By Oboroten
The ambulance hurried through the narrow roads on the far side of Border Street, rushing to get to the isolation wing of Central Hospital. In the back, sealed off from the nervous driver, Dr. Foster attended to his three patients. No one else rode with him due to fear of immediate infection.
Two of Foster’s charges, a bloody hyena morph and a tiger-man, were unconscious, recently sedated by tranquilizer darts. The physician had enough trouble dragging them onto gurneys as the surrounding police officers were unwilling to help. They had been far too afraid of contagion, fearing any form of physical contact.
The third patient was still awake but delirious, undergoing the throes of a bizarre metamorphosis. Shocked by the sight, but finding it very stimulating to his scientific curiosity, Dr. Foster scratched his head. How could this possibly happen?
Speaking into a recording device, he started to report his findings, "This is Dr. David Foster, describing an incredible phenomenon. While I’ve read reports of how soldiers were transformed after exposure to the aliens' gas, I never thought I would personally witness something like this with my own eyes. It’s all happening so quickly! Victims of the gas changed slowly, becoming more bestial day by day, but this process is much, much faster. Each time my eyes blink, his form looks a bit different . . ."
"Aaargggh," growled the man clutching his side, as his teeth grew more pointed and elongated. Popping sounds could also be heard from his jaw as it started stretching out into a doglike muzzle. Despite the changes, he was able to grab the jacket draped over his shoulders with his right arm, wrenching it off to one side.
Dr. Foster, to his fascination, noticed that the man was not only becoming more canine in appearance but also growing in size. Becoming taller. "This is truly remarkable," he declared, "The subject at first appeared to be a seventeen-year-old Caucasian male. Initial symptoms, umm. Hyena-morph bite on left arm, causing a severe laceration with rough, ragged edges. His fingernails were discolored and thickened."
"It’s not from Sid," snarled the man, whose changes appeared to have slowed for the moment. "Though I’d sure like to bash his head in after what he did to my apartment. I’ll shove glass down his throat!"
"Calm down," advised Dr. Foster, looking anxiously at his patient’s bleeding left arm. "I don’t fully understand what’s happening to you, but extreme anger seems to be a side-effect of this, um, alteration in form. Perhaps a sedative is needed. I’ll see what I can do. Just try not to move your arm around, as this may be spread by blood."
Thrashing his right arm to the side, the man fumbled for the left pocket of his jacket. He had difficulty opening it, as his fingers were already twisted into half-claws. More worried than before, seeing the violent movements of his patient, Dr. Foster looked around the back of the ambulance to see if there were any other tranq darts.
"You gotta see this, Doc," said the man, grabbing something in his furry right hand. "This is the stuff that did it. Hair of the dog, I guess."
"Hair? It really is spread by hyena fur!" exclaimed Dr. Foster, anxiously glancing at the sleeping hyena-man strapped to the gurney. He’d already touched quite a few tufts of loose fur hauling the beast-man inside. Concerned, he glanced down at his hands to see if his fingernails had also started to transform into something inhuman.
"Nah, it’s somethin’ you drink."
Turned back quickly, he saw the man holding an uncapped flask, full of a strangely glowing green liquid. He was lifting it slowly, for he was having difficulty controlling his shaking arm, which grew a bit bigger with each passing second. "Don’t drink any of that compound!" yelled Dr. Foster, reaching forward to grab the bottle away.
"Damn, I spilled some," muttered the man, as a few drops spilled onto his left arm. He abruptly dropped his head down, starting to lick the spot where the drops fell. Meanwhile, Dr. Foster was able to take the bottle from his outstretched hand, which immediately began to quiver and shake.
Picking up a cap lying on the man’s folded jacket, Dr. Foster firmly stuck it back on the bottle. "This appears to be the same substance I saw in the Scanlan laboratory," he reported, while placing the bottle in a secure container. "The odor is unmistakable. It must be treated as a biohazard - extremely dangerous."
"The patient now seems to be undergoing convulsions," he added. "Well, perhaps that’s not quite correct. I’m looking down at his left arm now. Truly remarkable - his deep wound is almost gone. Before my eyes, I can see his skin pulling together as his arm contracts in size. It’s losing fur too, looking more and more human.
But there’s something else. I’ll need the proper equipment to document this, but he doesn’t seem to be losing any mass. It’s like everything is being compacted, pulled together into a more dense form. I can see the muscles bulging under the skin where the green fluid hit them, very taut and yet somehow, I’m sure, just as big as before.
His face is also changing rapidly. It’s covered with sweat, as the metamorphosis seems to generate extreme heat. Even at this distance, I can tell that he’s running a high fever.
Now, um, his mouth has also been affected. He started panting, a reaction to the sudden onset of the change, I’m sure. Although his teeth were still largely canine, his tongue has rapidly assumed a human form. I’m confident that’s because he licked a small amount of the chemical off his forearm. Just a drop or two!
The substance must be distributed by the circulatory system to the rest of the body, um, as he’s becoming more, err, humanized, yes, humanized, with each passing moment. I can see his nails flattening, on both his hands and feet, losing their dark color. The thick fur is almost all gone now. Also, the shrinkage, err, packing-down process, is accelerating. It gives him a more youthful appearance as well, although I don’t think this substance provides true rejuvenation."
Still shaking for a few seconds as the transformation stopped, the man reopened his eyes, looking directly back at Dr. Foster. "Huh? Didn’t I see you last at Scanlan’s place? Back when that whacked-out scientist . . ."
