A dark shape leapt from the roof and landed on the concrete several metres beyond the roller-door. Tobe gasped and fell back into the shadows.
The thing stalked through the lights, back and forth. It was large, comparable with the SUV Tobe stood beside, and moved with the fluidity of an animal, though not an animal Tobe had ever seen before, or could even comprehend. Strangely, his brain could not apportion attributes, could not determine the creature’s specifics. He reasoned that it had to be a creature—based on the thing’s movement, both here and inside the workshop, he could reach no other assumption—but that he could not determine the nature or means of the creature’s locomotion confused him. The thing seemed to move swiftly, yet abnormally. Did it have legs? Again, his brain struggled to compare it with something familiar, something known. He figured it did have legs—he’d heard the thing skitter along the roof. But he saw no legs, saw only this oddly-moving shape.
The creature paused, half-turned in the lights and slashing rain, and Tobe shrank further into the darkness beside the car, too afraid to breathe.
It was a flesh and blood entity—but then… that wasn’t right, was it? Not quite muscle and bone… more gelatinous. He was reminded of the mottled, almost rubbery flesh of an octopus, and yet that wasn’t right, either.
As his brain laboured to draw references, the fleshy mass changed shape, morphing into a more distinct form, or at least a form finally given to it by Tobe’s mind. The octopus reference seemed even more relevant then, because the shape-shift, if that’s what it was, occurred as effortlessly and as quickly as an octopus changing colour to blend with its background. A head appeared, insect-like, but eyeless and devoid of any mandibles or pincers. And when he had thought earlier there had been no legs, suddenly there were many, maybe twelve.
Some of the legs rose and fell, the appendages attending to some unknown task. These legs, segmented and insect-like, were not quite silent as they moved, and yet nor did they click or rap on the concrete as those of an insect surely would—even though this thing, with twice the number of legs, could not be an insect. And while he was certain his mind had filled in the gaps—thrusting upon the creature this insectoid form, something vaguely familiar that he could almost give a name to—he knew also, in that instant, the creature had adopted this form, and that this was how it usually looked. Maybe when it chose to, it could also look like other things, but this was its preferred form, an arthropod that was somewhere between an insect and a centipede and yet far from both.
There’s something else, too, Tobe thought. Something at odds with both forms…
The abdomen.
The creature had an unusually large, distended abdomen. It was not chitinous or armoured, but fleshy and gelatinous, almost fluid. A membrane stretching over it rippled and mutated, and something long and slithery emerged.
A tentacle, and then another, soon after.
Tobe retreated even further into the darkness, a scream rising in his throat as he finally realised the task the creature had been struggling with.
Brad. He’d been restrained by two or three legs, and was now smothered by tentacles. The amorphous belly heaved and rolled and Brad was overcome by the ashen-coloured mass, as though he was being swallowed—
—absorbed—
—straight into the stomach of the creature, bypassing the mouth… if it even had one. Brad sank into the abdomen, half-submerged in the tar-like flesh, his head and one shoulder and arm outside the creature, the rest of him inside, and he was reaching out, imploring Tobe with that arm, which flailed weakly, and Brad’s eyes rolled and his mouth worked, but soundlessly, as though he was trying to call to Tobe but couldn’t, and then Tobe’s mouth worked and a scream escaped, though he barely heard it over the frightened screams of his companions.
Its prey subdued, the creature wheeled, turned to the workshop.
“Get in the car!” Scottie shouted at the girls as he clambered into the driver’s seat.
Crouched in the headlights, assaulted by slashing rain, the creature regarded the group. Tobe could see no eyes but knew it was watching them.
It’s going to pounce.
“Tobe, the keys!”
Shit! The keys. Why had he killed the engine, removed them from the ignition?
The creature came for them.
“Get in the car, Tobe!”
Tobe fumbled for the keyring, tugged at his jeans pocket. The keys snagged on the denim but he ripped them out and hurled them to Scottie.
