It Lives Again by James Dixon

home. “In there,” he sighed.
    Cautiously the police approached the door, the officer in the lead. Guns ready and edging closer, they prepared to enter the mobile unit.
    Surrounding the door, the officer asked, “Ready?”
    “We’re ready,” answered his men.
    Slowly he turned the handle; the door opened and . . . flew open! The figure of Dr. Westley leaped out SCREAMING! Completely in shock, oblivious to his surroundings, he fell on the police officer in a state of total collapse.
    Quickly, boldly, as if in a race, the state police rushed through the open door. Guns ready, they peered in: Jody lay unconscious on the delivery table, the two male nurses and Barbara were there, but there was no sign of Eugene Scott or Dr. Forrest . . . nor was there any sign of the huge barred incubator. It had been removed . . . it was gone!
    Outside, the officer finally disengaged himself from the crazed Dr. Westley and heard a persistent knocking from the front part of the motor home. Moving quickly to the front door, he tried the handle: locked. He moved quickly back to Davis.
    “Who’s in there?” he demanded.
    Davis shrugged. “I don’t know.”
    “Let’s have the keys.”
    “What keys?” Davis asked innocently.
    “Search him,” said the officer to a policeman standing by.
    Roughly the policeman went through Frank’s pockets, finding the keys and handing them to the officer.
    With a menacing look at Frank, the officer moved back to the front of the motor home.
    Standing back, ready for any eventuality, he unlocked the van. Slowly he opened the door and looked inside. There, on the floor, bound and gagged, was Mallory.
    Quickly he pulled the bandages Frank had used for a gag out of Mallory’s mouth, enabling Mallory to speak.
    Mallory gasped, then coughed, catching his breath. “They switched cars in the tunnel.” He coughed again. “A camper. Gray. I couldn’t get the license,” he sputtered.
    The officer, with two other policemen, now had Mallory almost completely untied. Jumping out of the camper, he met Frank Davis’s smiling face. “Davis, you son of a bitch!” he stormed.
    “Well, are you going to arrest me?” asked Frank, still smiling.
    “You bet your sweet ass we are!” said the officer.
    “I can’t wait for my day in court,” said Frank. “The television people should love it.”
    “Let him go,” said Mallory, still disentangling himself from Davis’s hastily applied ropes.
    “Who the hell are you?” asked the officer, looking sternly at Mallory.
    Mallory reached inside his jacket and took out his identification. He flashed it in the officer’s direction.
    “Hold it,” said the officer, grabbing the wallet. He wanted to get a better look at it.
    Opening it, he studied the wallet and then carried it over to another man in plainclothes. The man looked at it, nodded, and handed the wallet back.
    The officer came back to Mallory. “All right, Mr. Mallory, whatever you say . . . it’s on your neck.”
    “You let me worry about it,” said Mallory. “Impound this vehicle. Get the information to the bureau. Trace it back.”
    “Yes, sir,” said the officer. He began issuing orders to his subordinates at the motor home.
    Behind them other police were shouting to the helicopters, which had now landed and were ready to take off again, “It’s a camper, a gray camper.”
    Davis, standing next to Mallory, watched the helicopters taking off.
    “Thanks,” said Frank.
    “For what?” said Mallory, also watching the helicopters.
    “For keeping me out of jail,” answered Frank.
    “You shouldn’t be in jail, you belong in a mental hospital, Davis,” Mallory retorted savagely.
    An ambulance had pulled up and the unconscious Jody Scott was being transferred to it in order to be taken back to the hospital. Dr. Westley was also being placed in the same ambulance. State troopers, and the officer in particular, were questioning the three nurses.
    “You mean they never told you where they were