by Matt King
He locked them back together and walked to the bathroom window, sticking his head out to check on the Lawson house. Everything was still. Bear and Ray might've been out cold, but the apartment door made a racket when he opened it and he didn't want to risk a midnight visit from Bear. That left the window—and a two-story fall. What the hell. It's not like it can chop me in half, right? He lowered himself over the side until he hung from the windowsill. The fall didn't look as short as he hoped it would, but it was too late now. After counting to three, he let go. His foot landed sideways on a root and he spent the next minute lying on his back, cursing under his breath and waiting for his broken ankle to heal.
His eyes adjusted to the moonlight while he waited. The fields were quiet, just like they had been when he left the house. As much as he was looking forward to the action, having a fight so close to the Lawsons’ was going to be problematic. For one thing, he had no idea how he'd explain away a bunch of blood all over his clothes if things went bad.
So take the shirt off, he thought.
Seemed like an easy enough fix. He stripped off his shirt and left it hanging on one of the stalks at the edge of the field. Goosebumps ran up his arms as soon as the first gust of wind rolled through. He looked down at his jeans next.
No way. I'll be neat.
A low growl rose from the fields. His head whipped to the side at the sound of movement in the corn. Something big went running off through the stalks away from the barn. It wasn’t long until a second growl rumbled through the air in the distance, then a third.
“Shit.”
August stuck the staff in the dirt while he unbuttoned his pants. He shed the jeans and tossed them onto his boots. Socks, too. Re-gripping his weapon, he set off through the stalks wearing nothing but a pair of blue boxers. “So, this is how it starts,” he muttered to himself. “Not exactly how I planned to make my first impression.”
Meryn warned him that there might be scouts: advance groups of fighters sent to find out how powerful he was. He hadn't pictured a bunch of animals doing the job, but who knew what kind of freaks the other side would send after him. He just hoped they were quiet freaks.
He walked in the direction where he’d heard the loudest of the growls. They’d begun to fade, making him wonder if maybe he was going to lose them if he didn't start running. He eventually made it to a section of the field that Bear had run through with the combine earlier in the day. The ground was a carpet of severed cornstalks. He tapped one with the bottom of his foot and came away with a few shards of stalk stuck in his heel. “Well,” he said, “let's hope I don't have to fall on that.”
He managed only a few steps farther into the clearing before one of the animals broke through the stalks across from him. Meryn had said to expect anything, but that didn't stop him from pausing to gawk at the alien slithering across the ground.
The lower half of its body looked like a snake—coiled, thickly muscled, and covered in inky scales. Its torso was marked with raised spines along its arms and back, with a pair of clawed hands and protruding orange eyes on the side of its arrow-shaped head. The thing must've been eight feet from top to bottom. Its tail moved like a sidewinder, pushing it into the open, where it gnashed a mouth full of curved fangs.
“Okay. That’s not so bad.”
The snake flexed its claws. Out of the stalks came another loud hiss. A second snake pushed its way into the clearing. More followed, this time just a few feet away from him on either side. Where one had been, a half dozen more now stood.
Better start now before anyone else shows up.
A growl came from his left, and that was all the warning he got before the group barreled down on him in a swarm. He turned and rammed the end of his staff through the midsection of a snake as it leapt through the air, bringing it over his head and slamming it down until the point of his blade lodged in the ground. Another took a swipe at his face. August ducked, took hold of its tail, and swung it around in a circle to knock the others back before he impaled the snake on the other end of his staff. He grabbed the handle and ripped it sideways. One beast fell on top of the other with their entrails mixing in a bloody heap.
Teeth sank into the back of his knee. He stifled a pained scream. He turned and cut the beast's head off with its jaws still attached to his leg. The next one went for his shoulder. Two more jumped on his back and their weight knocked him to the floor. The corn stalks didn’t disappoint. The pain was excruciating.
His leg wounds healed just as fresh bites tore into his back and shoulder. Still holding his staff, he threw himself hard to one side. All three creatures tumbled off. The fourth joined them in a line after brushing aside one of the fallen.
August got to his feet. He counted them off with the tip of his sword. “Didn't there used to be more of you?”
They charged one after the other, and he took them down in turn. He halved the first with a single cut, then severed the outstretched arms of the next snake as soon as it got within range. Unfazed, the animal launched itself toward August's throat, and he knocked it away with the blunt side of his blade before it could close its jaws. He took the next in line with a slice across its throat. Just as he was getting into his rhythm, one of the snakes hit him from the side, knocking his staff out of his hands. The thing bared its fangs as it moved in between August and the blades.
“Okay, that’s one for you.”
The armless snake tried desperately to slither back into the fields. August grabbed it by its tail and swung it like a bat, catching the other monster off guard and pushing it aside far enough so that he could reach his staff. The animal recovered with an angry cry.
August stabbed the wounded creature through its skull, then yanked the blade free to brace himself for ambush. None came. Instead, the last snake moved backward toward the corn.
“Ohhh no you don't,” August said. He crept forward, inching toward the snake like it was a suicide jumper with one foot off the ledge. “You're not going anywhere, pal.”
The snake growled.
