glance at Dodge. The man’s eyes were hooded.
“Well, no,” Taylor said. “At least not to me. But we separated for a few minutes.” He indicated Dodge. “He went with Doctor Ramsey. What about the arm?”
“It’s growing,” Dan said.
“What?” Taylor seemed stunned. “Bullshit, Dan. Dead, severed arms don’t grow ! Do they?” he asked in a near whisper.
“The engineer’s arm is growing. It went from a dead, lifeless object, to a living thing. It’s alive.”
Taylor rubbed his face. He swallowed hard. To hell with Dan and Scott— he needed a rest. “What is the arm growing, Dan?”
Dodge’s face was emotionless. He knew all about the arm.
Dan said, “The doctors tell me they don’t know. It keeps growing . . . well, matter, I guess you’d call it, and then rejecting it. Goodson said it appears to be seeking some specific form that it is, as yet, unable to produce. And something else: Jimmy’s blood type is O positive. The doctors haven’t, as yet, been able to type the new blood from the severed arm. It’s not even the same color.”
“What the hell color is it?” Taylor asked.
“It has a greenish tint to the red.”
“But the arm is human !” Taylor said.
“Not any more,” Dan said. “Goodson says he doesn’t know what it is.”
Captain Taylor looked at Dodge. The FBI man had nothing to say. He turned back to Dan. “Why do I get the feeling you have yet another shoe to drop?”
“Chuck just brought the word to me about the dead engineer, Al.”
“What about him? I thought he was a mummy.”
“He is. He’s also gone.”
10
Mickey Reynolds unlocked the door to his office and stepped in. He leaned against the door jamb for a moment. He didn’t like it when the kids weren’t here. Place was just too quiet. Unnaturally so. The building seemed dead without the kids. Mickey liked kids. Always had. And he was a good administrator, tried hard to be a Christian and a law-abiding man.
He just didn’t like Dan Garrett.
Never had.
They were the same age; went to school together, first grade all the way through the university. Different majors. It was just that Mickey had been in love with Evonne since the first grade. And then that damn Dan Garrett comes along and shoots him out of the saddle.
He sat down in his chair, behind his desk. He smiled, and then laughed, leaning back in his chair. No, he thought, that just isn’t true. He never was in the saddle. And, he sighed, Dan was right in closing the schools. Don’t blame the sheriff for something that isn’t his fault. Love or life.
Mickey closed his eyes and indulged in a few moments of reminiscing, recalling the old days. Class of ’57. God! where has the time gone?
He opened his eyes and swiveled in his chair, looking around at the shelf behind him for his old yearbooks. He had forgotten what they all looked like back in high school. So long ago. Then he remembered that when his office had been renovated, four or five years back, the workmen had moved all the albums and took them down to the basement. Mickey wondered if anyone had cleaned up all those wine bottles he’d seen down there? Probably not. Nobody ever went into the basement.
“Well,” Mickey said aloud, getting out of his chair. “Nothing else to do today. Might as well lose myself in nostalgia.”
He walked out of his office and toward the stairs that led to the basement. He removed a ring of keys from his pocket.
* * *
“And ladies,” Alice Ramsey said to the monthly gathering of the local chapter of the Daughters of the Confederacy. She was winding the meeting up, or down, depending entirely on one’s point of view. “Remember, next month Mrs. Grace Grillingham from the Sixty-nine Club of Richmond will be here. Right here in this home. And I know none of you want to miss that !” She gushed the last. Alice was one hell of a good gusher.
The ladies applauded.
The Richmond 69 Club is, supposedly, comprised of descendants from the original
“Well, no,” Taylor said. “At least not to me. But we separated for a few minutes.” He indicated Dodge. “He went with Doctor Ramsey. What about the arm?”
“It’s growing,” Dan said.
“What?” Taylor seemed stunned. “Bullshit, Dan. Dead, severed arms don’t grow ! Do they?” he asked in a near whisper.
“The engineer’s arm is growing. It went from a dead, lifeless object, to a living thing. It’s alive.”
Taylor rubbed his face. He swallowed hard. To hell with Dan and Scott— he needed a rest. “What is the arm growing, Dan?”
Dodge’s face was emotionless. He knew all about the arm.
Dan said, “The doctors tell me they don’t know. It keeps growing . . . well, matter, I guess you’d call it, and then rejecting it. Goodson said it appears to be seeking some specific form that it is, as yet, unable to produce. And something else: Jimmy’s blood type is O positive. The doctors haven’t, as yet, been able to type the new blood from the severed arm. It’s not even the same color.”
“What the hell color is it?” Taylor asked.
“It has a greenish tint to the red.”
“But the arm is human !” Taylor said.
“Not any more,” Dan said. “Goodson says he doesn’t know what it is.”
Captain Taylor looked at Dodge. The FBI man had nothing to say. He turned back to Dan. “Why do I get the feeling you have yet another shoe to drop?”
“Chuck just brought the word to me about the dead engineer, Al.”
“What about him? I thought he was a mummy.”
“He is. He’s also gone.”
10
Mickey Reynolds unlocked the door to his office and stepped in. He leaned against the door jamb for a moment. He didn’t like it when the kids weren’t here. Place was just too quiet. Unnaturally so. The building seemed dead without the kids. Mickey liked kids. Always had. And he was a good administrator, tried hard to be a Christian and a law-abiding man.
He just didn’t like Dan Garrett.
Never had.
They were the same age; went to school together, first grade all the way through the university. Different majors. It was just that Mickey had been in love with Evonne since the first grade. And then that damn Dan Garrett comes along and shoots him out of the saddle.
He sat down in his chair, behind his desk. He smiled, and then laughed, leaning back in his chair. No, he thought, that just isn’t true. He never was in the saddle. And, he sighed, Dan was right in closing the schools. Don’t blame the sheriff for something that isn’t his fault. Love or life.
Mickey closed his eyes and indulged in a few moments of reminiscing, recalling the old days. Class of ’57. God! where has the time gone?
He opened his eyes and swiveled in his chair, looking around at the shelf behind him for his old yearbooks. He had forgotten what they all looked like back in high school. So long ago. Then he remembered that when his office had been renovated, four or five years back, the workmen had moved all the albums and took them down to the basement. Mickey wondered if anyone had cleaned up all those wine bottles he’d seen down there? Probably not. Nobody ever went into the basement.
“Well,” Mickey said aloud, getting out of his chair. “Nothing else to do today. Might as well lose myself in nostalgia.”
He walked out of his office and toward the stairs that led to the basement. He removed a ring of keys from his pocket.
* * *
“And ladies,” Alice Ramsey said to the monthly gathering of the local chapter of the Daughters of the Confederacy. She was winding the meeting up, or down, depending entirely on one’s point of view. “Remember, next month Mrs. Grace Grillingham from the Sixty-nine Club of Richmond will be here. Right here in this home. And I know none of you want to miss that !” She gushed the last. Alice was one hell of a good gusher.
The ladies applauded.
The Richmond 69 Club is, supposedly, comprised of descendants from the original
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