Seed of Evil by Greig Beck (great reads .txt) 📕

Wainright had been understandably overwhelmed and had called in the authorities. The CDC arrived first, and then some other government types that Wainright noted he never found out who they really were.

The children, all of them that could be located, had been evacuated, and from what Mitch read and understood from the notes, none of them ever returned. Not them, or their families.

Where did they go? Mitch wondered.

Wainright blamed himself for informing on them, but what else was he supposed to do? He had no chance of curing or even diagnosing what was happening to them.

Mitch had so many questions, but the only person who could have answered them had just taken his life.

He felt sorry for old Ben Wainright, keeping this to himself all these years. He just gave thanks he’d never be tested like the old man was.

Mitch paused at the thought. He’d just seen young Kenny Hatfield with a skin rash.

Not the same thing, he thought confidently. But then… He might just check in on the kid tomorrow.

CHAPTER 15

Marshal Simmons wiped his hands on a rag and jammed it into the back pocket of his blue coveralls. The sun was down now, the last of his mechanics had gone home, and he was getting ready to shut up shop.

There were a few vehicles waiting for some minor work, but only a few. Business was getting tough. The new cars these days were basically computers on wheels. They hardly ever broke down, and you didn’t put your head under the hood to see what was going wrong—you simply plugged them into some other computer thing and let it run a diag-nos-tic over the entire system, from its air-conditioning to the transmission. Then the damn thing told you what work it needed.

He sighed. There wasn’t enough in the kitty to afford one of those things, and so for now, he relied on the old-timers like himself to bring in their aging autos.

Marshal didn’t have any kids to leave the garage to, so when he retired or died, the garage would die with him. That’s progress, he thought glumly.

The smash of glass from the rear of his workshop snapped his head around.

“Who’s there?” He stared into the darkness.

The sound wasn’t repeated, but a sixth sense told him he wasn’t alone anymore. Marshal walked softly to a workbench and grabbed up a long, silver wrench and then tiptoed between two cars toward the dark rear of the shop. He immediately regretted not flicking the overhead lights back on, but that’d mean backtracking now.

There came a skittering sound, and he wondered whether there were raccoons in the building. If one of his mechanics had been leaving food in the bins, he’d skin ‘em alive.

“Garn, git!” he yelled.

The workshop remained silent.

Marshal had two options: he could flick on the lights and spend hours doing a search of the workshop for some critter making mischief in here. Or he could leave it until tomorrow morning when the sun was up.

Easy decision.

“See you tomorrow.” He tossed the wrench onto a bench top and turned away.

The thing that landed on his back was damn heavy, and hard, and no damn raccoon. It felt like it was made of rock or wood as its fingers or claws dug into the meat of his neck while hissing like a boiling kettle.

“Get offa me!” he yelled while waving his hands over his head.

His flailing left hand got bit, crunching the bone and making blood spurt. Marshal was forced to the ground and wailed as the thing then started to drag him, its claws digging deep into his flesh like daggers.

He skidded across the floor and managed to catch sight of himself in the glass doors—it didn’t help; the thing that had hold of him was basically human-shaped, but shorter, and it moved weirdly like an insect, with skin that was all horny and rough.

“Help!” he yelled.

And it was enormously powerful as it dragged him as if he weighed nothing. It leaped up onto a bench and went straight out through a broken window, taking Marshal with it.

“He-eeelp!” he yelled again. But no one came, no one heard.

My garage is dead now, he thought as he was quickly drawn away into the dark woods.

CHAPTER 16

Harry Reith held up the bottle of mineral water. The label showed the Eldon Spring Water brand and also had the words “super health tonic” in green calligraphy blazed across images of a crystal-clear lake, waterfall, and trees filled with rainbow-colored birds. The bottle’s glass was also green to hide the pale green tinge of the liquid, but as they had called it a health tonic, it didn’t really matter.

“Looks good.” He turned to nod to the assembled marketing, sales, and technical teams. “I’d buy it.”

He twisted the top and heard the hiss of escaping gas. He sniffed and then shrugged. “This is where the rubber hits the road.” He lifted it to his lips and sipped. He smacked his lips for a moment and then sipped again, longer this time.

He lowered the bottle and grinned. “This is good. Just a hint of lemon that combines with whatever shit was in there to give it quite a unique flavor.” He chugged down some more. “We might be onto a winner here.”

Reith took a few steps toward the window that looked out over the car park as his mind worked. Branding and advertising got people to buy their first bottle. But it was up to the flavor factor to bring them back for the next one.

He spun back. “Okay, let’s go with it, high scale. I want full production, ten thousand units per day to start. We’ll do a sample population test right here in Eldon, and if it works, we’ll move it out nationally to all our regular big buyers.”

Pete Coughlin grinned from ear to ear. “You got it, boss.”

“And get to work on some slick ads we can run nationwide. This could be the next big thing. And we