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He was weeping for the girl. The image of her beauty had lodged in his decaying brain and it hurt more than the searing pain in his body.
    He burst through the trees into an opening. There was a flap of panicked wing-beats as a flock of mallards rose in noisy consternation from the surface of a small pond. They rose like arrows towards the sunlight, leaving the water rippling and dancing between the green circles of water-lilies.
    He crept towards the edge and peered over the side into the turbulent water. As the ripples settled he saw his reflection.
    He let out a bellow of anguish and brought his deformed hand down upon the image, splintering it into a thousand fragments of bobbing sunlight. He beat again and again, trying to hammer it down into the red mud at the bottom of the pond where it belonged. Then he hurled himself after it, gulping at the liquid in a bid to douse the unquenchable fire in his guts. He threshed and floundered in the water, but it wasn’t deep enough to hide him. His lungs burnt fiercer as they filled with water and vomited themselves clear in a spasm of agonised retching.
    He raised himself, the red and muddy water cascading from his body. The dead leaves, still glistening from contact with his melting skin, floated limply about him. The water had scorned and rejected his miserable life and the fire raged stronger within, fanned by the flames of bitter resentment.
    He shook himself like an animal and padded off in search of food.

FIVE
    T HE G ENERAL ’ S jet had been delayed. As it touched down the shadows were already beginning to lengthen against the walls of the research centre. The hot rim of the sun rested on the topmost leaves of the trees across the airstrip.
    Ted Nelson waited nervously on the tarmac while the steps were wheeled up to the side of the plane. The door opened and an aide stepped aside to reveal the burly hulk of the General scowling down at him. The stars on his epaulettes glinted malevolently as he marched down the steps and the rows of medals jostled self-importantly on his square chest. When he reached the ground Ted Nelson was amazed to see how short his legs were. For all the world he looked like an angry Charolais bull.
    After a stiff handshake and gruff acknowledgement the General bulldozed his way into the back seat of the waiting car and they set off ostentatiously across the tarmac. It was a ludicrously short distance to travel to the centre and they could easily have walked, but the General had insisted that he have a car waiting to meet his plane, and Ted hadn’t the confidence to argue. In the five years the centre had been under his charge there hadn’t been much protocol. They were scientists and had soon forgotten they were an offspring of the mighty Pentagon. From the expression on General Perry’s face it looked as though he was determined to remind them.
    When the car stopped the General didn’t wait to be shown to the doctor’s office. He led the way himself, his heels clicking imperiously on the tiled floor. He’d said nothing since they’d shaken hands and Ted’s trepidation was mounting.
    As soon as the office door was closed the General swung round to confront him.
    “Well?” he barked. “Where is he?”
    “I’m afraid we still haven’t found him,” stammered the doctor. “At least, not all of him,” he added bitterly.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” demanded the General venomously.
    The doctor explained about the hand.
    “When did you find it?” asked the General sharply.
    “Just over an hour ago in the wood beyond the airstrip. We’ve still got it surrounded.”
    For the first time the General relaxed. “Then he’ll be dead now,” he said coolly. “We don’t need to worry about him any more.”
    Ted Nelson disguised his disgust at this piece of ruthlessness. “I’m afraid the hand’s probably only been shed, as a failure,” he replied. “The organism’s probably at work on other tissue. Next time it could be