More screams. Rachel pushed Sarah into the back of the car and slammed the door. The creature closed the gap, scurried forward on twelve legs, lurching, gaining speed, and then Tobe was inside the car, his door still open when Scottie jammed down on the accelerator and the SUV tore from the workshop and into the rain with a squeal of rubber. The creature leapt, fractionally too late, and there was a rolling thud as the vehicle clipped it on the way through.
Then they were on the open road, on Day Dawn, the wind and rain tearing through the open door, the road noise louder than both.
Tobe closed the door but with it came no silence, no reprieve.
Grief-stricken, Sarah wailed, the kind of sound Tobe wished he had never heard, and knew he would never forget.
FALSE DAWN
19
For several minutes they drove devoid of destination, aiming only to put distance between themselves and the station. Whimpers of shock and disbelief and despair passed between them, only to fade as one by one, they retreated into their thoughts, seeking refuge in solitude.
Eventually—water rolling from his hair, into his eyes—Tobe made a conscious return, as though willing himself from a terrible dream.
He spun in his seat, trembling, told Sarah how sorry he was, that Brad was a close friend to them all, but words were inadequate. Desperate to comfort her but not knowing how, he reached into the back seat to squeeze her hand. The rain had wrinkled her fingers.
Sarah’s wails diminished, replaced by wracking, anguished sobs. Rachel held her close; she hadn’t let her go since they’d roared from the station.
After a minute, Tobe eased his hand out of her grip and swung back to the front. The rain still fell in sheets. His eyes stung, and he wiped at them.
To Scottie, he outlined the route to Teesh’s house.
“We should head to the local police station,” Rachel said.
“I’m not sure where that is. I only know Teesh’s. We need to go there.”
“Earlier tonight, before the accident,” Scottie said, “you were lost. Now you have an inbuilt GPS.”
“I can’t explain it,” Tobe said. “Suddenly, I just know. Take the next left.”
But he could explain it, in a sense. Before the accident. That’s the key. I didn’t know before. This is after.
Scottie seemed to accept his newfound ability without surprise.
The wipers beat a metronomic rhythm against the windshield. Beyond the glass, the night revealed little, as though a sheer black curtain had been drawn around the car. Open scrubland lay left and right, but in the rain Tobe could see no detail, only formless shadows. He glanced down at his phone: still no reception. He tried sending Lisa another text, but like before, it came back undelivered.
Careful that Sarah did not overhear, Tobe looked at Scottie and said, “Could we have saved him?”
“Brad?”
“He was still alive. Did we do the right thing? Did we do enough?”
Scottie said nothing.
Again, Tobe wiped at his eyes. “The thing that took him, it was an animal, but it was something else, too,” he said. “And the organism that took Ganson, and Ressler, it moved more like an animal than a plant or a fungus or an amoeba.”
“You think they’re hybrids?”
It had certainly crossed Tobe’s mind. He thought of the hybrid pines engineered and grown at the plantation several kilometres back, by the company Uncle David worked for. Those trees embodied the most desirable traits of a combination of sp
ecies. Maybe the organism in the convenience store was a hybrid, so too the predator in the workshop. Maybe they were a combination of living things—plant, animal, fungus, amoeba—all wrapped up together.
Then again, they were just as likely none of these.
They were life forms beyond his comprehension or imagination.
Where did they come from? And what the hell are they doing here?
Scottie said, “I wonder if Ethan and Tory got away.”
“I can’t believe they ditched us.”
“I assume they panicked.”
Tobe glanced into the shadows of the back seat. The girls held each other so closely their forms had merged into a single silhouette. They were so quiet that for all Tobe knew, they’d fallen asleep.
He turned back to the front and told Scottie to take the next right.
Scottie did so. “Those growths on Ressler,” he said. “Did you see them?”
“The gristly tubes with the holes on top,” Tobe said, nodding. “They were on Ganson, too.”
