Читать книгу Fighting Pax - Robin Jarvis - Страница 8

LEE WAS IN the refectory that also served as the refugees’ common room. He was sitting at one of the long tables, with his feet up. The four guards he was chained to stood stiffly either side. It was the Spice Girls, four young men in their early twenties. They had taken over from the Sex and the City quartet under an hour ago.

Many of the other children were there, because their dorms were small and cell-like and unheated. Here there was a wood-burning stove, but the logs were rationed and their daily allocation lasted only about four hours.

The children were wrapped in rough blankets or oversized military greatcoats. Having escaped from the prison camp in England with nothing but the rags they had on, they now wore clothing generously donated by the People’s Army and looked like the destitute outcasts that they were. Most days they sat, clumped together in small groups, either playing the Korean board games also given to them by the military or whispering among themselves.

Maggie was a dab hand with a needle and thread, so Gerald miraculously scrounged the rudiments of a basic sewing kit for her, including a small pair of scissors. She happily filled her hours adapting the cast-off uniforms, cutting them down for a snugger fit or turning them into completely different garments. Spencer’s Stetson had been confiscated as being too strong a symbol of the US, so she had made him a cowboy-style waistcoat with a star on it like a sheriff’s badge to compensate.

She paid special attention to the group of girls who had been in Charm’s hut back in the camp. Her late friend had asked her to look out for them so she made sure their requests were dealt with first. Western dress was forbidden in North Korea so the guards raised their eyebrows at the home-made fashions. It was the closest Maggie ever got to making them smile. With the remnants, she created small dolls and animals, initially to keep herself occupied in between alterations and to put around the dorm and refectory to cheer the place up. But they turned out so well every girl wanted one, except Esther who said they were “fugly”.

That afternoon Maggie sat across from Lee, stitching eyes on to a bear with coloured thread. It was a gift for little Nabi, who spent as much time as she could in the company of the English aberrants. Maggie found it hard to believe she was Eun-mi’s sister. The two were poles apart. Six-year-old Nabi was a lively, excitable, curious child whose laughter could be heard ricocheting down the long, bleak corridors. Her raven hair was tied in bunches and her face was almost always scrunched up in a toothy grin that swallowed her almond eyes. She was nearly too cute at times and Maggie jokingly suggested Nabi had slid off one of the chocolate-boxy propaganda posters.

The six-year-old was besotted with Lee. He was something new and amazing to her. Black people were extremely rare in the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, usually embassy staff and diplomats who lived separately in gated communities. They had all been ejected from the country many months ago, so she had never seen anyone like him before. For the first few weeks she’d followed him around with an open mouth and bulging eyes. When he touched something, like a door, or set a cup down, she would pounce and inspect it to see if his colour came off. To begin with he yelled and roared at her and she would run and hide like a terrified hamster. But, eventually, she would come stealing back for more and gaze at him with those bright, worshipping eyes.

Even though he was still numb with grief and raging against his chains, Lee found it impossible to take his anger out on Nabi. He knew exactly what Charm would do if she was still alive. She would have befriended and loved the child and so he tolerated her.

That morning she was sitting next to Maggie, watching the bear take shape and insisting it look fiercer by making savage faces and growling. Her English consisted of the few words and nursery rhymes Gerald had taught her and several other pieces of choice language that she had picked up from Lee, which always scandalised her sister, if her vocabulary stretched that far. Then there was that infamous occasion when Nabi had squealed, tunelessly, in front of their father, “I see you, baby, shakin’ that ass, shakin’ that ass.” For three weeks after that she was forbidden to visit the refugees, but had finally managed to bring the General around, as she always did.

Outside the refectory, in the long, gloomy corridor painted a bilious green that was blistered and peeling, Spencer waited for Martin and Gerald to return. There was nothing else to do; besides, he liked being on his own. In this place there was little privacy. The dorms were smaller and more cramped than the huts in the camp had been and the toilet facilities were basic and communal.

He scuffed the worn heel of his shabby shoes across the concrete floor and the sound went echoing eerily up and down. Five small dorms, the refectory, the shared bathroom, the stone steps to the terrace and Lee’s hospital room were accessed by this broad yet claustrophobic passage. Further on it turned a sharp right corner into the prohibited area with the mysterious doors they weren’t allowed to enter.

