Ch.27Ch.3 – My Miskatonic Comrades (7)

Same Day. AM 10:54

Miskatonic Humanities Building Basement Boiler Room

Inside the boiler room lay a dead soldier with his abdomen split open.

Just like Marie Shelley, flowers were blooming and swaying from his stomach. The letters written in blood around the corpse were the same, but two things were different.

What he held in his hand wasn’t an obsidian dagger but a common kitchen knife that could be bought anywhere. And at the head of the body was a drawing of crossed sickle and hammer.

“Anyone can see this is a childish prank!”

Dean Ackerman was a middle-aged man with rigid posture. In terms of build, he was almost identical to Major Winston.

“Dean. I’ve been quiet until now out of respect for your position.”

The Major emphasized each word, pausing between them.

“I’ve known all along that this school is a nest of commie bastards. Still, I tried to tolerate it because it’s a ‘temple of learning,’ but is this my reward? That dead man sent money to his widowed mother every month. He has three younger siblings! Why should my subordinate die at the hands of these commie bastards?”

“The flowers? Is that the work of communists too? Access control and phone tapping weren’t enough, now you’re overstepping your authority?”

“Well said. Adjutant, cut the communication lines. Cut everything except the direct line to the Federal Security Bureau and military phones. We need to root out these commie bastards once and for all!”

Crayfield gave me a look. It meant we should leave. As soon as we exited the Humanities Building, he immediately lit a cigarette.

“The hammer and sickle are clearly intentional. Don’t you think? He’s deliberately stoking conflict. Relations between the military and the school were never good, but now they’re openly hostile. Look there. The military is already blocking pathways, and students are gradually gathering.”

He was right. Soldiers carrying sandbags were blocking the campus roads.

Students were walking through side paths, but they were secretly collecting stones and scrap metal in hidden places.

“Any empty bottles around? Oh dear. I hope these students are wholesome ones who don’t drink alcohol, but at this point, it wouldn’t be surprising to see Molotov cocktails. After all, alcohol lamps are commonly used these days.”

Crayfield pointed to a corner of the sky. It was Mars. It looked like a reddish eye, like a gaze watching through a crack in the door.

“That damned fellow. Our protagonist, I mean. He’s exploiting this conflict. It’s nothing short of sabotage. With the military and Federal Security Bureau taking over the school, making it difficult to find victims, he’s inciting students to create chaos. When everyone’s lost their minds, it’s not hard to cut open someone’s belly and offer them as a sacrifice. Of course, that’s not his final destination. The descent of the Fire Breath. That’s what he wants. And to bring down the Fire Breath, he needs a song. And the song…”

Crayfield’s gaze stopped at a speaker under a streetlight.

“I didn’t want to go this far. I’ve been too gentlemanly. Let’s go, assistant. We need to pull a con.”

* * * * *

Same Day, AM 11:12

Miskatonic University Astronomy Building 1st Floor

“Halt.”

Tired-looking soldiers aimed their rifles. Crayfield raised both hands.

“Whoa, whoa. Calm down. Calm down, everyone. Do I look like a student?”

“Lower your weapons.”

A familiar voice came from an officer walking out of the hall. It was the lieutenant I’d seen before. The soldiers obediently followed his order.

“Has your post changed?”

“Yes. I’m on guard duty here until tomorrow. Honestly, I’d rather quit and go home.”

The lieutenant sighed deeply. Crayfield offered him a fresh cigarette.

“I’m on duty, sir.”

“So am I. Since I need to conduct a ‘legal investigation,’ would you accompany me to that bench over there?”

The lieutenant smiled and accepted the cigarette. After they sat down on the bench, Crayfield lit it for him. The lieutenant took a deep drag of the Camel.

“The soldiers must be quite disgruntled.”

“Don’t even mention it. More than a few are saying they want to shoot them all. Even I wanted to shoot when I saw someone mooning us.”

“That’s severe.”

The lieutenant’s fingertips were trembling. It seemed to be from excessive fatigue and stress.

“I don’t understand what that damn ideology is about that makes people cut open a perfectly normal person’s stomach. And if that wasn’t enough, they planted flowers in him. They must be completely insane, right?”

“It hasn’t been confirmed that socialists are responsible.”

“Who else would kill a soldier if not those bastards?”

