Phantoms

asked. “You’re talking about things that took a minute or two to happen. But these people died fast . In just a second or two.”
    “Besides,” Jenny said, “as I remember the scene in the Oxleys’ den, there weren’t any signs of struggle. People being smothered to death will generally thrash like hell, knock things over—”
    “Yes,” the geneticist said, nodding. “It doesn’t make sense.”
    “Why are all the bodies swollen?” Bryce asked.
    “We think it’s a toxic reaction to the preservative.”
    “The bruising, too?”
    “No. That’s… different.”
    “How?”
    Sara didn’t answer right away. Frowning, she stared down at the coffee in her mug. Finally: “Skin and subcutaneous tissue from both corpses clearly indicate that the bruising was caused by compression from an external source ; they were classic contusions. In other words, the bruising wasn’t due to the swelling, and it wasn’t a separate allergic reaction to the preservative. It seems as if something struck the victims. Hard. Repeatedly. Which is just crazy. Because to cause that much bruising, there would have to be at least a fracture, one fracture, somewhere. Another crazy thing: The degree of bruising is the same all over the body. The tissues are damaged to precisely the same degree on the thighs, on the hands, on the chest, everywhere. Which is impossible.”
    “Why?” Bryce asked.
    Jenny answered him. “If you were to beat someone with a heavy weapon, some areas of the body would be more severely bruised than others. You wouldn’t be able to deliver every blow with precisely the same force and at precisely the same angle as all the other blows, which is what you would’ve had to’ve done to create the kind of contusions on these bodies.”
    “Besides,” Sara Yamaguchi said, “they’re bruised even in places where a club wouldn’t land. In their armpits. Between the cheeks of the buttocks. And on the soles of their feet! Even though, in the case of Mrs. Oxley, she had her shoes on.”
    “Obviously,” Jenny said, “the tissue compression that resulted in bruising was caused by something other than blows to the body.”
    “Such as?” Bryce asked.
    “I’ve no idea.”
    “And they died fast,” Lisa reminded everyone.
    Sara leaned back in her chair, tilting it onto its rear legs, and looked out the window again. Up the hill. Toward the labs.
    Bryce said, “Dr. Yamaguchi, what’s your opinion? Not your professional opinion. Personally, informally, what do you think’s going on here? Any theories?”
    She turned to him, shook her head. Her black hair tossed, and the beams of the late-afternoon sunlight played upon it, sending brief ripples of red and green and blue through it the same way that light, shimmering on the black surface of oil, creates short-lived, wriggling rainbows. “No. No theories, I’m afraid. No coherent thought. Just that…”
    “What?”
    “Well… now I believe Isley and Arkham were wise to come along.”
    Jenny was still skeptical about extraterrestrial connections, but Lisa continued to be intrigued. The girl said, “You really think it’s from a different world?”
    “There may be other possibilities,” Sara said, “but at the moment, it’s difficult to see what they are.” She glanced at her wristwatch and scowled and fidgeted and said, “What’s taking them so long?” She turned her attention to the window again.
    Outside, the trees were motionless.
    The awnings in front of the stores hung limp.
    The town was dead-still.
    “You said they were packing away the decon suits.”
    Sara said, “Yes, but that just wouldn’t take this long.”
    “If there’d been any trouble, we’d have heard gunfire.”
    “Or explosions,” Jenny said. “Those firebombs they made.”
    “They should’ve been here at least five… maybe ten minutes ago,” the geneticist insisted. “And still no sign of them.”
    Jenny remembered the incredible stealth with which it had taken Jake Johnson.
    Bryce hesitated, then pushed his chair back. “I suppose it won’t hurt if I take a few men to have a look.”
    Sara Yamaguchi swung away from the window. The front legs of her chair came down hard against the floor, making a sharp, startling sound. She said, “Something’s wrong.”
    “No, no. Probably not,” Bryce said.
    “You feel it, too,” Sara said. “I can tell you do. Jesus.”
    “Don’t worry,” Bryce said calmly.
    However, his eyes were not as calm as his voice.