Spencer glanced towards that corner and squinted at the armed soldier standing rigidly still there. It was impossible to be alone anywhere here. If it wasn’t the guards, it was the other children, or visits from that overzealous, pushy doctor wanting to do more tests. The boy craved a bit of solitude. He yearned for the desolate stretches of sand dunes in his home town of Southport and missed the lonely walks he used to take there out of season, when he could roam all day and not meet another soul. Everything about this place was so oppressive, at times it made him breathless. It wasn’t just the joyless regime and the fear of what lay ahead, but the mountain itself. He tried not to think about the millions of tonnes of rock that surrounded him, but was constantly aware of them and could almost feel them pressing down.

He would often lie awake in his bunk, listening to the distant noises of the base and the eerie sound of the air coursing through the vents and tunnels. If the main entrance was open, and the wind came squalling in, it howled through the connecting passageways. When other unknown and distant doors were unbolted, it could be like the whispering of ghosts. Spencer wondered how frequent earth tremors were in this part of the world. One slight judder would be cataclysmic and the mountain would come crushing down. When he did sleep, it was fitful and shallow and the faintest creak or scratching of mice caused him to lurch awake.

Unlike the other refugees, he didn’t call this place Titipu. Instead he preferred ‘the Hole-in-the-Wall’ after the Wild West hideout of outlaws. But that didn’t help much. Passing a hand over his bare head, he tried to suppress the anxiety he could feel rising in his chest. The loss of his Stetson had been like a kick in the gut. It was his comfort object and he felt bereft without it. In the camp, when the Punchinello with the silver nose had swiped it from him, at least Spencer knew where it was. These people had probably burned it and that likelihood distressed him deeply. Maggie had been extremely sympathetic, but the waistcoat she had made was no substitute for his beloved hat, although he secretly liked it when Lee called him “Sheriff Woody”.

Spencer turned his unhappy face to the other end of the corridor, where it opened out on to one of the main tunnels. Digging his cold hands into his pockets, he leaned against the rocky wall and waited.

“It really Christmas already?” Lee asked, back in the refectory.

“At the end of the week,” Maggie answered. She had been telling him Gerald’s plans for the choir.

“Dunno how or why you bother keepin’ track. Ain’t no point no more.”

“I bother because it helps,” she said.

“One day’s like every other in this dump. Could be Pancake Tuesday for all the difference it makes. Those things mean nuthin’ now. Sooner you stop pretendin’ they does, the better.”

Maggie didn’t let him nettle her. She had got used to his attitude and temper. After all this time, they were like background noise, but he was getting worse and not many of the others talked to him any more. Today he was particularly volatile and ready to kick off. She didn’t know the details of his nightmare, he never shared them with anyone but the doctor, but everyone could hear his screams.

“Gerald says he makes fantastic mince pies,” she rattled on, “with chocolate in. They must be gorgeous. Suppose it’ll be same old kimchi and rice or noodles here on the day.”

Nabi’s ears pricked up. “Kimchi!” she repeated, patting her stomach and nodding. “Good yum.”

Lee curled his lip at her and she squirmed with pleasure.

“Long as it’s not no more of those thin spicy soups,” he grumbled. “Thought we’d done with that kinda slop when we left the camp.”

“Don’t suppose I’ll ever so much as sniff another roast potato,” Maggie said mournfully.

“Girl, you ain’t never gonna do a whole mess of things again. This, right here, this is your life now, till the Jaxers catch up with us – and that can’t be far off. After that, you won’t have no life no more. Think they’re gonna keep you as a pet or somethin’? The lot of you’ll be lined up against the wall and be a bullet buffet.”

“‘The First Noel’,” she declared, switching back to the subject of the choir. “That’s my favourite carol. I’d rather sing that old Slade song though. Bit too obvious what they’re about I suppose, so we probably won’t be singing either of them. What’s yours? You must have one, even if you won’t join in with the Wenceslassing.”

He threw her a disbelieving ‘WTF?’ glance. “You think you pierced my brain when you did my ear?” he snapped. “I ain’t forgot the last time we sang ‘Silent Night’, over the grave of that crazy kid Jim, who thought he was a superhero and got himself stuck in the guts. Have you?”

“Ah, of course – his name was Jim. Poor lad.”

