V 09 - The New England Resistance

by Tim Sullivan (UC) (epub)

  “Beer,” Charlie said. “Two beers.”

  “Coming right up.”

  After they were served, Charlie said, “We hear there’s good hunting around here.”

  “Sometimes,” the bartender replied.

  “Well, since we don’t know our way around here, we want to hire a guide.”

  “Not too many ablebodied men left around town,” the barkeep said. “Those who are still around are in what’s left of the militia. Might be some action with the Visitors coming up soon.”

  “Yeah, we know about that in New York,” Jake said. “Well, they’re moving out into the country now.” “Hope you have better luck than we did,” Jake said. Charlie shot him a disapproving glance. “We didn’t come here to discuss politics,” he said. “We came to do a little hunting. One of you gents guide us?”

  “I’ll guide you.” A burly blond man slid out of the booth all the way in the back of the tavern.

  “All right,” said Charlie.

  Arrangements were made, and a few mintues later Jake and Charlie left Mike’s Tavern with John Ellis.

  Pythias spent a good part of the day in the hall of records trying to find something about an island owned by the Brunk family. There were seventy-odd islands, all within a short distance of Cutter’s Cove, but there was no deed under that name.

  Pythias decided that he must have been looking under the wrong name. Perhaps the island had belonged to Brunk’s mother’s family, or perhaps the family of his ex-wife. It was impossible to tell. There had to be some record, but how to find it? He realized the difference between a trained lawman and a dedicated amateur like himself. Sheriff Evans probably had been through this sort of thing before and would have known exactly what to do.

  He closed the heavy black binder through which he had been fruitlessly poring, and stood up, placing his palm on the aching small of his back. He picked up the binder and returned it to Mrs. Snodgrass at the desk.

  “Any luck?” the elderly woman asked, accepting the binder.

  “No, not yet.”

  “That’s funny,” said Mrs. Snodgrass.

  “Oh?” Pythias arched an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

  “Well, Dr. Brunk’s not from around here, so you’d think any real estate transaction would have been noticed, what with Cutter’s Cover being such a small town and all.”

  “He must have wanted to avoid that,” Pythias mused. “Keep it a secret.”

  “But why would he do that?”

  “Maintain his privacy, I guess.” Pythias noticed a sly look on the old lady’s face. “You get any ideas why he might do that, Mrs. Snodgrass?”

  “To avoid paying a high price.”

  “I don’t understand,” Pythias said.

  “Well, he’d been around here long enough to know that there’s often one price for local people and another for city slickers like him. And he’s smart enough fellow to figure out how to get around that problem.” Pythias nodded. “I see what you’re driving at.”

  “I thought you would.” Mrs. Snodgrass smiled. “But that still doesn’t tell us who his intermediary was, if your hypothesis is correct.”

  “No, I can’t help you there but I can ask around.” “Thanks. I’ll do the same, and maybe between the two of us we can come up with something.”

  Pythias left the hall of records and went around the side of the building to his office. One thing about a small town, he mused, you don’t have to go far to find what you need—if you can find it at all, that is.

  He was surprised to find Herb Walsh waiting for him. Herb was standing in front of the office, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking very uneasy.

  “What can I do for you, Herb?” Pythias asked. “Bar close down?”

  Herb glanced down at his feet. “Maybe I deserve that,” he said. “Drinking away all my time while all this bad business is going on.”

  “I’m sorry I said that,” Pythias told him. “Come on in, Herb.”

  They went inside, and Pythias indicated a chair by his desk. The younger man sat down as Pythias made coffee. “You got something to tell me, Herb?”

  “It might not be important.”

  “Can’t hurt to tell me what it is then, can it?”

  “I guess not.”

  Pythias left the coffee to brew and sat down at his desk. “This ought to make it seem a little more official,” he said. “Of course, I haven’t got one of those little doodads with my name on it yet, but I’m doing what I can to remedy that situation.”