"Jethro Scanlan has been respected for many years in the medical community. But I’m afraid that his judgment has weakened with old age. It seems that some unscrupulous people, errr, things, have taken advantage of his easy-going nature to . . ."
"I dunno about him," the man interrupted. "But I’m tryin’ to figure out what happened to me. It’s like some freaky dream. After I got back from the Stray Dog, um, . . ."
"Please continue."
Eyes blazing with fury, the man stared at two prone forms on nearby gurneys. "That tiger-man ripped down my door and Sid tore my place up! I’ll rip his lungs out!"
"They are both heavily sedated, so you have nothing to fear," Dr. Foster continued. "Please try to restrain yourself, as this drug seems to severely impact the emotions. Umm, when did you say you met me? I don’t remember."
"Oh, that’s when the Capital City Police sent me. Charlie Coyote, sleuth-hound. Or at least, that’s what I used to be," he said, glancing down at his fully human hand. "It looks like there really is a cure!"
"I wouldn’t bet on that," continued the physician, glad that he’d locked the bottle solidly inside a container.
"But I feel great now! Full of energy! Why, I could rip those straps off, wrench Sid off that gurney, and hurl him against the wall."
"Don’t be too hasty," Dr. Foster cautioned, "Your mind is being influenced by the drug. It will start to wear off soon. The ambulance is now heading up the drive to the hospital, where we’ll have specialists to look after you."
"But I don’t want it to wear off!" exclaimed Charlie, looking at his own reflection on a shiny metallic container. "The feeling’s so great, uuuh, it’s like I’m on top of the world." He barely noticed the back door of the ambulance opening, as several men wearing isolation suits rushed up to the end of the vehicle.
"I’m pretty sure it’s not contagious," said Dr. Foster, holding the lock-box in his hand. "The real culprit is the chemical I obtained . . ."
"Give it to me now, Doc" Charlie suddenly yelled, eyes wide open as he suddenly ran to Dr. Foster’s side. "I need more!"
"We can’t take any risks," replied the muffled voice of one of security men. "No one’s going anywhere but the isolation wing. All of you are under quarantine now."
Several miles away, in a run-down, grimy section of Beast Town, a group of carnivore gangsters awaited their new leader. They normally had no respect for herbivores, but their attitude had changed drastically in only one day. Also, they all heard rumors that the new boss might be able to make them human again, at least for a little while.
A scowling rabbit man walked into the room, his maddened eyes blazing red. "Where’s that idiot pig? I gave him a simple job to do and he screws it up royally."
"We nabbed him a few minutes ago," said a shrew-morph, pointing at another door, where a lionman and a wolflike woman were hauling a prisoner inside. He squealed repeatedly in pain, as one of his tusks was broken off, while blood poured out of the side of one of his ears.
"You fool!" exclaimed the furious lapine, baring his long front teeth like the fangs of a rat. "All you had to do was get one bottle, just one, and you couldn’t even do that right."
"But I didn’t really want to be a boar this time," protested the captive, "You’re the one who said I needed to become one, because you needed to track the smell . . ."
"I needed someone with brains," interrupted the rabbitman, roughly kicking the boar-man’s side with his needle-clawed back paws and then dealing him a raking blow across the face. "Not a fool. You ran away, lettin’ the cops nab two . . ."
"But the kangaroo, um, Jack, he was workin’ for Gates. I couldn’t let him get any of the stuff. C’mon - how was I supposed to know a roo could beat up a tigerman?"
Growls and snarls rose from the surrounding crowd. The wolf-woman grabbed a baseball bat in her right claw, while other carnivores reached for their weapons as well. That’s exactly what Howard wanted, for ferocity and aggression were all that mattered here. Inspired by the lapine’s example, the lionman abruptly clawed the boarman’s arm, tearing a deep gash.
"When you work for Howard Hare, you get things done," insisted the rabbit-man, looking down at the groveling pig. "How did I know you didn’t betray us? By now the police may have the chemical, my chemical, in their lab. I can’t tolerate failure. We’re all part of a pack, umm, team here. If you’re not a team player . . ."
"But I can explain, Jeth . . ."
"Shut up! I don’t want to hear any more of your lousy excuses. I trusted you, but you left your assignment unfinished. Now, there’s nothing more to be said."
"Can’t we make a . . ."
"You’re in no position to bargain! You’ve tried my patience once too often, you dirty little beast."
"But I had to run . . ."
"No one serving me runs from a fight. Now, there's nowhere left for you to run. We’re going to destroy you!"
The lion-man threw the boar against the door, while other carnivores gathered for the kill.
"Bash his brains in!" ordered the lapine gangster, although this time his followers didn’t need much encouragement. The wolf-woman quickly started smashing the boar’s skull with her baseball bat, while the other predators tore at his side. The only one not to join in the feeding frenzy was the shrew-morph, who stayed at Howard’s side.
"So, what’s that you were sayin’ ‘bout a revolution? Somethin’ 'bout bein’ our general, an’ helpin’ us beat up all the humans?"
"Yes, I will lead you to victory," said Howard, momentarily averting his eyes from the bloody scene near the doorway. His lapine instincts recoiled from the sight, but his inner nature wanted blood. "I see this place as my own Efrafa, a warren of like-minded killers who will join my quest. We will make all the humans join us, becoming just like us. Those who refuse will be exterminated."