Zombie Eyes

'Then it is a shape-changer, a chameleon?' asked Stroud.

'Of a sort, but not in any usual sense. It controls and distorts the forms of lesser beings; turns some into ghouls and gargoyles and hounds and rats at its pleasure. At least,' continued Leonard, putting aside his glasses now and rubbing his tired eyes, 'at least, this is what the Etruscan writer believed.'

'Then it can literally control anything it comes into contact with?' asked Kendra. 'Insects, rats--'

'Worms, grubs, maggots,' added Wiz.

'So, in that sense, it takes any shape it wishes, you see, Stroud?' asked Leonard.

'Yes, I begin to see. And I suppose it can take a pleasant form as well?'

'Exactly, and Leonard failed to tell you that. He also has some notion that the demon wants not 500,000 souls, but five million, Stroud.'

'What?'

Leonard turned and rushed back at them with a resounding 'Yes, yes, it wants five million this time.'

Kendra repeated the staggering figure aloud in a whisper that filled the room.

'But I saw the figure. You said it was 500,000, Wiz.' Stroud pointed at the Etruscan numbers.

'Yes, well, a mathematical equation worked out with the help of Esruad--'

'Whoa, Esruad? Esruad?' repeated Kendra, hearing the name come up in this new context.

'He was the writer of the parchment, his signature is here,' said Stroud, directing her eye to the name in Etruscan.

'Then that thing out there thinks you are...'

Stroud finished for her. 'Esruad, yes.'

'And that may work to our advantage,' said Wiz.

'What advantage is it against such a power?' asked Leonard. 'At any rate, Esruad predicted the increase to five million should the demon rear its ugly head again. It appears as a warning near the end of the document.'

'The matching document found in Tuscany almost two years ago, Stroud, has been held in ridicule as superstition and gibberish since its disclosure by Dr. Uri Ulininski.'

'That would be logical in this most illogical scenario, yes.'

'God,' said Kendra, pushing back her long strands of hair, 'it sounds ... sounds like Satan.'

'One and the same, it is logical to assume,' said Wiz. 'Or a very dear cousin of the Fallen Angel.'

Leonard quietly agreed. 'It may well be what we have traditionally referred to as Satan. It may be the ultimate evil power on the planet. And we may be fools for even contemplating confronting it, Stroud.'

The room had become cold with silence until Wiz said, 'And to think, Satan is a New Yorker ... has been for some time.'

'Christ, Wisnewski, how can you joke about this?' Leonard said, tossing a book down and stepping away from the others, obviously distraught over their findings.

'Now, look here,' Wiz retorted, 'I've done some unearthing of my own, and I've come up with a few facts as well, Stroud. We can continue without Leonard's input if we must.'

Wiz pushed an archeological journal into Stroud's hands with some photos of a recent dig in Tuscany, and then he gave Stroud a magnifying glass. 'Look closely at the parchment in Ulininski's hands.'

'It ... looks like a reproduction of the one we have.'

Stroud knew of the great Russian archeologist's work. Tuscany seemed far afield for him. According to his words in the article, he had been drawn to the location, almost as if by a spirit voice.

'Are you saying that Esruad knew that in time this evil would come again?' asked Stroud.

'He says so, yes.'

'Amazing ... that he should predict it.'

'He predicted it would occur amid the dwelling places of millions; amid giant girders that reached the clouds--our skyscrapers. And that a man flying in the belly of a machine would go into battle against the creature.'

'That'd be you and your helicopter, Stroud,' said Kendra.

'He said all that?'

'Yes,' said Wiz. 'I would have to say that this evil springs from the same source as all evil in the world, an eternal river of evil that flows beneath us all and from time to time infects whole populations.'

'How can we dare oppose it, Stroud? How?' asked Leonard, returning to the circle.

'Dr. Cline's people are working on--what, Kendra?--something in the way of a biochemical deterrent to this thing?'

'So far, all we know is that it works on the zombies,' she replied. 'Whether or not it will work against the source is anyone's guess, but yes ... we're fashioning darts and a gaseous form of the substance.'

'Then we are not completely without armament,' Stroud tried to sound reassuring.

'I have ... some fears,' said Leonard. 'An awful fear.'

'But we have a weapon,' replied Stroud. 'Dr. Cline has developed something for us.'

Cline explained, 'Using what we learned in reviving you, Dr. Leonard, we have developed a biochemical projectile laced with the stimulants that revived you. This was being tried on the many coma patients, until they began to attack us. We had upped the dosage given you to ... to create the killing poison.'

'It stops what it hits,' said Stroud.

'The same substance which brought me out of coma is being used now to kill other victims of this thing?' asked Leonard. 'This is somehow backward and sounds like madness in itself, Dr. Cline.'

'We've had no choice in the matter. They're out there, on the streets,' said Stroud, defending her. 'They attacked us and would have dragged us into that pit headfirst if we hadn't fought back.'

Wiz and Leonard exchanged a worried glance. Wiz said, 'Even if we could get near the pit, nothing will stop the mother of this evil, nothing.'

'Survival of the fittest, I suppose,' said Leonard. 'Are we to survive, or it?'

'Funny, I never thought of myself as fit for consumption before now,' replied Wiz. 'And I still don't.'

'It appears to have something to do with will and a strong mind, Doctor,' said Kendra Cline. 'In a sense, it's survival of the fittest mind, steel-plated or otherwise.'

Stroud gave her a half-smile. 'Time we planned our strategy, people. Some of us are going to have to go back down there, and we're going to have to hold on to our strong-mindedness in the face of terrifying obstacles.'

They grew silent with the fearful truth of what Stroud proposed.

'Oh, by the way, Stroud,' said Wiz. 'Something came for you addressed to the museum.'

'Oh?'

'A package.'

'From Cairo,' said Leonard.

'Cairo, Illinois?' It was not far from Cairo to Andover, Stroud's home.

'No, heavens, man! Egypt.'

'Egypt? Really? Where's the package?'

'Box, actually. Very curious about it ourselves.'

Wiz brought it in, a well-protected box of perhaps two foot by three. It took a full ten minutes to get to the bottom, snatching stuffing out of the center, but eventually Stroud came out with a crystal skull in his hands and a note from Dr. Mamdoud in Egypt. The note was characteristically clipped:

Dear Abraham,

Learned of your distress in New York and the part you are playing there. The enclosed may give you some insights, support, help. We pray and hope you will accept this gift. A man such as yourself, the skull will be used well. I was moved--no, compelled--to do this for you.

Mamdoud

Stroud was flabbergasted. 'Do you have any idea the risk he took to get this to us?'

The others watched him leave with the skull cradled in the crook of his arm. 'I will return soon,' he promised, disappearing with his prize.

At the Gordon construction site the zombies had begun to form a thick wall of stony guardsmen, row upon row of them. SWAT teams and police of every rank had moved in on the area, which continued to swell with the infected people, some of whom had rioted against the police. It was widely known that Police Commissioner James Nathan and a handful of others had escaped the mob, and that upwards of a hundred construction workers, medical