Jenny Plague-Bringer: (Jenny Pox #4) (43 page)

“Because of the visitors coming to tour the base?” Evelina asked.

“No, I don’t know about that.  You know I have this...diseased touch.  I learned how
to breathe it out through the air.  And I...sort of accidentally spat it into Alise’s
face.  Covered her with disease, with dripping sores...it was awful.”

“Is that why she wore such heavy makeup today?” Evelina asked. “She looked like a
clown.”

Juliana laughed through the vent, and then Evelina laughed with her, and she felt
a little better.

Ward found himself in the small morgue near the underground facility’s clinic.  It
was three in the morning, but he hadn’t been able to sleep, so he’d gotten up and
paced through the silent, dim hallways, letting his feet take him where they would.

He thought most of the project was moving ahead fairly well.  He was lucky to have
Mariella so cheerfully on his side, though he remained cautious about trusting her. 
He still believed she would gain Seth’s affection in time.  Not only was she attractive,
and European enough to seem exotic to Seth, but she was wealthy, her family worth
even more than the Barretts.  Rich people could smell it on each other, he thought. 
Jenny Morton had grown up in a shack in the woods.  Ward believed that breaking the
bond between Seth and Jenny was key to breaking their resistance.  If Jenny felt isolated
and alone, it would be easier to reprogram her mind as he needed.  Already, Seth was
starting to give in and cooperate with them in the lab.

Esmeralda was cooperating, but making no secret of her unhappiness at being here. 
She’d stay in the cellblock for now, until Ward sorted out a better means of controlling
her.  He was sure that would involve Tommy, who still seemed sincere in his loyalty,
but Ward wanted to stage things just right.

Trying to focus on work couldn’t distract his mind from the real reason he was awake
and wandering—Kranzler.  He’d become convinced that the dead Nazi officer was haunting
him.  Everywhere, but especially when he was alone, he could feel the ghost of Kranzler
hovering close to him.  He’d even had flashes of Kranzler’s memories.  Maybe that
meant Kranzler was trying to possess him, take control of his former base, but Ward
wasn’t quite ready to call in the priests for an exorcism.  Esmeralda could speak
with the dead.  Maybe he could present the situation to her, in a very limited fashion,
and she could find out some things for him.  He didn’t have Kranzler’s corpse handy,
but she might sense the presence of the ghost, Ward thought.

He shivered, wondering why the hell he was down in the morgue.  Most of the bodies
here were for testing Esmeralda, people who’d been killed in war zones.  Interrogating
people after they were dead could prove useful, Ward thought, if only he could convince
the intelligence bastards to send him the bodies of higher-level operators.

He heard Kranzler’s voice, speaking in English, which was unusual.  Kranzler usually
spoke in German, but somehow Ward had no trouble understanding German when he was
caught up in one of Ward’s memories.

“Get out of here,” Ward ordered the ghost. “Go away!  In God’s name!”

The voice of Kranzler only grew louder, and Ward found himself in another of the dead
man’s memories.  He was accompanied by the gray-eyed girl called Alise, who’d been
quite prominent in the other memories, and another man, tall and dark-eyed, dressed
in a finely tailored suit that probably cost a year of Kranzler’s pay.

The other man’s name was Barrett, and he’d come with the visiting group of high Party
officials from Berlin, an event for which Kranzler had been nervously preparing for
weeks.  The officials had brought a handful of foreign dignitaries, mostly wealthy
and aristocratic types from Austria, France, or England, all of them bound by a common
interest in eugenics.  Barrett seemed extremely comfortable among such people—he wasn’t
the loutish self-made American that Kranzler might have expected.

Kranzler, Barrett, and Alise had broken away from the main event in the wooden-paneled
officers’ dining room, where Alise had given a talk about the National Socialist vision
for improving humanity and breeding desirable traits, with a lofty vision for breeding
supernormal Aryans, the most evolved humans of all, as the future leaders and warriors
of the Reich.  Kranzler had followed this up with a shorter talk about the base’s
need for additional funding, and now their guests enjoyed wine and cigars.  The sound
of a Wagner record echoed through the underground corridors.

