Twelve: Quarantine

 

 

MSNBC Studios

New York City

Thursday

MSNBC commentator Len Cannon looked up into the camera. His lantern jaw was set and his eyes were hard and red-rimmed, evidence of his sitting before the cameras for hours longer than his normal shift. On the counter beside him stood a tall monitor displaying the image of a live camera feed.

"We are continuing our coverage of the incredible events of today, where a woman who has somehow been transformed into a giantess arrived just over eight hours ago at a local hospital in the small rural town of Columbus, North Carolina," he said. "NBC reporter Richard Ravitch with our mobile unit is standing by on the outskirts of Polk County, and he has a report for us. Rich?"

"Len, we’re on Interstate 26 at the border between Spartanburg County, South Carolina, and Polk County, less than two miles from Columbus." Ravitch squinted in the glare of the video camera lights, shielding his eyes with his free hand. "All traffic approaching Polk County from any direction is now being diverted by North Carolina State Police and units of the 82^nd Airborne Army Division from Fort Bragg. As you can see, there is a substantial military-police presence just up this road from us."

The camera panned, revealing the shadowy silhouettes of military vehicles sitting amid a smoke of flashing lights some distance from the camera. The noise level rose. The image jerked upward to show a large, blacker blot in the night sky—a military helicopter bearing a searchlight, sweeping just overhead. Ravitch held his free hand over his head as the noise and wind created by the helicopter’s rotors washed over him, then turned back to the camera.

"Only military personnel are being allowed into or out of the county right now," he continued. "We’re told this is being done as a preventative measure, apparently because the authorities believe that whatever has caused this woman to grow to such an incredible size may be contagious. Also, all telephone and television communication has been cut off. No reason has been given for cutting off telephone contact with the people in the town."

The image changed. A previously-recorded montage of military vehicles moving across an unnamed road occupied the monitor.

"Neither we nor anybody else has been able to get any new pictures of the woman since the military ordered all news sources to cease transmitting three hours ago. We were able to contact the news people from WWRL and Fox News inside the town using cellular phones. They tell us they were directed away from St. Luke’s Hospital, where the woman is currently undergoing examination by Army and government medical and scientific experts. Who was ordering them out was not explained. As you know, Governor Symington has asked that martial law be declared in all of Polk county and the President agreed to enact martial law four hours ago. What was described to us by a spokesman as "domestic elements" of the U.S. Eighteenth Airborne Corps is now the law in Columbus."

"The news people we did talk to estimate that this woman is between thirty and thirty-five feet in height, or over six times normal size." Ravitch’s rumpled appearance returned to the screen. "Len, I think we can all recall the amazing pictures we saw a few hours ago, when this thing first started—a full-sized Humvee only came up to this woman’s shin. No one we have spoken to has any idea how she could possibly have become so gigantic. In the taped interview we all saw rebroadcast from our mobile units earlier today, the woman herself claims that contact with an extraterrestrial object was the cause of her incredible growth. The experts who have arrived here in the last few hours—from the Centers for Disease Control, the U. S. Army’s Communicable Disease Research Facility, the Department of Health and Human Services, and a myriad of other, less-well-known agencies—refuse to comment on the video and are not willing to offer opinions as to any possible cause for this woman’s extraordinary gigantism."

"Rich, Len Cannon in the MSNBC studios. According to that taped interview broadcast earlier today from the WKZZ-TV mobile van the woman claimed she was normal sized a week ago, and now she is the biggest living human in the history of the Earth. I mean, she has grown over twenty five feet taller in just a few days. None of the medical or scientific experts who have entered Columbus have offered any reason at all for her condition?"

"Len, no one has come out and said anything at all about what is happening to her. According to county sheriff Russell Thompson the government may have had knowledge of her existence—and her condition—ever since her growth first began to manifest itself. We have received no confirmation of that, and sheriff Thompson later informed us he has been ordered not to talk to us. It’s all questions and no answers here, Len."

"Thank you, Richard Ravitch, in Spartanburg County, South Carolina," Cannon replied as the image of the field reporter faded from the monitor. He turned to face the rostrum camera.

"MSNBC has confirmed the identity of the amazing woman in question," he continued. A grainy black-and-white picture of a small, slim girl wearing a cassock and mortarboard with a tassel appeared on his monitor.

"Eleanor Anderson, twenty-one years old, was a lifetime resident in the town of Middleburgh in upstate New York. She reportedly disappeared from her home where she lived alone a week ago and had been reported as a missing person. The photo you are seeing is from her high-school graduation. NBC interviewed the owner of the Rusty Nail, a bar and grill, where, until last Saturday, she was working as a waitress. The owner and patrons told NBC-TV reporter Ron Paul in an interview that Eleanor Anderson was five feet tall. Now, as you can see on our MSNBC monitor-cam—"

The image on the monitor beside Cannon now changed to show a side-by-side comparison portrait. On one side was the slender girl in a graduation outfit, the other a colossal-sized woman in off-white clothes sitting on her heels beside the red brick facing of the hospital building. Cannon turned and looked at the two images. For a moment his professional demeanor vanished and he shook his head, his eyes wide.

"Now, she is bigger. Amazingly bigger. And she is becoming the most important news event in this century, if not for all time. In a related story we have learned that the telephone switchboards of our network and the other major networks are being flooded with calls by viewers asking if what we have been broadcasting for the last few hours is real. Rest assured that everything we have reported to you so far is quite real, and we will continue to bring to you everything we learn as we learn it. This is MSNBC."

 

St. Luke’s Hospital

Columbus, North Carolina

Friday

"Okay, Ellie, I’ve almost got them all."

Ellie angled her head slightly to see around the curve of her chest as Dr. Canfield patiently freed the long rank of buttons retaining the folds of cloth under the left armpit of her bodice. She could feel the fabric around her bosom slowly loosening as she breathed. Canfield undid the last button and the cloth came free, rippling across Ellie’s front.

Ellie inhaled deeply in relief. A sudden spasm of vertigo caused her breath to catch in her throat. She closed her eyes and fought the feeling of nausea and disorientation the sensation caused. The sudden, rapid tightness of her formerly comfortable clothing and the need to let out all of the expansion panels at her shoulders, bodice, waist and hips confirmed that her growth rate had inexplicably accelerated. Re-experiencing the sensations she felt when she first began to grow made Ellie realize she had become accustomed to her steadily increasing size over the past few days—her comparative size increase each morning was less than the morning before, making the world seem a little less smaller to her each day. Now her growth rate had increased with a vengeance, and the symptoms she had first experienced were back in full force.

Canfield came out from under Ellie’s shadow. Ellie raised herself off her elbow until she sat half-upright in the fifteen-foot high space. She pressed down with her hands, momentarily levering herself off the concrete floor of the receiving bay to relieve the sense of tension in the fabric covering her buttocks. Lifting her chin, her hair rubbed against the steel roofbeams overhead. Canfield saw that the overhead lights were level with Ellie’s chin, leaving her face in shadow. Ellie managed a weak smile which Canfield echoed.

"You look tired," Ellie offered. Canfield stifled a yawn and waved off Ellie’s concern.

"Don’t worry about me, Ellie. I’ll go to sleep when I’m tired. How are you feeling?"

"All right, I guess. What time is it?"

Canfield looked at her watch.

"No wonder. It’s one in the morning." She blew out her cheeks. "It’s been a while since I’ve pulled an all-nighter."

The sound of the elevator door interrupted Canfield. Both she and Ellie turned as six people dressed in the all-too-familiar protective suits stepped out of the elevator car, their overshoes flopping hollowly on the floor. One hour after Ellie had slipped into the bay to see Steve, suited people suddenly arrived in the receiving bay, supplanting the squad of soldiers who had first arrived with Holmes and Canfield. They took up places inside the bay where they could observe Ellie—standing along the wall bordering the elevator entrance or among the packing crates and boxes. Most were carrying clipboards or notepads, and two had cameras around their necks. None of them had spoken to her, or to Canfield when she later returned to check up on her patients. After two hours the first group was relieved by another team of six. Now the replacement teams’ apparent surrogates had arrived, and they quietly trooped out of the space, cramming themselves into the elevator. Their substitutes, bearing similar accoutrements, occupied the same positions to continue their round-the-clock vigil.

Canfield put her hands on her hips as the silent parade take up the places formerly occupied by their comrades. She snorted and looked up at Ellie. Canfield frowned at the trenchant, almost angry expression on Ellie’s face—she was obviously running out of patience at the tactics of her inspectors. A distraction was needed. Canfield turned and stepped up to Steve’s bedside, grabbing up his wrist in an appearance of feeling his pulse.

Ellie followed Canfield’s movement. Her expression softened as her eyes fell on Steve’s sleeping form in the bed. She reached out and placed her hand on his peacefully sleeping form. He was free of electrocardiograph contacts and the worst of the antiseptic wash and the blood spatter on the exposed skin of his chest had been washed away. His color was almost normal, his breathing regular. Ellie began to make small circles against his chest with her fingertips. As Canfield watched Steve’s eyes began to move in reaction under their lids. He slowly drew his hand from under the covers and placed it atop Ellie’s. A small, almost childlike smile formed on his face. He sighed once, then turned his head on the pillow and fell into a deeper sleep.

"We slept this way every night we’ve been together." Ellie spoke softly. "He’d be on one corner of the bed, I’d put my hand on his chest, and he’d grab it."

"Ellie, he’s going to be fine," Canfield said. "He’s young and strong."

Canfield watched as Ellie bent her torso forward, planting her elbows at either foot of the bed without removing her hand. Canfield marveled at how gentle and delicate she was as she continued stroking him with a hand bigger than his torso, a real smile lighting her face. Ellie draped herself across the foot of the bed, her breasts smothering his legs below his knees. The smile lighting Ellie’s face broadened momentarily.

"What is it?" Canfield asked.

"He just squeezed my hand," Ellie replied. Her smile faded, and she turned to face Canfield. She sighed. "Speaking of which, I guess it’s time to take my measure again."

Canfield nodded. At her gesture Ellie reached out her free hand. Canfield took a measuring tape out of her coat pocket and laid it across the immense digit. She read the tape, and paused.

"How much?" Ellie asked softly. Canfield looked up.

"Your hand is now a full inch wider than it was an hour ago," Canfield said quietly. "If my sums are correct, that translates into a sixteen inch increase in height."

Ellie’s eyes widened, then blinked. She swallowed convulsively.

"Why I am growing so fast, now?" she asked.

"I don’t know, honey," Canfield replied after a moment’s pause. "I don’t know why you began to grow in the first place. Your accelerated growth began after you were shot. Maybe the trauma associated with the injury caused it. Maybe whatever is causing your growth recognized you were injured somehow and is trying to run its course more quickly. I’m sorry, Ellie. I just can’t give you a competent answer. How do you feel?"

"Like a freak," Ellie whispered in reply. She closed her eyes again—Canfield was sufficiently familiar with her patient to recognize Ellie’s reaction to another episode of vertigo—and the hand outstretched before Canfield suddenly balled itself into a fist.

