Seed of Evil by Greig Beck (smart books to read TXT) 📗

the time. He turned, pulled out his phone, and took several pictures of the small animal.

He pointed with his pen. “Okay, Master Splinter, let me know if there are any changes, okay?”

The phone rang, and Mitch lifted it while keeping his eyes on the rat. “Mitch Taylor.”

“Mitch, Greg.” Greg Samson didn’t sound his usual cheery self.

“Hi, Greg, everything okay?” Mitch asked.

“Hey, thanks for throwing me down the rabbit hole. By the way, I don’t care what you say, I’m coming to Eldon,” he replied.

“What, why, what happened?” Mitch asked.

“I did as you asked and made some gentle little requests into the CDC to some of my old buddies. I got a few documents, but for the most part everything is classified and well above my, or my contacts’, paygrade. But we did get some hits.” He scoffed softly. “You ready for this?’

“Yes and no,” Mitch replied. “You’re scaring me but go on.”

Mitch heard what sounded like pages being folded or turned. Then Greg exhaled.

“Okay, they managed to obtain some research notes and photographs from the afflicted group that was brought in from Eldon, Oakland Count, Missouri, in August 1977…”

“Wait, that’s what they called them? Afflicted?” Mitch asked.

“Yep, it’s in their notes.” He went on. “There were eight families and several individual children whose parents had vanished. Plus, some adults with children missing and unaccounted for.”

“Where are they now? Still there?” Mitch asked, intrigued.

“Maybe they are, but there’s no record of where they were taken in any of the documents I was given. My contacts will do some more digging, but don’t hold your breath,” he replied. “Mitch, you remember when I said that the DNA samples you gave me exhibited something that might or might not have been transitioning from plant to animal or vice versa?”

Mitch gripped the handset, hard. “Yes, of course. How could I forget?”

“Well, that transitioning moved on considerably in these afflicted people. It was some sort of contagion that seemed to work on both the cellular and genetic level, altering the DNA structure completely. And Mitch, it does it at an unprecedented and escalating pace.”

“What is it? Describe what you’re looking at.” Mitch felt his heart racing in his chest.

“I’ve got photographs. Not great resolution given they were taken in the seventies, but at least they’re in color.” He sighed. “Jesus, Mitch, these poor souls, they aren’t even human anymore.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand what that means.” Mitch felt a throbbing headache coming on.

“There’s pictures of some of the kids here with things growing out of their backs that look like coral. Some look like small creatures covered in splinters, and others are just covered over in what looks like shell carapace,” Greg replied.

“A nightmare.” Mitch straightened. “Exactly like Buford.”

“Who?” Greg asked.

“A dog in town. It attacked its owner, and it had changed. It was deformed by all these extraneous growths, internally and externally.” Mitch tried to get his head around that alteration happening to a human. “Horrifying.”

“Yeah, it is, but that’s not the worst of it,” Greg replied. “This is gonna sound crazy, but it looked like some of the adults were transitioning into, and I’ll read what they’ve written here: arboreal entities.”

“Arboreal entities…” Mitch laughed but with little humor. “Trees.”

“Mitch, I’m looking at the transitional pictures of humans that are turning to wood. And the last few pictures have notes attached that say the subjects were still alive. And the worst thing was they were carnivorous—apparently, they needed the nutrients from flesh and blood to survive. That’s your damn nightmare right there.”

“Holy shit.” Mitch couldn’t get his head around it.

“Hold a minute.” Greg sounded like he leaned away, then came back. “I’ve taken a picture of this last photograph and am sending it to your phone, right, now.”

Mitch reached for his phone and in just another second it pinged with a message from Greg. He opened it, and before him was a picture of several people huddled together holding onto each other and between them fibrous-looking roots intertwining their group.

On the face of the person closest, he could just make out the expression of agony or torment. It was as if they were all being trapped within this petrifying form for eternity, and they knew it.

“I’ve seen this before,” Mitch breathed out.

“Where?” Greg asked quickly.

“The museum here in town,” Mitch replied. “Apparently, a group of these petrified statues were dug out of the mine or a tunnel offshoot, over 100 years ago. You know what? When I first saw them, I knew the details were too perfect.”

“I want to see them,” Greg whispered.

Mitch cast his mind back. “The museum curator thought that they were statues carved from some sort of unidentifiable petrified wood. And that someone had taken them into the mine or the caves there, long, long ago. But what if they weren’t statues at all? What if they were infected people who walked in there and spent the last days of their lives turning into these things down in the darkness?”

“Mitch, that’s it, I’m dropping everything and coming over. This is the most confounding thing I have ever heard of.” Greg’s voice sped up. “We should also inform the CDC, and not just my buddies but the formal channels. Let them—”

“No, we can’t.” Mitch sighed. “No CDC, not yet anyway. The mayor here is adamant we do not involve the authorities until we know more. He told me last time, in ‘77, it nearly devastated the town. Besides, there’s only been a few outbreaks, and we think we have it under control.”

“Bullshit, we bring them in,” Greg urged. “They have far better resources than we do.”

“They do, but we don’t call them in yet.” Mitch rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Just remember, this is my home now, and I’ve got to work with these people.”

“Fine, I get it, you don’t want to lose your job. But I’m still coming over,” Greg replied. “The address you gave me for the medical practice you’re working at is all I’ve got. So,