When Barrett had made his request, Kranzler had asked him to step outside the room,
worried about how best to refuse this clearly well-connected guest without arousing
conflict.  He’d motioned for Alise to follow.  Barrett had asked whether there was
a morgue, and then insisted they go there.

“What I am about to show you is confidential,” Barrett said. “It is for you only,
Herr Kranzler.”

“Alise is our human breeding specialist,” Kranzler told him.

Barrett looked over the pretty German girl. “I can see why.”

“I would like very much to stay, if you don’t mind, sir.” Alise touched Barrett’s
hand, and a powerful smile filled his face.  His eyes seemed to grow even darker as
he regarded her.

“Nothing could please me more,” Barrett told her, and she laughed and leaned against
him, as if utterly charmed by his presence.  Kranzler knew the opposite was true,
that she was the one casting her magic over him.  An extremely useful girl, Alise.

“What does the morgue have to do with our breeding project?” Alise asked. “If you
don’t mind a simple country girl asking a simple question, Herr Barrett.”

“Mr. Barrett has made a very specific request,” Kranzler told her. “He wishes that
we breed him with Juliana.”

“I see...” Alise thought it over in a flash—Kranzler could see her mind working, looking
at all the angles. They didn’t want to displease, but there were obvious complications. 
Juliana was already pregnant with Sebastian’s baby, for one.  For another, Kranzler
didn’t like the idea of anyone interfering with their research, and he was sure Dr.
Wichtmann would agree. “Sir, I hope you understand, but we are only crossing those
with extreme supernormal traits, signs of evolutionary advance.  We have scoured the
world and found only a few.  This is the main purpose of our entire project.”

“I understand completely,” Barrett said. “That’s why we’re here.” He walked along
the refrigerated cabinet, opening one steel door after another and sliding out the
cadavers.  He touched each body for a long moment before moving on to the next. “Have
you heard of
vodou
, General Kranzler?  It’s a form of sorcery brought from Africa by slaves.  It flourishes
in the West Indies and in parts of the American South.”

Kranzler shook his head, wondering what Barrett was rambling about.

“A sorcerer, or
bokor
, can have the power to trap a dead man’s soul in his body, and thereby reanimate
the flesh.  The
bokor
is the master of those he brings back to life.” Barrett turned at the end of the
morgue and walked back toward them, past the dozen bodies he’d left out on their rolling
trays. “The dead that he commands are called
zonbi
.”  Barrett raised his hand, and every cadaver he’d touched sat up on their trays
as if alive. 

Kranzler jumped, and Alise took his hand, looking pale.

“The
zonbi
are slaves to the
bokor
,” Barrett continued.  The undead bodies twisted and rolled off their trays, some
of them falling to the floor before gaining their feet.  They shambled and lurched
in a loose mob behind Barrett as he continued approaching Kranzler and Alise, letting
out an occasional moan or a noise like a quiet sob. “I even traveled to Haiti to learn
more, but the priests and sorcerers refused to speak to a white man about such things.”

Barrett stopped in front of them, while the gang of
zonbi
trailed behind him, their dead eyes blank, mouths gaping, cold limbs moving stiffly.

“I was born with the power of
bokor
, the power to make
zonbi
,” Barrett said. “Like Juliana and Sebastian, it transfers through touch.  You understand
now my long interest in human genetics and evolution, trying to understand my own
power scientifically.  My long support of the Human Evolution Congress.”

Ward nodded.  He was doing the same thing with this project, testing other humans
with supernormal abilities as a way to understand his own.  He watched the approaching
zonbi
mob warily, but they finally fell into a ragged line behind Barrett.

“Herr Barrett,” Alise said, “You are clearly gifted with a large, impressive power. 
I’m sure we would love to test and experiment, to find out more...”