"Ellie, bring me up there," Canfield said quickly, gesturing with her arms. Ellie wrapped her hand around Canfield, forming a seat under her middle. She straightened and lifted Canfield up until their eyes were level.

"Tell me what going on, honey," Canfield said softly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of their observers slip from his accustomed place closer to Ellie in an poorly-hidden attempt to overhear their conversation. Others began scribbling on notepads, and one watcher snapped a swift picture, the flash lamp throwing Ellie’s shadow in sharp relief on the opposite wall and ceiling. Ellie snapped around to face the picture taker. Her expression almost took Canfield’s breath away—bitter, angry, unhappy. He promptly made himself small beside the elevator door. Ellie turned back to Canfield and exhaled deeply, riffling Canfield’s skirt.

"I can really feel it this time, Joann," she murmured. "It’s just like when I first began to grow, except even more. The dizzy spells are making me sick to my stomach. I can feel my clothes getting tighter on me with every minute that passes." Ellie closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "I-I feel like I have no energy at all. I’m starting to feel—heavy. I feel heavy, and bulky, and massive. I’ve never felt anything like it before. It’s like my skin is being stretched too much, like I’m growing too fast. I’m scared, Joann, I’m really scared, now."

Ellie’s eyes strayed down to Steve, who still held her other hand trapped against his chest. She tried to smile and failed.

"You know what I want right now, most of all?" she said suddenly. "I want Steve to be awake so he could talk to me. He always knows the right thing to say, and do. He always made me feel all right, no matter how big I was." Her eyes trailed away from Steve, towards the watchers. Her expression hardened. "He never let me feel like I’m some monstrosity needing to be watched. You know, when we were in bed, I would close my eyes and imagine I was still normal-sized, lying beside him. Every night felt like the first night we were together. It was wonderful. I want to hear his voice. I want to hear him say those things to me again."

Canfield nodded, a sympathetic grin creasing her features.

"I think the two of you are very good for each other," she replied. She paused, considering, as she looked at Ellie’s frightened, desperate expression,.

"Let me tell you something," Canfield said suddenly. "When I saw the two of you together for the first time, it just seemed like you belonged together for some reason. You reminded me of—well, of me and my dearest when we first started getting serious about each other. Steve is really serious about you, you know."

Ellie looked down at Steve.

"I’m so big, now, "she said. "What-what if I never stop? Everyone who sees me is frightened of me. Is he, deep down, scared of me, too—"

"Ellie, what’s this thing digging into my butt?" Canfield suddenly demanded in a loud voice, pointing. Ellie started. She followed Canfield’s gesture and turned her hand slightly. Canfield was pointing to her engagement ring. Even in the dim fluorescent lighting of the receiving bay it sparkled and shone.

"Honey, don’t you ever think that Steve isn’t completely devoted to you," Canfield said, her tone low and earnest. "I’ve known him for the last five years. I think my Augie and I were probably the closest thing to social friends he’s ever had in his adult life. He was the most closemouthed, introverted man I’d ever met. Did he tell you that my dearest and I tried setting him up with dates? With some of the prettiest, most eligible and enthusiastic women in the area? I’m talking total knockouts—pretty as you." Ellie did not respond to Canfield’s sally. "D’you know that he would get letters from women—complete strangers—asking him to marry them, just because he had money? He didn’t pay any attention to them at all. He had buried himself in his labs, or in his office, to the point where I was really concerned he’d literally work himself to death."

Ellie looked down at Steve. Canfield saw concern cross her features.

"It’s because his parents died in an accident when he was a freshman in college," she continued. "He is a brilliant, gifted man, and he entered early, but at seventeen he was lazy, barely passing his courses. He kept promising them he would improve. Then, they were killed. He couldn’t stand the thought that he was a failure in their eyes when they died and he’s tried to make it up in memory of them. He became driven, and very successful. But there was still a void in his life."

"Then you came along." Canfield paused, nodding her head in emphasis. "And I have never seen him more alive and animated and loving than when he was standing or sitting beside you—or on you. You made him complete. Look down there. You see that smile? That didn’t start until after you put your hand on him. Don’t be silly, Ellie. That man down there loves you. Loves you in the worst way. And you love him, yes?"

Ellie nodded, an abashed grin crossing her face.

"I love him more than my life."

"Then stop being foolish, and watch over him. That’s what you’re here for, you know."

"I know," Ellie replied. She began to straighten up, lifting Canfield higher into the air. Her hand suddenly spasmed around Canfield’s hips, squeezing her.

"Oh, God, I’m sorry," Ellie said as she observed the grimace on Canfield’s face. "I-I felt dizzy again—"

"It’s okay, honey," Canfield replied immediately. "You didn’t hurt me." Canfield squirmed in Ellie’s grasp, and grinned. "You have got to be the gentlest, kindest thirty-odd-foot tall woman I’ve ever met."

Ellie snorted and echoed Canfield’s grin. "I’m the only thirty-foot tall woman you’ve ever met—but I wish I was thirty feet tall. I think it’s closer to forty feet, now."

Canfield nodded at Ellie’s change of mood. Her professional eye was telling her the same. She kept smiling in a gesture of reassurance.

"Maybe," she replied. "Now, put me down there so I can take another look at Steve."

"Thank you, Joann."

"You’re welcome." Canfield touched Ellie’s fingers as she loosed her hold around the doctor’s waist. "Now move you hand aside there a little and let me take a look at his wound."

Canfield quickly slipped on a pair of surgical gloves and moved aside the bedclothes covering Steve. She stifled a gulp of surprise as Ellie slipped down next to Steve’s bed, her legs bent almost double as she pushed aside stacks of boxes to fully spread out on the floor with her back to the freight elevator. Thirty-foot tall definitely was wrong, Canfield thought. Eleven hours after being shot. From two and a half inches per hour up to sixteen in the last hour. Forty feet is a pretty good estimate.

Lying on her side her head with her head propped up on one elbow Ellie could easily see Steve on the four-foot high hospital bed. The cloth of her wardrobe looked tissue thin on her, revealing every curve and nuance of her body. Canfield saw Ellie look over her shoulder, and a satisfied look appeared on her face—her torso completely obscured the view of their watchers. Canfield hid a grin. She pried up the tape holding down one corner of the bandage covering Steve’s surgery and peered beneath it. Her eyes grew wide, and she looked up quickly. Ellie saw Canfield’s reaction and opened her mouth to speak.

"Shhh," Canfield whispered, so softly that only Ellie was able to hear. Ellie frowned but nodded in acquiescence. Canfield drew a small penlight from her coat pocket. Lighting it she looked under the bandage again. Her eyes grew until they looked like they could fall from their sockets.

"Joann?" Ellie asked softly. Canfield looked up at Ellie’s frightened expression. She rubbed her forehead with her gloved fingers. An incredulous smile crossed her face.

"What—" Ellie began. Canfield jabbed one finger in front of her lips, then began removing the bandage from Steve’s chest altogether. Ellie leaned forward as the bandage was lifted from his skin. She grimaced in surprise and worry as the staples sealing the entry made by the surgeons into his chest came into view.

"I thought I’d seen it all," Canfield murmured under her breath. She looked up at Ellie’s worried, wondering expression and choked off a burst of laughter. Ellie’s eyebrows rose at the surprised, pleased expression on Canfield’s face.

"This isn’t possible," Canfield whispered. She pointed at the wound. "This wound looks like its six days healed, rather than six hours. No bleeding, no sepsis. New skin has grown in around the sutures. Scarring has already formed around the wound. This shouldn’t have happened. Not this fast."

Canfield looked up at Ellie. Real wonder shone in her eyes.

"I said you were good medicine for each other," she said softly. "I think you are more, Ellie. Much, much more. I think you saved Steve’s life somehow, and now I think you’re helping him heal fast—very fast. It’s the only explanation. I can’t imagine how, but it’s the only explanation." Canfield shook her head. "You do have a very unique gift, girl. Now, I’ll go get towels to clean him up some more. You keep your hand on him like you’re doing. I’ll be right back."

Moskowicz felt himself being pulled from a warm, comfortable darkness. He struggled to keep his mind inert, but the hand shaking him was too insistent. He uttered a vicious obscenity and the shaking stopped.

He blinked as he oriented himself to his surroundings. He was lying on a bed in a room on the first floor of St. Luke’s Hospital, his BDU (Battle Dress Uniform) replaced by an ill-sized gown. His nose reminded him the bed had a previous occupant and its sheets had not been changed. The hand on his shoulder belonged to an anonymous orderly in full anticontamination gear, who backed away as soon as it was obvious the general was not asleep.

"Sir, General Van Slyck says we need more samples," he said. Moskowicz immediately, fully awoke. He fixed the orderly with a look designed to peel paint from the walls but the orderly did not flinch.

Moskowicz sighed. He was glad to have gotten some sleep. In the last five hours the Eighteenth Airborne Corps had occupied and taken total control of Polk County. The orders he had been given, servere as they were, had been carried out. With the trunk lines at Columbus’ central telephone office severed and the newspeople who followed the giantess rounded up and detained, the town was essentially blacked out from the rest of the world. His troops had kept themselves in check, treating the locals with courtesy and keeping their fingers off the triggers of their guns. With the assistance of Sheriff Thompson (who recognized the potential dangers of this occupation as much as Moskowicz did), his deputies and other officials, the town was quiescent. Once the town was in hand Moskowicz turned his attention to the newly-arriving scientific and medical experts. All roads within two blocks of the hospital had been barricaded and tents erected to afford accommodation to inpatients hustled from their rooms as the hospital and its gigantic visitor were quarantined. The "safe" hospital staff also were dispersed, relying on Army hospitality to tend to their charges. Additional commotion had arrived in the form of active-duty medical personnel from across the U.S., who had been ordered in to examine every man, woman and child within the county for any evidence they were sharing the Andersen woman’s amazing growth.

The bizarre situation had been further complicated by Brigadier General Neil Van Slyck. The commander of the U.S. Army’s Communicable Disease Research Center took one look at Moskowicz and the female lieutenant (whose name Moskowicz never learned) working without their B-C hoods and promptly ordered them isolated along with anyone else exposed to Andersen. Protestations about the obvious non-expansion of other unprotected personnel present had been dismissed by Van Slyck and his staff, and Moskowicz had been obliged to turn over command of the mission to the next ranking officer on-site. On handing himself over to the medics occupying the hospital Moskowicz was stripped, gowned, minutely measured and examined. By midnight Van Slyck was made overall commander and Moskowicz a patient.

