his underwear, Grautski was beginning to sweat. It had gotten too quiet all of a sudden. He didn't like the sense of claustrophobia he got beneath the bedcovers. Solitary was one thing. He could handle that. He'd spent years alone in a cabin in rural Montana with nothing to keep him company save a battered secondhand bicycle and a vast stockpile of bombmaking paraphernalia. But this was too much.

  Grautski was biding his time beneath the childhood safety of his covers when he felt a sudden coolness. As soon as the blanket was lifted, Kershaw Ferngard was dumped onto Grautski's prone form. Before they knew what was happening, both men were being knotted up like a bundle of rags inside the fuzzy prison-issue blanket.

  "What you doing?" Ferngard demanded from inside the makeshift sack. "I drop my Porky Pig. Hey, get yo knee outta me eye," he snarled at Grautski.

  "Shh," Remo whispered.

  Beneath the 180-pound pile of wiggling Long Island Railroad Shooter, Todd Grautski tried to shove his hands out through the edge of the blanket. He encountered a tangle of thick knots. The intruder had used the four corners to tie them up inside the blanket.

  Grautski suddenly heard a tiny ping of metal strike the concrete floor. "What was that?" he asked, panicked. "Was that an oven timer? I hate those."

  "Shut up," Ferngard hissed from somewhere near Grautski's shins. He was straining to hear what was going on beyond the blanket. As he did so, the inmate had the abrupt sensation of rising into the air.

  There was not a grunt from the man who was obviously carrying them. It was as if both men were no heavier than a duffel bag full of cotton laundry.

  It took but a few steps for Kershaw Ferngard to know they'd gone too far to still be inside the solitary cell. By now they were gliding out through the open door to the small room.

  "You really did break in," Ferngard said from the tangle of blanket, surprise and wonder in his muffled voice.

  "Quiet," Remo replied in a whisper. "Try to act like a pair of smelly gym socks."

  Ignoring the complaints that issued from the Collablaster, Kershaw Ferngard shifted inside the bundle. He jammed his fingers into one of the tangled knots. After a little jimmying, he managed to pry it open a few inches. He stuck one big eye up to the opening.

  They were in the solitary-confinement corridor, slung over the stranger's shoulder like a hobo's bindle. Their combined weight was over three hundred pounds, yet the man moved with a confident glide through the deep shadows.

  The place was eerily dark and silent. One wall was lined with closed metal doors. Beyond some of them, Ferngard could hear wet, muted snoring.

  The concrete-walled corridor ended at a closed door. Beside it was a sheet of shatterproof Plexiglas. As they moved past the window, Ferngard saw a pair of guards beyond the thick pane. Both were sitting in chairs, heads back, mouths open. They weren't moving.

  "You kill the guards?" the inmate asked, owl eyed. As he struggled to get a better look, Todd Grautski grunted.

  "They're sleeping," Remo explained. "It's easier to break out that way." He held his finger to his lips for silence once more.

  For the first time, Ferngard noticed how thick his wrists were. The man reached for the bolted door. "That'll set off the alarm," Kershaw warned.

  "I hate alarms," Todd Grautski moaned. Quieter now, he seemed resigned to whatever fate this stranger had in store. "I should have said so in my Collablaster Declaration in the New York Times. They make a terrible electronic noise."

  "Not if you treat them nicely," Remo said. Remo tapped a single finger around the locking mechanism for a tiny moment. Impossibly, the door popped obediently open. Just like that. The green light beside the panel didn't light up, nor did the loud buzzing noise that ordinarily accompanied the opening of the door echo through the hall. They were through the door and inside the narrow adjoining hallway in seconds.

  "How'd you do that?" Ferngard asked, amazed.

  "Like this," Remo said.

  They were at the second security door to the solitary-confinement area. Repeating the motion, Remo sprang the second door as easily as the first.

  "He didn't use any electronic gadget, did he?" the Collablaster asked worriedly.

  "Yeah, he use a can opener," Ferngard replied, annoyed.

  Ferngard felt the tension in Todd Grautski's legs. Mainly because they were wrapped around his neck. "Ack," Kershaw choked amid the knotted tangle of Collablaster limbs.

  "Hey, Frick and Frack, keep it down," Remo whispered. "This is where it gets tricky."