  Herb smiled a little at that. “Mr. Day, I was really surprised to hear you’re the new sheriff. You just don’t seem like that type, if you don’t mind my saying so.” “The late mayor couldn’t get anybody else,” Pythias said. “Now, son, what is it you came to tell me?” “It’s about John Ellis.”

  Pythias leaned forward to hear Herb’s hoarse voice. “What about him?”

  “Couple of things. First, he’s been telling everybody that you must be working with the Visitors, since you got that laser pistol.”

  Pythias shrugged.

  “I kind of doubt it,” Herb said. “You see, I’ve known John all my life, and he doesn’t have any cousins in Bangor or anywhere else. His father was all he had, and now that the old man’s gone he’s said a thousand times he’s the last living member of his family and glad of it. ” “Jesus Christ!” Pythias shouted. “I knew there was something phony about that guy.”

  “That’s not all,” Herb added. “John volunteered as a guide for two would-be hunters from New York today.” Pythias was puzzled. “So?”

  “Well, it might be he just wants to pick up some extra money, but I never knew John to guide hunters before. He always kind of acted like it was beneath him.” Pythias nodded. “Thanks, Herb.”

  “What I told you won’t go past this office, will it?” “Not unless we need you to testify in court.”

  “I’ll do what I have to,” Herb said.

  Pythias shook his hand. “I’m glad you came in to tell me all this.”

  Herb nodded and rose.

  “Coffee’s about ready.”

  “No, thanks,” Herb said. “I better get back.”

  Chapter_20

  John Ellis was conspicuously absent from the funeral. The mayor and his wife were buried in the little cemetery behind the Methodist Church at nine o’clock in the morning. It was a short service, Reverend Fisher reading from the Psalms in the crisp autumn air.

  Pythias wasn’t really surprised that John couldn’t make it, since he was probably at least partly responsible for these murders.

  Standing beside Pythias, Jane Foley stifled a tear as the mayor and Mrs. Cochrane were lowered into the ground. Try as she might, she couldn’t help thinking that this might be the same fate that had befallen Sarah, her only child.

  When the last words were spoken, the mourners— including most of the citizens of Cutter’s Cove—filed along a narrow path down the hill toward the brick church. The gilt of the leaves was brilliant in the bright sunlight, and the sound of children playing in the schoolyard nearby could be heard over the soft voices of the dispersing funeral party.

  “I’m not having much luck,” Pythias said, clearly discouraged. “If I could just find out who bought that land as a dummy for Randall Brunk.”

  “Somebody around town must know,” Jane offered, glad to have something to take her mind off her missing daughter, if only for a second.

  “And then there’s also the problem of John Ellis and those hunters.”

  “I should think you’d be grateful for that. At least John will be out of your hair for a while.”

  Pythias looked out at the ocean. The gleaming waves broke around island after island, as far as the eye could see.

  “Might be quicker if I just took out a boat and searched those islands myself.”

  “Pyth!” Jane cried. “Look!”

  In the distance, something that looked like a white bird of prey skimmed over the surface of the ocean
, occasionally rising to hover over one of the islands.

  “I can’t waste any more time,” Pythias said. “I’ve got to start looking right away.”

  They walked to the car quickly and got in.

  “I’ll take you home,” Pythias said.

  “No, Pyth, I want to go with you.”

  “Might be dangerous to the health.”

  Jane smirked. “Staying alone by myself might be dangerous too—to my mental health.”

  “You know something, Jane,” Pythias said.

  She looked at him, expecting an argument. “What?” “You’re a hell of a woman.”

  She smiled at him. “Does that mean you don’t mind if I come along?”

  “Of course I don’t mind.”

  They drove down to the old ocean road, pulling up to Don Curtis’ shack. Don, a veteran of fifty years of setting lobster traps, came out to greet them.

  “What can I do you for, Sheriff?” he said, corncob pipe clenched between his yellow teeth. “How are you, ma’am?”

  “Need to charter a boat, Don.”

