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

felt like it was full of dry thorns and he grabbed the open bottle of his Eldon Spring Water—Super Health Tonic. He drank it down, and it at least calmed the prickly fire in his throat.

He winced as his stomach grumbled. Jesus, he was hungry, again, and all the time now. But lately, the snacks he had been having just didn’t seem to fill him up or were never what his stomach really wanted.

He looked at the bag of Fancy Boy treats and leaned closer to read the small print—high protein and made from real beef extract. He dipped his hand in and drew out a biscuit in the shape of a cat. He sniffed it and then tossed it into his mouth. It was dry and tasted like old bone marrow. But still not what he really wanted.

Harry grimaced as Pompom’s mad barking drew his head around. He stared at the dog for several minutes. As Harry stared trance-like, his mouth began to water and his stomach growled loudly as if agreeing with what he was thinking.

He carefully dipped one hand into the bag of biscuits, grabbing several, and then got down on his knees to hold out the handful of treats.

“Come on, Pompom. I’ve got something for you.” Harry Reith licked his lips as the dog approached.

CHAPTER 25

On their return, Mitch showed Greg into his practicing rooms with Shelly in close pursuit. He’d introduced her to him, and it seemed she had a new favorite almost immediately.

Mitch went to shut the door but Shelly held onto it, sticking her head around inside.

“Can I do anything for you? Pretty quiet out here.” She raised her eyebrows.

“Just coffee, large, and hold all appointments this morning,” Mitch replied.

“Okay.” Her eyes went to Greg. “Sugar?”

“It’s Greg, actually.” He grinned.

Mitch groaned as Shelly giggled.

Greg shook his head. “Just black.”

Shelly crinkled her nose at him and withdrew.

Mitch waited for the door to close and then turned to his friend. “Finished?”

Greg waggled his eyebrows. “I’ve still got it.”

“Okay, Romeo, suit up and come this way. I want to show you something.” Mitch led him into the second room with the single, long cadaver refrigerator. The pair put on hospital-grade smocks and gloves, as well as paper masks. He then opened the solid steel door, pulled the table out, and flipped back the sheet revealing Buford, Harlen Bimford’s hound.

“Holy shit.” Greg’s eyes widened above his mask.

“Was a dog once,” Mitch said. He picked up a surgical probe and indicted the wound. “You can see inside that even the organs had begun to, I don’t know, petrify.” He looked across at his friend. “Or transition, as you suggested.”

“So, this is what happens at the macro and cellular level.” Greg leaned closer, then reached up to turn on a lamp that shone down into the ragged gunshot wound.

He took the probe from Mitch and began to examine the organs that Mitch hadn’t yet removed during the autopsy. “It’s impossible. There is no contagion, bacteria, virus, fungus, or anything I know that would generate organic changes on this level.”

“Or so rapidly,” Mitch replied. “It doesn’t make sense on any medical or biological level.”

Greg looked up, his brows raised, and Mitch held up a hand. “Don’t you say it…”

“Curse.” Greg grinned. “Maybe it is. And we should keep an open mind.”

“No, this is not the dark ages,” Mitch chuckled. “We’ve got enough weirdness going on without leaning in to the mystical.”

“Really?” Greg looked back down into the dog’s open chest. “Ever hear of Chief Tecumseh?”

“Nope.” Mitch leaned closer as Greg moved aside the dog’s heart that was like a lump of teak. “But I got a feeling I’m about to.”

“Yep, Tecumseh was a Native American leader who cursed William Henry Harrison after Harrison’s troops emerged victorious at the Battle of Tippecanoe. Ever since Harrison became president in 1840, every person elected to the office in 20-year intervals has died while serving as president.” He turned to Mitch. “Harrison died of pneumonia after just one month in office. Abraham Lincoln, elected in 1860, was assassinated, as were James A. Garfield, 1880, and William McKinley, 1900. Both Warren G. Harding, 1920, and Franklin D. Roosevelt, 1940, died of natural causes in office, while John F. Kennedy, 1960, was assassinated. But Ronald Reagan, elected in 1980 and who was the target of an assassin’s bullet in 1981, survived. Some say it was that missed event that finally broke the curse. And the spirit of Tecumseh was finally avenged.”

“Well, someone has been doing their homework.” Mitch reached up to turn the light to shine it on Greg’s face.

Greg shrugged. “I know stuff.” He pointed the light back down.

“It’s not helping,” Mitch replied. “And please don’t mention Tutankhamun’s tomb and the death-comes-on-swift-wings curse.”

“Damn, that was next.” Greg straightened and put the probe down. “This thing should not have been living. But you said the sheriff shot it.”

“Not the sheriff—Harlen Bimford, the owner. It was his faithful ole hound, Buford. Somehow, it was transformed into this and attacked him, who it loved. And was very much alive.” Mitch backed up a step and took his mask off.

“Can’t imagine how it functioned. And we have no idea how it got infected,” Greg replied.

“I think I do. In its gut, I found trace samples of the mine’s water flora. He must have drunk some. Or maybe he swam in the water up at the mine and ingested some or it was absorbed through his skin. That’s all I can think of,” Mitch replied. “Dump your scrubs here. Got something else to show any doubting Thomas on whether this thing was alive when it was shot.”

Greg did as asked then Mitch led the military researcher into the next room and headed to a large square covered over with a blanket.

“I give you Willard.” Mitch pulled the blanket away and watched Greg’s face for a reaction.

Greg stared for a moment and then his eyes flicked to Mitch. “And?”

Mitch turned to look into the cage—it was empty, and the