Beckon (18 page)

Vale offered a thin smile. “Very good, Jack. I'm impressed with your powers of deduction. I want to know everything that happened in those caves. I want to know everything you know about these things.”

“What?” Jack scowled. “Why should I tell you anything?”

Vale shrugged. “Because the only thing keeping you alive at the moment is that I believe you have information that could be useful. So as long as you stay cooperative, you'll stay alive.”

Jack felt his jaw tighten. He had no doubt these people would make good on that threat. He had no interest in helping them, but he also needed to learn more about what was going on in this town.

He sighed. “Fine . . . what do you want to know?”

Henderson gestured to the glass. “I've been studying these things for a while now, but there's still so much I don't know. What can you tell me about what you experienced in the caves?”

Jack just stared at the kiracs, wishing Rudy were still alive.
He
was the biology major with all the theories. Jack shuddered again at the memory of his friend succumbing to the spider's poison.

“Well . . . we found out their venom is extremely toxic. And fast. It causes massive internal bleeding and . . . a very painful death.”

“We know,” Henderson said. “But only the males are venomous.”

Jack pointed to the terrarium. “The ones I saw in the cave were enormous. Five to ten times the size of these. Are they all juveniles?”

“No, they're fully mature at twelve months,” Henderson said. “But some arthropods never stop growing.”

“My friend had a theory,” Jack said. “We saw enormous millipedes and beetles feeding on some kind of bioluminescent microorganism—bacteria or something. And he thought it might be producing oxygen. Through some kind of reaction.”

Henderson was nodding. “So an increase in the overall oxygen levels would support the increased mass . . . provided they had a sufficient food supply.”

Vale interrupted them. “Well, it sounds like you two have a lot to discuss.” He seemed satisfied with Jack's cooperation. “I have some matters to attend to upstairs. Let me know if you come up with anything useful.”

Vale left the lab, followed by Malcolm Browne.

Carson checked to make sure Jack's handcuffs were still secure. “Don't try anything stupid, kid. I'm right outside.”

Carson left and locked the door behind him, leaving Jack and Henderson alone in the lab.

Jack sat down on a stool, suddenly overwhelmed by fatigue and hunger. “Look, you seem to be the only one in this town who's not psychotic. Can you please just tell me what's going on?”

Henderson looked away. “It's complicated.”

Jack shook his head and laughed a hopeless, empty laugh. He truly felt at the end of his rope. “Of course it's complicated. There's a pile of human bones down in those caves. There are legends of human sacrifices. And now you people are holding me captive, I assume because I've seen too much and you can't let me go.”

“You're here because you serve a purpose for Thomas Vale,” Henderson said. “All of us serve some kind of purpose for him.”

“So . . . are you saying you're being held here against your will too?”

Henderson bit the inside of his cheek. “I suppose I could leave if I really wanted to.”

Jack wrinkled his forehead. “I don't get it. Don't you want to leave?”

“More than anything.”

“Then what's the problem?”

Henderson's gaze fell and he shook his head. “The problem is, I'll die if I leave. And I'd die a pretty painful death.”

Chapter 32

George peered out his window yet again. It had been hours since Vale brought them back to their suite and posted Henry Mulch outside their door. George paced through the suite, checking every window numerous times for an avenue of escape. But none of them were very promising. All the windows, George had discovered, were of an odd configuration that opened enough to let in a breeze but not enough to let someone escape. Not without breaking the glass and bringing Mulch in to investigate.

And more than that, it was at least a fifteen-foot drop to the ground from any of their windows or balconies, and there was no way to sneak from one balcony to another. It was as if Vale had designed his guest quarters with an eye for security as well.

This prison cell was a bit more comfortable than the ones George and Miriam had seen in the dungeons far below the lodge. But it was a prison nonetheless.

George checked in on Miriam again. She had complained of a headache and gone to the bedroom to lie down a couple hours ago. She'd been somewhat sullen since their trip into the tunnels beneath the lodge, which surprised George. He had expected her to respond with more emotion to the situation she had witnessed in Vale's dungeon. More indignation, more anger. Something. But she looked like she was preoccupied. Or perhaps slightly disoriented.

Vale had essentially sent them to their room without any supper. He'd had a small tray of food brought up for lunch, but it'd hardly been filling. It was well past the dinner hour and George was starving. He could only imagine how Miriam must have been feeling.

