were normal. They were folded tightly together, and clasped in them was
a rosary, black beads, silver chain, an exquisite little silver
crucifix.
Such desperation was apparent in the posture of her pale hands, such
pathos, that I switched off the light, overcome by pity. To stare at
this grim evidence of her final distress seemed invasive, indecent.
Upon finding the first body in the living room, in spite of the black
silk veils, I’d known that these people had not committed suicide solely
out of guilt over their involvement in the research at Wyvern.
Perhaps some felt guilty, perhaps all of them did, but they participated
in this chemical hara-kiri primarily because they were becoming and
because they were deeply fearful of what they were becoming.
To date, as the rogue retrovirus has transferred other species’ DNA into
human cells, the effects have been limited. They manifest, if at all,
only psychologically, except for telltale animal eye shine in the most
seriously afflicted.
Some of the big brains have been confident that physical change is
impossible. They believe that as the cells of the body wear out and are
routinely replaced, new cells will not contain the sequences of animal
DNA that contaminated the previous generation not even if stem cells,
which control growth throughout the human body, are infected.
This disfigured woman in the Morris chair proved that they were woefully
wrong. Hideous physical change clearly can accompany mental
deterioration.
Each infected individual receives a load of alien DNA different from the
one that anybody else receives, which means that the effect is singular
in every case. Some of the infected may not undergo any perceptible
change, mentally or physically, because they receive DNA fragments from
so many sources that there is no focused cumulative effect other than a
general destabilization of the system, resulting in rapidly
metastasizing cancers and deadly autoimmune disorders. Others may go
mad, psychologically devolve into a subhuman condition, driven by
murderous rages, unspeakable needs. Those who, in addition, suffer
physical metamorphosis will be radically different from one another, a
nightmare zoo My mouth seemed to be choked with dust. My throat felt
tight and parched. Even my cardiac muscle seemed to have withered, for
in my own ears, my heartbeat was juiceless, dry, and strange.
The singing and comic antics of the characters in The Lion King failed
to fill me with magic-kingdom joy.
I hoped Manuel knew what he was talking about when he predicted the
imminent availability of a vaccine, a cure.
Bobby gently draped the square of silk over the woman’s face, concealing
her tortured features.
As Bobby’s hands came close to her, I tensed and found myself
repositioning my grip on the extinguished flashlight, as if I might use
it as a weapon. I half expected to see the woman’s eyes shift, to hear
her snarl, to see those pointed teeth flash and blood spurt, even as she
looped the rosary around his neck and pulled him down into a deadly
embrace.
I am not the only one with a hyperactive imagination. I saw a wariness
in Bobby’s face. His hands twitched nervously as he replaced the silk.
And after we left the study, Sasha hesitated and then returned to the
open door to check the room once more. She no longer gripped the . 38 in
both hands but nonetheless held it at the ready, as though she wouldn’t
have been surprised to discover that even a glassful of the Jonestown
punch, their version of a Heaven’s Gate cocktail, was not poisonous
enough to put down the creature in the Morris chair.
Also on the ground floor were a sewing room and a laundry room, but both
were deserted.
In the hallway, Roosevelt whispered Mungojerrie’s name, because we had
yet to see the cat since we’d entered the house.
A soft answering meow followed by two more, audible above the competing
sound tracks of the Disney movie, drew us forward along the hall.
Mungojerrie was sitting on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs.
In the gloom, his radiant green eyes fixed on Roosevelt, then shifted to
Sasha when she quietly but urgently suggested that we get the hell out