“We can, but it’s going to take several minutes before we hear from them all, and even then there might be three or four, or five, who don’t radio back. Some of them probably don’t even remember how to the use the things. Do you have anything else?”
Baskel looked at Jensen.
Lawless thought,
(“He’s knocked the light off the stand and it’s fallen over the side of the canal. He’s reaching for it ...”)
Jim Waterman’s vision had just returned when he found the wire. He hesitated and considered letting the damn thing go. What, would they dock his pay?
Just then he felt something sharp prick his hand. He quickly jerked the hand up, looked and blinked, squeezing his eyes shut before reopening them: his hand wasn’t cut, it wasn’t there. Blood squirted from his wrist and arced into the canal.
He leaned over the railing to look for his hand; it would need to be reattached at the hospital.
Three black heads came out of the canal, their mouths agape, showing silver blades that glinted in the ambient light. One bit down over his head but did not decapitate him, the other two latched onto his shoulders: Jim Waterman was pulled into the water before he could make a sound.
Fred was hungry; time to take the ear plugs out and see what old sourpuss was up to. He removed the plugs and put them in his pocket, hoping Jim wasn’t looking.
He turned around and frowned; Jim was gone, and his light was out. After his eyes adjusted to the darkness across the street, he saw the light stand stuck on the railing, but there was no sign of Jim. He hurried over.
His radio crackled, “Get away from the canal immediately! Do not go near the canal!”
Fred ignored the radio, thinking Jim was in trouble. If he had fallen into the canal he would need help getting out. He may not like the man but he didn’t want him to drown.
He rushed to the railing, peered into the canal and called out, “Jim?”
Two of the small creatures came up and grabbed him, one around the middle, the other by the head: Fred Reese was pulled into the canal and torn apart, pieces of him joining pieces of Jim Waterman in the bellies of six monsters whose hunger could never be satiated.
“What’s happening? What’s happening?” Baskel yelled at Jensen and Lawless.
(“They’re gone.”) Lawless’s voice said.
“Aw shit.”
(“Are we too late?”) Lawless’s voice asked.
“Damn right we were too late,” Baskel said, the frustration showing in his voice. “We’re always too late.”
(“Maybe. We’ll have to wait.”)
Baskel said, “What are you two talking about? What, dammit? Stop keeping secrets, people are being killed! What the hell are you talking about?”
Lawless answered,
(“The creature has already spawned. It has young now.”)
Baskel’s jaw dropped to his chest. “How many?” he asked, his voice cracking.
(“There are at least three young, maybe more.”)
Baskel, desperate, said, “How bad can that be? We get the canals drained in a day or so and we find and kill them all.”
Jensen thought,
(“They may not be here in a couple of days. They will evolve and grow wings. The adult may have already done so.”)
Baskel couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Wings?
(“Yes. Wings. They will each grow wings and disperse over your planet, finding new waterways to colonize so they can repeat what is happening here. Then, in a week, each of those colonies will disperse. They will continue to multiply and disperse until they become the dominant species on your planet.”)
“The military will get involved.” Baskel suddenly remembered the nightmare from his nap, and his chest constricted with fear.
(“You cannot kill them. They will adapt to any defense or weapon you create.”)
“We’ll nuke ’em then.”
(“Yes, your nuclear weapons can destroy them, but once they become numerous and have dispersed over your lands you will have to destroy your planet to stop them. If we allow this colony to disperse, your planet is doomed because the Evil Species will not stop until they have killed and eaten every living creature.”)
Chapter 17
“Which way will it go, toward Lateral Number Three, into the middle of town, or will it go west, maybe follow Lateral Number Four out of town? Or switch to Lateral Number Five?”
Captain Bozeman and his team were studying a blow-up of the canal map pinned to the wall, trying to guess the creature’s next move.
Five patrols cars and twelve officers, including two sharpshooters with high-powered rifles, were at the scene where the volunteers had disappeared. A helicopter with another sharpshooter hovered above the canal, lighting the area up like noontime with its powerful searchlight. In all, there were five shotguns, five handguns, and three high-powered rifles pointed at the brightly-lit canal. Still, no one felt safe.
No remains of either volunteer could be found.
The on-site officers didn’t know who or what had knocked the light over. If the geezer did it the mistake cost him his life, but if the monster did it then it wasn’t afraid of light and they and all the volunteers were in great danger.
They radioed their concern in and were relieved when Bozemen told them the volunteer’s actions had caused his own death.
They left the scene as they found it; there was no reason to collect the equipment tonight and no one wanted to be within fifty feet of the canal any longer than necessary.
“Get back on the radio,” Captain Bozeman said, pointing to the guy standing closest to the set. “Tell everyone to make sure their lights are on and to stay at least fifty feet from the canals. If their light breaks or the battery goes dead, tell them to leave everything and go home.”
“Move!” Bozeman yelled when the guy didn’t jump fast enough. “And make sure you get a confirmation from everyone. Anyone doesn’t answer, you send a patrol car. I don’t want anyone else getting killed tonight! You hear that? You all hear that!?”
Everyone nodded.
