Dreamcatcher(109)

Owen listened with a sick fascination he hoped didn't show on his face or at the top level of his thoughts, where Kurtz might still have access.

From his inner pocket, Kurtz now brought out a dented box of Marlboro cigarettes. He offered the pack to Owen, who first shook his head, then took one of the remaining four fags. Kurtz took another, then lit them up.

'I'm getting the truth and the spin mixed in together,' Kurtz said after he'd taken a deep drag and exhaled. 'That may not be the most profitable way to get on. Let's stick to the spin, shall we?'

Owen said nothing. He smoked rarely these days and the first drag made him feel light-headed, but the taste was wonderful.

'The President will say that the United States government quarantined the crash site and the area around it for three reasons. The first was purely logistical: because of the Jefferson Tract's remote location and low population, we could quarantine it. If the grayboys had come down in Brooklyn, or even on Long Island, that would not have been the case. The second reason is that we are not clear on the aliens' intentions. The third reason, and ultimately the most persuasive, is that the aliens carry with them an infectious substance which the on - scene personnel calls "Ripley fungus". While the alien visitors have assured us passionately that they are not infectious, they have brought a highly infectious substance with them. The President will also tell a horrified world that the fungus may in fact be the controlling intelligence, the grayboys just a growth medium. He will show videotape of a grayboy literally exploding into the Ripley fungus. The footage has been slightly doctored to improve visibility, but is basically true.'

You're lying, Owen thought. The footage is entirely fake from be inning to end, as fake as that Alien Autopsy shit. And why are you lying? Because you can. It's as simple as that, isn't it? Because to you, a lie comes more naturally than the truth.

'Okay, I'm lying,' Kurtz said, never missing a beat. He gave Owen a quick gleaming look before dropping his gaze to his cigarette again. 'But the facts are true and verifiable. Some of them do explode and turn into red dandelion fluff. The fluff is Ripley. You inhale enough of it and in a period of time we can't yet predict  -  it could be an hour or two days  -  your lungs and brain are Ripley salad. You look like a walking patch of poison sumac. And then you die.

'There will be no mention of our little venture earlier today. According to the President's version, the ship, which had apparently been badly damaged in the crash, was either blown up by its crew or blew up on its own. All the grayboys were killed. The Ripley, after some initial spread, is also dying, apparently because it does very poorly in the cold. The Russians corroborate that, by the way. There has been a fairly large kill-off of animals, which also carry the infection.'

'And the human population of Jefferson Tract?'

'POTUS is going to say that about three hundred people  -  seventy or so locals and about two hundred and thirty hunters ?are currently being monitored for the Ripley fungus. He will say that while some appear to have been infected, they also appear to be beating the infection with the help of such standard antibiotics as Ceftin and Augmentin.'

'And now this word from our sponsor,' Owen said. Kurtz laughed, delighted.

'At a later time, it's going to be announced that the Ripley seems a little more antibiotic - resistant than was first believed, and that a number of patients have died. The names we give out will be those of people who have in fact already died, either as a result of the Ripley or those gruesome f**king implants, Do you know what the men are calling the implants?'

'Yeah, shit-weasels. Will the President mention them?'

'No way. The guys in charge believe the shit-weasels are just a little too upsetting for John Q. Public. As would be, of course, the facts concerning our solution to the problem here at Gosselin's Store, that rustic beauty-spot.'

'The final solution, you could call it,' Owen said. He had smoked his cigarette all the way down to the filter, and now crushed it out on the rim of his empty coffee cup.

Kurtz's eyes rose to Owen's and met them unflinchingly. 'Yes, you could call it that. We're going to wipe out approximately three hundred and fifty people  -  mostly men, there's that, but I can't say the cleansing won't include at least a few women and children. The upside, of course, is that we will be insuring the human race against a pandemic and, very possibly, subjugation. Not an inconsiderable upside.'

Owen's thought  -  I'm sure Hitler would like the spin  -  was unstoppable, but he covered it as well as he could and got no sense that Kurtz had heard it or sensed it. Impossible to tell for sure, of course; Kurtz was sly.

'How many are we holding now?' Kurtz as ed.

'About seventy. And twice that number on the way from Kineo; they'll be here around nine, if the weather doesn't get any worse.' It was supposed to, but not until after midnight.

Kurtz was nodding. 'Uh-huh. Plus I'm going to say fifty more from up north, seventy or so from St Cap's and those little places down south . . . and our guys. Don't forget them. The masks seem to work, but we've already picked up four cases of Ripley in the medical debriefings. The men, of course, don't know.'

'Don't they?'

'Let me rephrase that,' Kurtz said. 'Based on their behavior, I have no reason to believe the men know. All right?'