At length George grew tired of pacing and sat, brooding, in one of the chairs out in the sitting room of the suite. He had given up hope of escaping. Or leaving. Vale had muttered something about instilling a sense of priority in them—whatever that meant.

After seeing the prisons down in the tunnels, George knew Vale would be capable of anything. Neither he nor Miriam was safe at this point.

It was getting dark by the time Mulch came in. “Mr. Vale would like to see you now. Just you.”

George made his way down to the great room, where Thomas Vale, Malcolm Browne, and Sam Huxley were already waiting. A fire was blazing in the fireplace. And Huxley was holding a folder with a sheaf of papers inside.

Vale still wore his pained expression as if George had deeply offended him. George stood in front of him like an errant son waiting for punishment to be handed down by his father. Not so far off, George thought, as Vale was more than twice his age.

“I want you to know that I'm willing to overlook your indiscretion earlier today and am still prepared to move forward with our arrangement.” He gestured to the folder in Huxley's hand. “I have the papers here ready for your signature, George.”

George blinked. “Signature? You really expect me to go through with this deal after seeing your dungeon down there?”

Vale shrugged and went to pour himself a drink. “Yes, I expect that once you understand what's at stake, you'll sign this contract. Gladly.”

“Well, you can toss that contract in the fire, because after what I've seen, I don't want anything to do with you or your little
community
.”

“You know, I don't make these types of decisions lightly. So when I offer someone such an opportunity, I don't expect him to start nosing around my home. It's an odd display of gratitude.”

“When we're dealing with the kind of money you're asking for,” George said, “you can't expect me to make
that
decision without trying to find out what kind of man you are.”

“Such relationships must be based on trust, George. You trusted me to help your wife, and I trusted you to respect my property and privacy.”

“Privacy? You kidnap people and lock them up in your own personal dungeon. That's not a matter of privacy. It's criminal!”

Vale sipped his drink and paced the room as if contemplating his next words. “I don't think you fully grasp the scope of the gift I'm offering you. Perilium is not just some remedy for cancer or senility. It brings the human body back to its original design. Immortality, the way God intended it. Just as it was in the Garden.”

George shook his head. “We won't be a part of what you're doing here.”

“Oh, but I'm afraid refusal is no longer an option,” Vale said. “You see, perilium is an exacting master, not something to be taken casually. She requires your full commitment. And once you've tasted the elixir of life, you become one with it. There's no turning back.”

George felt his neck bristle with a chill. “What do you mean?”

Vale drew another sip from his glass and looked at his watch. “It would actually be more dramatic for me to show you.”

He motioned to Browne, who left immediately.

Vale went on. “The survival of our community depends on two basic elements. One is a fair amount of seclusion from the rest of society. As you can imagine, we don't wish to attract too much scrutiny here.

“And the other is balance. Every member of our little family has a specific function. We're all dependent on one another to ensure the continuation of our way of life. So when one of us is no longer willing or able to function, they must be . . .
reevaluated
.”

Browne returned, leading Amanda into the room, her hands cuffed in front of her. She was sobbing. And George could tell immediately that something was wrong with her. Her complexion was pallid and her hair and clothes were nearly drenched in sweat.

Vale gestured toward her. “You see, Amanda here requires a daily measure of perilium just like the rest of us. Typically right after breakfast. But today I had to withhold her allotment as there were certain issues I felt we needed to discuss.”

Amanda sank to her knees, sobbing. “P-please . . . why are you . . . doing this?”

George frowned. “What's wrong with her?”

Vale tapped his watch. “She's nearly twelve hours overdue.”

He reached into his trouser pocket and held up a glass vial of the yellow liquid.

Amanda saw it and struggled to her feet. “Please . . .” She tried to reach for it, but Vale held it just out of her grasp and she collapsed again to the floor.

George looked on in horror. “What's happening to her?”

“As I said, perilium is an exacting master.” Vale stared at the vial in the firelight. “And she demands a heavy price for disobedience. The body goes into a sort of toxic shock if not supplied with a regular dose. It's a rather unpleasant sight to witness.”

“What did she do? Why are you doing this to her?”

“To make an example,” Vale said. “See, I've been observing her over the last few days, and lately I'm just not so certain of her commitment to our community. She seems to have developed something that could be an impediment to our existence.”

George couldn't bear to look at her any longer. “What is it?”

“A conscience.” Vale knelt beside Amanda's quivering form, dangling the vial over her head. “Apparently she's been having doubts about our way of life. And I'm afraid we can't tolerate such a lack of moral clarity. We have far too much to lose—all of us. We all depend on maintaining that precious balance, and she has become the weak link. A dry branch that needs to be pruned.”

