people shot if we reported anything about them.”
Marty Marks grinned bleakly into the camera.
“They ain’t here to stop me now, and I’ll say what I know. They took things over. Ordered the cops to pull back their lines and evacuate everybody in six blocks of the lab. Our camera crew climbed on a roof to take what happened when they went in. Half a dozen men looking like spacemen in masks and plastic suits. Went in toward the fire and never came out. What did come out—”
Marty Marks stopped to listen, sweating, yet still shivering.
“What it is, I don’t know. Don’t reckon they did. Nothing you could see or hear, but it kills people. Quick! Wherever, it catches ‘em. On the streets and in their houses when they try to hide and in their cars when they try to get out. Never any warning they’ve got time to tell about.
“It spread from the dead. With the wind, I reckon, because the cops kept calling our weatherman for wind forecasts. As long as he stuck around. Winds light all day, which I guess is lucky. It hit the cops and firemen first, close around the lab. Those that tried to run never got far. Not if they’d already caught it—whatever it is.
“The cops still alive—along with whoever was left of the G-men and those Washington bigshots—they tried to stop the spread of it. Moved the roadblocks back when it got past their lines. Dynamited the river bridges and the viaduct over the railroad yards.
“The last I heard of McGrath—he is or was our news director—he was reporting a run-in with one of those Bioscience wheels. About the news blackout. If the country is in danger—sure as hell it is—McGrath thought the public ought to be told. The wheel said no. McGrath said to hell with him. Called the studio to stand by for a direct broadcast from the mobile van.
“We stood by, but he never came on. The rest of the day crew checked out to cover the story—or more likely to get out of town. I stayed here to put McGrath on the air. Night crew never showed up. Not that I blame anybody. Good friends of mine. Just hope to God they took off in time. Could be the wheels had somebody shoot McGrath. Could be the wind from the lab caught them all.
“Suicide to try the streets now, so I’m still here. On the air!” A haggard grin. “At six o’clock, when nobody turned up and I felt damn sure nobody would, I decided to tell what I can, as long as I can talk—to hell with Washington and Bioscience Alert!
“One thing more—not that I know what it means.” Biting his lower lip, Marty Marks twisted to listen again. Blood-pinked sweat oozed down his dark-stubbled chin. He squinted again into the camera. “All quiet down below, last time I looked. But things are—shining.
“Everything, I reckon, that ever was alive. Bodies. Clothes they had on. Grass and trees down the street in Eisenhower Park. Shining with a pale gray light. Burning, I first thought, but there ain’t no smoke. Not except from those blazes, off toward where the lab was.
“Don’t ask me what makes the shine. I don’t know. Don’t know if anybody ever will. But I’m signing off for now. Time for a break, and another good snort of Phil’s Old Smuggler. Maybe a snack, if I can find anything— a couple of the staffers used to bring lunches, and I don’t think they ever had time to eat.”
Behind the desk, Marty Marks stood up and stretched himself.
“So that’s all for now. Can’t guess how much time I’ve got left. Or what time you’ve got—anybody out there still cool enough to listen. But I’ll take another gander from the penthouse terrace and get back to tell you what I see. If I can get back. Just one more word, while I can talk.”
Suddenly swaying, he sat down again.
“If you see anybody comin‘ out of Enfield, don’t let ‘em—”
The nasal voice faded. The blood-streaked features relaxed into an empty leer. The mouth yawned open. The dirty lenses slid off the vacant eyes and struck the desk with a
Marty Marks grinned bleakly into the camera.
“They ain’t here to stop me now, and I’ll say what I know. They took things over. Ordered the cops to pull back their lines and evacuate everybody in six blocks of the lab. Our camera crew climbed on a roof to take what happened when they went in. Half a dozen men looking like spacemen in masks and plastic suits. Went in toward the fire and never came out. What did come out—”
Marty Marks stopped to listen, sweating, yet still shivering.
“What it is, I don’t know. Don’t reckon they did. Nothing you could see or hear, but it kills people. Quick! Wherever, it catches ‘em. On the streets and in their houses when they try to hide and in their cars when they try to get out. Never any warning they’ve got time to tell about.
“It spread from the dead. With the wind, I reckon, because the cops kept calling our weatherman for wind forecasts. As long as he stuck around. Winds light all day, which I guess is lucky. It hit the cops and firemen first, close around the lab. Those that tried to run never got far. Not if they’d already caught it—whatever it is.
“The cops still alive—along with whoever was left of the G-men and those Washington bigshots—they tried to stop the spread of it. Moved the roadblocks back when it got past their lines. Dynamited the river bridges and the viaduct over the railroad yards.
“The last I heard of McGrath—he is or was our news director—he was reporting a run-in with one of those Bioscience wheels. About the news blackout. If the country is in danger—sure as hell it is—McGrath thought the public ought to be told. The wheel said no. McGrath said to hell with him. Called the studio to stand by for a direct broadcast from the mobile van.
“We stood by, but he never came on. The rest of the day crew checked out to cover the story—or more likely to get out of town. I stayed here to put McGrath on the air. Night crew never showed up. Not that I blame anybody. Good friends of mine. Just hope to God they took off in time. Could be the wheels had somebody shoot McGrath. Could be the wind from the lab caught them all.
“Suicide to try the streets now, so I’m still here. On the air!” A haggard grin. “At six o’clock, when nobody turned up and I felt damn sure nobody would, I decided to tell what I can, as long as I can talk—to hell with Washington and Bioscience Alert!
“One thing more—not that I know what it means.” Biting his lower lip, Marty Marks twisted to listen again. Blood-pinked sweat oozed down his dark-stubbled chin. He squinted again into the camera. “All quiet down below, last time I looked. But things are—shining.
“Everything, I reckon, that ever was alive. Bodies. Clothes they had on. Grass and trees down the street in Eisenhower Park. Shining with a pale gray light. Burning, I first thought, but there ain’t no smoke. Not except from those blazes, off toward where the lab was.
“Don’t ask me what makes the shine. I don’t know. Don’t know if anybody ever will. But I’m signing off for now. Time for a break, and another good snort of Phil’s Old Smuggler. Maybe a snack, if I can find anything— a couple of the staffers used to bring lunches, and I don’t think they ever had time to eat.”
Behind the desk, Marty Marks stood up and stretched himself.
“So that’s all for now. Can’t guess how much time I’ve got left. Or what time you’ve got—anybody out there still cool enough to listen. But I’ll take another gander from the penthouse terrace and get back to tell you what I see. If I can get back. Just one more word, while I can talk.”
Suddenly swaying, he sat down again.
“If you see anybody comin‘ out of Enfield, don’t let ‘em—”
The nasal voice faded. The blood-streaked features relaxed into an empty leer. The mouth yawned open. The dirty lenses slid off the vacant eyes and struck the desk with a
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