Then shouts from the direction of the doorway. I started to black out, kneeing him in the crotch to no effect and clawing in panic at his hands, the flesh sloughing off under my nails.
Then suddenly he straightened, and looked toward the door.
Schubert came charging through, his service revolver raised. Two more officers came right behind.
He whirled away from them as if to hide his ruined face. But he didn't hide it from me! He looked at me with what passed for a fixed and hideous grin, although it might have been the death rictus of his facial muscles. His voice was like a tinny rasp, hollow and unreal.
"When the world starts to chew itself up alive, and spits out its own guts... be it on your conscience, Mr. Kolchak!"
He staggered away. Schubert was yelling for me to stop him. I made a grab for his coat but it came off in my hand. The acid.
He bolted for what had been an outside window, now boarded up, and smashed through it.
We could hear his wail all the way down. And a distant, echoing clatter of falling wood... and glass... and bones.