Moskowicz jumped out of the bed and thrust his feet into a pair of too-small plastic thongs, shivering as the cool air of his room hit his exposed skin. He followed the orderly out of the room, hands working to keep his gown from flapping in the breeze of his passage and giving a free show. The orderly led the way towards a broad stainless steel portal that looked modern and out of place in this small, small-town hospital. Both the orderly and Moskowicz dodged activity in the hall as other people—ER staff who had worked on the wounded and a few others, all strange to him, all similarly gowned—were being herded from one room to another, undergoing the same repetitive indignities he had been required to endure. As they approached, the steel doors swung open automatically, revealing a new-looking, well-equipped room crowded with people. Moskowicz’ eye was caught by a small plaque cemented on the wall just past the door:

  ST. LUKE’S HOSPITAL   The Sr. Mary Theresa Trauma Facility   Dedicated May 20, 1996   Thanks to the Generosity of   STEVEN CARTER AND CARTER INDUSTRIES

Moskowicz frowned as he was directed to a floor scale. His mission was starting to look like a bad TV movie. The commander of a supersecret military antiterrorist squad—a U.S. military antiterrorist squad—shot a servant, a mother, a (philanthropic) American success story, and the most unusual human being on Earth, all for no apparent reason. Choking off the press in the town was bound to be met with a vigorous response from the mass media. The Army and his Eighteenth Airborne Corps were going to have a public relations problem that would make the BATF at Waco look like a love-in.

As he turned to place his rear to a tape measure stuck on the nearest tile wall Moskowicz began to understand why. He looked around the room at the people dressed in protective gear. None were familiar to him. There seemed to be no leader and little coordination among them. But the faces were most telling. The military personnel dressed in their MOPP suits were moving with a dutiful purposefulness as they escorted and cajoled civilians from one test or measurement to another. The others were another matter. Moskowicz could almost see their anxiety as they scurried from one task to the next. The civilian scientific experts called in to this mission looked lost, overwhelmed and genuinely frightened of what they were encountering—no, that was wrong, Moskowicz thought. It was the potential of what they were encountering that is scaring them. He realized that he did not share their overt anxiety about the giantess. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was because he had met her and talked to her. Other than her incredible size she seemed—normal. It was the most fantastic possibility he could have imagined, but it felt true.

Moskowicz’ ruminations were interrupted by another direction from the orderly, who seated him at what looked like a school desk to take a blood sample—the third since his ordeal began.

"I’d better be able to live without this, soldier," he growled.

"Yes, sir," the orderly replied automatically as he tugged a rubber strap tight around Moskowicz’ arm and grabbed up a sampling syringe. Moskowicz looked up at the sound of a loud voice and caught a brief glimpse of someone not in anticontamination gear in the crowd. It was the black doctor who had come in with the volunteer ambulance crew after the shooting.

"Hey, Doc," he called out. "Doc!"

Half of the occupants in the room turned at the sound of his voice. The woman looked at him and a flicker of recognition appeared in her eyes. She promptly shoved her way through the throng towards Moskowicz.

"Well, soldier boy, looks to me like you’ve joined the ranks of the unclean," she said by way of greeting. "You’re the one who was in charge at the house this afternoon?"

"Yes, I’m General Moskowicz," he replied. "How are the people you brought in?"

"Joann Canfield. Well, Mrs. Burke was going to be fine—the bullet did no major damage to her shoulder. Ellie survived six shots to the head and two to either hand."

Moskowicz registered puzzlement.

"Your man was trying to shoot the children she was holding, General," Canfield said. "Happily the bullets didn’t penetrate to those kids."

Moskowicz flushed and his frown deepened.

"And the surviving man? Carter, was that his name?"

"He was shot mid-chest with a heavy caliber rifle bullet, General. How do you think he is?" she replied. "But, I am hopeful. Very hopeful."

Moskowicz looked up quickly. For an instant he thought he saw a twinkle in Canfield’s tired eyes. Canfield sighed and made a show of loosening the muscles in her neck.

"Excuse me, General. I have to get back to my patients, since I’m the only one around here with enough sense and compassion to see to their needs instead of treating them like laboratory samples."

Her voice rose steadily in volume as she spoke. Her dictum silenced the room and provoked looks of puzzlement and contempt from the onlookers. One of the suited doctors broke away from the mass and confronted her.

"You know, for a doctor, that is a very casual attitude to take," the nameless doctor, a woman, said. Even through the muffling of her suit her peevishness was obvious. "This is the most incredible thing to happen in all of recorded history. We simply can’t treat this like it was an outbreak of the flu—"

"Honey, you might want to look around you," Canfield replied, fixing the doctor with an authoritative glare Moskowicz instantly envied. "That woman—whose name is Eleanor, by the way—has been here for over a week. She was growing five feet taller every day, day in, day out. It’s been explained to you people over and over again how her growing began, just like she explained it days ago to another bunch just like you in Texas: she came into contact with some outer-space object that changed her. You idiots"—she raised her voice momentarily—"have seen every person she ever came in contact with, including the man she intends to marry." That pronouncement stilled all motion in the room. "Seen any effects of their ‘exposure’ to her? D’you need it to be spelled out? Eleanor Andersen was the only person affected!" Canfield paused, then snorted. "You’re a bunch of crackpots. These people need reassurance and comfort—especially her. Now, get me those hot towels and get out of my way. I’ve patients to attend to."

 

The Samuel Chalmers Federal Building

Raleigh-Durham, North Carolina

Friday

Federal Bureau of Investigation Inspector Leroy Collins heard his digital wristwatch beep at the passing of the hour. It was eight o’clock in the morning. He looked out a window. It was beginning to rain outside, the cold breeze smearing droplets against the glass, blurring the view of the street outside.

Collins turned as he heard the office door close. He looked at the seven other people in the room as they quietly introduced themselves to one another. They moved to occupy chairs surrounding the conference table that, along with a rolling stand bearing a video monitor in one corner, almost filled the office to capacity. Collins knew their names, although none of them were familiar.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Collins said. Collins slipped around one row of chairs to the front of the room. He picked up a videotape—a three-quarter-inch professional OU video, rather than half-inch VHS tape—and thrust it into the tape player. The monitor turned on automatically. He pressed the remote control and an image appeared. It was of a buxom, auburn-haired woman, dressed in a sheer, white-colored top with a plunging neckline. She looked directly at the camera and nodded as though she was listening to its operator. Collins turned up the volume.

"—to relax. Take a deep breath," a male voice said. The woman complied, visibly stretching her clothing. "Jesus. Ah, okay, let’s begin. Five, four, three, two, one, and—cue one. This is Martin Romita, of WKZZ-TV, Asheville. I, am speaking to a very unusual, special person, ah, in an exclusive for WKZZ-television. What is your name?"

"My name is Eleanor Andersen," the woman said. Her smile was pretty and shy.

"I understand, Miss Andersen, that you had a very unusual experience lately. Can you describe it for us?"

"Well, last Friday night, I was driving home from my job. It was raining, and I had just gotten on the highway when a bright flash of light startled me. I stepped too hard on my brakes and my car went out of control. I ran off the road into a ditch."

The camera slowly pulled back as the woman paused, revealing her sitting on her heels inside what looked like a large tent. As the rest of her body came into view a small, slim figure could be seen standing beside her right thigh. Collins turned to his audience. The faces around the table leaned towards the monitor in unison, squinting at the image on the screen. One of the occupants of the office, a fatigued, rumpled-looking Captain Jasper Holmes of the Bethesda Naval Hospital, interrupted his head bobbing long enough to suck at the tall styrofoam coffee cup he held in his hand. Collins stilled the image.

"For your information, ladies and gentlemen, the man standing beside this woman is six feet tall," he said.

"Jesus H Christ," General Bertram Forster, Wright-Patterson Air Force Base Special Projects Commander, muttered, one hand rubbing his severely cut, mouse-colored hair. The curse of Babel descended in the room as its visitors gave voice to their surprise and amazement.

"This video was made by the owner of a local cable television station eighteen hours ago," Collins added. He allowed the expostulations to proceed for a moment, then called the room to order again. He thumbed the remote and the picture resumed.

"I thought that the light I’d seen was from another car that had jumped the divider and run across the road," the woman continued. "I got out of my car to go look, but there wasn’t another car near. It was then I saw this—this rock—this meteorite—sitting in a depression in the ground. It has hissing and steaming in the rain. It suddenly broke apart, and I saw this crystal thing inside it."

The woman gestured in a circle with her hands. The camera darted down to view her motion, giving everyone in the office another view of the man beside her leg. A female attendee put her hands to her mouth in a gesture of shock as she saw that the woman’s forearm was thicker than the man’s head. Even more surprisingly the man leaned up against her thigh, his head turned up to look at her.

"I picked up the thing, and something happened to me. I suddenly couldn’t move, and my entire body went numb. The last thing I could remember was passing out."

The woman paused, looking down to her right. She smiled again as she seemed to be listening to the man standing beside her thigh.

"Thank you," she whispered. She looked back up to the camera.

"I woke up in a clinic. The doctor there told me that I was okay. The man who had stopped to help me drove me home." She paused and looked down at the man standing beside her again. A breathtaking smile lit her face, and a flush crept up her throat to her cheeks. "We were both a mess from falling down in the rain, and I invited him to stay at my home and clean up."

"I-I guess that was when I first realized that something was happening to me. Suddenly all my clothes were tight on me, and kept getting tighter. My proportions also started changing. My hair grew longer and my body got bigger and wider." The woman drew a thick sheaf of hair from around her neck until it draped down her front, then gestured to her chest and hips. "The next morning my eyes were level with the doorjamb. I’d grown from five feet tall to seven feet overnight. I’ve been growing bigger ever since."

Collins let the tape run. He turned back to his audience and watched their reactions. Forster sat at attention in his chair, his face blank with astonishment. Carol Larkin, Professor of Sociology at Emory University, was staring raptly at the screen, her chin jutting. Professors Pommoru Varghese (physicist, Lawrence Livermore Laboratories) and Frances Ditbrenner (Biology, USC) exchanged glances; Dermott Blair (Chair of the Psychology Department, Harvard Medical School) blinked repeatedly, his hand stroking his full beard. A sense of excitement erupted around the table as they began speaking to one another animatedly.

"As I am sure you are all aware, there has never been anything like this before," Collins said after lowering the volume. "Her name is Eleanor Andersen, she lived in Middleburgh, New York, she was working full-time as a waitress trying to get money together to finish her college education. And she is quite literally the biggest thing to hit this planet."

"We first became aware of her when she went to her local doctor, a James Preston. He ordered her admitted to a hospital and contacted Doctor William Turner of the CDC. Doctor Turner arrived at the hospital with a team of specialists, who took Miss Andersen to the Armstrong Laboratories at Brooks Air Force Base in Texas. She was in Turner’s custody for almost twenty four full hours. She then left, ah, against advice, with help. She next appeared at the home of a Mr. Steven Carter in North Carolina. She apparently was living there for several days. Three days ago she was observed and videotaped by passersby—"

"So that ad by that tabloid television show was true?" Blair exclaimed. "She’s the giant who rescued those kids from drowning in a lake there?"

"She was on a television show?" Forster asked, turning to Blair. He nodded.

"Saw it, oh, a few nights ago. I thought it was a joke of some sort."

"We received information as to her whereabouts and a reaction force was sent out to find her," Collins continued. "Eighteen hours ago she was located, living inside a tent on Carter’s property. There were difficulties in returning her to custody, and some injuries." Collins stopped and looked across the table. "The decision was made at the highest levels to quarantine the entire county and the town of Columbus until it can be determined what to do. Dr. Holmes has seen her up until a few hours ago. If you would give us a briefing of this woman’s current condition, Doctor?"