The tip of the Camel cigarette glowed bright red. Crayfield nodded a couple of times.

“Lieutenant. Are you busy? What I mean is, could you spare about five minutes? It’s a request from the Federal Security Bureau to move some items from the Astronomy Building.”

“If that’s all, then sure, it’s fine.”

“Excellent. Come to Professor Bravery’s office with your men in about 10 minutes. Agent Scully has asked us to transport some materials, and I think we’ll be quite short-handed.”

Crayfield didn’t just stop at words. He added two more cigarettes.

“Not difficult, right?”

“I think we can manage that much.”

“Good. Let’s go, assistant.”

* * * * *

Same Day, AM 11:20

Miskatonic University Astronomy Building 4th Floor

Professor Mark Bravery’s Office

Crayfield flung the door open. The professor looked up in surprise.

“What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, Crayfield strode into the room, locked the door, and leaned against it.

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“Stop talking nonsense and immediately—”

Crayfield pulled out a revolver. With a displeased expression, he lightly scratched his forehead with the muzzle. The professor shut his mouth.

“You heard the broadcast, right? I wonder if you’ve looked outside. Soldiers are building fortifications to prepare for student violence. It’s something that shouldn’t happen, but the moment even one stone flies, this place will become a battlefield. Soldiers who’ve lost a comrade will fire blindly in all directions. Especially if you’re a follower of socialism or communism or whatever. If they can’t find a scapegoat, they’ll create one, won’t they? That’s how the military works.”

“I… I have no connection whatsoever.”

“I believe you. But I’m not sure if the Naval Counterintelligence will.”

Just like when we first entered, the professor’s room was cluttered with stacks of paper. Crayfield picked up some papers and stuffed them under the door crack.

“I’m telling you this exclusively, but Counterintelligence has already caught intelligence. That encrypted radio transmissions were being sent to the Soviet Union from this very school. And you, Mr. Bravery.”

Crayfield’s lips twitched.

“You are the manager of this school’s broadcasting facilities and the faculty advisor for the campus radio station. There’s no way you can avoid scrutiny. And this fact is known to all the soldiers out there. Make your decision. Now, the soldiers are coming to get you.”

Knock, knock.

“Are you in there? National Guard.”

It was the lieutenant. The locked door rattled as someone tried to turn the handle.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Mr. Crayfield? Professor? Are you in there?”

“They’re already here.”

Crayfield pushed over a metal cabinet. With a loud crash, the cabinet blocked the door.

“Private! Get an axe! Something’s happening in there! Mr. Crayfield! Professor! Please open the door!”

“Wh-what are you doing?”

The poor professor was completely confused.

“Listen to me. The Federal Security Bureau is a much higher authority. They’ll at least hand you over to the Arkham Police interrogation room, not some nameless naval base. Agent Catherine Scully promised that. However, if those soldiers come in, it will all be for nothing. You’ll be taken away from here, and you’ll probably spend your days in an interrogation room on some nameless island. You’ll never see the sky again.”

“What do I need to do?”

Crayfield moved closer to the professor.

“That’s a nice fountain pen. I hope it writes well before the soldiers break down the door. Now, pick it up and write down the list of students in the broadcasting club.”

Sweat broke out on the professor’s forehead and scalp. Eventually, he frantically wrote down seven names and their departments.

“Excellent. You’ve done a good thing. These friends will definitely be protected.”

“Do you promise?”

“Of course. I promise.”

Bang! An axe blade broke through the door. At least two people were taking turns chopping at the door. The professor’s face turned pale.

“P-protect me! You promised!”

“But Professor, is this really everyone?”

“There’s one… one more person. Someone who knows how to operate radio equipment.”

The professor gulped.

“Gordon Whateley.”

Crash!

“Mr. Crayfield, why didn’t you answer if you were inside? Put down that gun!”

The startled lieutenant burst into the professor’s office.

Clap, clap, clap.

Crayfield softly applauded.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. You’ve done a great service for this country. Ah, and there’s nothing to carry out.”

The professor’s face drained of color.

“Were you planning to drag me out alive?”

We quickly left the professor’s office. The sound of the lieutenant complaining about the furniture and the professor throwing something in rage faded in the distance.