  As Ferngard fought to disentangle himself from Todd Grautski's extremities, they slipped out into the general prison area. Skirting the main cells, Remo carried his bundle past the metal-railed lower tier of cells around to the hallway leading up to the cafeteria.

  At several strategic points along the way, Ferngard saw more sleeping guards. Others were still awake, however. He could see them patrolling distant sections of the prison as they made their way inside the cafeteria.

  "That was amazing," Ferngard whispered as Remo closed the door to the dining hall. "How come they didn't see us?"

  "The eye sees only what it expects to see," Remo said.

  "But the cameras do the rest," Todd Grautski cautioned. "They're everywhere."

  "Don't worry," Remo assured him. "They missed us."

  "What about the satellites?" the Collablaster begged.

  As he spoke, he felt the sudden impact of a hard surface beneath him. The knots in the blanket were unraveled. Grautski and Ferngard spilled out onto the cold cafeteria floor.

  "Think galactically, act terrestrially," Remo told the Collablaster.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Grautski asked. He rubbed his bruised backside.

  Free now, Ferngard blinked hard. A small piece of fuzz from the blanket had gotten stuck in his eye. "It mean you crazy for always worryin' 'bout satellites and microwaves an' shit like that."

  All around was the airy mess hall. The big windows high above on one wall were covered with steel mesh. Occasionally, a searchlight would rake across the translucent glass.

  "Bring your security blanket," Remo whispered as he walked to the window wall.

  Grautski hesitated. Ferngard didn't. Scooping up the blanket, he ran after Remo. Grautski followed reluctantly.

  "Who are you, man?" Ferngard asked hoarsely.

  "Just a friend of humanity," Remo answered softly. The underlying tone of menace was lost on both prisoners.

  "You really mean what you say to hair-dryerpuss?" Ferngard asked. "You was in prison?"

  As he spoke, he glanced up at the windows. They were far away. Layers of imposing mesh coated them. The glass interior was crisscrossed with even more threads of steel.

  "A long time ago." Remo nodded grimly.

  "You don't look like the jail type," the inmate said. "You seem pretty damn straitlaced."

  "I was framed," Remo said. "The guy who's my boss now set me up. I was sentenced to die in the electric chair. It didn't work. But as a dead man-at least officially-I
was able to go places and do things that a living person would have a hard time doing."

  They were at the wall.

  "You really got the chair?" Ferngard asked, amazed.

  "I don't like the electric chair," Todd Grautski said, wandering up behind them.

  "You don't like de 'lectric toaster," Ferngard snapped, peeved.

  The Collablaster glanced from one man to the other. "The same technology produced them both," he argued weakly.

  They ignored him.

  "Sat, strapped, bagged and burned," Remo told Ferngard. He pressed his hands to the wall. It was cool to the touch.

  "Wow. How many people you kill?" Ferngard asked.

  Remo looked at him. His eyes were invisible beyond the deep shadows of his eye sockets. "Today?" he asked.

  "No, back then. When your boss set you up."

  "One. But I didn't kill him."

  "You got the chair for doing one guy?" Femgard sputtered derisively. He tried to contain his laughter.

  "It was a different era," Remo said. "People were punished for doing wrong. Not like now when any bored psycho with an automatic rifle can shoot up a whole railroad car full of commuters and end up in a cell crammed full of digital clocks and nudie magazines."

  "Oh." Ferngard missed the sarcasm completely. "So what's the stuff you can do now that you couldn't do before?"

  "This, for one," Remo said.

  Remo reached out and grabbed Kershaw Ferngard by the collar of his white T-shirt. He flipped Todd Grautski up onto the same shoulder. Remo pressed his free hand against the wall of the cafeteria. Neither prisoner was quite sure what to expect. Even prepared thusly for the unexpected, both were still surprised when Remo's feet left the floor. Ferngard's eyes grew wide. The one abraded by the tiny wool fragment was a watery red.

  The cafeteria began to grow smaller. Row upon row of empty tables stretched out into the thick shadows at the far side of the large room.

  He looked to the wall for some alternate explanation for this bizarre act of levitation. He saw only Remo.

  Graceful in the precise way that spiders were not, Remo was using one hand and the toes of his leather loafers to carry them all up the smoothly painted cinder-block walls of the mess hall. There was not a hint of strain on his face.