He looked at the map again and made a decision: the creature would move into the more populous part of town, away from the older downtown area.
“Send cars by all our guys on Briggsmore and Lateral Number Four.” He pointed at the map while giving the orders. “Tell them to make sure every light is on and every volunteer is at least fifty feet from the canal. They miss anyone, they get suspended without pay.”
He stood there, hands on hips, staring at the map. He would soon learn he had guessed wrong, and while he would feel bad it didn’t matter because it was too late.
Randy Foghorn was already being ripped apart when Captain Bozeman sent his resources north instead of south. Buddy and Randy never did turn their lights on and they never heard any of the radio warnings because Randy, whose turn it was to handle the radio, had dropped it in the canal while fiddling with the channel dial.
The young swam close to the adult. Their first taste of prey had ignited their genetic lust for flesh and blood, and they were eager to kill again. Apt students, they would learn all the adult knew about the prey on this planet in two days.
This was a critical time for their kind, a time of rapid evolution. They needed to grow wings and disperse soon, requiring the expenditure of great quantities of energy: they needed to feast while the planet’s bright star was cool.
They swam by her side and hunted with her.
“You clumsy shit,” Buddy called Randy, after Randy dropped the radio into the canal. Then he laughed, glad it was Randy who would have to answer for the radio. He hoped they would make him pay for it and wondered how much one cost. Randy probably knew.
“I bet they make you pay for that, man. How much you think one of those cost?”
Randy was worried, but more about getting kicked out of the cadets than having to pay for a radio. “I think two hundred bucks,” he told Buddy, who laughed again. Randy had no idea how much the radio was
worth.
“Man, where are you gonna get two hundred bucks? We don’t even get paid for doing this shit.”
“They’ll pay us good when we’re on the force,” Randy replied, sending his mind off in a new direction, already forgetting the radio.
Buddy was tired of sitting and doing nothing, and they still had, what? Five or six hours until daybreak? And he was tired of eating food from a package, he wanted something hot. He got off the curb and stretched his legs, trying to think of where they were and what fast food joints were near.
“Hey Randy,” he said. “I’m going to make a quick run to Jack in the Box. You want something?”
“We’re not supposed to leave our post.”
“What post? A canal? Forget that. I’m tired of chips and Pepsi. I’ll be back in ten or fifteen minutes. Watch my stuff, will you man?”
Buddy got in his car and drove away. Randy hadn’t asked for anything from the restaurant, but Buddy knew his friend well enough to know he was crashing and needed a dose of caffeine and sugar, something big. Mountain Dew if they had it. Maybe even some kind of frosty coffee drink with shots of espresso.
Randy sat on the curb, thinking how he didn’t like being here by himself in the dark when he remembered something about lights; weren’t they supposed to set up some lights? He looked on both sides of the street, but couldn’t see lights anywhere. He tried to remember if they had been given lights in the first place, but his blood sugar was running so low he was having trouble thinking.
He crossed to Buddy’s side of the street and took one of his Pepsi’s from the cooler. He didn’t like Pepsi, but it was cold and had caffeine and sugar. He drained half the can in a few seconds and immediately felt better. Sitting on the curb, he peeked into Buddy’s snack bag and speared a chocolate donut, munched, got into Buddy’s chips, which made him thirsty again so he drained the Pepsi. He polished off two Pepsis and a thousand calories of junk food in ten minutes.
He jumped up from the curb, spilling a bag of chips onto the ground, driven by an intense urge to pee. He hopped up and down and looked around for the most private place to relieve himself.
He hustled around the railing to the side of the canal, unzipped and barely had his penis out when a stream of hot urine came shooting out, arcing into the canal. He sighed and smiled.
A splash to his right: something was there. He waited for his eyes to adjust, sure he can’t be seeing what he thinks he sees. The image doesn’t change and he forgets his bladder and takes off for the road, in such a hurry he forgets to scream.
(“What do you see?”)
(“Nothing but blackness.”)
This had been his answer for ten minutes. The creature was swimming somewhere in the canals but Lawless couldn’t tell where and every time he tried to send his mind out to next victim he got nothing.
Baskel stood in front of a window, staring into the night, had been there since Jensen told him the monster’s ultimate goal was to wipe out humanity. He alternated between thinking and trying not to think, knowing they could peek into his brain at any time and read his thoughts.
He got a can of soda from the kitchen and stopped behind Jensen and Lawless. She’d been doing the same thing for thirty or forty minutes: holding Lawless’s hand and stroking his head.
He sat on the couch and cleared his throat. “Did you bring those, things, with you, like some parasite you forgot to zap before you left your planet? And how did you get here? Where’d you come from? Who the hell are you?”
Jensen’s voice answered,
(“We came from a planet far away, through a space-travel machine. We didn’t bring the Evil Species with us but we knew they would come, sooner or later.”)
Baskel took a drink and looked miserable. A thousand questions popped into his mind. “How? How did you know they would come?”
Jensen turned away.
“What? Tell me.”
(“I don’t want to tell you because I’m ashamed.”)
