Scraps & Chum

by Ryan C. Thomas

  “We’re hoping you can help us. What can you tell me about the rats?”

  “They’re quarantined right now until CDC can get to them.”

  “That’s fine. I saw enough of them yesterday.”

  “The species in question is rattus norvegicus.”

  “Norviwhat?

  “Brown rats. Wild rats. An aggressive breed amongst themselves, but relatively harmless when domesticated.”

  “Were these domesticated?”

  “No, they weren’t. They’re way too aggressive.”

  Ted smiled. He hoped he looked charming. “Of course.”

  “It gets weirder.”

  “We passed weird a long time ago. We’re in Bizarro World now.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. A Superman joke. What’s weirder than what we’ve already got?”

  “Well, it was a lot of rats, both bucks and does… and they weren’t angry at one another.”

  Ted waited for the weird part, and when she didn’t say anything more, figured that must have been it. “Okay, should they be?”

  “Rats don’t like other rats that much. That’s where most of their aggression goes. They live in small groups, families. It’s possible a family of rats could grow this large, but I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Really? Ever seen Willard?”

  “Of course. They call me the ‘rat girl’ ’round here. I see all the rat films, mostly so I can sit and argue how inaccurate they are.”

  “I’m the same with cop films. You know how many times I’ve fired my gun? None. Not once. Just at the shooting range. But Mel Gibson—”

  “So you see my point. In movies they use farm-raised domesticated species. But this…this was a lot of wild rats.”

  “But don’t all rats live in the wild together?”

  “Rats are territorial, usually led by a dominant male, and they’ll section off areas of the woods. When a rat from one group meets a rat from another group they will fight. Almost always to the death or until one gives up and runs away. All these rats together…not fighting…”

  “So then this was all the same family?”

  “Has to be.” Julia Green suddenly looked very concerned.

  “But feels like too many rats for one family to you.”

  She nodded. “To me, yes.”

  “Hence, the weird part.”

  “Bizarro, as you put it. Different families in a hole together…it’s possible a new dominant male is established and they work it out. Not very likely, but possible. I wouldn’t put money on it.”

  “So our guy definitely knows rats, because he wouldn’t want them to kill each other. It would defeat his purpose. He needed them alive to eat…” He stopped before his words drew a picture of the half-eaten woman. “You think he figured out a way to get different rat families to get along?”

  “People have weird hobbies, detec—Ted. One thing’s for sure, whoever handled them is a courageous man. A bite from a wild brown rat can cause all sorts of problems: Salmonella, trichinosis, hanta virus, Weils Disease, the list goes on.”

  “But people have rats as pets, yes?”

  “Sure. But again, those are domesticated, raised in stores. They’re vaccinated. These weren’t.”

  “Brown rats. They normal for these parts?”

  “To all of America just about. Want a statistic? There’s always a rat within fifteen meters of a human.”

  “I don’t do meters, sorry.”

  “About fifty feet.”

  Ted suddenly noticed everything that was fifty feet from him. Were they in the heating vents even now? “Too close for comfort.”

  “So, yes, there are rats in the park,” Julia continued. “But for all of them to end up in a man-made pit like that…”

  “What if the guy caught them, kept them at his house or something till he was ready to use them?”

  “Still a stretch. That many rats…there are no homes in these parts secluded enough someone wouldn’t see, hear or smell something. Rats mark their territory. It’s pretty foul. The stench alone would garner attention. Honestly, I’m at a loss as to how he got them to co-exist. There are missing pieces of a puzzle here I don’t think I can fill in for you. Sorry.”

  Ted smiled again, going for more charm. “Just out of curiosity, about how long would it take these brown rats to kill someone?”

  “I don’t really know. You have to understand it’s rare for a rat to bite a human. Generally only when people are sleeping and if the rat is very hungry or defending itself. But in this case, if the girl was unconscious, once the biting started…they have powerful incisors. They cut through meat quickly.”