“I am not here as a lab rat,” Barrett said. “I only want Juliana.”

“There are more complications with that girl specifically,” Kranzler told him. “No
one can touch her without dying, except for Sebastian...as the man who recruited them
for us, you must know this.”

“She can touch me,” Barrett said. “We’ve already discovered that.”

“Truly?” Alise seemed particularly interested now. “A second person resistant to her
plague?  She never told us.”

“You must let me see her,” Barrett insisted.

Alise looked to Kranzler, curiosity in her gray eyes.

“Perhaps we could arrange a meeting, but there must be security precautions,” Kranzler
said. “And we guarantee nothing.  Don’t you agree, Alise?”

“Of course we can guarantee nothing,” Alise said. “We cannot force people to feel
attraction for each other.  For best results, both should be at least somewhat willing. 
None of us can control the desires we feel.” She looked Barrett in the eyes for a
long moment. “Can we?”

“She’s willing,” Barrett said. “Even more than she knows.  Just leave me alone with
her.”

Kranzler looked at Alise for her opinion.

“I don’t see why not,” Alise said.

“We’ll keep guards outside the room,” Kranzler said. “The girl is dangerous.”

“She’s no danger to me.” Barrett smiled. “Thank you, Herr Kranzler.”

“I’m very glad we could accommodate,” Kranzler told him. “We only ask that you not
give the girl any serious physical harm—she is a valuable test subject.”

“I do not intend to give her pain,” Barrett said.

“Do you intend to give her pleasure instead, sir?” Alise touched his hand, and he
laughed.

“We should rejoin the party,” Kranzler said. “
Eugen Fischer from the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute is here, and I’m eager to hear his
opinion on our approach to racial progress.  Even the Fuehrer listens to him on matters
of eugenics.”

* * *

Ward stood alone in the morgue again, the strains of
Die Walküre
still fading in his ears.  The ghost of Kranzler was gone again, for now, but he
couldn’t help imagining the steel doors around him opening, the trays quietly sliding
out, the dead rising from their slumber...

He hurried out, leaving the lights on behind him.

Jenny tossed and turned, trying to sleep while terrified screams blasted at full volume
into her cell.  For days, they’d kept the volume of the screams maxed out, on and
on without a break, while all Jenny could see were the huge glowing images of people
she had killed.  The light from the screen illuminated only the furniture from her
old room. 

She was sick and shivering, sweaty and unable to eat.  The baby felt agitated inside
her, day and night, probably because of the screaming and the lack of sleep.

She was desperate to see Seth, desperate to escape this place, desperate for just
a few minutes of silence....She’d been studying her situation carefully, and she didn’t
see how she could escape, especially when she couldn’t use the pox without harming
the baby.  She could easily get herself jolted or shot dead by a guard.  If she was
going to try anything, it would have to be after the baby was born. 

Jenny lay on her side and pressed the thin hospital-style pillow down over her ear,
trying to shut out the recorded screams.

* * *

Guards in gas masks came for Juliana in her cell, all of them faceless and anonymous
behind their big glass eyes.  They gagged her and fitted a leather noose around her
throat, and then another one at each wrist.  The leather loops were affixed to the
ends of long poles so the guards could move her head and arms from a distance, as
though she were a marionette puppet.

Strangely, they didn’t take her to the lab, but up a level to the residential halls
near her old room.  They carried her through a locked pair of double doors, into a
corridor she’d never seen, and into a room that was neither a prison cell nor a dormitory
room.  It was lavish, like a suite at a grand hotel, with deeply cushioned furniture,
art on the walls, candles, a rug so thick her feet sank into it.  Juliana looked more
than a little out of place here.  Since they’d moved her down to the cell, her only
clothes were prison wear—a drab gray dress with no buttons, zippers or ties, no underwear
at all, and only thin, cheap slippers that hardly insulated her feet from the cold
concrete floor.