“Don't do it. I’m serious. Don't make me—”
With a lunge, it disappeared into the shadows.
“Son of a bitch!”
The only piece of advice Meryn gave him on dealing with scouts was to not let them get away. August didn't know what she did when she got angry, and he meant to keep it that way. He ran in after the snake. An endless barrage of corn ears slapped him in the face, preventing him from screaming the obscenities rattling through his head. Thick rows of stalks slowed him down. After a while, he couldn't see or hear the thing he was chasing.
The cornfield came to an abrupt end at the bottom of a hill, giving way to a tall, unruly patch of brush near the forest's edge. The snake was nowhere to be seen.
He tapped deep into his well of cursing vocabulary as he began to walk up and down the overgrown mess of bushes and vines. He'd never be able to find anything in a jungle like this, especially in the dark. He was going to have to go back to Meryn and tell her that one got away.
August took an angry swipe at a thatch of dead vines. Something inside made a sound.
“Well of all the dumb luck,” he said. “Come on out, big guy. I’ve got a sharp metal present for you.”
The snake sprang forward.
Its teeth would've closed down on August's head if he hadn't raised his staff in time to jam it across the snake's open jaw. Thick drops of saliva fell onto his face as the snake darted its head to try and break through the handle. Its claws swiped at his arms. August knocked it back with a shoulder, drew his staff, and slammed the point through the snake's chest. He hid his face from its breath as it struggled to free itself. Flipping the release on the handle, he gripped the freed sword, and took the snake's head off in a quick swipe.
The headless body spasmed on the end of his blade. August held it there, panting. He gave a tired laugh and looked around, wishing there was an audience to witness what he'd done. Only a nearby frog seemed to notice. Figures.
With the fight over, he was finally able to catch his breath. He put his foot on the corpse and pulled the other half of the staff free. Some of the snake’s intestines came with it. “Not a bad start,” he said, snapping the two blades back together as he surveyed the damage. Blood poured out of the snake's body onto the dirt. “Jesus, you smell like a sewer.”
He looked toward the field. The clearing seemed farther away now that he had a pile of dead bodies to go back and dispose of. He grabbed the tail of the snake. As he started dragging it toward the woods, he remembered that the head was no longer attached. He bent down to pick it up, then froze. Something shifted in the stalks behind him. He took hold of his staff.
“Bear? That you?”
A shape moved in the corn, but it was too short to be Bear. With a cloud blocking the moonlight, he had to squint to make sure that he was really seeing what he thought he was. Hidden a few rows back from the edge of the field was the shadow of someone. A man, by the size of him. He stayed perfectly still. Only a thin tail of smoke lifting away from his head differentiated him from the darkness.
For the first time since the fight started, August thought of his lack of clothing. He decided to ignore it. “This is private property,” he said, hoping that the man wasn't a local. “What do you want?”
No answer. Before he had another chance to speak, the man backed away into the cover of shadows.
“Hey!” August called out. He ran to the edge of the corn and pushed aside the stalks. The man was gone, replaced with nothing, not even a whiff of smoke.
A gust of wind blew across the top of the field.
August looked down at the snake carcass lying on the ground. He kicked the head at his feet. That guy was no scout, he thought. He glanced at the stars. “He was one of the guys you warned me about, wasn't he? Has it already started?” He wished for an answer knowing that he wouldn't get it. Meryn never came around unless it was to scold him. Maybe it was best she didn't answer. If the man was another champion like him, she wouldn't be very happy that he let him get away with his life.
An owl called out nearby. August picked up the snake head in one hand and grabbed the carcass with the other. “Let’s go,” he said. “You and I have a date with a compost heap.”
The work was slow going. Cold, exhausted, and covered in snake guts, he eventually made his way back to the barn carrying his clothes in one hand and his sword staff in the other. If he was lucky, he still had a couple of hours before daylight, and he meant to spend that time sleeping after he rinsed off the nastiness. He cast a cursory glance at the house on his way up the steps. Everything was still.
He opened the screen door as quietly as the rusted hinges would allow, which wasn't much. If they asked, he'd say he went outside for a smoke. His bag was still on his bed, and he wasted no time breaking down the staff, sticking it inside, and stuffing it beside his mattress before he stumbled into the bathroom. When he was done cleaning off the layers of caked-on blood, sleep came quickly.
■ ■ ■
Outside, hidden in the dark corner of the back porch, Bear stood from his chair. He looked first to the window of August’s room, and then to the rows of corn.
Bear slipped through the doorway and started for the field. He could canvas it in an hour or two, and if he had time, maybe the woods as well.
CHAPTER FIVE
Standing in the empty waiting room of his counseling center, Jeff Benton shuddered. Everything was so still, like he’d wandered into the past after the world had moved on. He flicked on the hallway light, hoping to drive away some of the negative energy. Negative energy? When did I become such a hippie? Unfortunately for his mojo, the trendy little LEDs that he and Trish installed during the summer didn't do much to brighten his situation. He shut the front door and walked through the lobby, reaching into his pocket for the keys.
“Oh no.”