  “But how long?”

  “I can’t say for sure how long. I don’t even know of any cases where people have been killed by rats. It’s usually the diseases, or the mites and fleas that cause the most damage. And almost all of it is curable with antibiotics. But, if I’m speculating, it would be slower than you would hope. Hours. Days. At least until the body shuts down from shock. It would take a long time.”

  She paused, reflecting on what she was saying. Ted could see her forming a mental image in her head. Welcome to my world, he thought.

  “Dear God,” she finally said, “I hope you catch this guy.”

  “We’re trying.”

  Minutes later he left, without her number.

  ***

  For the rest of the day, every news station in the city replayed George’s arrogant challenge to the killer. The chief was livid. Ted could hear him screaming at George even now in his office, ordering him out to fix this “fuckjob of a mess.”

  Ted, who was on the phone talking to the telephone company, had to put a finger in his free ear to hear the guy on the other end. But the conversation was soon exhausted so he said bye and hung up.

  George exited the chief’s office, stopped at Ted’s desk. “What’d the phone company say?”

  “What do you think? There was no service scheduled in the area, but they’re gonna get us a list of employees anyway. I’m calling the cable companies next. They’re being hard asses.”

  George hooked a thumb over his shoulder back toward the chief’s office. “You hear that? I think we’re breaking up.”

  “He’ll get over it. Buy him some roses.”

  “You think I should have been quiet at the briefing?”

  “I only know what they’re showing on TV, George. Which is you directly challenging this guy. You might want to think of Mandy and your wife here.”

  “I am, that’s why I did it. How do they have faith in me otherwise?”

  “Faith shmaith. How about they live in peace rather than look over their shoulders for the rest of their lives because you pissed off some psycho pied piper.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  Ted leaned back in his chair. “Enlighten me.”

  George stood mute, playing with his tie. “Aw, fuck it. I’m going to check on those kids again, see if I can get their parents to shut up this time. Let me know what you find out.”

  ***

  It was nearly nine o’clock when George left the Burke home, apologizing once more for interrupting their dinner, though he really couldn’t care that he had. Ralph Burke was one of the boys who’d moved the logs to find the body. George had finally gotten the kid to open up without the parent’s interrupting, and that was good. It made him eager to get home and see Mandy, maybe play a board game with her.

  The radio station was playing his sound bite again as he pulled onto the main road. His wife was going to give him hell for it as well. Hopefully Mandy hadn’t heard it; she was only beginning to suspect what his job was really like. He turned it off and called Ted on his cell, eager to relay the Burke kid’s new story.

  Ted answered on the second ring. “George, what’s up?”

  “Listen to this. I went back to interview the kids…Hang on, I’m driving. Move it, pal! Don’t flip me off I’ll fucking shoot you!”

  “George—
”

  “These idiots and their wannabe race cars.”

  “—what about the kids?”

  “Okay, so the Burke kid, Ralph, him and his buddy Jason hang out in the woods a lot. They got a fort made out of some pallets they lean against a tree. Ralph says the other night he’s skateboarding near the woods as the sun’s going down and remembers he left something in the fort.”

  “So he goes in to get it.”

  “Right. Hang on, I’m gonna fucking kill this guy.”

  “Just change lanes.”

  “Okay, so he goes in to get his toy, some damn Star Wars thing or something, and anyway, when he’s in the fort, he hears someone coming.”

  “He’s in the fort now?”

  “Yeah. He peeks out through the slats in the pallet and sees a guy in a trench coat.”

  “A trench coat? I love it. Do these guys buy a pervert starter kit or something?”

  “A big guy, moving through the woods, about to pass by the fort. The guy’s breathing hard, like he’s sick or something, and he’s kind of hunched over and he’s dragging something but the kid can’t see what it is. He stops outside the fort for a sec, right near the slats.”

  “What’s the kid do?”

