Alien Species Intervention: Books 1-3: An Alien Apocalyptic Saga (Species Intervention #6609)

by J. K. Accinni

  Hudson leaned back in the swivel oak desk chair in his office at the station. Hearing the familiar squeak of the springs gave him a reminder of the perpetual admonishment that always accompanied his shame and guilt when he thought of the money he took from Robert to look the other way. In for a penny, in for a pound; the longer he took the money, the deeper he sank, until he found covering up murder commonplace.

  He’d never understood why Robert had felt the need to rape and murder his mother-in-law when paying a trumped-up social call at the farm. He’d never offered a reason or an apology. Together, they’d concocted the lone gypsy story for public consumption.

  The cover stories had become more and more facile as the murders increased. A few farm girls deflowered once Robert and Eli had finished with them, a missing competitor giving rise to a new business opportunity for Robert, and Netty’s own death, along with the unfortunate creature she’d kept as a pet that had made the mistake of catching Eli’s sadistic eye. And those were just the murders he knew about.

  He glanced up at the photograph of his family. His wife, Marne, smiled back at him with the same look he’d fallen in love with over thirty five years ago. His eyes paused as they took inventory of his three healthy children, two now grown with young children of their own. He loved them all; even as his heart ached over the exclusion in the photo of his first born, Emily.

  Only he and Marne now knew of her existence, his parents and in-laws long passed away. The tears and wrenched guts never stopped, even long after they’d accepted the necessity of putting Em into a caring home which could give her the professional help her condition required. The move to Newtown to take the available position of sheriff followed soon after her placement.

  Em thrived at the home, yet had never achieved more than the skills of a five year old. Only the fact that she enjoyed impeccable care in a homey loving atmosphere made the separation bearable. Once a month, Marne packed their bags and off they went to visit Em, six hours away in upstate New York, to spend whatever remained of the weekend with their girl. She would always be their baby, even as she now approached her thirty-first birthday.

  They’d made the decision to keep her existence a secret because of the judgmental stigma they thought their other children might be saddled with. Yet it had taken the intervention of Robert Doyle, like the snake in the Garden of Eden, to enable them to pay Em’s bills and actually try to have more children. In the beginning he’d asked himself, Why not? Everyone did it in one form or another.

  He snorted bitterly as he judged himself harshly. What a stupid greedy ass he’d been. Marne didn’t know, of course. He’d never be able to face her if she found out. She called him her hero, and his kids thought their father epitomized a good moral man. Little did they know the extent of his mushy clay feet. He’d lost all respect for himself long ago.

  Hudson fingered the metal of his sheriff’s badge, worn proudly on his shirt; a pathetic disgrace. He reached up, running his blunt fingers through his thick white hair, still amazingly intact, worrying it until most of the hair stood on end.

  He just wasn’t sure how much more he could take from Robert Doyle. His neurosis over safely detaching from Robert’s malignant clutches completely subordinated the ominous implications of the discoveries made at the farm; the strange and weird parts of Netty’s body, her unusual pet and the extraordinary magnificence of her crops.

  He tucked the lurking questions away as he prepared to drive to the farm with his deputies to collect the body and start the investigation.

  *

  Sheriff Hudson stood in the field behind the cabin as his deputies poked through the wreckage of the shed where Eli’s body rested. He held a handkerchief to his nose, a futile effort to block the smell of wet cinder and cooked meat. He ordered Eli’s charred corpse remanded to the meat wagon for further examination by the county coroner.

  While poking through the paltry carcass of the ruined building, they discovered a round hole in the ground where the outside wall used to stand. With the exception of the charring and it’s smaller size, the hole appeared to be a dead ringer to those found in Netty’s grave; an unlikely coincidence. Hudson wondered what Eli had found interesting enough to brave walking through a field of rattlesnakes. They had spotted two eastern diamondbacks sunning themselves on rocks as soon as they entered the field.

