Jenny Plague-Bringer(77)

“And now the third goat,” Dr. Wichtmann said. “This one, thirty seconds.”

“It won’t live!” Juliana said.

“Now,” Dr. Wichtmann said. “Thirty seconds.”

Juliana bit her lip as she eyed the third goat, its eyes rolling in terror at the screams of the other two. She forced herself to reach for it, and this time she grabbed it around the neck, thinking to make the animal’s death as quick and merciful as possible.

She imagined the demon plague pouring out of her hands like a swarm of poisonous black flies, burrowing straight toward the center of the goat’s brain. It bleated, and blood poured from its eyes, mucus and brain fluid from its mouth. Its head fell apart, and the portion of the neck she held in her fingers rotted away.

The headless goat fell to the floor of its cage with a sickening splatter sound. A wave of dark sores rippled across its front legs and abdomen, but stopped halfway along its body, because the goat was dead. Its back half still looked perfectly healthy, except for the blood slowly seeping its way through the goat’s fur.

Juliana stepped back, shaking, with bits of deteriorating skull and brain dripping from her bloody fingers. She looked at Dr. Wichtmann and shook her head. She didn’t want to do it again, and three more goats remained.

“That is enough,” Dr. Wichtmann said. “The other three goats are controls. You may...”

Another scientist tapped Dr. Wichtmann’s shoulder and pointed. A small group of S.S. officers appeared in the window beside the scientists, led by a man with poison-green eyes and close-cropped hair the color of burnt copper. His face was all hard slabs, and his colorless lips pressed together, almost too small to see. His black military cap had a small eagle and a skull and crossbones on the front, and he had oak leaves on his lapel, signifying some kind of rank. Two younger men in black uniforms stood a step behind him.

Dr. Wichtmann saluted the man with his palm out and conversed with him in German. Then Wichtmann turned toward Juliana. “This is Group Leader Kranzler, the man in charge of the base. He wishes to inspect the results of your test,” Wichtmann explained.

Kranzler looked down at her, and then he and the two S.S. men stepped back from the window. Less than a minute later, the laboratory door opened, and Kranzler marched inside, right toward Juliana. The two men who accompanied him followed very slowly, as if they were afraid to go near her like everyone else. Kranzler’s eyes bored into her as he approached, and he did not look scared at all. He looked like he meant to crush her in one of his large fists.

He stopped to look her over, then looked at the goats. The first one had stopped panicking and gone into a kind of shock. The second lay on its side, groaning and vomiting as it died. The third lay completely still, its head just a lumpy, dark puddle on the cage floor.

Kranzler surveyed them carefully, then spoke to Juliana in German.

“Gruppenführer Kranzler would like to know why the second one dies more slowly, when its wounds extend all over its body. The third goat died before the infection fully spread,” one of the younger S.S. men translated. Both of them remained near the door, ready to run away.

Juliana shrugged. “I guess I concentrated it. Like a cannonball.” She pressed her hands together, in case that made anything clearer.

Kranzler listened to the translation, then muttered in German. The other S.S. men laughed, followed quickly by the scientists above.

“What did he say?” Juliana asked the translator.

“He says, the Reich no longer needs an army. We can simply place you alone on the battlefield.”

“I would not recommend it,” Juliana told him. Kranzler himself laughed when he heard the translation, and everyone hurried to join in. Then he spoke to her at length.

“The Gruppenführer wishes to convey his great joy at having such a valued guest as you,” the translator said. “He asks whether your accommodations have been pleasant, or whether you lack for anything.”

Juliana could have said that she didn’t want to kill any more animals, but she didn’t think her opinion would matter much. She realized that this man held the true power here, and he was trying to decide how he might use her. The thought made her more than a little uneasy. His face was like iron...despite what his assistant said, he did not look like a man feeling great joy, or deeply concerned about her comfort.

“Tell him my accommodations are fine, thank you,” Juliana said, eager to escape Kranzler’s powerful, penetrating gaze.

Kranzler touched the brim of his hat, then crisply turned and walked away, followed by his two assistants, who quickly closed the door behind them.