by Gina Ranalli
“A newborn?”
“That’s right. It’s just a guess, mind you, but for more than one to be in the same area, I suspect they must be very young. Recently ‘hatched,’ if you will.”
Casper wrinkled her nose in distaste.
Quirk continued, “If my theory is correct, it might also explain their, shall we say, jumpiness?”
“Jumpiness?”
“The fact they seem terrified of people and sounds.”
“They’re terrified of us?” Casper laughed bitterly.
“Of course. They’re babies and anything—any creature at all—is scared of the unknown, and when you’ve just been born, everything is unknown to you.”
“You sound like you sympathize with them.”
Quirk shrugged. “Isn’t that part of what makes us human? The ability to sympathize, to feel compassion?”
“For monsters? Murderers? Do you feel sympathy for terrorists, too?”
“I’m afraid you’re missing my point, Deputy. These creatures are not terrorists. To them, humans are the terrorists. If fact, to most of the things we share the planet with, we are the terrorists.”
“But—”
A rap on the window cut Casper off and she looked up to see Burke on the other side of the glass. She waved him in.
“Just got a call from Collie. He wants you out at Miller’s farm, now.”
“Why didn’t he radio me?” she asked.
“Said he wants us using the radios as a last resort for now. Too many folks listening in on scanners, he said.”
Casper made a face. “Since when?”
“Since the crap hit the fan, I guess. Everyone wants to know what’s going on and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been called a liar in the last couple hours.”
Cursing, Casper grabbed her hat from the sofa and put it on.
“Deputy?” Quirk stopped Casper as she headed out of the office. “I was wondering if the morgue is on the way to the farm you’re going to?”
“It is,” she replied.
“Then I wonder if I might trouble you for a ride?”
“You want to go to the morgue?”
“I’d like to examine the specimen myself.”
“I don’t know,” Casper answered. “The agents said—”
“Not to let me out of your sight. Yes, I heard. You’re aware that I’m here against my will then? That they basically kidnapped me?”
Casper let out a nervous laugh. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Of course you are. You’re a red-blooded American, so certain the government always has its people’s best interest at heart. But, I can assure you, Deputy, that is not always the case. If it were, I would not have been forced into retirement and I most certainly wouldn’t be on this suicide mission.”
Beside Casper, Burke uncomfortably shifted his weight.
Casper didn’t have time to debate politics with the doctor, and even if she had, she wouldn’t want to, but she wasn’t much of a fan of the agents who had marched into her town and taken it over either.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll drop you off.”
Quirk smiled. “Excellent. Thank you, Deputy.”
“You can thank me by learning how to get rid of these . . . mothmen, or whatever you want to call them.”
“That’s what I want as well,” Quirk said as she snatched up her leather satchel.
“I want my town back,” Casper muttered as the two of them left the sheriff’s office as they stepped out into a day that’s shadows were shifting and growing longer by the minute.
Chapter 24
Sheriff Collie stood on a ladder, flashlight in hand and panning around the hayloft of the Miller’s barn. His face paled as he saw a total of seven cocoons similar to the ones he’d seen in the Sender’s attic.
“What are they, Sheriff?” Wilfred Miller called up to him. “They’re what the whole town has been buzzing about today, eh? I heard they was giant wasps.”
Collie tried to keep his voice neutral. “Where did you hear that?”
“What’s it matter where I heard it?” Miller said. “I heard it. That’s all you gotta know.”
Ignoring the other man’s attitude, Collie studied the cocoons as much as he dared, not wanting to keep the light trained on any of them for too long. He couldn’t see any exit holes in any of them, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there, or—and he didn’t know which would be worse—the creatures were still inside, ready to burst out any second. The thought gave him the willies and he quickly descended the ladder.
“Well?” Miller asked. “You gonna fess up or not?”
Impatient, Collie glared at the other man. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t take that tone with me, Wilfred.”
“That tone? Boy, I known you since you was knee-high to a grasshopper, so don’t you go talking to me about tone. I played ball with your daddy in high school and here you are now, acting all uppity, like you ain’t even from around here no more.”
Maintaining his temper, Collie strolled around the rest of the barn, shining his light into the dark shadows and corners, hoping he wouldn’t find any more of the cocoons.
“I want some answers, Steven,” Miller growled, following Collie wherever he went. “This town elected you, unless you forget, and you owe us something! I think your honesty would be the least you could give us.”
“They’re not wasps,” Collie said casually.
“Then what the hell are they?”
Collie whirled on the old man, grabbing him by the front of his overalls. “Quiet!” he hissed. “Unless you want whatever is in those cocoons to come out and rip your throat open, you can just pipe down. Understand?”
Miller’s eyes widened in surprise and maybe a little bit of fear. He obviously was not used to being told what to do, much less threatened. His face reddening with anger, he yanked himself free of Collie’s grip. He pointed a gnarled finger in Collie’s face, opening his mouth to reply, but then Casper entered the barn, hand on the butt of her weapon.