Holmes tilted his coffee and drained its contents.

"We have had the Andersen woman under continual observation since nine last night," he began. He opened his briefcase and drew out a sheaf of large photographs. "As of four a.m., we estimate that she is approximately forty feet tall."

Holmes began distributing the pictures around the table. One showed the giantess, sitting in what looked like a small warehouse cluttered with boxes and crates, grasping a woman dressed in a doctor’s coat in her hands. Another showed her in the same room hovering over an occupied hospital bed. Holmes consulted the papers he had drawn from his case.

"According to the debriefs of the personnel who first spotted her she has not shown any symptoms of deprivation in either mobility or pulmonary capability," he continued. "As you can see, her growth has been perfectly proportional—no thickening of her long bones, no compression of the rib cage, no scoliosis of the spinal vertebrae. While we don’t have any photographs of her before her growth for comparison purposes it is obvious that her physique resembles that of a normal human woman that has been systematically and proportionally enlarged. I’ve seen her myself, and I must admit that she is both fully active and completely healthy. It’s—it’s quite striking."

Holmes’ voice trailed off as he finished his sentence. He flushed.

"Where is she now?" Larkin asked.

"Inside a receiving room in St. Luke’s Hospital," Holmes answered. "Her companion, sister, brother-in-law, and two small children are also quarantined in the hospital at this time, along with anyone who was exposed to Miss Andersen, including Doctor Turner and General Moskowicz of the Eighteenth Corps."

"Who is this man in the hospital bed?" Blair asked, pointing at one of the photos.

"Her companion, Steven Carter. According to Doctor Canfield—that’s the woman you see being held by the Andersen woman in exhibit one—he and Andersen were engaged to be married."

Heads rose around the table. Half the people present opened their mouths as if to speak when a new voice cut them off.

"Let’s get back to this gigantic woman," the seventh member of the meeting said. Ralph Edwards, executive assistant to the Domestic Affairs Advisor to the President of the United States, had remained silent during the initial discourse. He was a commonplace-looking man, the kind that vanished in crowds. He leaned forward in his chair and fixed his eyes on Holmes, his authoritative voice demanding silence. "She says her growing into a giant is because she touched some sort of object that came from outer space. Has this object been secured?"

The silence that followed was deafening. Seven sets of eyes looked at Holmes, who flushed again and looked at the table.

"Captain Holmes? Didn’t she tell your people where the object is? What about the first group of scientists who examined her. Wasn’t Doctor Turner in charge? Did he have the object?"

"Sir, Miss Andersen has refused to speak to any of my people," Holmes answered. "Doctor Turner never had the object—the container it was originally put in by Preston was empty. Turner never saw it. The other people who were in contact with Andersen either don’t know or are unable to tell us where the object—if it exists—is."

"It exists, all right," Blair interjected. "Look at her face, her posture. She is telling the truth, or what she believes to be the truth."

"I agree," Varghese said, his high-pitched voice echoing in the room. "Her condition makes her explanation credible—there is certainly no terrestrial force that can cause a human to grow to such proportions."

"I cannot imagine how an adult human being could be made to grow like she has," Ditbrenner added. She rubbed her hands together. "There must be scientific principles involved which are totally beyond anything we’ve even theorized—for that matter, what this woman is now trashes so much accepted science it’s revolutionary. Whatever is causing it could bring about an entirely new science for humankind."

"It certainly makes this Andersen woman unique," Larkin agreed. "She’s going to make the Dionne sisters look like a passing fancy."

The four scientists began an animated conversation. Edwards interrupted them with a loud, direct question.

"Then where is it?"

The civilians stopped, looking at one another. Holmes frowned and shook his head.

"I-I don’t know, sir," he answered. "Miss Andersen has not spoken a word to any of us since she came to the hospital in Columbus. She is distant and even hostile."

"But why—" began Forster.

"Wait a minute," Larkin called out. "Replay that last section of tape."

Collins reached for the control. The image reversed at idiotic speed, then replayed. The cameraman was being carried through some sort of hallway, jolting towards an open door. The picture jumped violently, then recovered. Once outside the camera swung from side to side. It focused on the giantess, a group of people standing around her as she knelt on a roadway. They were speaking amongst themselves, although the camera mike was too far away to make their conversation intelligible.

"Big sis, let me help," the giantess said, her clear voice ringing over the people below her. She reached down and picked up two small children, stuffing them down the front of her dress and clasping her hands around them. She bent her head and whispered something to her two passengers, then she kissed each one gently on the top of their heads. The image changed, zooming in on a camouflage-painted Humvee. A soldier with a hood on his face left the vehicle and walked slowly up to the group.

"Thank you, General Moskowicz," the giantess suddenly said. "I am afraid that I don’t need any help. Andersen. My name is Eleanor Andersen, but everyone calls me Ellie. I would be able to understand you better if you weren’t wearing that mask—I’m obviously not contagious."

"Wait a moment," Blair muttered under his breath. "The part that caught my attention is coming up."

The image had changed. A group of newly arrived people, dressed in full anticontamination suits, marched towards the giantess. She suddenly pointed at one of them, her finger poking his chest.

"You are not touching him, or any member of my family," the giantess said, her voice loud. "I suggest you back off. Remember the last time you people made me angry? I don’t want to hurt you but to protect my family I will."

Both Blair and Larkin looked around the table as the tape continued.

"She is obviously aware of the power her size gives her," Blair said, his eyes glittering as he watched the screen. A loud crack came from the monitor speakers.

"There!" Blair said at the same time. "Ouch! What…" the giantess cried out. A peculiar whizzing noise hissed from the speakers. More gunfire sounded.

"NO!" the giantess cried. The image became confused. She twisted and fell on her side, cradling the children against her. Red splotches could be seen on the backs of her hands. The image jolted, and jolted again. It stopped to focus on a normal-sized woman, a man lying across her, writhing on the ground, her shoulder awash in blood.

"YOU BASTARDS!" the giantess screamed, in obvious pain and anger. The camera swung to her just as her head jerked from an impact. There was more confusion, shouts and noise—

Collins suddenly stopped the tape.

"Now, what was that all about?" Larkin asked in the silence that followed. "I can understand wanting to examine this woman, but shooting—"

"A rogue element intruded into the operation," Edwards said. He lowered the finger he had pointed at the FBI agent to stop the videotape. "It has since been taken care of. This meeting is to determine what recommendations, if any, should be made regarding this giant woman. Is she a threat to the people around her? To the populace at large? What about the people around her? We’ve plenty to deal with without worrying about what happened on the tape."

"I can understand her non-cooperation better now," Larkin snapped in reply. Blair echoed her sentiment, his beard bobbing ludicrously. "Firing on her family wasn’t exactly a good idea. Surrounded by military people she’s going to react like a captive, not a patient."

"Enough," Edwards snapped. "First, is this woman a threat to the people around her or the populace at large?"

Blair and Larkin subsided, their expressions rebellious. Silence reigned in the room for almost one full minute. Holmes was the first person to speak up.

"The data from the medical tests performed on her previously indicate that she is a normal, healthy adult female," he began.

"Is that a joke?" Forster demanded. "Ever hear of a ‘normal’ forty-foot woman?"

Holmes turned to Forster and straightened in is chair.

"Whether you like it or not, General, the data doesn’t lie. Her blood type is O-positive, her glucose levels are well within normal parameters, her blood pressure was normal. Bowel functions, nervous systems responses, red-cell count, immune system—we ran every possible test on her and they were all normal. The only abnormalities are her apparent lack of menses, her rapid healing ability and her body’s total opacity to x-ray or other imaging equipment."

"Normal blood pressure? Normal red-cell count? Preposterous," Ditbrenner exclaimed. "Forget her being alive—her existence is completely unprecedented. It’s—it’s an impossibility. She must weigh close to thirty tons. Her own body weight should be crushing her. Just to fuel her growth would’ve required billions of calories of energy. Did you see her in the tape? The long bones in her legs should have snapped under the mass of her body when she stood up. She should be in constant, agonizing pain from the pressure on her joints. Her spine should be grinding itself to powder. It—"

"To get back to the case at hand," Edwards said, his voice loud. The room quieted again. "You can argue the details later. I ask the question again: is she a threat to the populace at large? Is whatever’s causing her to grow so large infectious? Can we anticipate other people who’ve come into contact with her suddenly expanding their horizons? That is what you people need to tell me."

"You say the man in this hospital bed is her fiancé?" Ditbrenner asked. "How long have they been in contact with one another? Was there intimate contact?"

"She has been at his home since last Sunday," Holmes replied. "According to Sheriff Thompson they appeared familiar with one another. We have no idea if they have been intimate—Miss Andersen will not let any of us examine her to find out."

"Sedate her," Forster said. Holmes shook his head.

"No good. She has remained awake and alert ever since we found her eighteen hours ago. According to Turner she was repeatedly gassed with EZ-4 and injected with thorazine and never lost consciousness once during her journey to Texas."

The cellular phone on Collins’ belt rang. He excused himself to answer it.

"And, no one else has shown any evidence of any sudden, extraordinary growth at all," Holmes said. "Only Andersen. Her sister, brother-in-law, niece and nephew all have told us she touched them—as you saw on the tape, the children were in intimate contact with her. We are in the process of examining the local population but there have been no reports of anyone suddenly towering over their neighbors. We have been trying to locate the children she rescued from drowning in the reservoir three days ago, but the sheriff’s office claims they lost their files on the incident and the locals are not cooperating with us, either. Additionally, Andersen’s blood and lymph samples were examined repeatedly using both optical and scanning electron microscopes. No evidence of any infectious agent was detected. Fibroscopy was used in her examination, but it was unrevealing."

"Why didn’t the x-rays work?" Forster asked.

"We don’t know. The equipment was checked and it functioned properly, but all her films were opaque—"

"She absorbed the energy, somehow," Varghese interjected. "X-rays, and MRI, too? She must be absorbing any energy directed at her, or around her. Perhaps it is powering her growth."

"Okay, but how?" Ditbrenner asked. She was about to continue when Collins turned back to his audience. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, as if trying to fend off a sudden headache.

"What is it, Lee?" Edwards asked. The agent looked across the table to Edwards. His expression was unreadable. He remained silent, shaking his head slightly. The room became leaden. Collins sat down heavily in his chair. The silence quickly reached past the point of comfort. Suddenly, the sounds of children’s laughter filled the room. Startled, everyone looked up at the monitor. Children romping in a playground had abruptly appeared on the screen—apparently the same videotape has been used to record a previous event. Collins watched, his face contorted in utter surprise. He rubbed across his eyes with one hand, then reached out and snapped off the video player.

"When I signed on as a consultant," Blair suddenly said, "I never thought I’d be participating in something like this."

The four scientists now looked distinctly uncomfortable, their former animation was gone. Edwards stood up. He planted his fists on the table and looked around the room.