“And there’s no way I’m ever gonna forget what that Ismus guy wants outta me. Don’t you remember what he said when you, me and Spence went to Mooncaster that time? I do not want to hear no songs about no towns in Bethlehem or herald angels bein’ noisy in the neighbourhood and I specially don’t wanna hear nuthin’ about no shepherds. You got that? I am gonna be spending that entire day hooked up to my bleepy machines in my hospital bed – Scroogin’ it large.”

Maggie had forgotten nothing about that, how could she? But she had hoped he’d stopped brooding by now. She was wrong. That time when Lee had accidentally dragged her and Spencer to that other fantastical realm, the Ismus had proposed a disgusting bargain that she had never been able to get her head around. That evil man had promised Lee could be reunited with Charm, there in Mooncaster, but only if the boy did something for him, only if he killed someone – someone very special.

“That was just mad talk,” she said with a frown and a shrug. “He was screwing with your head. I don’t believe it; it isn’t possible. There’s no way she can come back, not even there. You know what he’s like, all filthy lies and nastiness. What he says eats at you because that’s what it’s meant to do. Best to shut it away and not think about it – ever. Drive you nuts that will.”

Lee swung his feet off the table and pushed his chair away. Not think about it? It was the only thing that kept his heart beating throughout the day, and what fuelled his nightmares. He gave his chains a sharp tug and one of the attached guards blurted an angry protest. If he hadn’t been tethered in this way, Lee would have returned to Mooncaster long ago. His mind was made up. He was going to accept the Ismus’s obscene offer. He would do anything to have Charm back in his life, even if it meant spending the rest of their days in that extreme world of castles and monsters. He had to be with her.

He was about to leave when the door opened and Spencer entered. His spectacles misted over as they encountered the warmer air. Some of the girls sniggered idly.

“Er… Martin and Gerald are back,” he announced, wiping the lenses. “The jeep’s just pulled in.”

“Woohoo,” Lee uttered woodenly. “Break out the Pringles and party dips.”

“Ohhh… Pringles,” Maggie breathed dreamily.

The other children stopped what they were doing and faced the door. Those weekly meetings were their only source of outside news and they looked forward to them with an intense mix of curiosity and dread.

“They don’t seem happy,” Spencer warned everyone.

“When is Baxter ever happy?” Lee asked. “He gets off peddlin’ the-end-is-nigh stuff.”

“Shh,” Maggie hissed.

The door opened again and the two men came in. A shocked murmur escaped the children’s lips. Spencer’s warning had been a huge understatement. They looked terrible. Maggie rose and tried to take Gerald’s hand, but he said he was fine and eased himself on to a chair. It was the first time he had looked his age. Little Nabi pattered over and rested her head on his arm.

Perching on the edge of a table, Martin considered what to tell them. There was no point concealing what had happened and these kids had been through too much already not to know the truth.

“No easy way of saying this,” he began solemnly. “And maybe I should wait till you’re all here, but you’ve a right to be told straight away. Now I don’t want to alarm you…”

“Spit it, Baxter,” Lee heckled. “You ain’t on TV now, no need to milk your moment. Get to the point.”

“One of the Marshals, Tark Hyun-ki, had been turned,” Martin continued. “He started reading from it in the meeting.”

The children uttered cries of dismay. They all knew exactly what ‘it’ was and they also knew this day was inevitable, but it was still an appalling jolt.

“Oh, game over!” Lee snorted with a twisted grin. “Why’d it take so long?”

“What about the others in the meeting?” Maggie asked. “Are they Jaxers now as well?”

Martin shook his head. “The Marshal was shot, killed before he could turn anyone else.”

“What?” Lee roared in disbelief. “You know better than that! It don’t take more than a few lines to sucker some people in. You, me, we both seen that happen.”

“No one else was affected,” Martin repeated firmly.

“You is talking pure, unrefined, steamin’ straight from the sphincter BS and you know it!” the boy countered. “This is how it starts. Every damn time! Them words is in this base now. No way that guy was the only one. It’s gonna be all round this place like the flu, come tomorrow. You can say goodbye to playing hide-and-seek. We been busted and that Ismus is gonna be poncin’ through this ass end of nowhere any day, rubbin’ his greasy mitts together.”

“There is no immediate danger of that happening!” Martin stated, raising his voice. “This facility is still the safest place for us and will continue to be defended for some time.”

Lee jumped to his feet. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Listen to you!” he shouted. “Who does you think you is? You don’t have no special handle on this. You know nuthin’! You is nuthin’!”

