Clickers

by J. F. Gonzalez

They knew it better than hunger.

  They all felt the emotion as old as time itself.

  Fear.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rick was leaning against the receptionist counter as Glen Jorgensen leaned over the transmitter. “…Bangor General, please come in, Bangor General—”

  Glen Jorgensen had been trying to reach Bangor General Hospital for the past fifteen minutes. This was the second attempt they’d made; the first had been close on the heels of when Janice and Bobby arrived at his office when it became apparent that Bobby’s injuries were much worse than Glen thought. When he was met with static, he darted back into his examination room, barking at Barbara to assist him. Rick had waited in the comfy lobby as the physician worked on Bobby, wondering how the boy was, how Janice was making out through all this. He wanted to be back there to offer some comfort, some support, but he knew he would be hindering whatever Dr. Jorgensen had to do. So he sat in the lobby.

  Glen Jorgensen emerged thirty minutes later looking tired and drained. He had worked on Bobby himself, suturing what remained of his finger, splinting and bandaging his hand. Between the time Sheriff Roy Conklin left and Glen began working on Bobby, the storm had grown stronger. Rain pelted the roof and came down in sheets, billowed by the howling wind. When Glen emerged from the examination room he hardly noticed the weather outside; he went straight back to the transmitter and tried again.

  It was at this point that Rick got up and sidled up to the reception area. Glen noticed him and nodded. “I gave both of them a mild sedative. They’re resting in the room down at the end of the hall if you want to see them.”

  Rick nodded and walked down, limping slightly from the bandaged wound on his right leg. Barbara was emerging from the room when he approached it. Her features were strained with worry. “You can see them, but not for long. They both need rest.”

  “How is he?”

  Barbara sighed. She was middle-aged and matronly with reddish hair cut to the shoulders. She wore a white nurse’s uniform with a blue sweater draped over her shoulders. “We sutured his finger as best we could and got him stabilized. But he’s lost some blood and is in shock.”

  “Will he need an emergency blood supply?” If the kid needed blood now Rick would gladly hop onto an examining table and jab the needle in the vein himself.

  “I don’t think so,” Barbara said matter-of-factly. “But Dr. Jorgensen is trying to raise Bangor General. He needs to be in a hospital.”

  The rain suddenly drummed harder, and thunder boomed. KA-BOOM! Its reverberations shook the building. It was the loudest crack of thunder he’d ever heard, or felt. They both looked up for a moment as the boom faded amid the patter-patter of rain, then back at each other. “How ’bout Janice?”

  “In shock, as any mother would be,” Barbara said, her features lined with worry. “But she’ll pull through.”

  Rick moved toward the door. “I won’t be long,” he said.

  Barbara nodded and Rick stepped inside the room.

  Janice had been wheeled into the examination room on a stretcher, and now she was resting with her eyes closed next to Bobby who lay asleep on the examination table with a blanket pulled over him. Bobby’s bandaged and splintered hand was cradled close to his chest. It looked like his hand had grown gargantuan. Janice was drowsy but alert. Rick knelt down by her. He wanted her to know he was here for her, but he didn’t want to appear smothering. A slight smile appeared on her face as he knelt beside her. “You’re still here?” Her voice was weak.

  “Of course,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t leave you two here to fend for yourselves.”

  “You’re a dear,” she said. Her hand reached out, her fingers lightly brushing the top of his hand. A genuine gesture. “How are you?”

  “How am I?” For a moment Rick had forgotten that he’d been hurt. “Oh, that…” It was incredible that in light of what happened to Bobby and their scramble to get off the beach and to Dr. Jorgensen’s that she would remember, much less notice, that he had been stung by one of the Clickers. “I’m fine.”

  “Good.” She settled back on the pillow, her eyes growing heavier. “God, I’m so tired.”

  “I know,” Rick said. He wasn’t very tired himself. If anything, the stress had pumped up his adrenaline. But then he hadn’t taken a tranquilizer either.

