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

not sure if the dog transmitted the infection. Maybe it went straight to his bloodstream without causing any epidermal reaction.” He moved to the top of the body. “Okay, hold onto your lunch, kids, I’m going in.”

Mitch then began the internal examination. Greg had already placed a head block under the neck and shoulders of the old man. Its role was to hyperflex the neck, making the spine arch backward while stretching and pushing the chest upward to make it easier to incise.

Mitch began and didn’t use a standard Y-shaped incision, but instead a double T-shape with the first a line across the shoulder blades, then running down the front of the chest, continuing around and to just below the belly button. Then, another horizontal incision was made from one side of the lower belly to the other.

Expectedly, bleeding was non-existent because the pull of gravity is exerting the only blood pressure at this point, as there is a complete lack of cardiac functionality.

Greg helped Mitch pull the skin back to fully expose the ribs and sternum, and then used bone-shear clips to cut through each of the ribs so he could then lift the frontal ribs and sternum away like a large, grisly plate to expose the internal organs.

Mitch handed the rib plate to Greg who set it aside.

“Hooo-ley crap.” Mitch peered into the cavity.

“How was this guy even alive?” Greg asked.

Mitch blew air between his lips. “Maybe it happened post mort.” He grimaced behind his mask. “Okay.” He reached in.

The lungs, heart, and stomach were all a brown or black, but not so much from the corruption of the flesh and blood; instead, they had a grainy texture. Also running over everything were veins or webbing that looked like the spidery roots you find when you dig up a small tree.

“I’m betting Harlen would have had similar alterations in his head before he blew it off,” Greg said.

Mitch cut free the stomach, and rather than being its usual elastic grey-purple bag, it was now brown, hard, and more like a leather satchel. He set it on a lab tray and sliced it open.

Mitch hated this part of an autopsy and held his breath in anticipation—stomachs always had a mix of digested and undigested food, depending on how healthy the individual was. And inside Harlen were lumps of dog food, raw meat, and even a single mouse, still covered in fur.

“He ate a mouse?” Kehoe grimaced.

“Yeah, definitely carnivore,” Greg replied.

Mitch extracted some of the liquid into a test tube and stood it in a rack. He also cut away a few pieces of flesh from different organs and also from within the chest cavity, which he sealed in individual jars. He handed each to Greg who wrote their name and time of extraction on each.

“Just like with his dog, I’m betting we find the same sort of active influencing agent that is reorganizing his cellular structure, as well as his DNA. It’s the thing we found in the mine water.” He looked up. “Somehow, Harlen was infected, just like his dog.”

“From the dog,” Kehoe announced.

“I don’t know that,” Mitch replied. “Looks to me like their state of change was running in tandem, and not one after the other.” Mitch stood back. “His entire body was undergoing a radical alteration.”

“Transitioning,” Greg replied. He pointed to the trays of removed organs. “Look.”

“What the hell?” Kehoe craned forward.

The organs that had the whitish tendrils or spidery roots covering them were moving, and the webbing seemed to be trying to pull them all together.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say they’re trying to put themselves back together,” Mitch said softly.

“Pluripotent dedifferentiation,” Greg whispered.

“Say again?” Mitch turned.

Greg kept his eyes on the organs as they merged within the webbing. “It’s where plants regenerate tissue or even whole organelles after injury.”

“I have no idea what’s going on here.” Mitch shook his head slowly. “And we still don’t know what the biological objective is.” He sighed. “I’ll close this guy up later. Right now, I want a coffee, or something even stronger.”

He pulled his hands from his gloves and dropped them into a bio-hazard bin, and the group placed their smocks in a laundry basket.

Outside in the fresh air, Mitch turned to the sheriff. “Sheriff, we need outside help on this. The mayor is refusing to allow me to take it to any of the external bodies for fear of creating a panic.”

Kehoe nodded. “I know, and I can understand that.”

Mitch stood in front of him. “We don’t have an understanding or a handle on this yet. This could be cataclysmic for the town if we do nothing.”

Kehoe nodded. “But the mine is closed off now. No mine, no water from the mine, no infections, right?”

“That’s not enough,” Greg said. “Johnson Nightfoot, who, ah, worked with Doctor Wainright during the first outbreak, said this will go on, and even may get worse, while the mine is flooded.”

Kehoe raised his eyebrows. “Then our problem is solved. I checked on the mine this morning: the water is all gone.”

CHAPTER 28

Greg and Mitch skidded to a stop at the bottom of the side road leading up to the mine. The pair stepped out, and Greg approached the seven-foot gate that barred access.

He turned. “Well, the sheriff did as you suggested.”

“Yeah, he’s a good man.” Mitch fished in his pocket for the keys that Kehoe had given him. “I kinda get the feeling he believes us as well. And I bet quietly supports us too but just won’t go on record. Yet.”

Mitch unlocked the padlock and dragged the huge gate open. “We’ll drive up the hill. Get out at the top.”

He drove the car in and jumped out to close the gate behind them. But left it unlocked. Then they headed up the half-mile incline until they came to another gate.

“I think you’re right—Kehoe definitely believes you.” Greg got out, and the pair walked forward to peer through the fencing.

Mitch unlocked it and they stepped through. He left the