Warren Murphy: Unnatural Selection

Remo and Chiun headed in the opposite direction. Senses tuned to the soft vibrations of the building around them, they swept stealthily down toward the end of the hall.

They felt it now. It had been far and weak. So weak that even their highly tuned senses had failed to detect it.

A dying heartbeat.

No matter what Chiun thought about the marks in the break-room floor, the sound was distinctly human. The thready thump came from the last office.

Like sharks honing in on a single droplet of blood in an ocean of water, they tracked the noise.

The door was slightly ajar; the room beyond was dark. Dusty blinds had been twisted shut on the latemorning light.

Gently Remo nudged the door open. Eyes trained to see in darkness drew in enough ambient light to illuminate the room.

The body was sprawled on the floor, head propped at a painful angle against the wall. The stomach was ripped open, exposing curved bones of a broken rib cage. The man wore the tattered uniform of a New York City police officer.

As Remo and Chiun watched, the exposed heart of the dying cop offered a feeble beat.

Wincing, Remo began to step toward the dying man. A strong hand held him fast.

"Look," Chiun whispered. With a long nail, the Master of Sinanju pointed at the shadows.

A second uniformed policeman had been dragged behind a desk. Craning his neck, Remo saw the other man had suffered the same fate as the first. He was luckier than his companion. The second man was dead.

Remo shook his head, confused.

"I thought they rounded them all up," he whispered. "What the hell is loose in here?"

Chiun's face was a troubled mask. "Whatever it is, my son, walk with care."

Stepping across the room, Remo knelt next to the living man. To his right beside the desk, a door was open to an adjacent room.

The police officer was too far gone. There was no way to revive him even for a moment of questioning. Cruel face darkening in disgust, Remo used a sharp temple blow to kill the officer swiftly and mercifully.

When he turned, he found the Master of Sinanju standing at the second body. Chiun was examining the man's injuries.

Remo was surprised to see a strange look on his teacher's parchment features. If Remo didn't know better, he would almost say it was fear.

"Chiun?" he asked, taking a step toward the old Korean. And in the fraction of slivered time it took him to speak his teacher's name, there came a soft growl at Remo's back.

It shouldn't have been there. It was too close. His senses should have detected anything living. Yet there was something alive. Breathing warm down his neck. Shocked, Remo had barely time to twist around.

The creatures sprang. Like shadowy lightning they launched from the murky recesses of the adjacent office.

With fangs bared and a jungle roar, the two remaining New York police officers flew at the exposed throats of the two Masters of Sinanju.

Chapter 7

Though they had the outward appearance of men, the two leaping creatures seemed possessed with the strength and speed of wild beasts. They moved on instinct and rage. Animals, not humans.

At the last moment, one soared past Remo in a blur, head tipped to one side. Sharp teeth sought the scrawny neck of the Master of Sinanju.

Strong arms extended, the second attacker flew for Remo's chest.

A primitive urge compelled him to knock his prey down. Ease the kill.

But while these animals that wore the flesh of men attacked on primal instinct, their prey were much more than mere men. They were Sinanju-beings trained to the very peak of mental and physical perfection.

Behind Remo, Chiun's right hand lashed out. A sure stroke behind the ear separated bone from bone. Flesh and muscle split apart before the old Asian's slicing nails.

Chiun did a little pirouette and the creature flew past, wind whistling through the empty space where a moment before his jaw had been. The severed jaw dropped to the floor.

The shocked animal tumbled to the floor, scrambling to right himself near one of the dead police officers. A long tongue flapped in empty air. The creature whimpered in pain and confusion.

Chiun sent a hard heel into the animal's forehead. The creature that was a grotesque mockery of man collapsed onto the gutted corpse that had been his last meal.

In the split second Chiun was removing his attacker, Remo was dealing death to his own.

When the hurtling beast was an inch away from ramming Remo's chest, Remo moved. He fell with the blow, lower spine bending at an impossible angle until his back was parallel to the floor. His startled attacker flew over.

The creature slammed against the nearby wall, snarling confusion.

He was back up in an instant. Twisting with remarkable speed, he launched himself on powerful legs back at Remo.

But this time, the instant before he could make contact with his prey, the creature suddenly stopped. He landed in an alert crouch, sniffing the air suspiciously.

A new scent wafted to his nose, carried on eddies of fetid office air. Fresh blood.

Sharp eyes located the source.

Two yards away, Remo held up one hand. A single drop of crimson glistened on the index fingernail. Remo flicked it off. Slowly lowering his hand, he used the same finger to point at the animal's stomach.

At the same instant, the man-beast felt a strange yawning sensation in his belly.

The creature glanced down just in time to see the meaty sacks of his own internal organs spilling from a razor slit in his abdomen. He was still staring down in utter incomprehension as Remo sunk a loafer toe in his downturned forehead. The beast dropped to the floor.

As dust began to settle on the body, Chiun was swirling to Remo's side.

"Proof again that I don't need to grow all my nails longer," Remo said tightly. He cleaned his index fingernail-trimmed slightly longer than the rest for scoring glass and metal-on the uniform shirt of his dead attacker.

"Human opponents rarely offer themselves up for slaughter," the Master of Sinanju replied, his voice cold and still. "These things were not men."

Remo was studying the bodies. A memory had already begun to stir in his troubled mind, like an old fear awakened from a long hibernation.

"They have to be," he insisted, more to himself than to Chiun.

But the old Korean was adamant. "You saw with your own eyes," he said. "Men have not the strength or speed of these brutes. And witness their intent, the animal glint in their eyes. I have seen things like these only twice before."

Remo shook his head firmly. "I know what you're thinking, Chiun, but that's impossible." His eyes alighted on the empty stomach cavity of one of the cannibalized victims. "Isn't it?"

Chiun wasn't listening. The old man was examining the nearer creature.

"Okay, I didn't think it was possible the second time," Remo admitted. "But she's dead."

"You are positive?"

"You were there," Remo argued. "You saw her die."

"I saw that creature injured. I did not see it dead. Or perhaps another has taken up that one's unholy cause. In either case, we obviously were too quick to lay the evil to rest."

As Remo studied the hollowed-out body on the floor, he felt the certainty draining from him. The scene in the Vaunted Press office was too eerily reminiscent of something they had encountered before. Something horrible. But his logical mind told him it could not possibly be.

"We should contact Smith," Chiun announced abruptly.

Remo tore his eyes from the body. "Maybe," he said reluctantly. "Still, I don't want to send him into cardiac arrest until we're absolutely one hundred percent sure. The cops have some of these locked up. Let's check them out first."

"These constables were infected," Chiun pointed out. "Others might be, as well."