“I think the organism we saw in the staffroom—the mold, if that’s what it was—ejects spores from those tubes,” Scottie said.
“Vents…” Tobe said. “That’s what I thought they looked like. The spores are vented.”
Scottie nodded. “And if inhaled, the victim is infected. The parasite grows inside the host, and when it’s ready to reproduce, the host becomes a kind of fruiting body, spewing more spores to complete the cycle.”
“God, Scottie… we were exposed to those tubes.”
“Only briefly.”
“But at that moment… do you think the spores were being expelled? Would they be visible?”
“I don’t know.”
“What if we inhaled them?” Suddenly, Tobe’s skin felt itchy. He put a hand to his neck and scratched. Then he scratched his cheek, and his forearm.
Oh God… was something sliding around in there, under the skin?
Scottie must have sensed his alarm. “Tobe, relax. We don’t know the tubes were venting. We don’t know if the spores were airborne.”
Tobe drew a deep, controlled breath. Scottie was right. They knew none of that, and Tobe told himself his symptoms were stress-related.
Pull yourself together.
There was nothing under his skin. Tobe stopped scratching. Gradually, the itching disappeared.
Thank Christ…
Still, the vents remained at the forefront of his thoughts. After a moment he said, “At some point, Ganson and Ressler were exposed to the spores.”
“It must have occurred along the road somewhere.”
“We didn’t see anything.”
“It could have been anywhere. Maybe they ventured into the forest.”
Tobe nodded. “Whatever happened—whatever they stumbled across—they inhaled the spores, and were infected.”
“And after that, the organism took control.”
“It took control of Ressler.”
“It took control of Ganson, too,” Scottie said. “At some stage in its lifecycle, the parasite turns puppet master. Host manipulation is a thing, believe it or not. It exists in nature.”
“There’s nothing natural about it,” Tobe said. He couldn’t help but scratch his neck again.
“Did you notice how fast it grows inside the host body? It’s slower outside, because that’s the process.”
“It still moved quickly on the outside, faster than any normal plant.”
“Certain bamboo species grow a metre a day, but yeah, this was faster.”
“As fast as an animal.”
“And it feeds on live prey, keeps them alive while draining them of nutrients.”
“I worked that out,” Tobe said. “It uses the nutrients, the host’s body, to grow new streams, searching for more prey to infect.”
“Feed and propagate.”
And that was the crux of it. The organism was not necessarily simple in design, but it lived a simple, uncomplicated existence, driven by two basic needs: to satiate its hunger, and spread its seed. The horror imposed on both Ganson and Ressler suggested these desires were entwined.
“This stuff is right up your alley, Scottie,” Tobe said. “Like something out of one of your stories.”
“People have died, Tobe.”
Tobe lowered his gaze, stared at his hands. “Scottie, what the hell is happening here?”
Scottie didn’t get a chance to answer. The headlights illuminated a street sign ahead, marking a side road to the east.
“This is it,” Tobe said. “This is the road. The house will be on the left, about half a click away.”
20
At almost exactly that distance, on the left-hand side, a break appeared in the low brush lining the road’s edge. Scottie slowed the vehicle, and at the juncture of the headlights, drenched in rain, two white fence posts materialised, positioned about four metres apart. They flanked the mouth of the driveway that serviced the Henderson property, and Scottie drove between them.
Easing past the fence-line, Scottie drew to a halt, killing the headlights but keeping the engine running. “What’s our plan?”
“Do we need one?” Rachel said, leaning forward.
Tobe turned to her. He got the impression she hadn’t been asleep after all, and had been listening all along.
“Just drive up to the front door,” Rachel said. “As close as you can get.”
Scottie paused. “Tobe?”
“We were ambushed in the workshop,” Tobe said.
“All the more reason to go straight to the front door,” Rachel said.
Tobe shook his head. “We were ambushed because we were sloppy. We don’t know what’s out there, what might be attracted to noise, or lights. If the party is in full swing something may have been drawn in. We can’t make the same mistake again. We need to be vigilant. A stealthy approach is best.”