“Ashamed of —” Baskel’s sentence was interrupted by Lawless’s voice,
(“I’m in the next victim. I assume.”)
Baskel set his soda down and picked up the radio.
(“What do you see?”)
(“I’m by a canal, just opening a can of Pepsi.”)
Baskel activated the radio and said, “We’re starting up again.”
“Good,” was all the captain said, and Baskel thought, Why’s that good?
(“There are no lights by this canal, none on either side.”)
(“Can you see a street name or a store, anything we can use to identify the location?”)
(“No, but it’s a narrow canal.”)
“They don’t have their lights on and it’s one of the smaller canals,” Baskel relayed into the radio.
“Everyone’s been warned many times to turn their lights on and get away from the water. Maybe it’s not one of our guys,” the radio said back.
“Have you accounted for everyone? Everyone’s checked in?”
A pause, then, “We’re still working on that. It’s likely some of them left their radio in their car, or never even turned them on.”
(“He’s jumping up and down. Now I’m looking around, going around the railing and walking to the canal.”)
They knew what was coming next.
“Can’t you communicate with him somehow?” Baskel said, frustrated. “Scream in his head or something. Tell him to get out of there.”
(“He’s urinating ... He sees the monster. The monster’s out of the canal, and ... it’s moving on legs. It’s adapted to land already. I’m running!”)
“Ah, shit.” Then, into the radio, “It’s coming after the guy, and it’s grown legs.”
(“Do you see wings?”)
(“No, but I couldn’t see everything because I turned to run for the road.”)
There was a pause when they held their breath, then,
(“It’s grabbed me ... and it’s carrying me back to the canal. I see ... six sets of silver teeth in the canal. It’s released me and I’m falling ... It’s dark ...”)
“Holy mother of God,” Baskel moaned, then pressed the send button.
Buddy ordered a sourdough burger, fries, and a Coke, up-sized the fries and drink for seventy-five cents and ordered an extra-large Coke for Randy. Pepsi owned Mountain Dew, Jack was a Coke chain.
It took him longer than usual to get his food, but he didn’t mind. It was good to get away from Randy. After checking his fries to make sure they were fresh, not reheated, Buddy pulled forward to allow the car behind him to pull up to the window, put his car in park and took his food out of the bag. He took a big bite of his burger and snagged a few fries, stuffing them in his mouth. The food was hot and delicious.
A horn tooted and he left, in no rush to get back to the canal. It wasn’t going anywhere.
Taking a bite of his burger, spinning the steering wheel with one hand, he turned onto the street that led to their assigned canal. Half of a hamburger patty fell out from between the toasted bread and landed on his shirt, then slid down onto the seat between his thighs. He swore, set the bread down on the flattened paper bag where he’d laid his fries, dug in his crotch for the meat, found it and popped it into this mouth, all without once looking at the road.
When he finally did look, he was thirty feet from some kind of long black thing — a dinosaur? — holding Randy in its mouth. Buddy stomped on the brakes and skidded to a stop. Randy screamed when the thing dropped him into the canal.
It had legs and impossibly huge silver teeth. Buddy’s mind went blank.
The thing turned and looked at Buddy’s car. He flipped on the high beam, making the thing wince and shut its three eyes. It jumped onto his car, landing on the hood and roof. His car rocked and groaned. Sharp metal claws gouged up the hood and two poked through the roof.
It bit through the roof. Buddy saw huge silver teeth above his head and stomped on the gas, made it ten feet before the thing tore his head off.<
br />
When the cops came later, they found Buddy’s car ripped to shreds: all four doors chewed off, the roof gone, tires shredded, trunk crushed. All they would find of Buddy was his right leg below the knee, his foot wedged under the brake peddle. They never found any part of Randy. But then, they didn’t really look.
The room went silent as Baskel’s voice crackled out of the radio speaker, reporting that two of their cadets had just been killed. Bozeman and the others tried to picture the scene in their minds, but were having trouble creating an image of the monster with legs. Hadn’t Baskel also said there were six more?
Someone checked the roster of cadets who hadn’t checked in and found three pairs. Cars were dispatched to each and within five minutes they knew who had been killed.
They made a cursory sweep of the area to make sure no one was laying around somewhere wounded. Finding what they expected, nothing, they sealed off the street with yellow tape and flares, got back in their cars, and left.
“All they had to do was turn on the lights,” the captain said in disbelief. “Was that so hard to do? Did we not make that clear enough?”
He became prophetic, seeing future lawsuits, official inquiries, and crucifixion by endless op-eds and speculative reporting. They would say he should’ve brought in the National Guard, that it was reckless to place untrained personnel, teenagers and retirees, in the line of fire as he’d done tonight. He knew all that would’ve changed would be who got killed, but he clearly understood he’d made a career-ending mistake.
“Send cars to every one of the volunteers. Tell the officers to check the lights and make sure they’re working, then send everyone home.”
“Home?” someone asked.
“That’s what I said. The buffet is closed for the night. Let it come out of the water to eat, where we can get a couple of good shots at it.”
“Brothers and sisters, I call you my brothers and sisters because we are all children of the Lord God Almighty.”
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