by Paul Cave
“I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” Anderson said.
Indeed, his actions were a perplexing mystery, and at this moment she simply did not have an answer to them. Nevertheless, that part of the brain that whispered silent warnings had drawn her to securing the weapons somewhere safe. Luka, the cook, had stored the shotgun somewhere within the diner.
The deputy did not push him as to where, as she was still in possession of the only cartridges available to them. The trucker, Ben, as she had recently found out, had retaken the antique in the understanding that he would keep it out of view.
Ben had tucked the weapon down the front of his waistband, stating that it had been a long time since anyone had been anywhere near that area. His shirt hung over the front of his jeans, hiding the weapon out of sight.
The deputy had not pushed him on the weapon’s legitimacy – the thing had saved Rivers from the bear attack after all, and it would have been petty to write him up on a citation for illegally carrying.
Anderson’s own sidearm was still secured in her holster. She hoped that it would remain there throughout this night.
Maggie had said she would return the steak knife to its place of origin. Anderson had asked her to do so, as she did not think they were about to be beset by another bear or elk, or anything else now.
Only Rivers offered any indication that things were not quite right. He had not moved for almost a half hour and seemed unwilling to engage in any sort of conversation.
The deputy watched him for a few more minutes, and then decided time was up. No more tippy tapping around him. She was tired. Had to report the burnt-out Cruiser to her superior officer, and somehow arrange a return to town. With or without Rivers’ help.
She crossed the diner. Stopped at his side.
“Hey man, you okay?” she asked.
No real response from Rivers – just a slight nod. Eyes fixed to the rain and shadows beyond.
Anderson reached out. Her hand closed around the handle to the door. Rivers grabbed her wrist – painfully, holding her in place.
“Wait,” he said.
Infuriated, Anderson snapped back, “For what, Rivers? What the hell are we waiting for?”
The handsome black man’s face broke into a ghastly leer, a smile that was devoid of any humour.
“That,” he said, his free hand pointing to something out there in the darkness.
Chapter Fifteen
A squirrel appeared from out of the furthest shadows, slick fur matted down, giving it a rat-like look. It scurried along the ground as it quickly crossed the space from darkness to the illuminated overhang. There, it stopped for a second. Its head bobbing about. It darted towards one of the pumps, climbing it in a second of fluid motion.
And then lay flat.
A few seconds later, two more squirrels appeared, as they zig-zagged and tumbled over each other, following the same path as the first.
They stopped just before the overhang. Both heads turned upwards towards the sky. Rain battered the two. Heavy droplets splashing against their small bodies. And like sponges they soaked it up, fur wet and sticky, and faces slick and sly.
They parted, with one going one way and the other staying rooted to the spot. The mobile squirrel moved towards the first pump. Sniffed the air about it. Nothing of interest. It took a few short leaping steps and stopped at the base of the second pump. Again, its nose tweaked about, and the squirrel turned first this way and then the next.
Something caught its attention. A scent or sense of another’s presence. It turned to the other squirrel and squeaked towards it. The stationary squirrel moved - a quick scurry of motion. The second joined the first at the base of the gas pump.
They parted for a second time – as they climbed the pump, one on either side.
The squirrel that had been laid flat sprung from its hiding place to leap from one gas pump to the other. In the next second, it was back running the way it had come, into the night and was almost instantly embraced by the deep shadows to be found there.
The other two met at the top. Paused for a moment – somewhat perplexed as to where their quarry had gone, and then they went at it. Needle-like teeth and small claws tearing and ripping into each other.
They fell to the ground in one twisted heap. Rolled around in the mud and water as they continued to battle it out. They simply stopped - mid-fight. Bloody and torn, they stood panting, tiny lungs hitching with effort.
The two scampered off. In the same direction as the first. Slower than the initial one though, as if they were enjoying the act of getting drenched. One stopped to stand on hind legs. Its front paws, tainted with blood, reached out as if to scratch the underbelly of the sky.
Something dark and massive swooped in from the night sky, hooked talons ripping into the squirrel’s tiny body. Wings flapped wildly while the bird pecked its prey, its razor-sharp beak skewering an eye socket, as a worm-like tongue sought the flavour of warm brain matter within.
The remaining squirrel just watched on. Did not dart to safety. Just sat in curious silence. Only when the bird flapped away with the dead animal in its grasp, did the squirrel take to the shadows.
It looked back once or twice as it went – to pause, its nose sniffing at the clouds above, and front paws flexing into tiny tight fists.
Then it was gone.
The darkness reclaiming it.
Only the rain fell.
A constant fall of blurred lines and noisy chatter.
Chapter Sixteen
The spell that had Jake Rivers in such a trance broke the second the last squirrel returned to the darkness. He stepped away from the doorway and took a seat at one of the diner’s tables.
Deputy Anderson stood alone for a moment – her understanding that something of importance had just been witnessed, but her analytical brain unable to quite work it out.
She watched the rain fall in its great droves before turning her attention to the man sat near.
“Okay – Rivers, what was that about?” she asked, seating herself opposite him.
