The Brain Eaters

Chapter 16

Dena Falkner drove back Tuesday evening to the town of Wheeler. She drove slowly, her mind occupied with thoughts of the people and conversations of the past day in Milwaukee. She brought the three men out one at a time on her mental stage to sort out her opinions about them.

Doc Ingersoll was all right in kind of a used-up way. There was an intelligence in the man, and the glimmer of a moral sense. Doc’s trouble was the long years of boozing, and the continuing assault of tars on his lungs may have burned the man out.

The uncomfortable thought made Dena mash out the Carlton she had just lit, low tar or no low tar.

Lou Zachry, the government man, seemed to be sincere in his promise to work with them, but Dena was not completely at ease with government spying agencies. Also, she wondered about Zachry’s reluctance to publicize what they knew so far. He had his reasons, no doubt, but were they the reasons he gave them? All in all, compared with bureaucrats she had known, Zachry was a plus.

Corey Macklin she saved for last. There was no denying he was sharp and energetic, and maybe attractive, if you liked the type. But Dena was not sure she could trust him. He had an overdeveloped streak of machismo, but she could handle that. It was his overdone cynicism and his looking-out-for-number-one attitude that might cause trouble.

So maybe they weren’t the A-Team, but they were better than nothing, and nothing was what Dena had going in. She would have to make the best of it.

The little house where she lived looked good to Dena after the restless night in the Beddie-Bye Motel. She heated a can of Campbell’s vegetable soup, read the newspaper, and found she was exhausted. She climbed gratefully into her own bed and slept straight through until the alarm woke her at seven-thirty.

She showered, breakfasted, and felt fine until she drove into the Biotron parking lot and a sense of foreboding began to build. It did not feel like the same place where she had worked more or less contentedly for the past two years. Somehow the neat white buildings had an ominous look. The people walking on the paths between buildings all seemed bent on some sinister mission.

She parked the car and told herself to cut out the fantasizing. It did not help, however, to see that there was an unfamiliar man at the guard post where she entered. She wondered if Ralph, the regular guard, was one of the plant’s many “flu” victims.

She entered the building not knowing what to expect and was relieved to see that things were almost back to normal. Only a few of the desks were empty that day, the noise level of machines was back up, and in the scattered conversations there was an occasional stutter of laughter. Almost normal. And yet something was not right.

Dena was greeted as she came in by half a dozen people, some of whom had been among the missing on Monday. She looked at them closely for any sign of illness but saw little. She stopped Jimmy Lohnes, the PR chief, as he emerged from his office, looking none the worse for his sick day.

“Welcome back,” she said.

“Thanks. I see the place managed to operate reasonably well without me.”

She did not smile. “Jimmy, don’t you think there was something odd about Monday?”

“Odd? How do you mean?”

“So many people being out. And just for one or two days.”

“Were a lot of people out?”

She gave him a rueful grin. “Yeah, but then how could you know? You were one of them.”

He looked around in an exaggerated parody of guilt. “And the plant ran on without all of us. If it happens again, management might start handing out pink slips.”

“Yes, well, so long, Jimmy.” Dena continued pensively along the hall, trying to sort out her thoughts and her worries.

She entered her small office, sat down at her desk, and looked out through the glass partition. Here and there, out in the open bay, somebody sneezed or coughed lightly, but overall the work force seemed in good health.

“Hi, Dena.”

She had not seen Carol Denker aproaching the office. Now she turned and watched as her assistant came in, hung up her jacket, and sat down at the other desk in the small office.

“Hi.” Carol put a box of Kleenex out on the desk, extracted a tissue, and blew her nose. Dena swiveled her chair around to face her.

“Did you have it, too?” Carol asked.

“Have what?”

“Whatever it is. The one-day awfuls. I was out Monday; you were gone Tuesday.”

“I had to go into Milwaukee.”

“Whatever, I’m glad to see you back. Coffee breaks are no fun alone. I only took two all day.”

“How are you feeling?” Dena asked.

“Pretty good, actually. Monday I thought I was really coming down with a good one — sore throat, achy joints, upset stomach. This morning all I’ve got is a little sniffle. It must be some kind of twenty-four-hour virus.”

“Must be,” Dena said. “A third of the plant called in sick on Monday.”

“No kidding? Something must be going around.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Dena said.

As the morning progressed, she began to wonder if maybe the multiple absences could have been just a wild coincidence. With Lloyd Bratz and his bizarre story so much on her mind, might she not have projected an onslaught of the twenty-four-hour flu into something more sinister? She picked up the phone and dialed the extension of the personnel director. The call went through without any switchboard trouble that day and was answered by Ian McCollough’s secretary.

When McCollough came on the line, Dena felt a little foolish. “I was just curious,” she said, “about the absenteeism today.”

“I’m happy to say the situation is pretty well back to normal,” McCollough said. “Two-thirds of the people who were out Monday came back yesterday. Most of the rest are here today. One thing the experience did was make me appreciate my secretary and my receptionist all the more. I came close to a breakdown trying to do their jobs.”

“They’re both back today?”

“Back and apparently recovered. It seems like Monday was just an aberration. One of those unexplained peaks in the chart. You having any problems?”

“No,” Dena said. “No problems. Just curious.”

She and Carol went out together as usual for their coffee. Carol sneezed once but seemed otherwise to have shaken off any effects of the illness that had kept her home.

“Have you any idea where you caught whatever it was you had?” Dena said.

“Beats me. I haven’t been anywhere except here and home. Neither Ken nor the twins had any symptoms, so I guess it was just me. It came and went so fast … like nothing I’ve ever had.”

Dena pointed to an adhesive bandage on Carol’s wrist. “What’s that?”