He pulled the key ring out and jingled it in his palm. The office keys, the ones normally attached to the picture of his cats, were nowhere to be found.
His first impulse was to call Trish, but she didn't take kindly to having her weekends interrupted by stories of his forgetfulness. He decided to try her desk instead. Maybe she had a spare set lying around. He tried her top drawer first. Sitting front and center in the compartment of her pencil tray was his key chain. You forgot your keys, Dr. Jeff, a note attached to the ring said. AGAIN!
“Why didn't you call me?” She always called his cell if something went wrong, like the time he forgot to pay the water cooler bill. She was on the horn to him the second she saw the unpaid invoice. He pulled out his phone. When he pressed the Home key, the screen stayed black. He pressed the power button and saw a quick alert that he’d missed a call from Trish just before the phone shut down for good. A charger was something he knew he hadn't forgotten, so he took his keys and walked out into the hallway, fishing through his bag for the plug.
Just as he stepped away from her desk, the office telephone chimed once.
Odd. The answering service was supposed to put calls through to his home phone on weekends. He leaned back to see if he could make out the number on the caller ID. The red light beside Line 1 blinked and then went out. There was no second ring.
He shrugged and went back to searching for his charger. He found it stashed at the bottom of his bag, beneath the patient file notes he still needed to go through in his never-ending search for a publishable case. There were only a precious few left, but his partner was hosting a writing group at the apartment and he couldn’t work with the noise. Jeff put the key in the lock and turned the bolt on the office door. No sooner had the rush of air conditioning hit his face than the phone on Trish's desk rang again.
He waited until the second ring this time before going back to check. The caller ID gave a number he didn't recognize. It wasn’t part of the college. “AMERICAN BU” moved across the marquee display. He picked up the phone and looked for the transfer button. “Dr. Jeff's office. One second, please.” He ran his finger over the column of buttons until he found the right one and then sent the call to his desk. The chime rang twice before he made it over. He cleared his throat and took a breath.
“This is Dr. Jeff. How can I help you?”
“Dr. Jeff, this is Maggie at the answering service. I’m sorry to bother you, but I couldn’t reach you at the other numbers.”
“That’s okay. You can put them through.”
“Go ahead,” Maggie said to the caller.
There was a clicking noise as the answering service dropped off. No one on the other end spoke, but he could hear a crowd of people in the background, including a robotic voice coming over a loudspeaker. He couldn't make out what it was saying.
“This is the Sanderson Center,” he said. “Who am I speaking with?”
The caller said nothing. Jeff was close to hanging up when the other end become muffled, as if a hand had passed over the receiver.
“Are you a doctor?”
The young man sounded taken aback by his own voice, like he wasn’t used to hearing it.
“I am,” Jeff said. “I'm glad you've decided to call, but the office is closed on weekends. The answering service should have told you that. Is this an emergency?”
“I don't know,” the caller answered. He stuttered a bit when he talked.
“Do you mind if I ask your name?”
No reply. He heard another announcement on the loudspeaker telling people to go to Gate 11 for Knoxville.
“Are you a student?”
Still nothing.
Jeff switched the handset to his other shoulder. “Look, I know you're upset, but I can't help you if we don't talk to each other.”
“I'm trying!”
Such a harsh response, compared to the meek replies in the beginning. Jeff started mentally categorizing his new patient: anxiety issues, depressive, but probably not manic. The guy sounded like he was on the verge of doing...something.
“It's okay. We'll take it slow. I have to ask y
ou a question, though, and it's going to be blunt. Is that okay?”
A pause, and then, “Yes.”
“Okay. Now, I don't want to get into specifics since it seems like you're in a public place, but are you feeling like you might injure yourself?”
A “Yes” answer meant that he could send the guy to the emergency room for help and put him off until Monday. The follow-up question was going to ask if he meant to harm others. If that got a “Yes” too, he'd get the police involved. So much for a quiet day at the office.
Jeff waited to give the caller time to answer. There was shuffling on the other end and then a clicking sound.
“Hello? Are you still there?”
A busy signal blared in his ear. He hung up the phone.
He knew what he was going to do before he could even begin to talk himself out of it. One way or another, he was going to find this kid. If the psychosis was juicy enough, he’d finally have a case study worth publishing. And maybe I can help him, too. That was the important part, right? Of course it was, but seeing his name above an article wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
How he went about finding the boy was another matter. The guy probably used a pay phone to call, so hitting the Call Return feature wouldn't help. Jeff thought back to the caller ID when he first took the call. What did it say again? He hurried across the hall and hit the arrow key on the phone to cycle through the list of recent numbers. “AMERICAN BU” came up on the screen.
He shuffled the mouse around on Trish's computer to wake it up. After giving it her password, he searched for “AMERICAN BU” along with the area code and first three digits from the display. The top entry was for “American Bus Lines.”
“Hah!”
He clicked on the map link. The only American station in the area was less than ten miles away. He checked his watch. It was quarter past one. If he hurried, he could get there before the bottom of the hour and maybe catch the mystery caller before he got on his bus. He patted his front and back pockets to make sure that he still had his wallet and keys before shutting off the hallway lights and locking the office door behind him.