Amanda reached again for the vial. George could see genuine terror in her eyes. “I . . . I've always been faithful. . . . I've done everything you asked. . . .”

But Vale withdrew the vial once more and stood.

George stepped forward. “Stop it! Just give it to her!”

Vale wagged his head. “Here's the thing, George. I have to make room for Miriam, and if I were to keep Amanda on, I wouldn't have enough perilium left for your wife. I'm afraid there's just not enough for both of them.”

George blinked. “Not enough? But you said—”

“What I said is that we must maintain a delicate balance. So if Miriam is to join us here, then unfortunately there will be no room left for dear Amanda.”

George cursed at him. “You're a monster.”

“Monster? Me?” A cold smile spread on Vale's face. “But this is
your
choice, George.” He held up the vial. “Amanda or Miriam—which one will it be?”

Amanda writhed on the floor, gasping for breath. “George . . . p-please . . . help me.”

George could feel his rage growing, but his old body would be no match for Vale in a physical altercation. He just shook his head in frustration and swore.

“Her life is in your hands, George,” Vale said again. “Just say the word.”

Seconds ticked by. George couldn't bring himself to speak. Part of him didn't believe Vale would help Amanda regardless of his choice. But it was a moot point. He couldn't risk it. He couldn't let Miriam die.

“Or . . .” Vale narrowed his yellow eyes. “Have you already made your choice?”

Amanda's tremors quickly became more violent. Her spine arched with a sharp spasm and her eyes rolled back in their sockets. Her quivering body bumped and jittered on the floor as the rest of them looked on. George watched, horrified but unable to turn away.

The seizure lasted for more than a minute before it finally ended in a long, painful groan. Amanda's body lay in a contorted, twisted mass on the floor.

Vale sighed and clucked his tongue as though he'd just lost a pet fish. Nothing more. “Now we're both monsters, George. But more to the point, I think you needed to see precisely what awaits your beloved wife if you cross me again. Or in case you were thinking about leaving our community.”

George growled, “I'll kill you.”

Vale laughed, replacing the vial inside his jacket. “Well, it wouldn't be the first time. But you may want to reconsider your refusal of my offer. I'll give you another twelve hours to think it over.”

Chapter 33

Henderson opened a small refrigerator and produced a glass vial. He held it up for Jack. It was sealed with a black cap and inside Jack could see a yellow viscous substance.

He wrinkled his forehead. “Okay . . . what is it?”

Henderson gazed at it and shook his head. “It's called perilium. And it's probably the most valuable substance on the planet.
And
the most dangerous.”

“Why?”

“It's an organic compound that the N'watu have been producing for centuries now. They ingest it for medicinal purposes.”

“Medicinal?” Jack didn't know if he was joking or what. “What do you mean?”

“Perilium appears to hyperstimulate the body's immune system, making it far more aggressive at repairing damaged cells or destroying diseased ones.”

“So basically it helps the body heal itself faster?”

“Exactly.”

Jack folded his arms. “How fast?”

Henderson just stared at him a moment and then rummaged through one of the drawers until he found a box cutter. He rolled up his sleeve and held his arm out for Jack to see.

Jack frowned. “What are you doing?”

Henderson winced as he ran the razor down the length of his forearm, slicing open his skin along an eight- or nine-inch track. A dark trail of blood rolled off his arm onto the cement floor.

Jack backed away. “Are you crazy?”

“Just watch.” Henderson held his arm still under the lights.

Jack watched as the wound stopped bleeding all on its own. The skin seemed to close up right before his eyes, as if someone were zipping it shut from the ends toward the middle. In seconds, a bright-red scar formed and faded back to the color of the original flesh.

Within two minutes' time the scar completely disappeared and Jack could see no trace of the wound whatsoever. He blinked and shook his head. Was his extreme fatigue playing tricks with his mind? Had Henderson performed some kind of sleight of hand?

“I don't believe it,” he said. “How does it work?”

“I told you. It enhances and accelerates the body's natural ability to heal itself.”

Jack's hands were still cuffed behind his back, but he leaned forward to examine the vial. “So . . . what? You just drink this when you're sick or injured?”

Henderson rolled his sleeve back down. “Something like that.”

“And . . . a person who drinks this . . . can't be killed?”