  “Got plenty of boats. Looks like you’ve come to the right place.”

  “We need something that will move fairly fast,” Pythias explained. “Got a lot of territory to cover.”

  They walked out onto the pier to look over Don’s boats, settling on a small craft with an outboard Evinrude engine.

  “That’ll get the job done,” Don said, quoting them a rental fee. “ . . . unless of course it’s official business, Sheriff.” He spit casually in the direction of the cannery.

  Pythias thanked him, grateful that there were still a few like Don Curtis left in Cutter’s Cove. He and Jane clambered into the little boat with Curtis’s assistance. After a few abortive jerks, Pythias managed to get the motor roaring. He pointed the prow over the breakers toward the nearest of the myriad islands in and around the harbor.

  “We could be out here quite a while,” he shouted.

  “Maybe we should have brought something to eat,” Jane replied.

  “We’ll have to go in to shore when we run out of gas anyway. Unless we’re really lucky, this could take a long time, Jane.”

  Islands rose from the ocean like the caps of huge mushrooms, the evergreen tops forming domes that might hide anything . . . even a doctor and his assistant. If they weren’t on one of these islands, they were probably dead or worse.

  They circled the nearest island, but saw no signs of habitation. Pythias knew that cabins such as the one they searched for were often constructed away from the water so that the trees could be used as a windbreak and provide privacy for the occupants.

  He eased the boat up between two towering rocks and let it drift in. The island was so small that he could see clear through the woods to the other side. They weren’t on this island.

  “Some of ’em are a lot bigger than this,” he said. “We might have to get out and look around.”

  Jane nodded. She was about to add that it would be a pleasure to explore the islands under different circumstances, but a low humming made her still.

  They both looked up as a sleek Visitor craft sliced through the crisp autumn air. They were behind the rocks, so it wasn’t likely they were sighted as the skyfighter nosed down and skimmed over the water, vanishing behind a nearby island in seconds.

  Chapter 21

  Jake and Charlie were scared.

  “Look at them trembling like terrified rodents,” Ronald said. “That is why your people will succumb to us, John Ellis—because they are weak.”

  Ronald turned his attention to the skyfigher’s control panel, where a Visitor sat piloting the vehicle. On the screen overhead was a strangely distorted view of the ocean, as if seen through a fish-eye lens. Pine-covered islands jutted out of the water like verdant iceberg tips. “We only wanted to go hunting,” Jake moaned. “Silence!” Ronald commanded. “You will speak only when spoken to!”

  Jake cringed. Charlie had already reverted to the fetal position as they flew just a few meters over the water.

  “Why did you bring these idiots to me?” Ronald demanded, turning toward John Ellis. “Are rny problems not severe enough without your compounding them?” “I ... I thought you’d want to take them prisoner. You don’t want anybody to know what’s going to happen once you find the toxin, do you?”

  “But we don’t know anything,” Charlie cried. “Just let us go back to New York and you’ll never hear a word out of us again.”

  “If I kill you now,” Ronald said, measuring his words, “I will certainly never hear another word out of you.”

  “Oh, please,” Charlie whined. “Don’t do that. We’ll do anything you want.”

  “How did I ever let you talk me into coming to Maine on a hunting trip?” Jake asked rhetorically

  Ronald ignored them for a moment, seemingly deep in thought.

  “You can do something for me,” he said at length. “Name it,” Charlie said. “Anything. Anything at all, just name it.”

  “You came here to hunt,” Ronald said, “and you will be permitted to hunt.”

  Jake and Charlie glanced at each other, smelling a rat but not daring to say anything. They waited for Ronald to explain what he was talking about, but they were disappointed.

  “Yes,” the alien captain rasped, “you will soon go hunting.”

  “You must stay inside, Sarah.” Dr. Brunk looked at her sternly. “If they see no signs of life on the island, they might pass it by. But if they spot one of us moving about, they’ll come down to investigate.”

