Species (11 page)

T
he hours rolled by. Now it was full dark and Sil was on a different street, a magical place called Hollywood Boulevard. At dusk she had been in a different, quieter area, where the streets were not as brightly lit and there were fewer people. Lush green trees had lined the sidewalks and dotted the yards of well-kept houses, a few dogs had barked angrily at her from fenced-in yards. It had been lovely to look at, the houses covered with bougainvillea with full, ruby blossoms, and pepper trees dotting the lawns, their spicy scent drifting past and mixing with the sweeter smell of the flowers. All in all a pretty but boring neighborhood, with none of the exciting neon lights and hard sexuality that surrounded her now. Erotica was everywhere here—oozing from prostitutes prancing along the streets and calling invitations to passing drivers, painted larger than life on luminous billboards packed into every available advertising space, staring seductively from magazine racks.

In the midst of it all were youths still bordering on childhood. Ranging in age from eleven to their early twenties, the older ones had personalities and expressions far different from the boy she’d nearly spoken to back in Brigham City and the occasional child she’d noticed in the residential section earlier in the day. And there was the youngest yet; at the bus stop in front of her Sil saw a beautiful young woman with long, shapely legs wearing tight, cutoff jeans and deep red high heels. A guy stood next to her in a sleeveless T-shirt and jeans nearly as tight as hers. His muscular arms were covered in colorful tattoos and Sil watched, entranced, as the serpentine figures twisted each time he moved. When the bus came, the woman turned enough for Sil to see that she held a sleeping baby wrapped in a soft pink-and-yellow plaid blanket. She bent her head and nuzzled it on the cheek; when the infant waved a chubby hand in response, the guy grinned.

They climbed onto the bus and were gone just as a pregnant woman swept by in the crowd, her three other children following obediently, hands entwined in a connection that led ultimately to their mother. A few paces away another couple went in the opposite direction, the stroller the man pushed in front of him holding identical twin boys with wheat-colored hair and innocent brown eyes.

Sil watched it all, drinking it in, trying to learn. Everyone around her seemed to have a place to go and a companion to go there with. It was obvious that those who were alone were shopping—they put on their best clothes and donned makeup and jewelry, then prowled the streets, looking for the right someone to buy or take. It didn’t seem that hard, if you had the right tools.

Two giggling girls spun to a stop in front of Sil, whispering to each other and pointing as they looked in the window of the shop behind her. She followed their lead, wondering what they were laughing about—her? She touched the front of her pink dress, comparing it with the more outlandish outfits of the girls at the window, but they paid her no attention. She watched them from the corner of her eye until they moved away, then moved to where they’d stopped in front of the display window. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the vibrantly colored clothing behind the glass. These things seemed much more suited to the environment, and made the satiny yards of material she wore look childishly flamboyant. Before she went inside, she backed away from the window and looked up at the fancy lettering that composed the name of the store, trying to understand it.

FREDERICK
’
S OF HOLLYWOOD.

13

“L
ooks like she had a party,” Stephen said as the team filed into the sleeping compartment. There was barely enough room between the two seats for all of them to stand and their feet were engulfed in the litter piled on the floor. A miniature television on one of the seats was tilted on its side and murmuring some lame afternoon soap opera; Dr. Fitch reached over and thumbed the on-off button. The strange and nearly intolerable smell that had permeated the compartment and seeped into the rest of the train car was a cross between rotting eggs and scorched sugar—to say nothing of the slowly bloating contents of the lavatory.

Press edged around the rest of them and poked his head into the bathroom. “Some party.” The others peered around the door, then recoiled at the sight of the woman crumpled on the floor, clad only in a bra and panties.

“Something . . .
bad
happened in here,” Dan whispered. His skin had taken on an unnatural grayish color.

“No shit,” Press muttered as Fitch bent and inspected the corpse.

“Crushed her larynx.” The doctor stood, then saw what the others were staring at.

“What
is
that?” Dan asked. He’d backed out of the bathroom to get away from the body, but he could still see the area at the top of the bathroom.

Arden inspected the mass of shredded fibers fastened to the wall and ceiling. “I think it’s a chrysalis—a cocoon.”

“So what are we looking for now?” Press asked sardonically. “A giant moth?”

Laura fingered one of the dried strands speculatively. “Well, whatever it is, she’ll be fully grown now.”

“What makes you so sure?” Fitch asked. “We’re not exactly dealing with known factors here.”

“No,” Laura agreed, “but the purpose of a cocoon—
usually
—is to provide an environment which protects a young larva while it metamorphosizes into an adult. Then the adult’s main purpose is to procreate.”

“We’re not talking about a vermiform creature, Dr. Baker,” Fitch said dryly.

“Vermiform?” Dan looked at them questioningly.