Rachel whispered, “Sarah’s crashed, she’s asleep. You want her to get out and walk? She mightn’t be quiet.”
Scottie shook his head. “I’ll drive up a little further and walk the last bit myself, scope it out. If it’s all clear, I’ll come back to the car and drive us up to the front door.”
“No,” Tobe said. “Drive a little closer, and I’ll check it out. I’m family, and Trooper doesn’t know you.”
“The dog,” Scottie said, nodding.
“You think they’ll be home?” Rachel said.
Tobe wondered about that. “I hope so.”
Slowly, keeping the Outlander in first gear, Scottie climbed the sweeping driveway. Tyres crunching on the gravel, they approached Teesh’s place without headlights. In the dark and rain-lashed night, Tobe was afraid they would slip off the road into a ditch, or hit something, but Scottie was cautious. Trees loomed either side, denser than Tobe remembered them, an indistinct patchwork of slate-grey and indigo. Scottie drove to within sight of the driveway’s crest, at which point Tobe told him to stop. Atop the rise lay the house, as yet unseen.
Scottie cut the engine. “I’ll come with you,” he said to Tobe, moving to release his seatbelt.
Rachel placed her hand over his. “You need to stay here, ready for a quick getaway, and to keep Sarah safe. I’ll go with Tobe.”
Tobe nodded. “It’s only a short walk to the house.”
“You said there might be things outside,” Scottie warned.
“Which is why you need to stay here and keep an eye out,” Rachel said.
Tobe glanced into the back seat, where Sarah lay huddled asleep. He wondered if she had surrendered to shock. “If we’re not back in fifteen minutes,” he said to Scottie, “turn around and get the hell out of here.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Scottie said. “But the clock’s ticking. Get moving.”
Tobe patted his friend on the shoulder. “We’ll be back soon. Keep your windows up.”
Opening the door, Tobe climbed from the Outlander and was assaulted by warm rain. He’d dried a little in the last few minutes bu
t without cover, was quickly drenched again. He wished he’d had the presence of mind to bring the overnight bag with a change of clothes, but the escape from the service station had been chaotic and they’d left everything behind. He figured the Henderson’s would have plenty of spare clothes.
As before, the rain had an unusual, oily quality. It lingered in his hair and took an age to roll from his skin.
Rachel exited on the vehicle’s other side. Though muted, the twin thumps of the doors as they closed sounded too loud. Without proof that nothing lurked in the shadows, leaving them ajar wasn’t an option.
Skirting the rear of the compact SUV, Rachel grimaced. “It smells out here,” she said above the rain, the back of her hand pressed to her nose.
Tobe noticed it, too. It was the same stench that earlier this evening he’d thought had emanated from the drainage channel on the side of the road. Only here, now, it was more pronounced. He made a conscious effort not to gag.
He refrained from turning on the Maglite, and Rachel, carrying Scottie’s flashlight, kept hers off, too. They scanned their surroundings. In the sheeting rain and without illumination, the exercise was futile; visibility was limited to a few feet. Tobe sensed, rather than saw, the trees looming on either side of the gravel drive. Stock-still, he listened for movement, but the downpour disguised all noise. Perhaps this was advantageous. Under the mask of rain, they could move undetected.
Presently, Tobe felt no gaze upon them. Had he sensed they were being watched, he’d have jumped straight back in the car. Even so, beyond the protection of the SUV, they were exposed and vulnerable, and the more they lingered, the greater the chance of discovery. He gave Scottie the thumbs up, and they moved out.
They left the Outlander behind, making their way towards the house, which Tobe recalled sat at the top of the driveway. The driveway was a long one—it snaked upwards through screening eucalypts for at least a hundred metres before levelling out. He and Rachel were close to that point.
Climbing the final few metres, they remained cloaked in darkness.
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