  If there was one thing that surprised them all, it was the attack on Rick. The cuts to his leg from the creature’s massive pincer had been deep and ugly but hadn’t required stitches. Glen attributed that to Rick pulling away just as the creature locked its hold down on him. If he had hesitated a moment sooner and jerked his leg back, the force of the creature’s hold on him would have pulled the meat off his leg the way one pulls meat off a chicken leg.

  The creature’s stinger had pierced the muscle of his right thigh, creating a nice three-inch deep puncture wound, almost as if he’d been stabbed by a small knife. Glen had examined him shortly after Bobby was stabilized, and dressed the wound. If the creature was venomous—and Dr. Jorgensen was pretty sure they were from the evidence Rick and Jack Ripley had been able to provide—Rick had received what the Good Doctor referred to as a “dry sting”—when the animal bites or stings, but no venom is injected.

  “It happens with rattlesnake bites quite a bit,” Dr. Jorgensen said. “You’d be surprised.” Surprised he was. And grateful.

  Luckily, in the name of science, the thing’s tail had been severed when the door to the van slammed shut. The moment they hauled Rick in screaming in pain and slammed the door, Janice saw the tail. She batted toward the rear of the van while Rick clutched at his leg, eyes squeezed shut in pain, tears welling from them, wondering if he was going to die. Jack was driving like a maniac to get them to Glen’s and the tail was forgotten until Glen and Barbara were helping them into the office. After Glen stabilized Rick, he got Jack to go back to the van and retrieve it. Jack had brought it to him, holding it by the tips of his fingers as if it were cancerous. Glen took it gingerly and deposited it in the back room, laying it to rest on a shelf in the freezer with the claw Rick had brought him yesterday. For future reference.

  Glen was positive the thing was poisonous. But ten minutes after they had arrived at his office, Rick showed no signs that any venom had been injected into his system. There’d been no abnormal swelling, no loss of muscle coordination, no slurred speech or blurred vision, no nausea, cramps, or vomiting. And most importantly, no deterioration of the flesh that was common in the Brown Recluse Spider, and in some cases, rattlesnake bites.

  “I’m going to rest for a little bit,” Janice said. “Will you take me and Bobby home?”

  “Of course.” Rick squeezed her hand. “I’ll be here.”

  “Good.” Her eyes opened briefly. “Thanks, Rick.”

  Rick smiled and stood up. Janice closed her eyes again and was asleep in no time.

  Back at the reception area, Glen was still trying to raise Bangor General. Barbara was sitting at her desk, looking almost defeated by the fact that there really was nothing for her to do to help the situation. What could one do with a huge storm, a disaster of possible monstrous proportions, and a downed radio?

  Glen turned to Rick as he entered the reception area. “Nothing,” he said, almost angrily. “I can’t even get anything. Nothing but static.”

  “Have you tried anybody else?” Rick asked.

  “I tried raising the Sheriff at the station but transmission is out everywhere. It must be this storm.” Glen sighed and rubbed his forehead with the back of his forearm.

  “The phone lines are down, too,” Barbara said.

  Great. “What about the local radio?”

  Glen reached over to a transistor radio that sat underneath the reception counter and flicked it on. Static on both AM and FM bands, all across the dial.

  “Jesus Christ, we should be able to get something.” Now Rick was alarmed. He could understand the power going out, maybe even the phone lines going out in a storm, but the lines we
ren’t down. Whatever it was, it had to do with something at the plant. If the power was affecting everybody on a wide scale it would also affect the radio station and the phone company. But wouldn’t they be equipped with an emergency generator?

  “Whatever is going on, it must have to do with something at the GE plant,” Glen said. He rose to his full six-foot height, shaking his head in confusion.

  “Sheriff Conklin took off for the plant not long after he got here,” Rick said. “Rusty radioed in and there seemed to be some kind of problem out there.”

  “I just wonder what.” The expression on Glen’s face didn’t look so good. It cast a dreary pall over Barbara and Rick.

  Rick tried to break it. He motioned toward the rear of the house. “What happens with Janice and Bobby?”

  “He should have gone to the hospital, which was why I was trying to raise them.” Glen lowered his voice. “If I could I’d drive them to Bangor myself, but with the way this storm is I don’t trust those roads.”