Rivers frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
“That?” she said. “What was all that?”
“You didn’t see it?” he asked.
“See what?”
“The squirrels. The bird?”
“Yes – of course I did. But why is that so important?”
Rivers looked into her green eyes. She seemed genuinely baffled.
“You don’t see it?” he asked.
“See what?” she asked, hands palm up and face full of uncertainty.
“Squirrels. Birds. Elk. Bears. All what Deputy Anderson?”
The deputy just held her poise – she did not see it.
“They’re all diurnal – Anderson. Now do you see it?”
“See what? What’s diurnal?”
Rivers pointed to the dark window at his side. “The opposite of nocturnal. Animals that are active throughout the daylight. Sleep at night. For example – squirrels, birds, elk and bears.”
The deputy dropped her hands to the tabletop. Drummed one set of fingers against the hard surface.
“Explain it to me,” she added finally.
Rivers nodded. “Something has knocked the entire ecosystem out of sync. We’ve got elk attacking State Cruisers, why? Bears roaming out of their natural territory to hunt down humans, why? Same species attacking each other – the squirrels, why? And birds flying around in the dark. Why all that?”
The deputy thought for a moment. “Birds?”
Rivers nodded.
“Plenty of birds hunt at night, Rivers.”
“Like?”
“Like – owls, for one?”
“And … two?” Rivers pushed.
The deputy thought for a long moment. “Okay – just owls are all I can think of right now.”
Rivers cast his gaze outside. “That wasn’t any owl. As black as night itself. A raven or a crow, possibly. Neither are nocturnal.”
A
nderson considered this. “Okay – say I agree with your assessment of this day and night cycle. That these animals are acting peculiar. Out of sync, as you say. What’s the big deal? Why all the drama?”
“Something has sent them into a frenzy. Hunting each other, us, it’s not natural. There has to be a reason – a commonality that explains it.”
“Like what?” Anderson pushed.
“Like the water supply.”
The deputy shot a glance to the table they had originally sat at. The two empty coffee mugs were still there. Smiled to herself. Then pointed.
“I’m speaking on my own behalf here – Rivers, but I haven’t felt any change. No wish to hunt or play in the night. I’m beat. Ready for bed.”
Rivers looked away from the mugs. Held Anderson’s gaze. “True. Me neither. So, what am I missing?”
“It’s your theory – Rivers. You tell me.”
He reached over to take the salt and pepper pots. Placed the salt pot down first, in the centre of the table.
“Say that’s us,” he began.
“Okay,” Anderson said.
“And the Cruiser was attacked here.” The pepper pot settled about six inches away from the salt. “Where did our trucker friend . . .” He paused not knowing the trucker’s name yet.
“Ben,” Anderson told him.
“Right – Ben. And Ben was initially attacked by the bear about here.” He took the laminated menu and placed it at the table’s edge, to the far right.
The trucker approached, interested in the developing scenario and conversation.
“About three miles from here,” Ben said.
Both Rivers and Anderson nodded.
“Right,” Rivers said. “So that’s a three-mile gap, from us to the first point of encounter. Assuming that the bear’s habitation was nearby. Elk are a roaming species, so we can’t be certain which direction they came by.”
Ben piped up. “Unlikely they came from the bear’s direction. Elk are smart. Would have given the Brown’s territory a wide berth.”
The deputy had a red cartridge in her hand. She looked to Ben and then to Rivers.
The trucker leaned in. “May I?” he asked, reaching for the shotgun shell.
The deputy handed it over, and dropped her arms to her side. Rivers did the same. Giving the trucker the full surface of the table.
Ben eyed the pepper and salt pots in relation to the menu. “Okay. Just a guess, really. But I think we can rule out the elk moving in from the west. That would have brought them here first. If what I’ve heard Rivers say, then surely they’d have shown an interest to all the lights and activity here at the motel.”
“Agreed,” Rivers said.
“My best guess would be the elk moved in from a north-westerly direction. Encountering the deputy first.”
Ben placed the red cartridge on the opposite edge to the menu. And directly parallel. Elk and Brown Bear initially separated by a good 5-10 miles. And both at an easterly starting position.
“That just leaves the squirrels and the bird,” Rivers stated.
Both agreed.
“Okay,” he began. “Let’s completely rule out the bird. Nobody really knows which way it could have come from, and instead, settle on the notion that the squirrels would have been nesting locally.”
“Right,” Anderson said.
Ben dropped a dime next to the pepper pot. Then a quarter. “The dime is the single squirrel,” he said, which made both Anderson and Rivers laugh slightly at the trucker’s over thoroughness.
Rivers took a moment to survey the placement of items.
“What links all three, if not the water source?” he asked.
“Wait,” Ben said. “There isn’t a common river or stream, not to my knowledge, that could possibly connect all three sites.”
“I agree,” Rivers said.
Anderson’s face turned to one of scorn. “You an expert on local waterways now?”
“No,” Rivers began. “But I looked at the maps on my way here. Nothing stood out. No major rivers or streams to speak of. Nothing.”
“Were you even looking?” Anderson asked.