“Sit down!” Martin told him.

“What? You don’t get to order me around, Baxter. You ain’t in no classroom no more and you sure as hell ain’t the boss of me. I’m outta here – can’t stand the stink of stoopid in the morning.”

He yanked on the chains and the guards marched with him to the door.

Martin ground his teeth. That lad was impossible. He took a calming breath, but, as Lee left the room, he heard him growl the word “Loser” and Martin boiled over.

Racing into the corridor after him, he surprised the four guards when he grabbed hold of Lee’s shoulders and pushed him against the wall. The Koreans shouted and brandished their rifles to make him back off, but Martin was so incensed he didn’t hear them.

Lee yelled fiercely and lunged at him, but the chains stopped his fists flying. It took all four guards to restrain him.

“Touch me again and you’re dead, Baxter!” the boy raged, kicking out.

“What is your problem?” Martin shouted. “From the minute we met you’ve done nothing but antagonise and undermine me. So you’ve had it rough. Big deal. There’s not one of us who hasn’t. What makes you different, what makes you so special?”

Lee raised his hands and rattled the chains, almost proudly. “Is you dumb or what, Mr Maths Teacher?” he sneered. “These make me special. I’m the Castle Creeper – I’m the most special and coolest thing there is.”

A slow, mocking grin appeared on his face. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s what this is about, ain’t it? You can’t stand that you’re just another nobody now. All that TV you used to do, telling the world how bad that book is, all them shrill blogs and runnin’ from country to country, tweetin’ and preachin’ – pushin’ your own brand of panic an’ drama at anyone who’d listen. Thinkin’ you’re the leader of some sort of resistance, what a joke!”

“Oh, you really are a piece of work,” Martin growled in disgust. “You make me sick. And to think, at first, I couldn’t wait to meet you. You were going to be the answer to this madness. I honestly believed you were going to turn it around. Well, more fool me!”

Lee laughed at him. “Don’t feed me that. You’re the one who thought he was somethin’. Austerly Fellows’ great nemesis, the badass Martin Baxter, the saviour from Suffolk who tried to save humanity single-handed. You got hooked on bein’ famous, dintcha? Man, that is pathetic. While the rest of them out there got addicted to the book, you became a fame junkie – just another media ho. ‘Loser’ don’t even start to cover it.”

“Shut up. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I know them Generals all laugh at you. You got nuthin’ worth sayin’ to them at their meetings, you deludenoid. You ain’t no leader, no hero, just another sad reject what got caught up in this at the start an’ don’t know when it’s over.”

“And what are you? Council-estate scum! I’ve taught hundreds of identical no-marks, who can’t even spell ‘GCSE’. They drift their way through school and can’t wait for it to be over so they can start claiming benefits and sponge off the rest of us.”

“Yeah, the likes of me is what your taxes kept in flat-screens and Nikes. Real generous of you, thanks. And guess what, soon as this place gets Jaxed, I’m headed to Mooncaster to live it up as a prince.”

Martin stepped back. “You’d really do that, wouldn’t you?” he said in disbelief. “Kill the Bad Shepherd, even knowing who that is. You’d sell out everyone, just so you could get back with your girlfriend.”

“Hell, yes! If you hadn’t grassed me up and got me cuffed, I could’ve gotten there months ago. And don’t tell me you wouldn’t do exactly the same to get your old lady and her kid back – even though the Ismus has been bangin’ her this whole time and got her knocked up.”

Martin flew at him. Before the guards could intervene, he punched the boy in the stomach and cracked him across the chin. Lee crumpled to the floor, but he was laughing, knowing his words had hurt the man far more.

Martin would have waded in again, but the rifles came jabbing at his chest and Gerald’s hands were pulling him away.

“Leave it,” the old man said. “Grow up, the pair of you. I could knock your heads together, squabbling like toddlers. Martin, you go get some fresh air and you, Lee, go cool off somewhere else.”

Lee looked up at him. He had a wary respect for Gerald. That old guy had seen it all and had faced more discrimination, suffered more hate and prejudice from society than anyone he knew. Back in Peckham, Lee’s gang never messed with people like Gerald. They couldn’t be intimidated and fought vicious and dirty.

Rising, he was about to give Martin a parting snarl when a military ambulance braked at the end of the corridor and Doctor Choe stepped out, yapping instructions and slapping the vehicle’s side. Two soldiers jumped from the back and together they hauled down a stretcher bearing the body of Marshal Tark Hyun-ki.