“Wormlike,” Laura explained. “And while that’s often the case, there are a few creatures that don’t resemble worms that undergo a pupa phase. For instance—”

Press broke in. “I hate to interrupt your scientific discussion, doctors, but maybe being fully grown is how she got by our people. We were looking for a child, remember?”

Laura started to say something else, then put a hand over her mouth and nose. “Ugh, this smell is awful. I can’t stand it in here anymore.”

“I’m with you, Dr. Baker.” Fitch and Arden stepped away from the door as Press offered his arm to Laura and she leaned on it gratefully. “Let’s all get out of this death box and get some fresh air.”

“O
kay,” Xavier Fitch said when they were outside and had rejoined the waiting aides and the MPs who had cordoned off the area. The warm morning air, filled with the smell of diesel fuel and exhaust, wasn’t as fresh as Press had suggested, but it was a damn sight better than the stench of the soiled sleeper compartment on the train. “Any more ideas about the cocoon?”

Laura took a deep breath, her expression easing. “I think she’s used the chrysalis stage to jump-start through puberty. Not only has she probably developed into a fully formed adult, we have no idea what she looks like anymore.”

Stephen held up a bag loaded with items he’d gathered from the train compartment. A drink container with a straw through the top, an empty package of french fries, and a pudding container were only some of the trash visible through the clear plastic. “This is amazing,” he said. “It takes us years to do it, but she’s learned to read in only a few hours.”

“Physical acceleration, maybe,” Laura said. “But what makes you think she can read? There’s no proof that her learning capabilities developed at the same rate.”

“Yes, there is,” the professor insisted. “Look at what the contents of the bag say—insert straw, pull tab, tear back. Nothing in here is ripped or chewed. She read and followed the instructions.”

“But how would she have
learned?”
Press demanded. “Nobody’s been teaching her the alphabet.”

“Not here,” Dan cut in. “But I’ll bet they gave it a good try back at the compound.”

They all glanced at Fitch and he nodded. “Of course we did. One of the primary objectives of this project was to communicate with the creature we created, but she never tried to speak or gave any indication that she understood what we said.”

“She didn’t have any reason to,” Dan said. “Now she’s on her own. What she didn’t pick up at the compound she probably got from television. Infomercials, for instance—a lot of those are closed captioned. All she had to do was watch.”

Press turned to Phillip McRamsey. “Amtrak has verified that the woman was a conductor?” The aide nodded. “Get her credit cards and identification into your computer right away. There’s no sign of a purse or a conductor’s pack on the train, so we have to assume Sil took them, although she probably won’t use them for a while.”

“Why not?” Stephen asked. “My guess is she’ll want to dump the conductor’s clothes and get something that will help her blend in with the rest of the city.”

“True enough,” Press agreed. “But Amtrak’s human resources department also mentioned that everybody got paid first thing this morning and a Thillens Check Cashing Service truck was waiting for the train employees at the forty-five-minute stopover the train made in Ely, Nevada. Because of their mobility, most of these men and women cash their checks for up-front money, then deposit the bulk of it when they get back to wherever it is they call home. There was probably a nice wad of cash in the conductor’s pack.”

Phillip scribbled notes on his clipboard. “I’ll see to the plastic and identification.”

“This woman is vicious,” Dan said. “She’s killing people but doesn’t have any sense of remorse.”

“Great. She’ll fit right into L.A.” Press’s tone was caustic.

“So this is it.” Fitch folded his arms stiffly. “Los Angeles—where the battle will be fought and won.”

“Battle?” Stephen looked slightly frightened. “I don’t think you understand, Dr. Fitch. This city is
perfect
for Sil. It’s the metropolis of the future, with a huge and totally mobile population. Anything goes and everyone’s a stranger. Whatever she does, no one will notice—everything is acceptable, nothing is taboo.” His cheeks were pale. “What’s to stop her?”

Press’s face was rigid. “We are.”

T
he Biltmore Hotel was spacious and opulent, more than a little surprising to most of the members of the team. Built in 1923, the hotel’s lobby had twenty-foot ceilings that boasted elaborately carved moldings and patterns, as well as sections with huge, backlit skylights inset with milk-colored textured glass. Constructed in an age in love with the Italian Renaissance, the brass-and-glass entryway was flanked by huge, pale pillars and carefully tended shrubs in oversized pots.

It was an astonishing place. The span of ten minutes that it took to get everyone’s luggage unloaded from the two government-gray sedans that had carted them here wasn’t nearly enough to gawk at the main floor. All too soon Robert Minjha joined the group waiting by the bellboy’s cart onto which their baggage had been stacked. As he passed out room keys, Dr. Fitch addressed the team.

“Our laboratory, Visitor Base One, is being temporarily established at an empty virus research lab at the University of California. Most of the equipment has already been moved, and the rest is being transferred as we speak. The entire setup should be operational by eight o’clock this morning. That gives you just enough time to get your luggage to your rooms. Everyone is to be out front in fifteen minutes.”