“Not exactly. If the physical trauma is too severe, the body may not have time to heal itself before succumbing to death.”

Jack nodded at the terraria. “And you think the spiders—the kiracs—are the key to how they make the perilium?”

“That's our theory,” Henderson said. “They exhibit an uncanny resistance to disease and extremely fast recuperative abilities when injured.”

Jack recalled the spider Ben had tried to kill. It wasn't until he had caused enough physical tissue damage with his knife that the animal finally died.

“But you don't know how it's made.”

Henderson shook his head. “The N'watu guard this secret closely.”

“No doubt.” Jack sat on the stool. For now all of his weariness had left him. His mind was active with the possibilities this substance presented. It needed to be shared with the world. So why was it being kept a secret?

“There's some catch to it, isn't there?”

Henderson sat down at the table across from Jack. His expression turned grim. “The impact on the body is enormous . . . but only temporary. Once perilium enters the system, the body requires regular doses to survive. Otherwise, it goes into shock. Convulsions, seizures . . . and death.”

Jack's mind was racing. It was making sense now. These people needed a constant supply of this perilium, and the N'watu were the only ones who knew how to make it. So they had some kind of contract. He recalled Running Bear saying the N'watu had made a similar bargain with the Soul Eater. To offer it human souls in exchange for their own lives.

“So this is where the legend of the Soul Eater comes from?” Jack said. “The N'watu worship these kiracs. They offer up human sacrifices and get this perilium in return.”

“We figured you knew about the legend.” Henderson drew a long breath. “The N'watu will only accept a human soul. The legend goes that the Soul Eater consumes the life force of the soul, and by drinking her nectar, a person can gain the power of the other's life force. One life for another.”

“One life . . .” Jack couldn't believe what he was hearing. He could still see the tribe inside the cave, gathering round to eat the baby kiracs right out of the egg sac. And how the others were thrown into a bowl to be mashed up. This must have been the way they produced the perilium. He looked again at the vial on the table. It was something inside the spiders' physiology that the N'watu—and the people here—were ingesting. He shook his head. “Is that where you all come in? You supply them with fresh souls to be offered?”

Henderson's jaw clenched. “We do what we have to do to survive.”

“Do what you
have
to do?” Jack cringed. “You're
killing
people!”

“Don't you get it? We'll die without the perilium.”

“Then die! What gives you the right to take someone else's life like this?”

“That's why I've been studying it,” Henderson said, raising his voice. “If I can synthesize it or find a way to replicate it, we can make it ourselves and I can end this nightmare!”

“And in the meantime . . . what?” Jack said.

“In the meantime we have to maintain the status quo.”

Jack eyed him with disgust. “Status quo? Meaning you keep herding innocent people to the slaughter?” He nodded again to the terraria. “To be fed to those things in the cave?”

“No.” Henderson shook his head. His eyes seemed to glaze over. “To be fed to
her
.”

“Her?”

“Sh'ar Kouhm. They feed them to the queen. The others—the males—just get the leftovers.”

Jack sat dumbfounded, staring at the second terrarium and recalling the larger specimen and how it fed. His heart raced at the thought of one of the queens lurking in the caves. Something even more terrifying than the males he had encountered. He remembered the massive shape he had glimpsed in the cave as he and Ben were making their escape. Could that have been the queen? Jack shuddered. “And she drinks their blood?”

“Drinks their souls, yes.”

“And since she feeds on fear,” Jack went on, “these victims are alive and kicking. They're filled with terror when they get thrown to the Soul Eater?”

“I don't know how the ritual is performed.”

Ritual?
Jack squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. “Look . . . Dwight. This . . . this has to stop. You can't let this continue. These are
people
you're killing. Human beings!”

Henderson stood. “I haven't
killed
anyone. I'm trying to end this.”

“But you're helping them do it.”

“And I'm telling
you
, your only chance of staying alive is if Vale thinks you still have some value to him. So you decide. Help me find a solution and live. Or stand there moralizing and get thrown into the pit.”

Jack took a long breath. “Is everyone in Beckon trapped here like you? They're all involved in this?”

“Everybody in this town was lured here by Thomas Vale at some point; they were chosen for a reason. They each had something Vale wanted to exploit. Money, expertise . . . Malcolm Browne was a businessman worth millions. Sam Huxley was a lawyer. Frank Carson is ex-military and Vale wanted him for security purposes. And the others . . . we were all facing death in some way and gave up everything for the promise of a miracle. A second chance at life.”