She stopped when she saw the men. “Everything okay, fellas?”
Collie strode over to her. “We got about seven of those cocoon things in the hayloft. Where’s Quirk?”
Licking her lips, eyes on the hayloft, Casper said, “I dropped her off at the morgue. She wanted to see the dead one.”
“What? I told you to bring her here! I need her to see this.”
Casper’s eyes met his and they regarded each other from under the brims of their hats. “Burke didn’t tell me that, just that you wanted me here.”
Collie let loose with a blue streak. “Remind me why we keep that oaf around?”
“What are you two whispering about?” Miller demanded, walking towards them with a slight limp.
“What do you want to do?” Casper asked Collie, nodding with her chin towards the hayloft.
He followed her gaze and muttered, “If I had my way, I’d just burn the barn to the ground.”
“They’re not empty, then?” Casper asked, backing up a step.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t tell and there’s no way I was gonna get too close.”
“Then you’re right. We should burn it.”
“I have a feeling the feds wouldn’t like that too much.”
“They’re not here. This isn’t their town or their people. They don’t give a crap about us. Just their . . . mission.”
Miller stepped closer to the officers. “What mission?”
Collie gave Casper a reprimanding look, and to Miller said, “Never mind, Wilfred. Why don’t you go back in the house and we’ll talk to you in a few minutes, okay?”
“No,” Miller shot back. “It is not okay. I heard you say you want to burn my barn down. This is my business!”
“You don’t even use this barn anymore, Wilfred,” Collie snapped. “Haven’t for years. Look at the condition it’s in! Probably gonna fall down on its own in another year, at most.”
“That’s not the point!�
� the old man hollered.
“Okay” —Collie held up his hands in surrender— “okay. You’re right. Just please keep your voice down, okay?”
“Why? A man can’t even raise his voice on his own property anymore? If your daddy was still alive, Steven, he’d be so ashamed of you. Look!” He gestured at Casper. “What man worth his salt hires a lady deputy in the first place?”
“Good grief.” Casper sighed and started to walk out of the barn, turning her back on the arguing men.
Collie felt his ears burning, but before he had a chance to reply to Miller, a strange ripping sound came from high in the hayloft.
“Oh, no,” he whispered.
Casper turned to face them again, already pulling her weapon free of its holster.
Doing the same thing, Collie used his free hand to shove Miller towards the front of the barn. “Run!”
Casper put herself between the old man and the hayloft as both she and Collie assumed a firing stance, aiming high.
“What the devil?” Miller yelled.
“Get out now.” Collie wanted to shout, but kept his voice quiet.
Together, the sheriff and deputy waited as more tearing sounds drifted down to them.
“You know what, Casper,” Collie said quietly.
“What?”
“Screw this.” He spun and grabbed Miller by an arm and began dragging him towards the exit.
Casper held her position for a moment longer, seemingly transfixed. Then she was right behind them, holstering her weapon and pulling the barn doors closed after herself. The three of them stood silently outside the barn and then something bashed into the doors, making all of them leap back.
Collie kept his weapon trained on the barn doors and hardly flinched when the second crash came, harder than the first.
“Get in your house, Mr. Miller,” Casper ordered, pulling out her weapon once more. “Now!”
The old man hesitated until a third crash came, shaking the barn doors. Then he went without argument, limping just as fast as he could for his home.
“What do we do, Collie?” Casper asked as they both slowly backed away from the barn.
“I wish those dang agents were here now,” he grumbled, sweat beading on his forehead despite feeling like the temperature had dropped by a dozen degrees in the last minute.
“What do we do?” she repeated with more emphasis.
“I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I like my first instinct.” He dared to drag his eyes away from the barn door to glance at her. “I don’t trust that those things won’t find a way out so—”
Casper finished for him. “We burn it.”
Chapter 25
Agents Hogan and Swanson sat in their rental car, debating on their next move. Drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, Hogan watched the Cross house from behind his glasses. They’d been sitting there for the better part of an hour, with no sign of Cross, her boyfriend or her car. Neither of them were answering their cell phones either.
Swanson munched raisins from a small box. She always carried them with her in her bag and every time she pulled out one of the boxes, she asked Hogan if he’d like some. Every time, he declined. She knew he didn’t like raisins, but for some reason it felt rude not to offer them to him.
“How long are we going to sit here, Hogan?” she asked once she swallowed. “There are other things we could be doing. We’re wasting time.”
“Something is wrong,” he said.
“Probably,” she agreed, “but I still don’t see how sitting in this sweltering car is going to help us figure out where they are.”
“You’re right.” He started the engine. “If you were, Cross, what would you do?”
“Easy. I’d want photographs.”
“And where would you go to get them?”
Swanson popped another raisin in her mouth. “Wherever I thought it would be most likely to find the creatures.”