The children had crowded out of the refectory to watch Lee and Martin’s fight and the few in the dorms had come to their doors to do the same. Now they watched in silence as the Shark was carried past. A blanket had been thrown over him. Doctor Choe guided the bearers down the corridor. They passed the guard stationed beyond Lee’s room and disappeared round the corner, into the prohibited area. When they had gone, the teenagers noticed a trail of blood dotting the concrete floor.

They stared at it in thoughtful silence. Lee was right: the power of the book had infiltrated the base and the clock was ticking. They weren’t safe here any longer.

“Never saw Doctor Frankensoo so stoked,” Lee observed dryly. “Like she got a whole new set of sticky toys to play with.”

“I wonder who the Shark thought he was in Mooncaster,” Spencer mused aloud.

“Hope it was the dung guy,” Lee said. “Nobody’s gonna waste no tears over him. That piece of crud wanted to turn me into a suicide bomber. Sizzle in Hell, you sorry-assed douche.”

The others began filing back into the refectory and the girls from the dorms hurried across to join them to find out what had been going on. Maggie went in search of a mop and bucket.

“So here it is, merry Christmas,” she muttered under her breath with heavy sarcasm. “Everybody’s having fun. Look to the future now, it’s only just begun… not.”

Little Nabi wanted to take a closer look at the blood, but Gerald led her back inside instead. There was something he wanted to ask her. Doctor Choe had just used the same word he had noted earlier in the meeting.

“Nabi,” he began with a friendly, coaxing smile.

“Itsy bitsy!” she demanded, pouting because he had denied her young bloodlust. For a little girl whose name meant ‘butterfly’ she took great delight in the gruesome.

“Later,” he promised. “I want to know, what does pookum mean?”

“Itsy bitsy!” she said, stubbornly folding her arms and glowering.

The old man realised he’d get nothing out of her until he complied. It was one of the nursery rhymes he had taught her. She enjoyed it because there were actions. She loved making spider legs with her fingers and miming raindrops and sunshine. Gerald spoke the rhyme with her and then she insisted he do it a second time.

“She’s got you well trained,” Spencer commented.

“Now pookum,” Gerald asked her again. “What does it mean?”

The six-year-old laughed and shook her head. “Nabi no no,” she gurgled.

“Maybe you’re not pronouncing it right,” Spencer suggested.

Gerald tried again, using the same inflection he had heard in the meeting earlier and just now in the corridor. Nabi put her head to one side attentively, but smiled ever wider.

“No!” she declared.

“Never mind,” Gerald sighed. “You’re probably too young to know anyway.”

“What do you think it means?” Spencer asked.

The man shrugged. “Probably just me fretting over nothing as usual. Evelyn’s always telling me—” He broke off, startled at himself. He tried not to talk about ‘Evelyn’, having suppressed her since leaving Felixstowe with Martin a year ago. But her name had been on his lips more and more recently. It was as if she refused to be forgotten. That was so like her.

Spencer noticed Gerald was disconcerted, but he didn’t like to pry. He fiddled with some snippets of olive-coloured cloth lying on the table and waited. He was slightly in awe of Gerald, ever since he discovered the old man had once worked with the legendary John Wayne on a movie, in London, back in 1975. Gerald’s part only amounted to one line that had been cut from the final edit, but he had still shared the screen for a few seconds with ‘the Duke’ and that elevated him in Spencer’s eyes to some stratospheric level way above ‘cool’.

Nabi gave a small exclamation of understanding and pulled at Gerald’s arm enthusiastically.

“Boo gum!” she cried. “Boo gum!”

Grabbing the discarded stuffed bear, she laid it on its back with its legs in the air. Then, using the scissors, she mimed cutting it open.

“Boo gum!” she said gleefully, her eyes vanishing in her expansive grin.

“What was that?” Spencer asked, mystified.

“I think she’s just demonstrated an autopsy,” Gerald murmured faintly.

“Oh, well, that makes sense,” the boy said, not sure why the old man looked so afraid all of a sudden. “That’s what Choe’s going to do to the Shark, isn’t it? Although I’d have thought cause of death was pretty obvious, what with it happening right in front of you all.”

The old man made no response. He didn’t want to tell Spencer the doctor had used that word long before the Marshal had been shot. A ghastly chill crept along his spine and he shivered.