  And what about the hole? Jesus H. Christ, are you kidding me? Something mighty weird and damn serious is going on here. Hitching his pant legs up over his boots, he trudged through the smelly debris to re-examine the hole. Squatting down, he felt the hard burnt edge, wondering what would cause plain ordinary dirt to look as if it had been burned; and only on the edges. He didn’t think it had occurred from the fire in the building. The burn was too regular, not natural.

  Remembering the holes in Netty’s grave, he slid his hand into the hole, rubbing the sides of the wall, feeling wet glopiness. Quickly extracting his hand, he wiped the residue on his handkerchief, carefully rolling the sample and placing it safely in his pocket to send to the laboratory. If he used Robert’s name, he could probably get the results back in a week. Not that he expected to find anything worthwhile.

  Kicking his feet aimlessly through the rubble, he meandered away from the shed’s remains, making his way carefully through the field to his police car. Sliding behind the wheel, he rested his head on the back of the seat, his eyes closed. He felt a shudder of weariness snake through his body. Elusive sleep was playing a mean game of catch-me-if-you-can, tormenting him relentlessly since the murders. He rubbed his tired eyes, enjoying the sensation while refusing to let his mind give credence to the coincidence of the holes. As he started the patrol car, he felt a rumble in his stomach. Not knowing if he wanted to vomit or defecate he pushed the thoughts of horror from his mind and headed to town.

  *

  “I have Roger on the line, Sheriff.” His secretary stood at his door to deliver the message, her interest in the call ill-concealed, as usual.

  “Okay, Hilda, I got it.” Picking up the telephone, he heard Hilda softly pick up the extension. No time for delicacy.

  “Hilda, can you please give me a little privacy?” Hudson winced as he heard Hilda give an offended “harrumph.” But she got off the line.

  “Hey, Roger, thanks for getting back to me so fast. Mr. Doyle will be sure to show his appreciation.”

  “No need, Sheriff Hudson, always happy to help out Mr. Doyle. If he needs anything else, you be sure to let me know, you hear?” Roger’s voice oozed so much ass-kissing, Hudson swore his own butt tingled.

  “Yes, of course, Roger, now how about those results?”

  “Well, Sheriff, that’s another matter. I think you need to come to the laboratory. I don’t think we should discuss this over the phone.”

  Impatience crept into Hudson’s voice as he informed Roger he had no intention of driving four hours to New York City and then another four hours back to Newtown for some stupid laboratory results. Hudson took a breath, forcing himself to calm down as his voice developed a shrill tone.

  “Well now, Sheriff, no need to get all riled up. I am just trying to be discreet, for Mr. Doyle’s sake, of course.”

  Hudson slapped his forehead, his frustration doing a slow simmer. “Roger, can you please just give me the results? Paleeease?”

  “Okay, Sheriff Hudson, if you insist. Don’t forget to tell Mr. Doyle about my concern for discretion.” Hudson rolled his eyes, closing them painfully, wondering when this would end.

  “The substance you sent me is organic. I found a system of three types of cells in what I can only conclude is a type of plasma. But there seems to be an absence of white cells. You cannot survive without white blood cells. They fight infection in anything alive. And I am unable to identify the three types of cells present. They do not exist in any species on this planet, yet they are definitely organic. Yes, yes, an organic life form of some type, all very confounding, but not the most amazing discovery. By the way, did you see the
creature that provided the sample?”

  Ignoring the question, Hudson’s attention perked up measurably. “Roger. What exactly did you find?”

  Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, Roger continued, “It had bugs.” Roger said it as if he’d just uncovered the Holy Grail, his breath resounding loudly through the wires.

  “What do you mean, bugs? That’s no big deal.”

  “On the contrary, Sheriff, the bugs were no ordinary bug. They looked like tiny red polliwogs. You know, before they turn into frogs? They are, or I should correctly say were, complete organisms, that actually propelled themselves in the plasma.”