  “Just freezes. It’s dark, he’s already scared to be in the woods at sundown, and he’s supposed to be home for dinner. His mother piped in at this point and confirmed he wasn’t home. Says he closed his eyes and a few seconds later he opens them and looks out again and sees the guy moving off in the direction of the street. And get this, the moonlight catches him for a second…the guy’s wearing some kind of Halloween mask.”

  “Jesus. What a freak. Why didn’t the kid tell us this yesterday?”

  “Says his dad told him to be quiet. I told you parents are fucking retarded. They need to pass a law about parental interference. I just knew he was holding something back.”

  “You’re a parent.”

  “Hardy har.”

  “He seen the guy before?” Ted asked.

  “First time.”

  “So now what, we put an APB out on a guy in a monster mask. He can’t be stupid enough to wear it in public.”

  “You never know,” George replied.

  “I’m gonna call for a unit and head back to the park. Sounds like this guy knows his way around the woods. Maybe there are paths we missed, some clues the trace team overlooked.”

  “I’m way ahead of you,” George said, steering his car down Hill Drive.

  “What do you mean? Where are you?”

  “Just got to the park.”

  “Already? Who’s on patrol?”

  “I dunno. I called in but there’s no one here yet.’

  ***

  Halfway across town in the drive-thru of a Wendy’s, Ted went silent, the cell phone hot against his ear. What did George mean by ‘yet?’ Then it hit him. He checked his watch, saw that it was shift-changing time. There’d be a good ten to twenty minutes where the streets would be empty of squad cars. “George, don’t be stupid. Wait for me.”

  “Look, we still don’t know what that other drag mark is. If he’s got someone else in there I’m not waiting. Besides, this theatrical shit…how well can a man see in a rubber mask? I’ll surprise him.” The line went dead.

  “George? George? Shit.” Ted threw his cell phone down on the car seat next to him, drove out of the drive-thru, nearly clipping the car in front of him.

  ***

  I should be wearing sneakers, George thought, as he pushed through the trees and brambles, heading back to the pit in the woods. The flashlight he carried threw a bright white circle on everything, changing black shadows to brown and green plant life, but did nothing to ease maneuverability through the twisting foliage. In his other hand he carried his Glock, the safety off just in case; if this masked psycho was out here, he wasn’t about to be taken by surprise.

  God, he just wanted a boat and to be done with all this shit. Part of him knew it was stupid to be out here like Rambo, and he could hear Ted’s lecture already, but the other part of him knew that if he ever planned to watch Mandy grow up normal, he had to be sure the world was a little safer. This rat guy was every guy that hurt women, and he wanted his daughter to know that her daddy was a safe haven when she needed it.

  You’re losing it, George.

  He kept moving. Why didn’t the police clear this path better yesterday? How the hell did they get the corpse and all those rats out of here without tripping over all these damn roots and thorn bushes? Did he even own sneakers?

  Zzzzz. “Gah.” He swatted a large mosquito out of his ear. He regretted making the noise, but he couldn’t do anything about it now. Damn bugs. He hated bugs. Mandy loved them, caught them and put them in jars. She was a bit of a tomboy, but that was okay, it meant they could do guy things together. He made a mental note to take her fishing sometime soon.

  Snick.

  He stopped. That wasn’t a bug, that was a twig snapping. Off to the left somewhere. His muscles went tight as ropes. His heart pumped.

  Someone else walking in the woods?

  Raising the gun, he waited silently, clicked off the flashlight and let his ears be his surveillance tool. The skree of insects filled the darkness. Tree limbs scratching one another in the light breeze. The susurration of leaves chafing above him. Nothing much else to note. Maybe it was a raccoon or something. Lots of four-legged things in these woods. After another minute of relative silence he breathed out and let the gun fall near his side again. “Okay,” he whispered, a self-mocking code: don’t be such a pussy.

