David Golemon: Ripper

As Singh watched, the professor slowly lifted his free hand and allowed the subject to smell the oils and sweat emanating from the pores of Ambrose. The smell seemed to calm the boy down and the chain slackened somewhat as the man knew one of his own. Someone who released this scent told the Berserker he was amongst one who had also taken the formula. Ambrose had absorbed enough of Perdition’s Fire into his system over the years that anything that had also been injected with the script would know the other as an ally, one not to be feared or attacked. It was a system of protection the professor had worked out years before through trial and error.

“Is it not amazing to you my old friend how the brain of the subject, even though it is ravaged with cancerous growth caused by the long-term injections, is still able to use its higher brain functions? This subject tested out at over a 165 IQ. Amazing, Singh, just amazing. This opens up not just one avenue for the eventual benefits of Perdition’s Fire, but so many more.”

“It is not the benefits of higher brain functions that is the concern here, Sahib. It is the murderous abilities coupled with that intelligence that is the true danger.” Singh stepped toward the open cell, and that was when the test subject lunged at the manservant, almost knocking Ambrose over.

“That is not wise my friend,” Ambrose said as he quickly reached out and jabbed the needle home into the arm of the boy. The test subject was so absorbed in his want, his very need to get at Singh, that he never felt the sharp jab. Ambrose quickly stepped from the cell and closed the door. “There, eight subjects more to go.”

“Sahib, we must—”

Suddenly, and before Singh could finish, the basement door flew open and a man came through. He was armed with an old Winchester and wore the white clothing of one of the field workers.

“We have soldiers approaching, Jefe. They crossed the river an hour ago.”

Ambrose reached for another of the syringes and then turned to look at one of the many guards he had posted around the hacienda. “Federalies?” he asked.

“No, señor, Americanos,” the man said as his eyes saw the boy inside the cell for the first time. The peasant saw the way the beast inside had the restraining chain stretched to its limit as it growled, sending the guard back a step. “There must be over a hundred of them,” he said, in a hurry to finish his report.

Ambrose slammed the syringe onto the table’s top, denting the barrel of the tube, and then grabbed the guard by the shirt. It was that quick motion that not only sent the two men who had the final series of injections into a frenzy of movement and anger, but the other test subjects as well. Animal sounds started filtering through the darkness of all ten cells, sending chills down the spines of both the guard and Singh.

“You and the other guards will delay them as long as you can, dying in the effort if you have to.”

The guard looked shocked. He knew he and his men could never take on an experienced charge of light cavalry. Ambrose angrily shook the man, sending the test subjects into a fresh round of growling and other sounds that could never have emanated from the throats of mere men.

“If I do not receive the time I need, I will release these men into your village after they have finished with the soldiers. Your wives, your children, they will all die a horrible death. Now go and delay this force of men while we get ready to abandon the hacienda.” Ambrose shoved the shocked and stunned guard away.

Singh half turned and watched the man leave the laboratory. He then faced his employer. “You would release these creatures into the villages around the hacienda?”

Ambrose grinned and then took another syringe from the table. “I would release them into heaven or hell to get the time I need. Now you go and retrieve the Perdition journals in my office. The up-to-date series of formula is in notebook number thirty along with the antidote. That is most important. As for the viles of powdered solution in the secondary laboratory, dump them into the sand. The powdered form is far too strong. With the liquid solution we have more control. Now go my friend and do as I—”

He stopped talking when the pistol appeared in the Indian manservant’s hand. Ambrose raised his thick brows at the sudden appearance of the weapon. It seemed as though the professor wasn’t surprised in the least by this latest development.

“This ends here, tonight, just as I should have allowed it to end in Whitechapel.”

“You brought the soldiers here, didn’t you Singh?” Ambrose asked as his eyes roamed to the still-unlocked cell door of test subject number two.

“Yes, I knew the American soldiers that are searching for Pancho Villa were within a hundred miles of here. I have arranged your demise through forces working with the president of the United States, Sahib. Forgive me, but I have been communicating with your government for over three years now. I have been reporting on your progress — progress that has now gone too far with the new series of script you have begun. These men will never be controlled as you believe, and the Americans want this stopped.”

Ambrose couldn’t speak or move at first. He had never suspected his manservant could be capable of total betrayal until the deed had showed itself. Instead he turned from Singh and then quickly slid the needle expertly into his own arm. As he did he moved to the left. The sudden motion made Singh adjust his position and he stepped in front of the still-open number-two cell.

“Please, Professor, place the syringe on the table top.”

Ambrose chuckled, a sound that sent chills down the neck and arms of the large manservant. Then to Singh’s horror, he saw the syringe fall from where Ambrose had hidden it in his hand. It clattered on the flagstone floor — empty.

“What have you done?” Singh asked as he involuntarily took a step backward toward the open cell door.

“I do what always needs to be done old friend,” Ambrose said as saliva slowly ran from the left side of the older man’s mouth and traveled slowly through his thin beard. The distinctive facial tick, indicating that the muscles under his skin were receiving information from the extreme frontal lobe of the brain, started on the right side of the face and seemed to spread into the upper reaches of the facial muscles, most notably just above the eyes, making the brow pulse and grow. The professor took another step to the right and then one quick step forward, forcing Singh to step closer to the cell door. Ambrose smiled again — the once-straight teeth were now jumbled and separated. The professor’s blue eyes were now ringed with a red circle where the subsurface blood vessels had exploded from the massive rise in heart rate. He reached into his lab coat pocket and pulled out a small shiny object.

“An object lesson old friend — a bit of problem solving for the ultimate soldier.” He held up the small key that maintained test subject number two securely bound to his chains.

“I’ll kill you before I allow the release of that beast from its cell. The test subjects must be destroyed,” Singh said as he cocked the British-made Webley pistol.

“Release them?” Ambrose said with a laugh.

The gesture allowed Singh to see the blood that had forced its way through the now widening gaps between the teeth of the professor. The lab coat was now drawstring tight around the professor’s arms. The material was starting to give way as the now thriving right side of the brain started to activate and send out new signals to the nerves controlling muscle movement, growth and strength. Singh knew that Ambrose’s body was starting to take defensive measures toward its survival as ordered by the expanding brain and the already overdosed and dying medulla oblongata.