“A second chance?” Jack frowned at him. “So wait a minute. If this stuff can eliminate disease, then how . . . ?” Jack was trying to piece together the information Henderson was giving him, but he couldn't think of how to frame his next question. It sounded too crazy. “Exactly how long have you been here?”

Henderson just looked at him for a moment. “You're starting to understand the true secret of perilium.”

“So you're saying this stuff . . . enhances longevity?”

“Significantly.”

Jack blinked away his shock. “Seriously . . . how old
are
you?”

“Let's just say I'm older than I look.”

Jack's mouth hung open. This guy looked like he was in his twenties. Thick, chestnut-brown hair without a hint of gray. And perfect complexion. Not a trace of age lines by his mouth or crow's-feet around his eyes. No moles or liver spots. But how old was he in reality? Forty? Fifty? Jack pressed him for an answer, but Henderson refused to provide further details. Finally Jack shook his head in frustration. “But you're telling me that if you leave here or stop taking the perilium, you'll die.”

Henderson nodded and his lips grew tight. “I've seen it before. There have been others. The day you fail him or the day he decides you're no longer useful to him, he cuts you off.”

Jack fell silent for a moment, taking this all in. Then he snorted. “So basically your whole job here is to find new victims for the N'watu to sacrifice.”

“Because if we don't, the flow of perilium stops. And we all die.”

Jack stared at the first terrarium. The kiracs had picked clean both the carcasses of the rat and the guinea pig. All that was left were bloodstains and bones scattered around the cage.

“What happened to you?” Jack asked. “You're a doctor. You used to value human life, didn't you? You should know better.”

Henderson issued a long sigh. “You need to see things with a little more objectivity.”

“Objectivity?” Jack said. “You kidnap innocent human beings and bring them here to die.”

At that point the door opened and Vale entered, shaking his head as if he'd been listening in on their conversation the whole time. “You know, Jack, I was really hoping you would work out here. That you'd be able to see the bigger picture.”

“I've seen enough,” Jack said, his teeth clenched. “I'd tell you how wrong all this is. How evil. But I'm guessing you're beyond even grasping those concepts.”

Vale chuckled. “It's funny how quick people are to judge evil, while so blind to seeing it in themselves.”

“Don't you drag me down to your level.”

“Oh, I think you would be capable of greater things if properly motivated. We're all willing to sacrifice others for our own purposes.”

“Not like this,” Jack said. “Not like you.”

“No? Tell me, Jack Kendrick, what moved you to come here in the first place? What drove you to search those caves? Something did. Some ambition. What was it, Jack?”

Jack's jaw clenched. Did he dare bring up his father? Would these people know what had happened? Or had his father just been one of a multitude of victims? Despite how painful the truth might be, Jack needed to know.

“I came here to find out what happened to my father.”

Vale narrowed his eyes and the corner of his mouth curled up slightly. “Your father?”

“His name was David Kendrick, and he disappeared somewhere out here twelve years ago.” Jack found his voice quaking slightly. “He was an anthropologist doing some research. I'm guessing you probably remember him. You know what happened to him.”

Vale merely shrugged. “But unfortunately I don't.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Vale said. “It's sad, really. You coming all this way, looking for answers and not finding them. And it sounds to me like your friends paid the ultimate price for it.”

Jack opened his mouth but could find no answer. His anger drained away as he pictured Rudy's terrified convulsions and death. And he could still hear Ben screaming as he was pulled back down the tunnel by the same creatures.

“So was it worth it, Jack? Was it worth their lives?”

Jack stared at the floor. “I . . . I didn't kill them.”

“No? It was
your
obsession . . .
your
desire to find answers that killed them.”

Vale gestured to Frank Carson, who entered the room with a dark grin. Fear and anger gripped Jack as he snapped out of his guilt and looked for some way of escape. But there was only the one door, and his hands were still bound behind his back. Still, he made a dash for the doorway, trying to plow through Carson. But Carson grabbed him and wrestled him to the floor, knocking a table over in the process and scattering papers everywhere.

He yanked Jack to his feet and slapped the back of his knuckles across Jack's face. Jack swooned momentarily and his legs buckled as he struggled to stay standing. He blinked the stars from his eyes and looked up at Vale.

“What . . . what are you going to do with me?”

Vale's yellowish eyes stared at Jack, seemingly void of any emotion. “Unfortunately you pose too great a risk for us. So you might say we're donating your body to science.”