  The pit was about fifty yards to his north. He made it there without incident, his shoes now covered in dirt and moss. The police tape still surrounded the pit. A sign had been posted explaining the heap of shit anyone would be in if they felt like tampering with the scene.

  “Ridiculous. Shoulda put men outside.”

  The department had ruled against leaving officers in the woods, said it was just impractical. They’d need lights and a shelter and a hundred other things on hand they didn’t have. Their solution, in the absence of patrolling black and whites inside the trees, was to post similar signs like this one around the park, and drop notices in mailboxes. Which, George knew, was like sending everyone invitations to come out and fuck it all up.

  George ducked under the police tape and shined his light into the pit. The hordes of rats were gone. Only dark red dirt, a couple of ladders leaning against the sides for authorities to get in and out. Other than that it looked like a large hole dug for coffins.

  Snick!

  There it was again. Another twig snapping. Close by. Was the guy actually in the woods again? Was he following George? These kind of serial nutballs, they tended to listen to the news. He’d been banking on that when he’d made his statement. Let the guy come to him, and they could work it out between themselves…with some bullets.

  He threw caution to the wind. “Listen, you fuck, you want me you better come get me. ’Cause if I get you first…”

  George raised his gun and moved off in the direction of the sound. Snick. There it was again, straight ahead. And was that breathing he heard? Or just the leaves rustling in the wind?

  He made it a few more feet before the bushes to his left exploded in a torrent of flying twigs and leaves and a lumbering figure screamed out of the greenery and tackled him like a runaway freight train, slamming him to the ground with a thud that rattled his teeth. His breath was forced from his lungs. He fought to suck in air, to scream, but he couldn’t. A trench coat flapped before his eyes, reflecting the flashlight’s beam before it fell to the ground and shut off. Then the man was wailing on him, beating him in the ribs, breaking them with each blow. Crack crack crack! George felt himself crying. Something long, hard and gray—a fucking fire hose?—

  caught him in the testicles and rolled him up into a fetal position. Pain running up his abdomen. The man on him again, pounding, pounding, slamming George’s head into the dirt, huffing and grunting
like he had wet socks jammed down his throat. The smell of something vitriol—urine?—saturating the air. George’s radio was in his jacket, turned down so the static wouldn’t give him way. He needed to get it out. He reached—

  The man grabbed his arm, twisted it and snapped the bones at the elbow.

  “AHH!” His were eyes out of his head.

  Fight back, George, fight back. You’re gonna die! Get the radio. Get it.

  In the midst of the tumbling, his punches failing to connect, his feet scrambling for footing, he caught a glimpse of the assailant’s Halloween mask in the moonlight.

  And he thought, “Ra—”

  ***

  Ted pulled up next to George’s car at the south entrance to the park. The local news radio station was replaying the day’s earlier conference. Goddamn George was everywhere.

  Way to make yourself a target, George.

  He hopped out and shined his light inside George’s car. The computer was on, a cup of coffee in the drink holder. The handheld radio was gone. Everything else looked normal. “Stupid, George. Real fucking asinine.”

  He went back to his own car, called in and requested a cruiser jockey come by regardless of what the shift change status was. “Give ’em overtime,” he instructed, “but get a car out here now.”

  Then he headed into the woods.

  Mosquitoes attacked him as soon as he got beyond the tree line. What the hell was George trying to prove going into the woods alone? Why did he even think this freak would be hanging around in them late at night right after the cops had swarmed the place? The guy was probably long gone if he knew what was good for him. Would probably lay low for a year or two and then pop up again in a nearby town. Maybe here, if he was the sort of crazy who needed the attention. And judging by the rat-pit MO, yeah, he was that sort of crazy.

  “Gonna kill you when I find you, George,” Ted said, shoving aside a low limb.

  The thick undergrowth of the woods was worse to get through than the damn obstacle course he’d been forced to run back at the academy some ten lifetimes ago. Jump this boulder, duck this branch, kick through these brambles. Jeez, he was already exhausted.