“Yes, but if she has any idea what she’s dealing with she would probably assume, like most people, that the mothmen only come out at night, right?”
“I suppose.”
“And it’s not nighttime.”
Swanson crumpled the empty raisin box in her fist and put it in a plastic bag tied to the gearshift. “I don’t know. Maybe she just left town.”
“Before we set up the blockades?”
“Well, obviously.”
“Okay, say that’s what happened. Where would she go?”
“How should I know? A friend’s house? Her parents?”
“But we’ve already established that first and foremost she’d want pictures of the thing she saw last night. Leaving town doesn’t really fit.”
“Fine,” Swanson said, tiring of this game. She looked around as Hogan put the car in gear and drove away from the Cross residence. She tossed her hands in the air. “I guess I’d go to the woods.”
“Exactly. So would I.”
“But, this place is surrounded by acres of forest. There’s no telling where she would have gone.”
“Probably wherever is closest,” Hogan said. “After all, she saw the creature pass right in front of her house. It’s safe to assume she would think they’d be nearby.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re going to suggest we tromp around the forest for a while.”
“Because I am.”
“You can’t be serious. We should be interviewing other witnesses, not to mention what if we’re right?”
“About the mothmen?”
“Yes, about the mothmen,” she replied, impatient. “If they’re really in the forest, and according to Dr. Quirk they most definitely are, we could run into them ourselves, and I don’t know about you, but that is not on my bucket list for today. At least, not without backup.”
“Think of it as an adventure.” He took his eyes off the road for a moment to smile at her.
Swanson took a deep breath and released it slowly, making a long whooshing sound. “You’re not funny,” she said at last.
“I’m a little funny.”
“No, you aren’t.”
They could have continued their bickering all day, but suddenly Hogan pointed to a car matching the description of Cross’s Honda parked on the side of the road.
“Plate?” he asked.
Swanson quickly looked it up. “Yep, that’s it.”
He pulled in behind it and killed the engine. “It’s our lucky day.”
“I don’t feel very lucky.”
“Don’t be a wuss, Agent. You’re armed.”
“Great. That worked out really well for the sheriff and his team, didn’t it?”
A few minutes later and the two of them were in the forest, the road no longer visible behind them. They moved cautiously, their weapons already drawn, though pointed skyward.
“This is ridiculous,” Swanson whispered. “Even if she is in here, we’ll never find her.”
“You need to work on your negativity, Swanson,” Hogan whispered back.
“We can’t even call out. Kind of defeats the purpose of a forest search, don’t you think?”
Hogan put a finger to his lips. “Shh! Listen.”
They both stopped, but all she could hear were typical forest sounds: birds, bugs, wind.
She opened her mouth to say as much, but then she heard it, too—a very faint whimpering sound. Human.
Hogan silently pointed in the direction of it and together they moved as quietly as possible towards it. They hadn’t gone more than a few steps when the whimpering stopped, leaving them with only the sounds of the woods once again. The agents looked at each other, both of them wearing expressions of worry. Hogan pointed again, indicating they should keep moving forward. Walking another hundred yards deeper into the woods, they almost passed the prone figure on the ground on the far side of a large-trunked pine, about ten feet to their left. Having spotted it first, Swanson hurried over, no longer caring if her shoes snapped a twig or two. She gasped at the sight of the fallen
woman, but quickly felt the clean side of the woman’s neck for a pulse. She looked up at Hogan standing over her.
“She’s alive,” she said quietly.
Neither agent could quite believe it. Cross lay on her side, the ground beneath her soaked with a mixture of blood and a thick black substance that was almost a paste. The photographer’s hands were gone, her arms ending in bloodied, black stumps. Her face appeared melted almost entirely, causing both agents to grimace in disgust and sympathy. They’d seen a lot of strange things in their time working for Azure House, but never anything quite this gruesome.
Hogan stooped beside Swanson and whispered, “We can’t risk an ambulance coming in here. We’ll have to carry her out ourselves.”
Swanson gave him a sharp look. “Are you nuts? We’d be insane to touch her unless we were wearing Hazmat suits. We need to call paramedics.”
He gravely shook his head. “Even if we told them to come without their sirens blaring, look.”
He indicated the area around them, which Swanson hadn’t paid any attention to until that moment. Several yards away lay another body, this one barely recognizable as human. It looked more like a huge slab of raw beef, wet and red and swarming with flies. Swanson had to stifle a gag.
“And that’s not all,” Hogan whispered, pointing up.
Above them hung dozens of cocoons of various sizes, some already empty, some not.
Hogan stood up again. “Looks like Cross was able to take a few out before they got the best of her.”
Swanson saw the corpses of what appeared to be four of the moth creatures. It was hard to tell for sure. Not only did they blend in with their surroundings, but they were also tangled together, reminding her of when men pig-piled on top of each other while playing football.
Looking away from the bizarre and frightening sights, she said, “If we don’t get her out of here, she’s going to die.”