“I understand completely,” Barrett said. “That’s why we’re here.” He walked along the refrigerated cabinet, opening one steel door after another and sliding out the cadavers. He touched each body for a long moment before moving on to the next. “Have you heard of vodou, General Kranzler? It’s a form of sorcery brought from Africa by slaves. It flourishes in the West Indies and in parts of the American South.”
Kranzler shook his head, wondering what Barrett was rambling about.
“A sorcerer, or bokor, can have the power to trap a dead man’s soul in his body, and thereby reanimate the flesh. The bokor is the master of those he brings back to life.” Barrett turned at the end of the morgue and walked back toward them, past the dozen bodies he’d left out on their rolling trays. “The dead that he commands are called zonbi.” Barrett raised his hand, and every cadaver he’d touched sat up on their trays as if alive.
Kranzler jumped, and Alise took his hand, looking pale.
“The zonbi are slaves to the bokor,” Barrett continued. The undead bodies twisted and rolled off their trays, some of them falling to the floor before gaining their feet. They shambled and lurched in a loose mob behind Barrett as he continued approaching Kranzler and Alise, letting out an occasional moan or a noise like a quiet sob. “I even traveled to Haiti to learn more, but the priests and sorcerers refused to speak to a white man about such things.”
Barrett stopped in front of them, while the gang of zonbi trailed behind him, their dead eyes blank, mouths gaping, cold limbs moving stiffly.
“I was born with the power of bokor, the power to make zonbi,” Barrett said. “Like Juliana and Sebastian, it transfers through touch. You understand now my long interest in human genetics and evolution, trying to understand my own power scientifically. My long support of the Human Evolution Congress.”
Ward nodded. He was doing the same thing with this project, testing other humans with supernormal abilities as a way to understand his own. He watched the approaching zonbi mob warily, but they finally fell into a ragged line behind Barrett.
“Herr Barrett,” Alise said, “You are clearly gifted with a large, impressive power. I’m sure we would love to test and experiment, to find out more...”
“I am not here as a lab rat,” Barrett said. “I only want Juliana.”
“There are more complications with that girl specifically,” Kranzler told him. “No one can touch her without dying, except for Sebastian...as the man who recruited them for us, you must know this.”
“She can touch me,” Barrett said. “We’ve already discovered that.”
“Truly?” Alise seemed particularly interested now. “A second person resistant to her plague? She never told us.”
“You must let me see her,” Barrett insisted.
Alise looked to Kranzler, curiosity in her gray eyes.
“Perhaps we could arrange a meeting, but there must be security precautions,” Kranzler said. “And we guarantee nothing. Don’t you agree, Alise?”
“Of course we can guarantee nothing,” Alise said. “We cannot force people to feel attraction for each other. For best results, both should be at least somewhat willing. None of us can control the desires we feel.” She looked Barrett in the eyes for a long moment. “Can we?”
“She’s willing,” Barrett said. “Even more than she knows. Just leave me alone with her.”
Kranzler looked at Alise for her opinion.
“I don’t see why not,” Alise said.
“We’ll keep guards outside the room,” Kranzler said. “The girl is dangerous.”
“She’s no danger to me.” Barrett smiled. “Thank you, Herr Kranzler.”
“I’m very glad we could accommodate,” Kranzler told him. “We only ask that you not give the girl any serious physical harm—she is a valuable test subject.”
“I do not intend to give her pain,” Barrett said.
“Do you intend to give her pleasure instead, sir?” Alise touched his hand, and he laughed.
“We should rejoin the party,” Kranzler said. “Eugen Fischer from the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute is here, and I’m eager to hear his opinion on our approach to racial progress. Even the Fuehrer listens to him on matters of eugenics.”
* * *
Ward stood alone in the morgue again, the strains of Die Walküre still fading in his ears. The ghost of Kranzler was gone again, for now, but he couldn’t help imagining the steel doors around him opening, the trays quietly sliding out, the dead rising from their slumber...