  Sarah stood up and wrapped her arms around herself. “I’ll go out for some firewood,” she said. “If I’m just outside the door, I’ll be able to hear the skyfighter before it gets close enough to see me.”

  “No firewood. They’ll see the smoke from the air.” “What if the temperature drops tonight?” Sarah said. “What will we do then?”

  “It’s a chance we’ll have to take. The Visitors are not playing games, and apparently they have some idea that we’re on one of these islands. That means that we have to show absolutely no signs of life. If they find us here, they will take the toxin and kill us. If we destroy the toxin, they will probably torture me to find out what the formula is. They might even torture you, my dear.” Sarah saw the pain in Dr. Brunk’s eyes at the very thought of such a thing. She knew that he only brought up the possibility to impress upon her the importance of staying out of sight. Dr. Brunk was not a doomsayer or alarmist. Not in the least. Sarah shuddered, imagining what the lizards might do to her. But it wasn’t the first time this had occurred to her.

  “We’ll fight them,” she said. “We’ll stand up to them if they come.”

  “Yes, of course we will. But we might not have to. Sooner or later winter will catch up with the Visitors. If we can just hold out here until then, we’ll be all right.” “But if they do find us before the resistance can intervene ...”

  “Let’s not think about that, Sarah.”

  “Just a minute ago you said we had to consider the possibilities, and now you’re telling me it’s too dreadful to think about.”

  Dr. Brunk managed a wan smile. “I just meant that there’s little sense in dwelling on it.”

  “Well, I think we ought to consider ways to fight them, should they get here first,” Sarah said. “We have knives, a hatchet, an ax. . . .”

  “And the toxin,” Dr. Brunk added, “if it works.” Sarah went to him and hugged him. “It will work, Dr. Brunk. It has to.”

  “No, I’m afraid it could fail, Sarah.”

  She loved this man almost as if he were her dead father, and she refused to believe that his many months of effort in the laboratory could be in vain.

  “It won’t fail,” she said. “I know it won’t.”

  Chapter 22

  At sunset, Pythias and Jane gave up. They returned the boat to Don Curtis’ pier, thanked him, and drove the patrol car slowly up the hill.

  “It’s just so frustrating,” Jane said. �
��Any bit of gossip you’d ever want to know about anybody in this town can usually be turned up just like that, but let it be something important and look what happens.”

  “Gossip ...” Pythias stared grimly at the street in front of him.

  “What?”

  “Where do you go if you want to hear gossip?”

  “Bridge club? Sewing circle? Backyard fence?”

  “Or your friendly neighborhood tavern.” Pythias wheeled the car onto Union Street, and a few minutes later they were entering Mike’s Tavern.

  The usual crowd of ne’er-do-wells were drinking the early evening away, including Herb Walsh, who greeted Pythias. Only one of the regulars was conspicuously absent, just as he had been this morning at the funeral: John Ellis.

  Mike Sherman asked them what they’d have.

  “Beer for me,” Pythias said. “How about you, Jane?”

  “Just a Coke. Diet Coke.”

  “Tab all right?”

  “Sure.”

  Mike got their drinks. Pythias thought everyone was a little standoffish. Maybe they were just bashful in the

  presence of a lady. Still, he couldn’t dismiss their hostile glances so easily. John Ellis had been doing his work, it seemed. The best thing to do about this was deal with it immediately, he decided.

  “Something troubling you boys?” he asked.

  Nobody said anything, but he knew he was right, especially since Herb had told him yesterday about the suspicions Ellis had tried to raise among them.

  “Come on now,” Pythias said. “Tell me what’s on your minds.”

  “We don’t have to talk to no traitor,” a voice from one of the booths said angrily.

  “Who said that?” Pythias demanded. “Come on out here and face me like a man.”

  A thin, lantern-jawed man of about fifty slid out of the booth and stood before Pythias.

  “Arvid Ebbeson, I might have known.”

  “Might have known what?” Ebbeson spat.

  “That you’d have plenty to say after the fighting was over.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”