“I need to talk to Martin,” he said quickly. “We can’t stay here.”

Doctor Choe Soo-jin dismissed the stretcher-bearers and her technicians from the laboratory, which also served as an operating theatre, and put on a plastic apron.

The lab, like much of this base, wasn’t furnished with the most up-to-date equipment, but what it had still did the job efficiently. It was vaguely reminiscent of an old-fashioned, large and sinister kitchen and smelled sharply of antiseptic. Yellow tiles covered the walls, one of which was taken up by four great ceramic sinks. A blood analyser that looked more like a bulky photocopier stood in one corner and a cream-coloured refrigerator, showing signs of rust, occupied another. Cylinders of gas stood in a row like the artillery shells in the munitions section of the base. Electrophoresis apparatus, microscope, centrifuge, organ bath, steriliser and other instruments were stored neatly along two Formica counters, as if they were food appliances. Then there were metal trays containing surgical saws, serrated knives and scalpels, drill bits, retractors, clamps and rasps. Beneath the counters were built-in cupboards that housed the beakers, test tubes, flasks and Petri dishes. The glass-fronted cabinets fixed to the walls contained drugs, medicines and chemicals that were kept under lock and key.

Two stainless-steel examination tables, with leather restraints, were in the centre of the room. The body of Marshal Tark Hyun-ki occupied one of them; a cardboard box containing the remains of the spider creature he had shot near the demilitarised zone was on the other.

The doctor hooked a paper mask over her nose, mouth and ears. Her excitement caused her hands to tremble slightly. At last she would have a subject to study, in forensic detail. She needed an affected specimen such as this and she had never liked the man. He had been more than vocal in his scepticism of her competence and had insulted her more times than she cared to remember. Medicine was not considered a suitable occupation for women and she had worked and studied three times as hard as any man to get to where she was.

But there was no sense of triumph or acrimony involved as she looked forward to dissecting him. Her scientific hunger pushed any personal feeling aside. The Marshal was merely a resource now, an object to document and label. She was eager only to discover answers to this mystery. The power of that book simply had to change the biology. She had a theory about the hypothalamus that she was keen to explore, and other investigations would prove invaluable. She was glad also that the restriction had been lifted and she would presently be able to test those same theories on the English refugees.

Moving to the table, she lifted the blanket and extreme disappointment registered in her eyes. As a result of the gunshot wounds, there wasn’t a hypothalamus to examine. Letting the blanket fall once more, she looked up and her glance rested upon the cardboard box on the other table. Curiosity dispelled her frustration. The box had arrived in her absence and she approached it with interest.

A copy of the Newspaper of the Workers, Rodong Sinmun, covered the dead creature inside. Cautiously, Doctor Choe Soo-jin removed the paper and peered down.

Her surgical mask distorted as she inhaled sharply. The thing was unlike anything she had ever seen. It was the size of a small terrier and its eight spidery legs were wrapped in a tangle round a body covered in matted black fur. The repulsive face with its wide mouth, crammed full of sharp fangs, was upturned and the round, glassy eyes seemed to be staring straight at her. She couldn’t help shuddering and she wondered how it was possible – how could this have come from a book of children’s make-believe?

Her thoughts returned to the meeting and those introductory words the Marshal had read out. She recalled that they had sounded pleasant at the time. What was there to fear in them? A wide sea, dappled with silvery light, sparkled in her thoughts, giving way to a green land of thirteen rolling hills and, in the central plain, rising over a quiet, sleepy village, the turrets and high walls of a beautiful white castle.

Inside the vault, in the room adjacent to the lab, the wand of Malinda began to glimmer once more.

The doctor shook herself and her training regained control. She would record everything: tissue samples, blood, musculature, skeleton. This was a totally new species. A series of photographs would have to be taken before any examination could take place, however, and there simply wasn’t time for that at the moment.

Lifting the box and shying away from the pungent odour rising from the Doggy-Long-Legs within, she carried it to the fridge and deposited it inside. She would attend to this monster later. But first she had other experiments to conduct.

Pulling the mask under her chin, she went to the door and spoke to the guards outside.

“Bring one of the Western children,” she commanded, “immediately!”

The guards bowed smartly and hurried up the corridor.

Doctor Choe returned to the metal trays and began selecting the knives she would need, a razor to shave the child’s head – and a surgical saw.