  “Roger, could you make this more to the point? What do you mean were?”

  “As I said, they propelled themselves. Yes, yes! Right out of my office. They are gone, all of them. They rose up from the sample under the microscope, attracting each other like a magnet, and then went flying out my open window. They appeared to swell as they converged, I don’t understand why. They were almost microscopic, how could they enlarge like that? When I re-examined the sample, the only thing left was a smeary residue.”

  Hudson didn’t know what to think. He felt calm yet his heart thumped wildly. What the heck did all this mean?

  “Sheriff, are you there?”

  “Yes, Roger. Thanks for your help.” Hudson prepared to hang up, ignoring the last of Roger’s words.

  “The creature, Sheriff; what about the creature? Did you—?”

  Silence descended as Hudson replaced the telephone, Roger completely forgotten.

  He sat at his worn desk trying to make sense of recent events. Two missing bodies, Eli’s mysterious death by fire, sinister holes at both scenes and now the baffling, yet ominous, laboratory results. The time had come to inform Robert. He wondered if he could get away with a phone call instead of a command performance. Drumming his fingers restlessly on his desk, he made an easy decision.

  With the telephone in hand, he dialed Robert’s number, hoping the party line was clear. He wanted to get this over with. Thankfully, Robert picked up. Updating him on the investigation didn’t take long. The news about the laboratory results produced an unexpected reaction.

  “Did I tell you to mess around with that hole? And what makes you think they are related? Big deal. I do not want to hear any more about Netty, her infernal pet and their tails or these damnable holes. Do you understand me?”

  “Robert, you need to calm down and listen to me.”

  “I don’t think I heard you correctly, Hudson. Are you trying to tell me how to behave?”

  The sheriff felt the ice in Robert’s voice seep its pernicious fingers right to his stomach. He needed to tread carefully. “Robert, I understand you just fine. Let me check one more thing. Remember Netty’s young drifter?”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  Losing his temper, Hudson let Robert have it. “I know exactly what you did to that innocent kid, Robert. You didn’t have to do it like that, just to get him out of the way. You had other options. You always take the easy way out. Do you think I don’t know everything that happens in the jail? Or exactly who is on your payroll?”

  “Well now, Hudson, looks like you have a bee in your bonnet so why don’t you just spill what is on your mind.” Robert’s demeanor changed so quickly, Hudson’s radar went on high alert.

  “We can settle the question of coincidence if we check the grave where you buried the kid.” Silence greeted the proposal. “Robert? Where is he buried?” Silence. “Robert.”

  “All right, Hudson. You can check the grave. But you better prepare for some irregularities,” Robert sounded off. Where were the confidently arrogant intonations of the old Robert? Something was up, for sure.

  “Why don’t you fill me in, Robert? The whole story, please.”

  “Yes, I did have him taken care of in the jail. When the boys came to collect the body, it had already been sent to the coroner’s office. He was just a no account drifter, no family. They assumed Potter’s Field would be fine for burial.”

  “Robert, why don’t you tell me about the body?”

  “Err, yes, the irregularities. It seems the drifter exhibited some of the same strange affectations we found on my unfortunate deceased wife.”

  “Affectations, that’s what you call them? Are we going to continue to dance around this or are we going to start calling a spade a spade? What is it going to be, Robert?” For some reason, prying information out of Robert was like trying to convince a high school virgin to give it away to the school misfit.

  “Alright. He had a tail. And something was wrong with his blood. It was all over the cell floor and it glowed. It was not red. We discovered something else during the prep for burial. It seems he was growing wings.”

  “What do you mean, wings? As in to fly? Those kind of wings?”

  “Yes.” The word came across the telephone wire as a fearful whisper.

  Hudson held the telephone to his ear, not doubting what he’d heard, just astonished. It wasn’t information that he’d expected. His stomach began to grumble again. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

  “I need to look at the grave. You know it must be done. Tell me the location so I can figure out what is going on.”