  “Plus who knows what it’s like outside the Phillipsport County limits,” Barbara piped in. “It’ll be best to just hole up here until this blows over.”

  Glen nodded. “Barb’s right. Bobby’s stabilized enough now that he can sleep off the tranquilizer and be okay when he wakes up tomorrow morning.”

  “Could they both go home tonight?” Rick asked.

  Glen nodded reluctantly “If it wasn’t for this storm I’d rather Bobby would have gone to Bangor General. But he’s stable enough to where he can go home and recuperate nicely. If he rests, his body should be able to regenerate the blood that was lost. I can take them home myself if you’d rather go back to the beach and fetch Janice’s car.”

  Rick nodded. That sounded like a plan. Jack had gone back to the pier to shut down his store and try rousing somebody at the Sheriff’s station—there were usually two additional men on duty beside Rusty and Roy. There was no telling when Jack would return and there was no way to call the comic shop to update him. Besides, it would be better for him to go to the beach for the car anyway. He surely didn’t want the Doc to go down there in the event that those creatures were still around.

  “What I’d really like to do is take a better look at that tail you brought in.” Dr. Jorgensen looked mighty interested in that. “I gave that claw you gave me last night a good look over. Couldn’t identify it for the world. It bore all the similarities of your regular garden variety crab or lobster, but it was…all wrong.”

  “How so?” Rick asked. How could something that by all rights looked like a crab or lobster claw not be?

  “I took a blood sample from it, ran it under a microscope, and while I’m not a marine biologist, the sample didn’t match up to any of the DNA samplings I could compare to in any of my textbooks on marine life.” Glen Jorgensen shook his head in dismay. “The white blood cells were shaped differently and there seemed to be more of them, a higher count than normally known for that species of crustacean. The DNA itself was…” Glen appeared to be groping for the right word. “…just not right. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

  “Maybe we should get it to a professional,” Rick suggested.

  “I’d like to. The closest University with a good marine biology department is the University of Maine in Orono, a good two hundred miles south. Maybe after this storm lets up we can pack those samples in ice and get them down there.” Glen cocked a questioning eyebrow at Rick. “You’ll help me?”

  “Of course. Just say the word. Where do you have them now?”

  “Freezer in the back.”

  During their talk, Barbara had slipped quietly away to check on Janice and Bobby. She came back with a more relaxed composure. “They’re both sleeping soundly,” she said.

  Glen Jorgensen nodded. “Good. Janice should come out of it in another hour or so.” He looked at Rick. “Suppose I give you a quick lift to the pier to fetch Janice’s car. Barb can tend to our patients while we’re gone.”

  “Sounds good. Where are the keys?”

  “Janice’s purse is hanging on a coat hanger in their room,” Barbara said. She had drawn her sweater down over her shoulders, as if fending off the cold. “Her keys should be in there.”

  Rick went to back to the room they were sleeping in and found the purse where Barbara said it was. He fished amid wadded tissues, a leather pocketbook, a mini-photo album, packs of chewing gum, and the remnants of a People magazine before he found the keys buried at the bottom of the rubble. He pocketed them and went back to the reception area where Glen Jorgensen was donning a coat. “Ready?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Rick said. “I’ll check to see if Jack is still at his store while I’m at it.”

  “Good,” Glen said. “When I get back Barb and I will work on getting these two back to their home.”

  “Maybe I’ll drop her car off at the house then,” Rick said. “As long as you can give me a lift back to my place later.”

  “Agreed.” Glen zipped up his jacket and reached for his umbrella. He looked over at Barbara. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Barbara saw them to the door as the two men went out into the rain, the doctor’s brand new Blazer, and the darkening day.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Roy Conklin slammed his foot down on the accelerator as the car slid toward the front gate of the power plant. The road was covered with more than half a foot of water that was quickly rising thanks to the rain. It was coming down harder now, so hard that Roy could barely see out the windshield. He and Rusty had made it to the power plant just in time before all hell broke loose.

  Rusty.