"Inspector Collins has copies of the data compiled so far regarding this situation," he said softly. "Offices have been prepared for each of you. If you need any further materials inform Collins and he’ll get what you need. Please write up your recommendations as soon as possible and give them to him."

The four scientists slowly rose from their chairs and followed Collins out of the room. Collins returned after a moment to find that Edwards and the two military officers had not moved in their chairs during his absence.

"I have just been informed that a law firm claiming to represent Eleanor Andersen has filed suit in both the North Carolina State Supreme Court and Federal District Court, claiming unreasonable restraint and unwarranted arrest of their client," Collins said. "Similar suits have been filed in San Francisco, Boston, Indianapolis, and four other Federal District courts. They are demanding that she be released on her own recognizance immediately. They’ve called a press conference in each location to publicly announce their suit."

"What?" Edwards exclaimed.

"A suit has also been filed alleging the assault and attempted murder of Steven Carter, Mark and Nancy Burke, and their children by covert U.S. military and other government forces, in violation of posse commitatus rules and their constitutional rights of due process," Collins continued

"That was fast—" Edwards said, then stopped himself.

"To top it all off, lawyers for the local news people we rounded up in the town are demanding their immediate release. Also, CNN, NBC-TV, CBS, among others, have also announced their intention to file suit this morning, demanding the lifting of the press blackout."

"How did they find out what happened at the house—" Holmes began. A look from Edwards silenced him. Forster sat stock-still, his face blank.

"Holmes, return back to Columbus," Edwards said. "Report any changes in the Andersen woman, or anyone else who shows any evidence of—of any change at all."

Edwards turned and walked out of the office. The door clacked loudly as it closed behind him. Collins looked at his wristwatch and automatically noted the time. What was probably the most extraordinary meeting he had ever attended in his fifteen-year career lasted exactly twenty-eight minutes.

 

Highway I-26, Near Exit 28

Henderson County, North Carolina

Captain Michael Metcalf stood in what had become a no-man’s land between Polk and Henderson counties. He wiped at his face mask in an effort to clear raindrops from his visor. His company, in MOPP-4 gear and fully armed, were extended in a line almost two hundred fifty meters from the highway into the fields and woods to either side, silent and unmoving. His subordinates stood beside his Hummer. They, too were silent—the heavy B-C protective gear made casual conversations difficult at best. Although he could not see them through the rain Metcalf knew that beyond his own company there were more soldiers keeping vigil, forming a living net to keep the people of Polk county in and everyone else out. An Army Corps was occupied in quarantining one county of 235 square miles; there had never been an operation like it before, and he hoped fervently it would never happen again.

Metcalf shifted from one foot to the other. Even with cool weather and overcast skies two days in a MOPP suit had made him itchy and ripe. Thoughts of a hot shower and a warm bunk tantalized him. Someone on the battalion radio net had suggested that a relief for the Eight-Two was going to be mobilized soon. It couldn’t happen fast enough, in Metcalf’s opinion.

"Cap, you better give a listen," he heard one of his staff members call out behind him. Metcalf turned and saw his S-1, Lieutenant Peterson, waving at him while holding the transceiver of a field radio to his ear. Metcalf turned and jogged to his CP as quickly as his gear would permit.

"Some guy down the road there just drove up and surrendered himself to the troopers," Peterson said, pointing down the road. "He says he has the thing that caused the giantess to grow. The boss-trooper just called the field HQ and told Romeo One that his people aren’t touching the guy. Romeo One has ordered we get over there and grab the guy as quick as we can."

"Oh, fuck," Metcalf said. "Romeo One" was the call sign belonging to the new mission commander, General Van Slyck. Metcalf spun on his heel. Fifty meters down I-26 he could see the flashing lights of state police vehicles. Beyond them a mass of trailers under a thick canopy of satellite dishes betrayed the existence of part of the huge mass media presence that clogged every road into or out of the county. He began running towards his Hummer, waving to his first sergeant as he did so.

"Harrett, you’re driving. We gotta get down the road there ASAP."

Metcalf felt his stomach knot up as he and Harrett closed up on the line of police cars. Troopers, wearing fluorescent rain slickers and with plastic covers on their smokey-bear hats, clustered together in a mass, one or two with shotguns perched on their hips. Fifty feet from them a tall, thin man dressed in a raincoat and slacks stood in spontaneous isolation, surrounded by a sea of lights punctuated by camera flashes. In one hand he held an umbrella to shield himself from the rain. Under his other arm was what looked like a clear plastic box containing something that shined in the lights.

As Metcalf exited the Hummer he could hear shouted questions directed at the man. He was looking from one side to the other as he tried to answer the questions fired at him. Metcalf signaled his first sergeant to follow him.

"Glad you guys are here," one of the troopers called out. "I sure don’t want to go near the guy."

"Who is he?" Metcalf shouted.

"Dunno. His name’s Odegard," the trooper replied. He offered what looked like a wallet sealed inside a plastic sandwich bag to Metcalf. Harrett took it. "Says he’s a teacher at the Edneyville Community College. He says the giant woman gave him the thing that made her grow. He says it’s inside that box."

Metcalf nodded. He turned and began to move towards the man. As he did so the questions being shouted at the man rose to a crescendo.

"Yes, I did meet the woman," the man said. "No, she didn’t try to harm me, or anybody else. I’ve come here because I want to be with my wife, who is being held at the hospital in Columbus."

The man carrying the box turned to face Metcalf. He was a thin-faced man with shoulder-length blond hair. His eyes were tired, his face drawn with apprehension.

"Sir? Captain? Captain-Metcalf? Metcalf, is that your name? Can you answer some questions for us, Captain? Captain Metcalf?"

Metcalf wished he had taped over his name on his blouse as he winced at the shouts being directed at him. He had been ordered not to answer any reporter’s questions—Van Slyck had been very specific on that point—and his hood would make intelligible conversation nearly impossible anyway. He focused his attention on the visitor.

"Mr. Odegard?" he asked. The man nodded. He looked down at the clear plastic box cradled under his arm. Metcalf followed his gesture. Sitting inside what looked like a small ceramic cup Metcalf saw a perfectly round, smooth, gleaming piece of crystal. It resembled an opalescent, baseball-sized pearl.

"I imagine you people are looking for this," Odegard said. His voice was gravelly, and not just due to shouting answers at the mob of reporters who were slowly edging closer to him. He was obviously exhausted.

"Is that—whatever it is—sealed up inside that box?"

"Airtight," Odegard replied. "It’s all yours. All I’d like to do now is see my wife."

"Okay, sir," Metcalf replied. He took Odegard’s skinny arm in his hand and gestured for Harrett to come forward.

"Did you say his name was Beauregard?" a reporter suddenly asked from less than ten feet away, his voice penetrating the Babelic chorus coming from the herd of fellow journalists behind him. Metcalf turned to the reporter and went blind from the camera lights. He held up one hand.

"You folks had better move back," he warned.

"Mr. Beauregard!" The reporters backed away but did not cease their pursuit. "Mr. Beauregard? Where was the extraterrestrial object? Did you have it all this time?"

"My name’s Odegard. No, I didn’t have the object all the time. It was given to me so I could study it."

"Where were you studying it, Mr. Beauregard?"

"Odegard. I was at my laboratory in Edneyville."

It was obvious Odegard was trying to be polite with the reporters—something Metcalf found himself wishing he wouldn’t do, as they were obviously encouraged by his cooperation. Metcalf tightened his grip on Odegard’s arm and pointed at the plastic box. Harrett grasped the box gingerly, wresting it from Odegard’s grip.

"You’d better come with us, Mr. Odegard," Metcalf said. Odegard nodded.

"Captain? Captain! Since Mr. Beauregard came from Edneyville, does that mean the Army’s going to seal off that town now? What about Henderson county? Will Henderson county be quarantined now, too? Mr. Beauregard! Do you know what caused the woman to grow into a giant? Mr. Beauregard!"

Once Metcalf had pulled Odegard clear of the line of state police vehicles the troopers promptly spread out, obstructing the view of the reporters. The shouted inquiries diminished and the glare of the camera lights dropped to more agreeable levels. Metcalf directed Odegard to the rear door of the Hummer, tightening his grip on the man’s arm as he stumbled over his own feet.

"Are you all right, sir?" Metcalf asked. Harrett had already planted the plastic box in the rear cargo area of the Hummer, lashing it to the bed of the truck. He quickly threw a blanket over the box then stepped around the vehicle, heading for the driver’s door.

"Yes," Odegard replied, his native twang slurred. "I’m very tired, that’s all. I’d like to see my wife."

"Yessir. We’re taking you to Columbus directly."

"Good." Odegard folded his frame into the back seat of the Hummer and leaned back into its cushions. Metcalf secured the door behind him, then raced around the rear of the truck to the passenger door. A soon as Metcalf found his seat Harrett put the Hummer in gear, heading back across the line to the military roadblock.

 

WABC-TV Studios

New York City

"Good morning, America, on this Friday in November. I’m Charlie Gibson, here with Lisa McRee. Welcome back to an extended edition of our show. We are continuing our live coverage of the amazing story ever covered in all of human history: the events in North Carolina, where a woman who came into contact with an object not of this earth has grown to at least six times normal human size. Lisa?"

Good Morning, America’s Charles Gibson sat on the comfortable-looking couch in the morning show’s studio as the familiar announcement music faded from the loudspeakers. Gibson nodded to his blond co-host, who turned her professional smile on her own camera.

"Charlie, Eleanor Andersen is truly the most talked-about woman across the country right now, if not across the world," McRee said, her professional smile bright on her face. "We’re going to replay the remarkable interview that was intercepted by the mobile television crews near Columbus for you again, and Morton Dean has the latest for us from the ABC-television news room. Morton?"

"Good morning again, Charlie, Lisa. A previously anonymous county in North Carolina is the focus of the world this morning, as news media from around the globe converges on Polk County to cover the extraordinary giantess discovered there yesterday. Scientific experts across the country are baffled by the sudden and inexplicable physical growth that the young woman, Eleanor Andersen, has undergone. As reported previously, the entire county is under martial law and is quarantined, by order of both the Governor of North Carolina and the White House. You can see from the pictures on your screen that the U.S. Army’s entire Eighteen Airborne Corps has encircled the borders of the county, preventing anyone from getting in or out.

"The quarantine, combined with the total news blackout imposed inside the county and the loss of all telephone communication, has prevented any new information coming out about Eleanor Andersen, her condition, and the condition of everyone else inside the borders of that rural county in western North Carolina. The only existing sources of information now are cell phones and citizen’s band radios in the hands of some of the citizens of Polk County. ABC news has had contact with some of these people and we will bring you what they had to say in a little while.

"In a new development, possible confirmation of the Andersen woman’s story appeared this morning when a man, claiming he had the alien object that Andersen said caused her to begin growing into a giant, surrendered himself to North Carolina State Police this morning. The man, now identified as Augustine Odegard, is a physics teacher at the Edneyville Community College in nearby Henderson county. Let’s listen to what happened this morning on Interstate Twenty Six at the Polk County border this morning."

