Fear. Shock. He wheeled to Judith White.
He saw his ear for the last time. It was balanced on the tip of her tongue like a single red-tinged potato chip. She smiled as she flipped the clump of skin and cartilage back into her bloodred mouth. A few quick chews followed by a solitary gulp, and the ear was gone forever.
"I bet you can really hear my stomach rumbling now," she said with a broad grin. Blood filled the spaces between her flawless teeth. His blood.
He was too frightened to speak. Too scared to scream.
And as the young geneticist's eyes pleaded for mercy, Judith White padded forward. To feed.
Chapter 14
Remo stood alone, a silent sentry at the front window of his Quincy condominium.
The street beyond was eerily calm. Night shadows skulked near curb and corner.
Few cars traveled the roadways so late on a normal night. This night there were far fewer than usual. The BBQs. Fear of the beasts had rippled out from Boston into the outlying communities.
Of course, the odds were astronomical against anyone encountering one of the creatures, even if all of the remaining animals were at large. But that didn't matter to the population of Boston and its suburbs.
Even Remo wasn't immune to believing that he might actually spy one of them. In his case, however, it wasn't fear, but hope. He wanted more than anything to corral the BBQs and return them to BostonBio.
The BBQ project was on the verge of collapse, yet its original goal-to feed the starving worldwas noble. If the project was at all salvageable, Remo would do whatever he could to help.
And so he waited. Staring out at the dark and empty street. Half-expecting to see a herd of wild BBQs thunder past his home, yet knowing full well that he would not.
There seemed to be one silver lining in the events of late.
The noises had started filtering down from upstairs an hour ago. No more were they hushed, one-sided conversations. These were packing sounds. Whatever business Chiun had been up to, it appeared to be coming to an end. He was putting away his candles and incense.
After standing alone for what seemed like an eternity, Remo finally heard the door to Chiun's room sigh gently open. He didn't hear a footfall on the stairs, nor did he expect to. Only when he detected the familiar rhythmic heartbeat did Remo turn.
The Master of Sinanju sat angelically on the floor in the center of the living room, as if he'd been there since the floorboards were nailed in place. He wore a brilliant sapphire kimono, adorned with swirling purple peacocks. The flowing robes were arranged around his bony knees.
The wizened Korean seemed as old and wise as Time itself. His ancient skull was covered with a sheet of skin like thin, seared parchment. Twin tufts of yellowing-to-white hair sprouted out above each shell-like ear. A thread of beard adorned his chin. Youthful hazel eyes regarded Remo from amid knots of wrinkled lids.
Remo's smile was thin but genuine. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Little Father," he said.
"Thank you, my son," Chiun replied. "You managed to keep your screaking and clumping within acceptable limits during the weeks of my spiritual journey. You are to be commended." He tipped his head in an informal bow.
That Chiun should emerge from hiding in such a good mood was cause for concern to Remo. He pushed thoughts of their recent trip to Hollywood from his troubled mind.
"I have a problem," Remo said, returning the bow. When he lifted his head, he saw that Chiun was no longer looking his way.
The old man was craning his neck in birdlike curiosity as his gaze moved from one corner of the room to the next. When he looked back to his pupil, a confused shadow had settled over his bright eyes.
"Where is my gift?" he asked with simple innocence.
Uh-oh, Remo thought. He immediately racked his brain.
It wasn't Chiun's birthday, not that they celebrated it anyway, thanks to Remo. Christmas was three months away, though rarely were gifts exchanged between them on what Chiun considered a pagan celebration of the birth of "that nuisance carpenter." That left the Feast of the Pig and the anniversary of the day they'd met. But the Feast of the Pig was still some time off, and Chiun had never seen the day of their first meeting as something worth rejoicing over. Indeed, for the first ten years of their association, the only way Remo ever knew the date had roiled around yet again was from the appearance of a black armband over the Master of Sinanju's kimono sleeve.
He came up empty. Remo bit his cheek. "Gift?" he asked guiltily.
"It is customary after a journey, is it not?" Chiun replied, a creeping tightness to his singsong tone. Remo let the captured air escape from his lungs. "It's customary to give gifts, Little Father. Not get them. Besides, you didn't go anywhere."
The cloud of Chiun's brow darkened. "You are telling me you got me nothing?" he accused. Remo's eyes darted left and right. He was trapped.
"Nothing," he blurted, "except that I felt kind of sad without you here to talk to. And now that you're back, I'm sort of happy." His hesitant voice grew stronger. "So I guess that's what I got you. A son's love." He smiled hopefully.
In spite of himself, a spark of warmth ignited the old man's eyes. An upturned flicker brushed the vellum corners of his thin lips. He forced it away.
"In lieu of a brass band, I suppose it will have to suffice," Chiun sniffed. "Next time I return from a pilgrimage of self, however, I expect a present with a price tag." He fussed with the hems of his kimono.
"One Mylar balloon coming up," Remo promised, relieved to have dodged the bullet. "Anyway, a lot of junk's been happening since you pulled your 'Louisa May Alcott does Hollywood' routine."
Chiun's eyes instantly narrowed. "You have not been listening in on my telephone conversations?" he accused.
Remo sighed. "No," he said.
"Good," Chiun responded. "For there were none."
Remo didn't bother to mention the fact that the last phone bill he'd seen would have choked a horse. "Chiun, I have a problem."
"That is nothing new. Speak, O Giver of Cheap Gifts."
"Smith has given me an assignment. A genetics company has created an artificial animal that can feed the world. But it looks as if the animal is vicious. People have died."
"All people die," Chiun said, dismissing the last of what his pupil had said. "We know this better than any. As for the rest, I do not understand this nonsense of an artificial animal, yet I know well of many animals deemed vicious."
"The fact that it might be a killer isn't the only problem," Remo explained. "A couple million and a good PR firm could help BostonBio wiggle out of that. The weird thing for me is the tracks these things leave."
He explained to Chiun the stark difference between the hoofprints of the BBQ at rest and the paw prints it made following its murderous attacks. Chiun frowned thoughtfully. "A bird walks, yet it flies," he pointed out. "A duck does both, yet also swims."
"The BBQs don't have wings," Remo said. "And they'd need pontoons to float. They just have big clumsy feet that somehow morph into something delicate when they kill."
Chiun's frown lifted. "Do you remember, Remo, the riddle of the Sphinx?"
"Sure," Remo said. "You told me it back when you were dragging me all around the world during the Sinanju Rite of Attainment. The riddle is, whose face does the Sphinx wear? And the answer is the face of the Great Wang."
Lines of frustrated annoyance creased the old man's parchment skin.
"Why is it, Remo, that you appear never to listen to a word I say, yet apparently absorb just enough to aggravate me at a later date?"
Remo offered a confused half smile. "Luck?" he suggested.
Chiun's gaze was flat. "I refer to the Egyptian riddle. What is it that walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon and three legs at night?"