  “Goodbye, fuck head!” Roy laughed as the front end of the patrol car narrowly missed the gate of the utility plant. Maybe now with that idiot gone, Roy could get some shit taken care of. He was now in complete control. No more fucking townspeople questioning his authority. No, siree. From now on, Sheriff Roy Conklin was the big cheese around these parts.

  Those things that killed Rusty were the answer.

  Roy formulated his plans as he made his way out of the plant and into the car, pausing only to reload his revolver and blow those overgrown crustaceans into gunk and crab shell. He was able to put down all his weight on the injured leg with only a minimum of pain.

  When he reached the safety of his patrol car he examined it briefly and was relieved to find that it was just a flesh wound; the bullet had just grazed his thigh. It was bleeding like hell, but that would stop in time. The important thing was that the bullet had nicked him and not buried itself in his leg. That would have been bad.

  As he drove out of the power plant he began formulating a plan. He would roll on into town and organize the men into a good old-fashioned hunting party. He would lead them back here and blow the creatures back into whatever shithole they had crawled out of. He wasn’t going to fuck up again—he’d done that once before in ’Nam when his carelessness had caused that chemical spill, but not anymore. He knew what he was dealing with now. Mutant sea creatures. And what better way to deal with mutant sea creatures than to get a hunting party going with some of the boys in town and wipe them out?

  Hell, this might just be the ticket out of here. Leading a party of men to kill these things could be a story worth more than the O.J. Simpson saga the tabloids spend so much money on. Roy was sure that the creatures were some kind of rare animal and they were probably something that some fancy-pants scientist will just cream for. He sure hadn’t seen anything like them before and he’d lived in these parts of Maine his entire life. Hell, for all he knew this could be an entirely brand new species. They might even name the fucking things after him.

  Yeah…things were definitely looking up.

  He was so wrapped up in his daydream that he failed to notice the big, yellow DIP sign posted at the side of the road. He should have known better, since he’d posted that sign himself after two county employees had knocked it down on a drunk driving expedition a few years back.

  Normally th
e patrol car would have easily handled the dip at the speed Conklin was driving. This time the dip area was submerged under two feet of water and Roy didn’t realize anything was wrong until the entire front end of the car dropped down and went under. Muddy water blasted the windshield, causing him to hit the brakes. A jolt of pain slammed through his injured leg as he was slammed into the dashboard. A sense of warm wetness spread down his leg; it felt like the bullet wound had torn open, soaking his pant leg.

  He howled in pain and let his foot off the brake, but by then it was too late.

  The car lurched to a stop with the front end pointed down into the dip. Water sloshed up the hood and turned to steam. He could hear the engine compartment filling with water and he panicked, fumbling to throw the car in reverse. Before he could do that, the engine gave one last cough and died.

  Roy sat in the car, the rain drumming all around him, beating a steady tattoo of sound on the hood of the car. Fear pulsed through his veins as he turned the key to try to restart the vehicle. The starter ground wetly with a grinding sound, then nothing. Even the steady clicking of the solenoid was swallowed up as everything flooded.

  “Goddammit!” Roy slammed his fist hard into the steering wheel. It made his leg hurt even worse.

  Now what the fuck am I gonna do? He sat in the car and stewed in his thoughts for a moment. He tried to look through the front windshield, but the driving rain was making everything a gray blur. His fingers flicked the automatic windshield wiper but nothing happened. The battery must have shorted out, too. Great! Just what I fucking need.

  He opened the driver’s side door gently and icy cold water flooded in, splashing over his feet and the pedals of the car. He grunted, cursed his ill fortune and with great effort finally found himself almost thigh deep in the puddle. His vision caught the DIP sign and he growled. He struggled and waded to the shallower part of the road near the shoulder. It was only up to his ankles here.

  Roy glanced back up the road and saw the twin towers of the power plant about a mile back. He turned south and figured that he had another mile and a half back to town. Not too bad in normal circumstances, but the rain was creating a real danger of flash floods and mudslides. Plus, he was limping on his wounded leg, which throbbed like a sonofabitch. He looked out at the beach. The dark, gray waves were really pounding the rocks and sand of the shore. The tide was lapping at the rocks fifty yards from the road; he’d never seen the water line this high before.