The video was brief, loud and confused. Odegard appeared dazed as he was surrounded by a forest of microphones and the muzzles of video cameras. The roar of over thirty newspeople shouting questions at him drowned out both themselves and his attempts to answer. The noise level rose incrementally as the video clip progressed, then it was suddenly, mercifully cut off.

"You can see in these pictures that he was carrying a clear plastic case under his arm that contained something, but the state troopers on the scene prevented any of the reporters present getting a close look at the object," Dean continued. "Soldiers arrived on the scene almost immediately and took Odegard away. Requests for information from the press liaison attached to the military forces received no response this morning. Further, we have just been informed that the press conference scheduled to take place at the State House in Raleigh-Durham at nine o’clock this morning has just been cancelled. We will bring more on this developing story when and if we receive it.

"On a similar note, it was announced this morning that lawyers representing Eleanor Andersen have filed suit this morning alleging that government and military forces caused injuries among the family of the giant woman. A nationally respected law firm, Gunther, Chellis and Berznieks, filed papers in U.S. Fifth District Court this morning, citing injuries reportedly suffered by Andersen’s sister, brother, and a local North Carolina resident, Mr. Steven Carter. Rush Bennett, spokesman for the law firm, alleged that all of the people mentioned as well as Andersen herself had been shot at by military personnel without provocation. ABC News has tried to confirm these allegations, but has been unable to do so, so far.

"In another development, the Minneapolis Star-Tribune this morning reports that the Minnesota state attorney general’s office has opened an investigation into the killing of a civilian in what was originally thought to be a police raid gone wrong but which may in fact be related to the giantess. As reported by ABC two days ago, heavily armed men dressed in SWAT-type clothing and carrying machine guns broke into the two-family home belonging to Camilla Rodriguez, injuring her and killing her twenty-two year old son. It now turns out that the other residence was rented by Mark and Nancy Burke. Nancy Burke is the older sister of Eleanor Andersen. According to the Star-Tribune, the state attorney general’s office believes that the raid may in fact have been an attempt on the part of a covert federal agency to locate and detain members of Andersen’s family. Why there had been shooting was not explained.

"I will be back in a few moments with more on this ongoing story. Back to you, Charlie and Lisa."

"Thanks, Morton." Gibson’s expression was somber. He looked straight into the camera. "Morton will be bringing us any new developments as they happen. We will also have Dr. Myron Racinowski, a theoretical physicist from Hofstra University, on with us this morning, to explore whatever might have caused this woman’s amazing growth. Also, Lisa will be speaking with Professor Roderick Kantor of the Humanities Department of New York University, who will give us his take on the social ramifications of Eleanor Andersen as a giant in a society of normal people. After this commercial break we’ll be right back. This is Good Morning, America, on ABC."

 

The Thompson Residence

Columbus, North Carolina

Russell Thompson paused in the foyer of his home after buttoning his rain slicker. His wife, Mary, stood beside him, her hands at her sides, her normally placid features drawn into a worried frown. Thompson took up her hands and gave them a squeeze.

"I’ll call you after the boys and I do a circuit through the town," he said, his tone reassuring. Mary Thompson allowed herself to be comforted, and bent to kiss her husband.

"I suppose we’ll be visited by those Army people again?" she asked, her tone of voice clearly hoping the opposite. Thompson nodded.

"I’m afraid so, honey. They’re checking everyone, over and over." He squeezed her hands again. "I’m sure this’ll be over soon. Then we can get our town back."

"I hope so," his wife replied. She was about to say something else when a happy squeal reverberated around them. Kathy came rushing to her parents, a huge smile on her face. She clenched a piece of construction paper in both hands.

"Daddy!" she cried.

"What’s that you’ve got there?" he asked. His daughter’s smile grew brighter and she tried to hide the piece of paper. Thompson held out his hands. Kathy opened the paper up and presented it to him with an air of accomplishment.

"It’s for Miss Ellie, Daddy," she said. Thompson looked at the paper. The paper was covered by the caption GET WELL SOON surrounded by hearts and flowers drawn in colored markers and outlined by glitter. Both Thompson and his wife smiled fondly on their only child, who glowed under their gaze and giggled for a moment.

"Are you going to see her? Can you give her my get-well card?" Kathy asked, her eyes bright and innocent.

"Of course I will, sweetie," Thompson replied. "What are you going to do on your day off from school?"

The little girl’s face clouded over.

"I wanted to go see a movie, but we’re not allowed," she said, a pout forming on her face. "I think it sucks."

"Kathy!" her mother said, her mouth open in shock. The little girl stuck out her lip and held her ground.

"That’s what Daddy said last night," she said defensively.

"You stayed up past your bedtime again?" Mary asked. Kathy clapped her hands over her mouth.

"Uh-oh," she said, her eyes open as she realized her indiscretion. "Am I in trouble?"

"Just you wait, young lady," Mary growled, her gaze moving from her daughter to her husband. Thompson avoided her gaze as he carefully folded the get-well card, stuffing it in his slicker pocket. He kissed his wife again and stepped out into the cool rain of the morning.

Thompson drove slowly. The streets were virtually empty, courtesy of the quarantine orders issued by the new commander of the troops occupying the county—nothing like a stay-at-home order to quash sociability. He stopped at each intersection he came to, looking around him. Except for the ubiquitous military vehicles—Humvees and two-and-a-half-ton trucks rumbling from one street to the next, with hooded soldiers in attendance—there was no vehicular traffic present at all. Sidewalks that normally would have adults walking to their jobs or schoolkids dashing on their way to school were deserted. Save for the occasional light peeking through an uncurtained window a town of thirty-six hundred people looked like it was empty. It was not a pleasant sight.

Thompson pulled into the parking area in front of P.J.’s Diner and Food Emporium. The bright neon signs in the front picture windows blazed cheerfully. He strode in through the front door, tarrying momentarily to shake raindrops from his hat and slicker.

Inside it was warm and smelled of bacon and toast. Despite the quarantine orders Thompson saw two other occupants in the diner. George and Samuel Smiley both raised their coffee cups in greeting. The diner’s owner, Pauline Jones, suddenly appeared from behind the counter and fashioned a bright smile for the sheriff.

"Good morning, Russ," she said. "The usual today?"

"Please, Pauline." Thompson turned to the Smiley brothers. Both were in their sixties and looked like archtypical mountain men—grizzled beards, bib overalls, plaid shirts and polka-dot kerchiefs. Thompson smiled and both men smiled back.

"Howdy, sheriff," George said, his scanty, tobacco-stained teeth in stark contrast to his clean-if-tangled face muff. "Come to shut Pauline here down again?"

Thompson shook his head. When Van Slyck had ordered the closing of all public places in the town the previous evening, Thompson had protested, to no avail—the danger of contagion was supposed to be too great. It seemed faintly ridiculous, given that no one else had shown any evidence of sharing Eleanor Andersen’s remarkable problem, but Van Slyck—a rule-book man, if Thompson had ever seen one—had been adamant. Thompson had been required to participate in the forced closure of four taverns, the movieplex, two diners, the public library, and a half-dozen other places. There had been only one discernable effect—that of ticking off the populace. Thompson had been remarkably lucky—on the strength of his being a popular authority figure he had managed to wrest the reluctant approval of Van Slyck to his not being quarantined with the rest of the people "exposed" to Andersen. Thompson wondered how long that would last.

"Think we’ll have to go back to the hospital for more of those tests they ran on us yesterday?" Samuel asked. He shivered. "I sure don’t like gettin’ them needles."

"Could be, Sam. The Army people are looking at everybody in the town."

"I really don’t like having all these soldiers around us, tellin’ us what to do," George offered. "These people act like they own us. It ain’t right."

No, it’s not, Thompson thought. It’s not right at all.

Pauline appeared, bearing a sandwich wrapped in wax paper and a styrofoam coffee cup.

"Here you go, Russ," she said. Thompson pulled three singles from his wallet and placed them on the counter, took up his sandwich and cup, and left the diner. He ate his bacon-and-egg sandwich while driving to the center of town, expertly avoiding dripping anything on his clothes. He picked his way carefully past the rows of tents set up along one lane of Walker street, heading towards St. Luke’s. He just made out of façade of the hospital when a military blockade stopped him.

Thompson left his cruiser in response to hand-waving by a group of soldiers. He stepped out of his car and found himself surrounded by a half-dozen men.

"Sheriff? We need you to talk to these people over here," the sergeant in charge of the squad said. He pointed over his shoulder. "They showed up about a half hour ago and they won’t leave."

Thompson nodded and stepped through the soldiers, who formed a line behind him. On rounding the corner of the building immediately opposite the hospital he found a dozen people gathered in a group, their umbrellas nested together overhead for shelter from the rain. Pastor Theodore Strickland of the Columbus Presbyterian Church recognized him immediately and hailed him from inside the group.

"Good morning, Sheriff Thompson," he said.

"Reverend," Thompson replied, tipping his hat. "What are you folks doing here?"

"We’re praying for Miss Andersen," the pastor replied, gesturing with the prayer book in his hands. The others nodded.

"That lady saved my little boy from drowning," a voice said. Thompson recognized Bill Talbott, his wife and Bill Junior beside him. "This is the least we can do for her."

"You do know about the quarantine order?" Thompson asked. Strickland nodded. Thompson inhaled deeply and turned to face the soldiers. He could see the eyes of the sergeant through his face mask. He looked tired and embarrassed. Thompson found himself reaching into his slicker pocket and he felt the homemade get-well card his daughter had made. He straightened himself, put on his official face, and shook his head.

"These folks shouldn’t be here, sir," the sergeant began. Thompson cut him off with a gesture.

"They’re just here to pray for the lady inside there," he replied, pointing at the hospital. "I’m not going to ask them to leave. If you guys want you can roust them, but I’m not going to help you."

"Shit, sir, I don’t want to do that."

"Then don’t."

 

St. Luke’s Hospital

Columbus, North Carolina

The sound of the freight elevator doors heralded the passing of another two-hour period. Ellie kept herself still and averted her eyes from the elevator as the latest observation team trooped out to replace her sitting watchers. Her sensory acuity had continued to improve—the familiar plopping noise of their overshoes was loud to her in the enclosure of the receiving bay. More whispering intruded into her hearing. She heard one voice distinctly say "Damn", then another voice hissing for quiet.

Ellie shifted her back on the concrete floor of the space in an effort to improve her physical comfort. It didn’t help. Her body was burgeoning at an incredible pace—Canfield’s last estimation was eighteen inches an hour. Her arms felt as though weights were wrapped around them, as did her legs. Not that it mattered inside the receiving room of the hospital—she had grown so large that sitting upright in the space was now impossible. Ellie had used her arms and legs to form an aisle beside Steve’s bed, pushing aside the boxes in the room, using one stack of boxes reaching halfway up one wall as a rest for her head and shoulders. She half-lay across the room, her knees bent until they nearly touched the ceiling and her bare feet propped against the far wall.