“Oh, I got careless playing with the cat, and she scratched me a little. It didn’t seem like much, but about Friday night it was itching like crazy. I put some Bactine on it and a Band-Aid. It’s all right now. No big deal.”

“That’s good.”

Dena went to work, trying to concentrate on the problem of the gypsy moth, but her attention kept returning to the large room full of desks beyond the glass. What was it that bothered her about the people out there? She fancied that there was some kind of shadow over them. And over Carol, who was sitting quietly at the desk just behind her, sniffling. Why did she keep seeing the face of Stuart Anderson?

The telephone rang, making Dena jump. She grinned self-consciously at Carol and answered. On the other end was Dr. Kitzmiller’s longtime receptionist.

“If you have time, Dr. Kitzmiller would like to see you about ten o’clock,” the woman said.

“I’ll be there. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m fine today, thanks. I had a touch of something Monday and yesterday and thought I’d better stay home. Two days off seem to have done the trick.”

“That’s good.” Dena said thoughtfully. The people’s stories all had a chilling similarity. They were sick enough on Monday to stay home from work but feeling fine today. What kind of a “flu” was that?

She exchanged a couple of meaningless remarks with the receptionist and hung up.

Dena arrived at Dr. Kitzmiller’s promptly at ten and was admitted immediately. The chief biochemist wore a grimace that was apparently intended as a smile when she entered his office. He waved her into a chair across from him.

“Ah, Dena, good of you to come.”

She took a seat and waited for him to state his purpose in summoning her.

“I, ah, understand you came to see me on Monday.”

“That’s right. I was told you were ‘unavailable.’”

“Yes, it was something I could not avoid. One of those tiresome meetings with customers that are usually handled by the sales department. Unfortunately, some of the key sales people were out, so I had to be there. Was there some problem you wanted to discuss?”

“I thought there was at the time, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Oh?” Kitzmiller seemed genuinely interested.

“There were a lot of people out sick Monday.”

“Were there? I didn’t notice.”

“Well, there were. Most of them seem to be back today, though.”

“Good, good. A big weekend, perhaps?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You have another explanation?”

“I’m not sure. They all had symptoms like the onset of flu, but today they seem to be cured. I was wondering if it might have some connection to what happened to Stu Anderson and Lloyd Bratz.”

Kitzmiller looked pained. “I don’t think we can jump to that conclusion.”

“I thought it would be worth mentioning,” Dena said. “When one unusual occurrence follows another, a scientist is trained to look for a connection.”

“I’ll certainly have someone look into it,” Kitzmiller said. “As I believe I told you, we are monitoring the situation very closely.”

Dena sat until the silence between them began to grow uncomfortable; then she moved to rise.

“I understand you, too, left the plant Monday,” Kitzmiller said not quite casually. “You were not among the ill, I hope.”

“No. I had some business in Milwaukee.”

“Oh?”

This time the pause was almost audible. Dena held a polite smile but said nothing.

“Ah, well,” Kitzmiller said finally, “I suppose you will be wanting to get back to your work.”

“If there was nothing else.”

“No, no, nothing else. Please feel free to come to me with any questions you may have. I am sorry I was not here yesterday.”

She left Dr. Kitzmiller’s office with her nerves jumping. Something was definitely troubling the man. What?

While Dena Falkner worried about Dr. Kitzmiller, Eddie Gault, in another part of the plant, was worried about a number of things.

He, too, had noticed the unusual absence of Biotron personnel on Monday. That most of them returned on Tuesday and on this day did not ease his mind. Some were still missing. Just as the two helicopter pilots were missing.

He had not seen Dr. Kitzmiller since the interview right after the canister switch. Not that Eddie was anxious to see the chief of biochemistry again just now, but he was worried. Somebody had been following him. Watching him. Eddie could tell. He was relieved when it was quitting time and he could take the worry home to Roanne.

After work, she was waiting for him outside in the van as usual. And as usual, she looked so beautiful with her white-blonde hair all soft and shiny and her blue eyes smiling at him that his knees went watery and he felt the familiar pleasant ache in his groin.

He climbed into the van beside her. She kissed him. Her lips were soft and moist. Eddie began to relax.

“How was your day?” she asked.

“Slow. They’ve put a temporary hold on all testing, so there isn’t much for me to do.”

“That must mean they’re worried,” Roanne said.

“Maybe. And so am I.”

Roanne’s eyes blazed. “We’ve been all over this. Those bastards are getting what they deserve.”

Eddie’s mouth fell open. He stared at her with the hurt eyes of a little boy whose mother has struck him for the first time.

“Ah, baby, I’m sorry, but you mustn’t bother yourself about these things. What we did was right. It’s going to save lives in the end. You’ll see.”

“I hope so.”

“Trust me, baby. Trust Roanne.”

“One thing — most of the people who were out sick yesterday came back.”

“There, you see? You were worried for nothing.”

“I’ve still got to wonder what made them sick. The infirmary’s full; I know that much. They’ve closed it off and put guards outside.”

“That’s typical Establishment thinking,” Roanne said, turning down the corners of her lovely mouth. “They ignore a situation until it’s too late to make any difference; then they overreact.”

Eddie scratched at the soft flesh on the inside of his elbow. Roanne reached out and lightly touched the reddened patch of skin.

“What’s this?”

“It’s nothing. I got a scratch from a thorn when I was pruning the roses last week. It must have gotten a little infected.”

Roanne started the van’s engine and pulled out of the parking lot. “I’ll put something on it for you when we get home. Then we can take a shower together. Would you like that?”

Eddie looked over at her. She moved her hand to his thigh and squeezed gently.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that a lot.”