* * * * *

Same Day, AM 11:54

On the Way to the Medical Building

The campus was on the brink of explosion. Students covered their mouths with handkerchiefs and cloth, and had broken old furniture to make clubs and bats.

The soldiers weren’t idle either. They were already on ladders cutting telephone lines. Steel heat shields were placed behind the sandbags.

Tick-tock.

The clock pointed to 6.

Crayfield looked at his own watch.

“We need to discard what’s unnecessary. Until 11, we can give up everything. One moment. Just wait for that one decisive moment. If we wait, that moment will surely come.”

Muttering this self-affirmation, Crayfield entered the Medical Building. When he knocked on the research professor’s door, Agent Scully opened it.

“The roads around Miskatonic are completely blocked. Communications are cut too. Now that a soldier has been attacked, Major Winston will absolutely not back down.”

“Is there no way to contact the outside?”

“My dedicated line is still working. Here. And the line to Major Winston’s command post is also alive.”

Agent Scully pointed to the phone in her room.

“Now, explain. Why did you turn Professor Bravery’s office upside down? Why did you lie?”

“To save a life.”

Crayfield presented the list. Scully pushed up her glasses.

“What is this?”

“It’s a list of Miskatonic broadcasting club students. If you want a perfect blockade, secure these individuals first.”

“Thank you for letting me know.”

Scully sighed.

“I didn’t want this situation. Truly.”

“I feel the same way.”

“Pardon?”

“You told me to approach this with an independent perspective. From the beginning, I’ve approached the deranged killer who uses human bodies as flower pots and the Rasputin case separately. You’ve read my report? The folklore department report.”

“I read it. It was hard to believe. Of course, hard to believe doesn’t mean I don’t understand that the killer of Marie Shelley and the soldier is following the ‘Fire Breath ritual’ method.”

“My hypothesis is this: That killer very much enjoys the current conflict situation and is trying to exploit it. And he will probably do something by tonight.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because after today, Mars will move farther away.”

Crayfield pointed to the sky outside the window.

“The Fire Breath of Mars continuously emits transmissions. Don’t look at me like I’m crazy, I don’t believe it either! But what can we do if the killer thinks that way? We have to follow his thinking. After emitting those transmissions, the purpose of the Fire Breath is to ‘descend’ toward the response it hears. Followers shoot up a kind of guiding transmission to welcome the Fire Breath.”

Scully closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“It’s classified, but I think I can share this with you. The Boston team sent a report. They not only analyzed the flowers but also succeeded in replicating them.”

Crayfield was shocked.

“What did they succeed in doing?”

“They used death row inmates. Don’t be concerned. I don’t like it either. They played overlapping frequencies from Mars and those mainly used by Rasputin. Then… just like at the military base and the first two victims, flowers explosively grew inside the inmate’s body.”

“Damn it.”

“That’s not all.”

Scully continued calmly, like a doctor explaining a medical condition.

“These flowers have a unique property. They first invade the respiratory and vocal organs of the organism. When the sacrifice screams, the vibration travels up the stem and is ’emitted’ from the flower. The frequency band is identified as above 30MHz. We couldn’t perform it often, though.”

“Um, what does that mean? I’m weak in science.”

“Ordinary shortwave radios use 3-30MHz. That frequency band can’t penetrate the atmosphere. But transmissions from 30MHz to 300MHz can break through the atmosphere. Some of them might even… send signals to Mars.”

Scully sighed again.

“The flower killer and Rasputin seem unrelated. They were using the same signal band from before. Given that they used the same frequency even as Mars approached, they probably had no idea about this fact. They wouldn’t have done such a thing if they knew their heads might explode.”

“Then let’s go.”

“Where?”

“There’s something I haven’t mentioned. There’s one more person who knows how to handle that shortwave radio. Of course, it’s not Professor Bravery. Certainly not a student. Students can’t wander around late at night.”

Scully’s eyes narrowed. Crayfield continued.

“And he has a deep interest in socialism. I know because I’ve talked with him. The reason he stopped broadcasting wasn’t because he was being monitored, but because he realized his actions were stimulating the ‘Fire Breath.’ There’s only one person who fits all these conditions.”

“Gordon Whateley, Professor of Folklore.”

Crayfield nodded.

“Yes. He’s likely to be ‘Rasputin.'”