“Not consciously – no. But I learned a long time ago to understand maps at a single glance.”
“Then what are you suggesting,” she asked.
“I’m suggesting something else has been infecting these animals. Something that has been moving from east to west.”
“Like what?”
Rivers held his arm out and reached over the entire area of the table. He swept his arm from right to left, east to west, knocking over the menu and shotgun shell first, and then the salt and pepper pots. His hand stopped at the dime and quarter.
He said, “The storm.”
Both Anderson and Ben looked at him in silent expectation.
“The rain,” he added. “It’s the rain that’s infecting them. The one thing that binds them all together.”
All three looked towards the window and the torrent of rainfall outside.
“Shit,” Ben said.
“You’re insane,” Anderson countered. “How can you prove such a thing?”
Rivers held her gaze. Said nothing. He could not answer that just yet. However, he was working on it. A simple plan. But one that would not prove to be popular in nature.
“Ben – I need your help,” Rivers began. “Or, more precisely, Cal’s help.” He turned towards the little mutt.
“Fuck – no,” Ben retorted.
Cal just offered a bark and a wag of his tail.
Rivers stood.
His plan now clearly mapped out in his head.
Chapter Seventeen
Ben had not stopped pacing up and down since Rivers had voiced his idea. No way was he happy to go along with such a proposal. Hell no. Cal was not just some test subject.
The deputy and Rivers were still seated at the table. Ben had stormed away once he had heard the plan. And not a plan Ben could willingly go along with.
He gathered at the table, ready to voice his objections.
“We could simply wait the storm out,” he said. “No need to go outside at all. Stay in here. We have food, water already gathered and warmth.”
The deputy looked to Rivers. Seemed she was in agreeance with the trucker.
“He has a point,” she said.
Rivers just sat silently.
“Well?” Ben pushed.
“What is it - what’s bothering you?” she asked.
He took a breath, slid across to the next seat, and gestured for Ben to sit in the one he had just vacated.
Ben stood anyway.
Rivers patted the seat. “Sit – Ben, you need to hear this.” He glanced over to the cook and teenager, Maggie. “She doesn’t,” he added, his face turned downwards to mask his words – hide his lips.
Ben sat, reluctantly. Puffed his cheeks out and rubbed at tired eyes.
“Okay – I’m listening,” he said finally.
Rivers leaned in to bring himself closer to the other two.
“We could have a big problem. Really big,” he said.
“Like what?” the deputy asked.
“Like one of us,” Rivers replied. “What happens if one of us goes out there. Gets wet?”
“Meaning?” Ben asked.
“If I’m right about the rain, we’d be just as susceptible to whatever is changing the animals. What happens then?”
Ben sat upright, this sudden notion sending bolts of fear up his spine.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Hang on. We don’t know for sure the rain would do that. Not to us. Do we?”
Rivers shook his head. “Not yet. But I’d like to know beforehand. Test the theory at least. See if the rain does hold a threat.”
“I’ll do it,” Ben said. “Not Cal.”
Rivers said, “No - Ben, it has to be Cal. We can’t afford to be right about this and send any of us out there.”
Ben looked towards the deputy – hoping help would come that way. It did
not.
Rivers added, “We can control a fifteen-pound dog, not a two-hundred-pound man. If one of us goes out there and loses it, then they’d be a real danger to those left inside.”
“So we all stay inside – until the storm passes,” Ben advised.
“And that could be hours away,” Rivers said. “Can we be sure no one else arrives – a trucker or vacationer – looking to rest up. Parks outside. Steps out into the rain?”
The trucker’s chin dipped to his chest. “I guess not,” he conceded.
“I’m sorry,” Rivers said, placing his hand on the trucker’s shoulder. “If there were another way…”
Ben turned to Cal. The little mutt was happily padding around the diner, sniffing this and that, and oblivious to the imminent plan they had for him.
“Okay,” Ben said, dismally. “What guarantees can you offer he’ll be okay?”
Rivers did his best to alleviate the trucker’s worries. Tried to downplay the fears he was having himself. Did not think he was doing a real good job of convincing either of them.
There was a growing feeling of dread building inside him – a certainty that something terrible was on the horizon, but just could not bring that threat to the forefront of his mind.
Unable to give it clarity and meaning. Yet it was there – whispered warnings of dreadful events to come if he could not unravel this mystery. And soon.
Rivers stood. Ben twisted in his seat to allow him exit.
“Hey – boy,” Rivers called.
Cal’s ears twitched.
Ben groaned.
Rivers knelt beside the mutt and gave him a vigorous scratch behind one ear. “Good – boy,” he said, swapping ears.
He stood and brought himself level with the cook.
“Have you got a length of rope? Or heavy-duty string?” he asked.
Luka looked back blankly for a moment.
“For a leash?” Rivers added.
Luka blinked and understanding took its place. “Not rope or string – but something.” The cook disappeared into the rear momentarily, before returning with a coiled handful of cream-coloured wire.
“I’ve been planning on running the phone line into the main area of the diner. Never seem to find the time. Here.”