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

Mitch looked from the images the scientific team had captured and back to his—the shape and structures were the same, and the only real differences were that their pollen spore was a desiccated fossil, and his was hydrated, colorful, and alive.

He then focused on the microscopic seed—this remained a mystery. However, there was one suggestion, and the only clue was from an impression in some Devonian period slate for something similar. And that was from around 400 million years ago and came from the very first seed-bearing plants.

“The seed of the first tree,” he whispered.

“Doctor Taylor, Mitch…”

Shelly’s voice from the reception area rose in pitch and Mitch emerged from his practice rooms.

“What is it, Shell…?” Mitch frowned as Sheriff Kehoe and his deputy held a tarpaulin sheet between them with something heavy in it. “What the hell is this?”

“Like your opinion on something, Doc.” Kehoe paused. “Where to?”

“Where? Ah…” Mitch might have made them take it back outside but he could see the worry on the sheriff’s face. He looked around. “In the surgery room.” He went and pushed another door open, which had a steel bench inside and was a pristine white.

Kehoe and Deputy Anderson carried the thing in and hefted it up onto the bench. Kehoe then flipped the cover back. He didn’t say a word, just looked from the thing to Mitch with his arms folded.

“Holy shit.” Mitch lifted a hand to it, then stopped. He moved to a shelf and grabbed some disposable gloves, then tossed the box to Kehoe. He pulled them on and approached the thing.

“What is it?” he asked.

Kehoe snapped on the gloves and went to the other end of the creature. He carefully reached along the spiked and splintery-looking neck and lifted something. Mitch craned forward and saw it was a dog collar.

“I believe this is, was, Buford, Harlen Bimford’s faithful old hound.” Kehoe looked up. “It attacked him.”

Mitch peered inside the shotgun wound in its side. He snorted softly. “Even the organs look petrified.” He looked up. “You said this thing was alive?”

Kehoe nodded. “According to Harlen. It attacked him and he had to shoot it.”

The sheriff peeled off his gloves. “Over to you, Doc.” He nodded to his deputy and they headed for the door.

“Hey, wait a minute. You can’t drop this on me and then just back out.” Mitch began to follow them.

Kehoe turned at the door. “You’re the coroner as well, Mitch. Plus, the closest thing we’ve got to an onsite forensic pathologist. It’s got to be you.” He went out. “Let me know what you find.”

The door closed behind them and Shelly came in, watching them go for a moment. She turned. “I used to date Pete Anderson.” She dragged her eyes away from the young man to alight on the deformed dog. “What’s that?”

Mitch’s sigh turned into a groan. “Right now? Just more work.”

*****

Mitch washed his hands, dried them on a towel, and turned back to old Buford’s body. He had needed to use an electric bone saw during the autopsy, and on completion still had no idea how a biological entity could reorganize itself so completely.

Mitch suddenly had a hunch, grabbed the saw, severed the stomach and intestines, and set to opening the now leathery bag of a gut. He laid them open and sorted through their contents.

“Phew.” He grimaced and held his breath as the gases rose from the pile—in amongst the mush was dog food, some of Harlen Bimford’s shirt, and also plenty of liquid. But there was no flesh in the stomach or the intestines that might have belonged to Hank Bell.

He sighed. “So, I can rule you out as a suspect.”

Mitch used a large syringe to take a sample of the liquid and placed it under his microscope.

“Hmm.” He enlarged the view and adjusted the overhead light—sure enough, there were the tiny flecks of the flora he had seen in the water sample from the mine pool.

“Well, well, well.”

He looked back over his shoulder at the hound’s deformed body and remembered what his friend, Greg, had told him—that the people seemed to be undergoing some sort of transitional process. He continued to stare at Buford—was this the end stage? Or were there more changes yet to occur?

Scientific curiosity gnawed at him. He wondered whether the animal had been up to the mine and had swum in or drunk the water. Or had he ingested the water flora somehow, somewhere else. Harlen might know, he guessed. Or he might not.

A rustling from behind made him turn to see Willard the greasy black rat chewing on the edge of his newspaper. Willard stopped and stared back at him through the bars of his cage with tiny red eyes like polished glass.

“Wasn’t my idea, buddy.”

Mitch had come back into his office a few days back to Shelly announcing the rat had been caught. Thinking back now, he couldn’t remember whether he said he wanted him caught or caught and taken away. So the rat, Willard, had taken up residence. For now.

Mitch continued to watch the little animal for a moment before he slowly turned to where he had set up his testing station and racks of test tubes. One of them still contained the greenish water he had collected from the mine pond.

He turned back to the rat. “Hey, Willard, want to finally be useful and help me with a little experiment?”

The rat stared back, its nose twitching.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He crossed to the test tube rack and also grabbed up a small stopper. Crossing back to the rat’s cage, he used the stopper to draw up some of the greenish fluid and then squirted it into Willard’s drinking water.

After a moment, the entire mixture was green, and the rat’s nose twitched as if it had a life of its own and soon pointed toward the water. Willard went and immediately drank some of the fluid.

“Good boy.” Mitch smiled then quickly went to a notebook and jotted down some observations and