Ellie looked around the receiving bay, her eyes noting every cobweb in the rafters, the tiny flecks of dirt and dust adhering to the walls and hiding in the corners, every scrape in the concrete floor. It was depressingly familiar. She turned as she caught a glimpse of movement in the hospital bed and smiled. Steve had turned his head again. Canfield also lay sleeping on a pallet beside his bed, wrapped in a purloined blanket. Ellie found herself wishing she too could fall asleep. Sleep would let her ignore the spasms of dizziness that were turning her stomach and the sense of massiveness she felt with every movement. Her breasts stood like huge half-globes on her chest, weighing on her, pressing against one another and straining her top when she breathed. Her growth had torn her one-piece dress into a two piece halfway through the previous watch cycle, exposing her midriff, and she had been required to rip it open up her front shortly afterwards to afford herself room to breathe. Her shoes too had quickly become too small, as she discovered when a single flex of each foot broke the heavy rubber straps holding them to her feet. The hem of her kimono-like skirt was now at mid-thigh, and rising steadily.

Ellie shifted position again in an effort to get more comfortable. The adjustable waistband of her panties was now exerting an uncomfortable pressure on the point of her hips. She sighed and closed her eyes, then lifted her skirt, desperately trying to ignore the presence of her watchers. Recent practice made it easy for her to locate the velcro fasteners. She pulled the velcro free, and the adjustable waistband expanded. She then reapplied it on both hips. Her breasts prevented her from seeing how much—or how little—fabric was left between her legs, but she did not doubt that she wore little more than the equivalent of a G-string. Her fingers told her that any more growth would leave her with no undergarment at all.

She was drawing her skirt down again when the elevator door opened once more. The new set of shoes sounded differently from the previous ones.

"Hello," a female voice said near her right elbow. "May I talk to you?"

Ellie said nothing.

"I’m Doctor Bernard," the new voice said. "I’m hoping we might talk. I’m a psychologist."

Ellie turned until she could see the source of the voice. Doctor Bernard was slim and petite, with short-cut butter blond hair and a bright smile. Her appearance so forcibly reminded Ellie of her pre-growth physique it was startling. Bernard was dressed in a translucent suit with a clear plastic bag over her head, allowing a full view of her features. She unfolded the chair she was carrying and sat down, folding her hands in her lap.

"You’re Ellie Andersen?" she asked. "Would you like to talk to me?"

Ellie shook her head and closed her eyes.

"Ellie, I think it is a good idea for you to talk to someone."

Ellie shook her head again.

"I’m not here to hurt you. None of us are here to hurt you."

Ellie snorted. Her finger stabbed out, pointing at Steve.

"That wasn’t done by any of us here."

Ellie turned her head until she was facing Bernard.

"You all look the same to me," she said softly. Bernard smiled.

"Good, you do talk," she replied, her tone teasing. "Listen, Ellie, I know you have had some bad experiences lately. I cannot undo what happened, but I think I can make amends. I’m just asking you to talk, that’s all. I hope we can learn to trust one another."

"Take off your suit," Ellie snapped.

"What?"

"You want me to trust you? Fine. Take off the suit and touch my hand." Ellie lifted her arm off the floor and reached out until her hand was a foot from Bernard. To her credit the psychologist did not flinch, but she shook her head.

"I’m sorry, Ellie. This suit I’m wearing is just a precaution. You wouldn’t want—"

"I’ve heard that before," Ellie said. "Each time I heard it my experiences were very bad ones. Sorry, Doctor. I’m not talking to you."

"You need to talk to someone," Bernard insisted. Ellie looked away and took a deep breath in an effort to fight off the anger rising inside her.

"The lady said she doesn’t want to talk to you," a hoarse but familiar voice said.

Ellie jerked upwards until her nose banged against one of the overhead fluorescent lights. She looked down. Steve was awake, his warm brown eyes alert. He looked up at Ellie as she braced herself on her elbows. Their eyes met. A lopsided grin creased his features.

"Hi, pretty lady," he said.

"Steve!" Ellie ignored the pain along the bridge of her nose and bent herself in the middle, twisting until her torso overshadowed Steve’s bed. Her sudden movement made Bernard squeak in fright and topple backwards over her chair into a heap on the floor. Ellie leaned against one elbow and gently, hesitantly reached out to Steve. She couldn’t help her hand shaking—he looked so small—but Steve grabbed at her hand with both of his own, gripping her fingers firmly. He began kissing her fingers, one at a time. Each touch of his lips sent an electric thrill racing up her arm to her spine. Ellie wriggled in pleasure at the sensations.

"What—where am I? This is a hospital? St. Luke’s? Lousy accommodations," he said. His smile was broad. "I’m glad the first thing I saw was you, beautiful. Geez, can’t a guy get some sleep around here—"

"Shhh," Ellie whispered. "Joann’s sleeping on the floor beside you."

Steve’s eyebrows rose to his hairline.

"Doc Canfield’s here? They got her sleeping on the floor? They that hard up for beds?"

Ellie felt like she could float to the ceiling. Steve was completely back—loving, positive, wonderful Steve. He tried to sit up in the bed, gasped in pain, and lay back.

"Ouch!" he said. He lifted the sheet and blanket up off his chest. "Ow! What the—what’d they do, install a zipper in my chest? Ouch! That hurts. What this thing stuck in—? Oh, no, that’s gotta go. I’m willing to use a bedpan or something, but not that." He made a grabbing motion under the sheets, grunted in pain, then lay back. He stopped, his eyes wandering. His grin faded, and he looked up at Ellie.

"I remember now," he said. He swallowed. "Brian?"

Ellie frowned. She shook her head. Steve’s face darkened. Ellie could see the muscles of his jaw working. Tears were forming in his eyes.

"Fucking bastards," he hissed. "I remember. Brian jumped on top of me and knocked me to the ground. I felt something blow right through him and into my-my chest. Why did they do that?"

"I’m sorry, Steve," Ellie whispered.

"It’s not your fault, Ellie," he replied.

"No, it isn’t—but it is," she said. Steve shook his head forcefully, and gasped in pain again.

"Pick me up, pretty lady."

Ellie looked at him, then at her hand. She had grown so much that outstretched it reached from his feet to his bottom ribs.

"Steve, I don’t know," she began. "I’m-I’m so big now I—"

"You won’t hurt me," Steve said encouragingly. He reached out with his right hand and touched her fingers. Ellie felt a smile form on her face. She carefully scooped him up into her hands, gathering his blanket around him. She saw him grimace in pain and hold his breath as his body shifted against her palm. She straightened her hands, one under his torso to his feet, the other cradling his head and shoulders. Steve let out his breath, looked up at her, and grinned.

"There," he said. "That wasn’t so bad. I dreamed about you, pretty lady. I dreamed you were protecting me from something. I could feel your hands around me, keeping me safe." He looked around curiously. "What day is it?"

Ellie felt her eyes fill. She lifted him from the bed. A thick plastic tube with a rubber receptacle on its end slipped from under him.

"I-I don’t know—"

"It’s Friday."

Doctor Bernard has untangled herself from her chair and now stood up. Ellie noticed she had placed herself several feet further away from Steve’s bedside. Steve had turned in Ellie’s hands, trying to find the source of the voice. Ellie tilted her hands until he could see Bernard.

"You must’ve been my wake-up call," he said, a sardonic smirk crossing his face. He noticed the six suited observers for the first time. His expression darkened again.

"You people are serious," he growled. Then he grinned impishly and raised his hand up beside his head.

"Boogie, boogie, boogie," he said, flapping his hand next to his ear. The watchers did not react, and he snorted. He looked back up at Ellie. A gentle, loving smile suffused his face. Ellie felt him grab her thumb and pull on it. Ellie responded, lifting her thumb until he could touch it with both his hands. He stroked her thumb, then looked at it in a measuring way.

"You look bigger," he said. Ellie nodded.

"I am bigger, Steve. Joann measured my hand a couple of hours ago. She thinks I grew eighteen inches in the hour before she measured me. She figures I’m over forty feet tall. The vertigo is really bad, now—it’s making me nauseous. I-I feel tired, too."

Steve nodded. He turned his head slightly, then looked up at Ellie. A grin re-formed on his face and he raised one eyebrow.

"You guys get all that?" he suddenly shouted. A groan of pain erupted from one of the observers—he apparently had secreted a shotgun microphone in the sleeve of his suit and had been eavesdropping on their conversation. The other observers and Bernard all jumped at the volume of his voice. Ellie giggled despite the ringing his shout caused in her ears, both in joy at his apparent good health and the success of his joke. Her relief was so evident that Steve was surprised.

"You really are back, aren’t you?" she said softly. "Oh, God, Steve, when Joann told me how bad you were hurt I was so scared—"

"I was hurt bad?" Steve looked at himself. "Well, I don’t feel too terrible. These wires in my skin hurt, and I feel a little weak, but otherwise I think I’m good to go. I was hurt bad?"

Ellie nodded. "You-you weren’t expected to make it through the night."

"Really? Wow," Steve replied. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, then his grin returned. "Hmph. Well, it’s a good thing I’m okay. Otherwise Beelzebub would be packing right now."

He stroked her thumb again.

"I promised you I would never leave you," he said softly. Ellie’s heart leaped at the intensity of his expression. "I always keep my promises. So, you’re stuck with me. Okay?"

Ellie gulped back the lump that formed in her throat. She lifted Steve up to her lips and kissed him, her lips nibbling at his face. She felt his hands grab her cheeks and heard him murmur with pleasure.

"Whew," he gasped as she lowered him. "That I remember. Ouch—these damned things in my chest hurt." He looked at her, his eyes shining.

"That’s the expression I like best," he said, touching her lips. "I like it when you’re happy. Now, d’you think these bozos can come up with a shirt and a pair of pants for me, or—"

A soft thump interrupted him. Ellie looked towards the sound. One of her watchers had fainted, apparently in reaction to their kiss. Her expression told Steve what had happened. He sighed.

"Maybe we should work our kisses into a comedy routine and take it on the road," he said. "Is Doc Canfield still snoozing?"

Ellie looked around him. She nodded. Steve’s expression turned rueful.

"Not that I don’t trust any of these people, but I don’t," he said. He touched one of the staples in his skin and winced. "I can wait until she wakes up, then maybe I can get these things out of me."

Ellie had resumed her posture on the floor of the receiving bay, her head and shoulders propped up on her impromptu headrest, her knees rubbing against the ceiling. Steve lay across her chest, his body nested in the curve formed by her breasts, his head and feet just brushing her upper arms. She had wrapped him firmly in the blanket, leaving only his arms free. She pressed her left arm closer to him to offer more support for his head while stroking his recumbent form with her right hand.

"I’m glad no one else was killed or seriously hurt in that shooting," Steve said. "You’ve got a nice family."

"Yes, I do. You’re going to fit right in. I love you, Steve."

"I love you too, pretty lady."

Ellie bent her head down and kissed Steve soundly.

"Wow," he said when she came up for air. "So, did anybody pass out that time?"

Ellie grinned and looked up at the latest collection of watchers. She noticed that Bernard was now among them. She snorted.

"No, not this time. Maybe we should go two for two?"

"I’m game when you are, beautiful."