  “What do you mean, what is going on? There is nothing going on.”

  “Robert, do not give me that. Are you blind? You think Eli’s death was an accident? Well, it wasn’t. He was not alone in that shed. Now, get me the location so we can deal with this.”

  “All right, I will get back to you. But do not even think about sharing this information with anyone without my permission or I will have your ass.” The old Robert, clearly back in control.

  Chapter 11

  Sheriff Hudson cautiously eased the police car to the curb in front of the two-story colonial that sat next to his target house. He looked carefully at the target, seeing no one in the neat green yard that led to the cheery white ranch-style home with vibrant flowering window boxes.

  Emerging quietly from the patrol car, he held one hand behind his back, the contents hidden. Crouching, he quickly sidled up to the door of the house, finding it unlatched. Peering into the small window in the door, he decided the coast was clear. He slid his big body inside the house, softly closing the door with a loud click. He held his breath, praying the sound didn’t carry to the other rooms. He heard the clink of dishes from the kitchen. He would launch his attack from there.

  He saw her at the kitchen sink, her back to him. He knew she would squirm like a hungry pussycat if he could get her underneath him. He licked his lips as the nape of her neck inflamed him.

  Slowly, silently, he crept closer, his hidden hand coming forward as he wrapped his other arm around her waist, forcing her to face him as his lips descended on to hers; demanding a kiss from the most beautiful woman in his world.

  “Ummm, what a surprise. Are these for me?”

  “None other, my love.” He held out the bouquet of bright multi-colored roses; always her favorite. He looked at Marne’s aging face, her smile still wide and bright; every line familiar and safe, and loved. When she looked at him, really looked, and smiled that smile, his heart flipped just the way it had when he fell in love with her so long ago.

  “I have the bags all packed. I thought we would eat a quick dinner before we go. It’s a long drive.” Marne moved from between his arms to hunt for a vase for her flowers. Finishing with the flowers, she whirled to face him.

  “I love my roses. You sure do know my soft spot. But hon, would you mind?” Her face radiated a mixture of sweet apology and maternal love. He knew what was coming.

  “Can we bring the flowers with us? For Em? She will love the colors.” Hudson looked at his wife, tears coming to his eyes.

  “Of course, my love, you’re right. She will love them.” And with that, she stepped back into his loving arms.

  *

  As Hudson drove into Em’s town with Marne and the roses at his
side it was early morning, the overcast sky not yet willing to yield to the demands of the rising sun. They had driven up the night before, staying at a comfortable nearby inn so they could get an early start, wanting to spend as much time with Em as possible before they had to turn around and go home.

  Turning into the road to the modest brick group home, they were surprised by fire trucks and police cars with their flashing lights. Parking the car, they hurried into the reception area, encountering Mrs. Post, the housemother.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Hudson, I did not expect you so soon.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Post. Why are the authorities here?” Sheriff Hudson’s tone reflected a passing interest, sure the incident was minor.

  “Well, er, perhaps you might join me in my office. I shall ring for the nurse. She will have Emily join us there.” Hudson and his wife exchanged startled glances.

  “Wait a minute. What is going on? Did something happen to Em?” Marne gripped Hudson’s arm tightly, the roses threatening to slip from her hand.

  “Please, Mrs. Hudson. Relax. Emily just had a nightmare. Come. We can talk in my office.” Visibly relieved, the Hudsons allowed themselves to be ushered into the housemother’s cramped office. Settling Marne into an upholstered armchair, Hudson stood behind his wife. Mrs. Post sat at her desk with her hands clasped, her tone sympathetic.

  “Last night, Emily woke up screaming. She seemed to be in the grip of hysteria. Calming her down took hours. She refused to sleep in her bed, forcing me to take her to my room where I made space for her in my bed. I hope that you do not find that presumptuous.”

  “No, no, of course not. Did she say anything about the nightmare?” Marne’s concerned voice was laced with confusion.