The LAST VIAL By SAM McCLATCHIE, M.D. Illustrated by Virgil Finlay _1. And I heard a great voice out of the temple saying to the seven angels, "Go your ways and pour out the vials of the wrath of God upon the earth."_ _2. And the first went and poured out his vial upon the earth and there fell a noisome and grievous sore upon the men which had the mark of the beast and upon them which worshipped his image._ _Revelation 16._ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories November, December 1960, January 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] CHAPTER 1 A little late, I pulled my Ferguson Cross-Country '62 into the space reserved for me and stepped out. The clouds were low and moving fast but the rain was soft on my bare grey head. The dark walls of the Laboratory rose close by. I felt the mass of it blocking off the light wind and, with the wind, the chill wetness of an autumn morning. It was good to be back, I thought, back to the quiet excitement of research, the prideful interest in my students, the comforting presence of my friends. A female figure splashed by me hurriedly, her arms full of large brown envelopes. I half turned. "Lottie," I started to say ... it was the Lab's messenger girl ... but she was gone already. "Funny," I mused, "she's usually ready to stop and chat at the least excuse." I turned back towards the Lab and almost collided with another woman, also loaded with what looked like case reports. "What the Hell!" I muttered to myself, but she was gone too. I quickened my pace, ran up the stone steps two at a time and passed through the big glass doors that open on the main hall of the Laboratory Building. As the electronic eye closed them behind me I shrugged off my raincoat. I dropped a dime in the news vendor and the paper popped up in its waterproof wrapper. The headline printed on the outside caught my eye as I started to shove it into my pocket. "New Epidemic Increases Hourly." New epidemic? What was the old one? Well, I'd find out soon enough. Maybe that explained Lottie and the case reports. I turned to go up the stairs to my office. Behind the counter of the appointment desk Rosie, our senior receptionist, was watching me. Her bright black eyes and pert old face set under thick grey curls reminded me of a little bird curiously inspecting some strange new animal. Her high chirping voice completed the illusion. "Good morning, Doctor Macdonald," she said and moved the sign on the arrival and departure board to show I was in. "How was the vacation? Pat's in," she went on without waiting for an answer. "She says she ran into you a couple of times up in the Powell River Country."