Their second kiss was longer. Steve was gasping for air when they parted.

"Wow again," he said. "Bigger is better."

"I’ve got the bigger part down for sure," Ellie replied. Steve’s grin faded, then tentatively returned.

"I told you I don’t care how big you are, Ellie," he said. "You’re my friend and my lover and I will stay with you forever."

Ellie closed her eyes as she fought off another episode of vertigo.

"Ellie?"

"It’s all right," she said. "Just another dizzy spell. You really aren’t afraid of me, Steve? Even as big as I am now?"

Steve paused, considering. He looked directly into her eyes.

"I suppose that anyone else would be afraid," he said. "Maybe I should be, too. After all, you could crush me in one hand."

Ellie shook her head violently.

"No, no," she replied. "Never, lover. I would never, ever hurt you. Never, ever, ever."

A brilliant smile crossed Steve’s face. He grabbed at her hand and hugged it to himself.

"Then I will never be afraid—I could not possibly be afraid."

Ellie felt the lump in her throat return. His grasp of her hand was strong and confident. She could feel a warmth flowing under her skin from her hand throughout her body. It felt wonderful. She bent to kiss him once again, gently.

"Thank you, lover," she whispered. She looked at their observers. Her visual acuity was now so good she could see easily through the faceplates. Ellie almost laughed. They all wore the same exact dumfounded expressions.

 

The sound of low, throaty laughter woke Canfield. She started abruptly, blinking. The blanket she had hijacked from one of the rooms upstairs was tangled around her legs, tying her down. Once she tamed the blanket she jumped upright.

Steve was missing. His penile catheter lay in the middle of the bed’s mattress in mute testimony to his absence. She heard Ellie laugh again and looked up at her other patient. Canfield choked off a gasp. Ellie had visibly grown since—she checked her watch—her last measurement six hours ago. There could be no doubt. Ellie lay on her back, her head and shoulders pressed up against one wall and her feet the opposite, her head touching the ceiling. Her kimono-skirt was now a mini, her top little more than a cutoff knotted closed under her bosom. Her hair cascaded down her front, then wandered in a tangle along the concrete floor towards her feet. Her thighs were huge, nearly as big as Canfield was tall, towering over the hospital bed beside her. Her legs looked like they went on forever. Her exposed belly was flat and long, her half-covered breasts massive. The number fifty came immediately to Canfield and she felt her mind go numb momentarily in shock.

Ellie had her arms wrapped under her breasts, her eyes focused down at her chest. She noticed Canfield, and a brilliant smile creased her face.

"Hi, Joann," she said. She looked down at her chest. "I’ve got Steve here with me. How did you sleep?"

"I slept fine, honey," Canfield replied. She stepped around the hospital bed towards Ellie. "Is Steve all right?"

"He’s fine, Joann. Perfectly fine. He’s been waiting for you to wake so he can get those staples out of his chest."

"Hey, Doc," Canfield heard Steve’s voice call out.

"Are you all right?" Canfield asked. Ellie kept smiling, although her eyes darkened.

"Everything is wonderful now, Joann."

Canfield ran her fingers through her hair. Turning, she noticed for the first time that the number of observers standing around them had doubled. Rather than being spread out as before the dozen suited figures were clumped together in a mass, conferring in low tones among themselves. One of them, a small woman with short blond hair, was dressed in a suit that allowed Canfield to fully see her face. As she turned to face the group fully they fell silent, looking at her.

"What’s going on?" Canfield asked. The group stood silently for a moment, their bodies twisting as they oriented themselves to look at one another.

"Dr. Canfield? I’m Dr. Bernard," the woman in the clear suit said, stepping out of the crowd and offering her hand. "I’m a psychologist from the University of North Carolina. I was asked to come here to talk to Ellie, but she wouldn’t respond. What has happened to her must be a tremendous mental shock and she needs therapy. I’m hoping you can help convince her to cooperate with me so we can help her."

"Well, I’m afraid Ellie is her own person, Dr. Bernard. If she will not submit to you there’s nothing I can do."

Canfield was about to say more when the elevator door opened. As one the observes all turned in apparent surprise—it wasn’t yet time for their relief. Their surprise grew greater when they saw the lone occupant of the lift, a tall, thin man with shoulder-length blond hair and a haggard expression. He stepped out of the elevator and looked around until his eyes fell on Canfield.

"Augie!" Canfield cried out. She rushed into her husband’s arms and embraced him. She felt him sway in exhaustion. Odegard blinked and murmured to his wife, kissing her on her forehead.

"You worked yourself too hard again," Canfield said, slipping herself underneath one of his arms and leading him away from the elevator and the watchers.

"I’m afraid so, Jo," he replied. He looked around. "Who’s the Greek chorus?"

"These people have been here watching Ellie since an hour after she arrived," Canfield replied. She settled her husband on the edge of the empty hospital bed. "Why are you here?"

Odegard smiled.

"I wanted to see if you were all right," he said. "So I put Ellie’s orb in a containment box and presented myself at one of the roadblocks at the border of the county. The people there grabbed me right up." He looked up at Ellie. "You’re still growing?"

Ellie nodded slowly.

"I’m afraid that I wasn’t able to find out why, Ellie," Odegard said. His voice was tired and his wife noticed for the first time that there were deep shadows under his eyes. "I tried every possible test I could think of. The thing resisted all and any identification. That’s why I brought it here. Maybe the military people have equipment I don’t have that could determine its composition." He twisted his shoulders. "Just spent the last six hours or so explaining it to them. They called it a debriefing. Was more like an interrogation. They were not happy with me at all for holding onto the thing as long as I did."

"You had the orb?" Ellie asked. She blinked. "I remember you bringing it to our house the night before Steve and I were going to leave." She looked down at her chest, and smiled again.

"What is it?" Canfield asked.

"Steve fell asleep again," Ellie replied. "About the orb?"

"I did leave it at your house. Got a phone call from—" Odegard looked around in a conspiratorial fashion— "somebody who told me what had happened to you. Also told me the house was deserted and unwatched. So, I drove up there and retrieved the box I’d put the thing in. They’d done a pretty thorough job searching the place but I guess nobody recognized the box for what it was. I figured you’d have to give it up eventually but I would try some new tests on it first before I put it in these people’s hands. Unfortunately, I’m no wiser than I was before." Odegard visibly sagged. "I’m sorry."

"It’s all right, Professor Odegard," Ellie replied.

"This debriefing—they didn’t hurt you, did they?" Canfield asked, her expression fierce. Odegard shook his head.

"No, no. They did a lot of shouting, though. Made my ears hurt. The physicist they brought in later was a very smart fellow. He suggested taking the thing to the Fermi collider and bashing it to try and determine it’s atomic structure—"

"Okay, scientist," Canfield said. She stopped Odegard by placing her fingers on his lips. "You can tell me all about it later." She lowered her voice. "I’m very worried about Ellie. Her growth rate accelerated after she was shot. It’s weakening her. Dearest, what I’ve seen over the last two days I would never have believed had I not witnessed it. Steve had a mortal wound, but Ellie somehow healed him. I don’t know how, but she did. His wound looks like it’s several days healed already. He came out of his anesthesia in half the time he should have. There was no postoperative bleeding, no infection, no sepsis. It’s one for the books."

Odegard nodded. Canfield turned back to Ellie.

"Why don’t you bring Steve down here. I’ll go get a kit and take those sutures out of his skin."

Ellie shook her head.

"I don’t want to disturb him, Joann. Is it okay with you if we wait until he’s awake? I like having him here on me."

The eyes she turned to Canfield were half-lidded. She looked weak and tired. Canfield felt her concern rise.

"Ellie? Are you all right?"

Ellie nodded as best as her cramped position would permit. Her smile was genuine.

"I’m just tired, that’s all," she said. She turned her head until she faced the receiving bay’s loading door. She cocked her head.

"Is it raining outside?" she asked. Canfield did not reply. Her husband stood up off the hospital bed, his wiry body alert. Bernard also suddenly seemed alert. She looked at her fellow observers, then took one step forward.

"Yes, it’s raining outside," she said. Ellie smiled again.

"I can hear it through the door. It sounds nice, the rain," she replied. Her eyes closed. Both her arms dropped from around her bust. The sound of her hands thumping on the concrete floor had a horrible, lifeless quality. Canfield felt tears spurt into her eyes. She blinked to clear them away as she jumped around the edge of the hospital bed, heading towards Ellie. As she got closer she could make out Steve’s bare feet, wrapped papoose-like in a hospital blanket, atop Ellie’s chest.

"Ellie?" she called. Ellie did not respond. She remained completely motionless, her knees pressed together against the ceiling, her feet splayed on the far wall.

"Ellie? Ellie!"

Professor Pommoru Varghese finished tightening the screws that sealed the top on the airtight casing. The marvelous object that had caused the woman to grow was seated as before on the rim of a small ceramic dish. Varghese felt uniquely privileged. He had been allowed to interview his fellow physicist, Augustan Odegard. The interview had been a pleasant surprise—Odegard was sharp, intelligent, and very, very good in his chosen field. It was a pity he wasted himself in such a honky-tonk place as this Edneyville he spoke of. The orb was everything Odegard said it was—inert, impervious, and utterly inscrutable. Varghese had recommended it be transferred to the Lawrence Livermore labs for further analysis, and had been given the go-ahead to set it up for shipment. The airtight container Odegard has cased it in was a perfect choice for shipping. Just pack it inside a crate and it would be ready to go—

The bang was very loud and very close. Varghese almost jumped out of his skin, his eyeglasses falling half off his nose, his ears ringing from the noise. He spun around. The containment box was gone. No, it wasn’t gone—it lay on its side under the table Varghese had set it on. Varghese clutched at his chest until the sensation of his heart trying to beat its way out subsided, then he took one step towards the thing.

Running feet echoed in the hallway outside his lab. The door burst open and a dozen soldiers rushed in, some with their weapons drawn.

"No!" Varghese objected, throwing up his hands. "Everybody keep out! It’s all right, I’m all right. Everybody stay out. Secure that door."

The soldiers looked around the lab, puzzled, then retreated. Varghese reset his glasses on his nose, then tugged his arm-length neoprene rubber gloves tighter on his arms. He approached the case carefully, squatting beside it. He looked all around it first, never touching the case itself. It’s clear panels were now opaque—a gray opacity he couldn’t see through at all, even with the help of a halogen specimen lamp. He cautiously lifted it up and peered below it. The bottom side was also intact.

Varghese lifted the case, holding it by its edges. Once back on the table he added another specimen lamp and looked carefully at the box. Save for a small circle on one panel—probably where the ceramic dish was before whatever happened to the orb inside happened—the interior of the tough impermeable case was completely opaque. Varghese looked carefully at one panel with a magnifying glass. The plastic had been scored or etched from within so thoroughly no light could get through. He tilted the box up and looked through the small circular window in the bottom panel. He could make out dust, a mass of dust swirling inside the box, glinting in the light. The orb was gone, destroyed by some means he did not know. The orb was gone.

Growth Encounter Part 13