Джон Кэмпбелл - Frozen Hell

“The milk—” he gasped, “I milked ’em an hour ago—” His voice broke into a scream as he dived through the door.

He was out on the ice cap without windproof or heavy clothing.

Van Wall looked after him for a moment thoughtfully. “He’s probably hopelessly mad,” he said at length, “but he might be a monster escaping. Barclay, Rawsen, Tider and Powell—you can get him. He hasn’t skis. Take a blowtorch—in case.”

The physical motion of the chase helped them; something that needed doing. Three of the other men were quietly being sick. Dutton was lying flat on his back, his face greenish, looking steadily at the bottom of the bunk above him.

“Mac, how long have the—cows been—”

McReady shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. He went over to the milk bucket, and with his little tube of serum went to work on it. The milk clouded it, making certainty difficult. Finally he dropped the test-tube in the stand and shook his head. “It tests negatively, which means either they were cows then, or that being perfect imitations, they gave perfectly good milk.”

Copper stirred restlessly in his sleep and gave a gurgling cross between a snore and a laugh. Silent eyes fastened on him. “Would morphia—a monster—” somebody started to ask.

“God knows,” McReady shrugged. “It effects every earthly animal I know of.”

Connant suddenly raised his head. “Mac! The dogs must have swallowed pieces of the monster, and the pieces destroyed them! The dogs were where the monster resided. I was locked up. Doesn’t that prove—”

Van Wall shook his head. “Sorry. Proves nothing about what you are, only proves what you didn’t do.”

“It doesn’t do that,” McReady sighed. “We are helpless because we don’t know enough, and so jittery we don’t think straight. Locked up. God what a laugh! Ever watch a white corpuscle of the blood go through the wall of a blood vessel? No? It sticks out a pseudopod so fine it can leak between cell walls, forces that through to the other side, then just flows through the pseudopod. And there it is—on the far side of the wall.”

“Oh,” said Van Wall unhappily. “The cattle tried to melt down, didn’t they. They could have melted down—become just a thread of stuff and leaked under a door to recollect on the other side. Ropes—no—no—that wouldn’t do it—they couldn’t live in a sealed tank—”

“If, “ said McReady, “you shoot it through the heart, and it doesn’t die, it’s a monster. That’s the best test I can think of off hand.”

“No dogs,” said Garry quietly, “and no cattle. It has to imitate men now. And locking up doesn’t do any good. Your test might work, Mac, but I’m afraid it would be hard on the men.”

Dwight looked up from the galley stove as Van Wall, Barclay, McReady, and Powell came in, brushing the drift from their clothes. The other men jammed into the Ad Building continued studiously to do as they were doing playing chess, poker, reading.

Rawsen was fixing a sledge on the table, Vane and Norris had their heads together over magnetic data, while Harvey read in a low voice.

Dr. Copper snored softly on the bunk. Garry was working with Dutton over a sheaf of radio messages on the corner of Dutton’s bunk and a small fraction of the radio table. Connant was using most of the table for Cosmic Ray sheets.

Quite plainly through the corridor, despite two closed doors, they could hear Kinner’s voice. Dwight banged a kettle onto the galley stove and beckoned McReady silently. The meteorologist went over to him.

“I don’t mind the cooking so damn much,” Dwight said nervously, “but isn’t there some way to stop that bird? We all agreed that it would be safe to move him into Cosmos House.”

“Kinner? “ McReady nodded toward the door. “I’m afraid not. I can dope him, I suppose, but we don’t have an unlimited supply of morphia, and he’s not in danger of losing his mind. Just hysterical.”

“Well, we’re in danger of losing ours. You’ve been out for an hour and a half; that’s been going on steadily ever since, and it was going for two hours before. There’s a limit you know.”

Garry wandered over slowly, apologetically. For an instant, McReady caught the feral spark of fear—horror—in Dwight’s eyes, and knew at the same instant it was in his own eyes. Garry—Garry or Copper was certainly a monster.

“If you could stop that, I think it would be a sound policy, Mac.” Garry spoke quietly. “There are—tensions enough in this room. We agreed that it would be safe for Kinner in there, because every one else in camp is under constant—eyeing.”

Garry shivered slightly. “And try, try in God’s name, to find some, test that will work.”

McReady sighed. “Watched or unwatched, everyone’s tense. Blair’s jammed the trap so it won’t open now. Says he’s got food enough, and keeps screaming, ‘Go away—go away—you’re monsters. I won’t be absorbed. I won’t—I’ll tell men when they come—go away.’ So—we went away.”

“There’s no other test?” Garry pleaded.

McReady shrugged his shoulders. “Copper was perfectly right. The serum test could be absolutely definitive if it hadn’t been—contaminated. But that’s the only dog left, and he’s fixed now.”

“Chemicals—chemical tests—”

McReady shook his head. “Our chemistry isn’t that good. I tried the microscope you know.”

Garry nodded. “Monster-dog and real dog were identical. But—you’ve got to go on. What are we going to do after dinner?”

Van Wall had joined them quietly. “Rotation sleeping. Half the crowd sleep—half awake. Oh Christ—how many of us are monsters? All the dogs were. We thought we were safe, but somehow it got Copper—or you.” Van Wall’s eyes flashed uneasily. “It may have gotten every one of you—all of you but myself may be wondering, looking—no. That’s not possible. You’d just spring then. I’d be helpless. We humans must somehow have the greater numbers now. But—” he stopped.

McReady laughed shortly. “You’re doing what Powell complained of in me. Leaving it hanging. ‘But if one more is changed—that may shift the balance of power.’ It doesn’t fight. I don’t think it ever fights. It must be a peaceable Thing, in its own—inimitable, shall we say—way. It never had to, because it always gained its end—otherwise.”

Van Wall’s mouth twisted in a sickly grin. “You’re suggesting then, that perhaps it already has the greater numbers, but is just waiting—waiting—all of them—all of you, for all I know—waiting until I, the last human, drop my wariness in sleep. Mac, did you notice their eyes—all looking at us—”

Garry sighed. “You haven’t been sitting here for four straight hours, while all their eyes silently weighed the information that one of us two, Copper and I, is a monster certainly, perhaps both of us.”

Dwight repeated his request. “Will you stop that bird’s noise? He’s driving me nuts. Make him tone down, anyway.”

“Still praying?” McReady asked.

“Still praying,” Dwight groaned, “he hasn’t stopped for a second. I don’t mind his praying if it relieves him, but he yells, he sings psalms and hymns and shouts prayers. He thinks God can’t hear well way down here.”

“Maybe he can’t,” Barclay grunted, “Or he’d have done something about this Thing loosed from hell.”

“Somebody’s going to try that test you mentioned, if you don’t stop him,” Dwight stated grimly. “I think a cleaver in the head would be as positive a test as a bullet in the heart.”

“Go ahead with the grub. I’ll see what I can do. There may be something in the cabinets—” McReady moved wearily toward the corner Copper had used as his dispensary. Three tall cabinets of rough boards, two locked, were the repositories of the medical camp’s medical supplies. Twelve years ago he had graduated, had started for an internship, and been diverted to meteorology. Copper was a picked man, a man who knew his profession thoroughly and modernly. More than half the drugs available were totally unfamiliar to McReady, many of the others he had forgotten. There was no huge medical library here, no series of journals available to learn the things he had forgotten, the elementary, simple things to Copper, things that did not merit inclusion in the small library he had been forced to content himself with. Books are heavy, and every ounce of supplies had been freighted in by air.