“Be careful, Blade,” Geronimo yelled.
“Use the rifle,” Hickok urged.
The ladder bounced slightly as Morlock climbed above the water level and beamed at the giant. Secure under his left arm was the bottle. “Did you miss me?” he asked and tittered.
Blade arched his spine, letting his upper back float to relieve some of the strain on his tired legs. He hefted the Marlin, his eyes on Morlock.
“I wouldn’t waste my time using the rifle, if I were you. This plastic in shatterproof. You could smash it with a sledgehammer, and it wouldn’t crack.”
“Has anyone ever tried?”
The question elicited another cackle. Morlock climbed laboriously to the top of the ladder, pausing every three or four rungs to adjust his grip on the bottle.
What was in there? Blade wondered. What was worth such effort? He glimpsed small, dark forms being swished about but couldn’t identify them. Goose bumps broke out all over his skin.
Morlock was careful not to expose himself. He kept his head below the plastic rim and grinned. “You must be curious about my surprise package.”
Blade wasn’t about to give him the courtesy of a response.
“There is a stream about a quarter of a mile south of the castle. Quite by accident I discovered that a marvelous mutation inhabits its water. I went fishing one day, tossed in my line and pulled out one of these amazing creatures.”
Lightly stroking the Martin’s trigger, Blade waited for the madman to lift the bottle above the rim.
“I had no idea what I’d caught and foolishly tried to remove it from my hook. The thing clamped onto me and wouldn’t let go. I was forced to return to the castle and used a candle to burn it off. By then, of course, I’d lost a pint or two of blood.”
Geronimo and Hickok were listening attentively, their countenances reflecting their worry.
Morlock grunted and tightened his hold on the bottle. “My research indicates this particular form of mutation once existed as common flatworms. As you might know, free-living flatworms exist in ponds, streams and oceans all over the world.”
Blade’s forehead knit in perplexity. Worms? The man had worms in there? What possible threat could worms pose?
“Some flatworms closely resemble leeches, which might explain these mutations. Of course, few grow as large or become aggressive, but radiation is notorious for drastically altering genetic traits,” Morlock said, starting to raise the bottle toward the rim.
Blade held the rifle at water level, his stomach muscles tightening. The madman must not be accustomed to having victims fight back, he reasoned, or else Morlock wouldn’t make such blatant mistakes.
The demented lord looked into the bottle and snickered. “Are you thirsty, my little ones?” He glanced at the giant. “They haven’t been fed in days. I’d imagine they’re famished.”
A few more inches, Blade thought, his visage impassive.
“Time for the festivities,” Morlock said and hoisted the container above the edge of the plastic wall. He held it steady in preparation for upending the contents into the tank.
Blade was ready. He snapped the Marlin to his shoulders, took a hasty bead on the middle of the bottle and fired. The booming of the 45-70 almost deafened him.
The slug smashed the bottle to pieces and sent a shower of glass, water and mutations spraying down on both sides of the wall. Most of it struck a shocked Morlock full in the face, and screaming, he brought up his hands to shield his eyes and lost his balance. Desperately he tried to grab a rung, but he plummeted from the ladder.
All this Blade barely noticed. He had problems of his own. Three dark forms had dropped into the tank and disappeared in the soup. He swam to the far corner and pressed his back to the wall, waiting for whatever they were to attack.
They didn’t waste any time.
Something crested the surface and made a beeline for the youth, its slender shape visible as a dark brown blur, throwing off a narrow wake.
Blade levered a fresh round into the chamber, pressed the rifle to his shoulder and tried to track the speeding mutation. He squeezed off a shot when the thing was only inches from the end of the barrel, and the mutation promptly dived. He had no idea whether he’d scored or not.
“What are they?” Geronimo called out.
“Use the rifle on the wall! Use the rifle on the wall!” Hickok stressed urgently.
Feeding in another round, Blade turned right and left, his legs kicking vigorously. He envisioned one of them going for his groin and involuntarily shuddered.
Suddenly Morlock appeared, his features a mask of fury, blood seeping from a half-dozen cuts on his face and neck. Dangling from his left cheek and his forehead were two of the mutations. He shook his right fist at the giant and bellowed, “Damn you! Damn you all to hell!”
Blade couldn’t help but look.
The mutations were a foot in length and two inches in width, except at the center where they tapered to an inch. Their bodies were essentially flat, but their heads were round and the size of a grown man’s fist.
Somehow the creatures had latched onto Morlock and were sucking his blood.
“I’ll be back!” the madman shrieked and ran toward the door, tugging in vain on his unwanted appendages.
Blade gulped and scanned the water. Where were they? Had the shot deterred them? Even more important, how could he get out of there before the things tried again?
He stiffened when he felt a nudge on his right ankle. It had to be one of the mutations! The nudge was repeated on his shin, then his knee and his inner thigh. The thing was working its way up his body, perhaps seeking naked flesh.
Blade stared straight down, transferred the rifle to his left hand and drew his right Bowie. He distinguished the rippling form of the bloodsucker several inches below his belt, writhing snakelike. Elevating the knife above his head, he froze until the thing was level with his belt, then speared the point into the water.
The Bowie connected, slicing the creature open, and black fluid poured from the wound. Instantly the thing angled toward the bottom and vanished.
Two down, or at least wounded, Blade congratulated himself. But he’d been lucky. He couldn’t expect to hold them off forever. Had Morlock succeeded in dumping in the entire bottle, he’d probably have a dozen of the mutations gorging on his blood. He glanced up at the transparent walls, racking his brain for a way out. They were shatterproof, Morlock had boasted. A sledgehammer wouldn’t crack them, which meant his Bowies were useless.
Another thin shape materialized on the surface eight feet away and swam toward the youth as if propelled by a rocket.
Blade saw it coming and braced to meet the slender monster, swinging his right arm on high and bringing the Bowie down again at just the right moment, trying to cleave the creature in two. He missed.
He glimpsed a circular head rearing out of the water, a head consisting entirely of a gaping mouth ringed by tiny, tapered teeth. From the mouth protruded a tubular tongue six inches long. And then the mutation smacked into his abdomen next to his navel, and an incredible pain lanced his gut. Those tiny teem sank in and held fast. He doubled over, feeling as if someone was gouging his midriff with a scorching poker.
It was the thing’s tongue!
Blade realized the creature was seeking a vein or an artery. With a supreme effort he straightened, stuck the knife in his mouth with the sharp edge outward and tried to seize the writhing horror. Its slippery body squished through his fingers again and again. In desperation he seized it near the head and finally succeeded in getting a firm grip. He yanked, but the mutation was locked onto his body.
“Use the rifle on the wall!” Hickok bellowed. “Use the rifle on the wall!”