The Awakening

by Rain Oxford

  It was a curved slab of metal about six inches square, partially rusted. He could just make out some type of crude engraving on its surface. There was no question of what it was; it was a piece of axe-bit, broken through the hollow where the handle had fit. He started to throw it back into the water, but then stopped and looked at it in his hand. No, dummy, better show it to Sherlock. You damn sure don’t know what you’re looking for.

  Mike was already in the car when Derek got back. He had the engine running so the car was warm, but his sour face showed that he wasn’t enjoying the warmth or anything else. Derek got in and pulled off his sopping coat.

  “Find anything?” Mike’s voice was as sour as his face.

  “Just this.” Derek handed him the chunk of metal. “Probably some amateur Paul Bunyon broke his toy and threw it away, but I thought you might want to see it.”

  “There used to be some mining up here, could be that’s where it came from.” Mike turned it in his hand and studied the engravings. “Jesus H. Christ! Can’t anything be in English? Every time I turn around, I’m running into some kind of screwy scribbling, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to take this out to Wittakin and get another lecture in dime-novel monsters! Here, you keep it; call it a souvenir or something”

  Mike put the car into gear and spun gravel until he was back on the main road. Derek could see the muscles bunched in the sheriff’s jaw. It was a good time to say nothing.

  For once I’m glad I’m me. Derek stuffed the piece of blade into his wet jacket pocket and watched the dismal countryside slide by. It was depressing.

  “Just between you and me, what do you think of our talk last night?” Mike asked. Derek glanced over at him. He seemed to be concentrating on the road, but he looked slightly embarrassed.

  “You mean with Dr. Witakin?”

  “Yeah. Do you buy any of that stuff he was selling?” Mike looked at Derek out of the corner of his eye when he didn’t answer. “Well, what do you think?”

  Derek answered slowly. “I think there’s something very strange going on and there’s someone or something very dangerous around, but I find it hard to believe it’s something like what we were talking about.” That’s what I think until it gets dark, anyway.

  They finished the drive into town without any more talk. Mike pulled the car up to the porch of the hotel and sat in thought as Derek got out. He was almost through the door of the hotel when Mike rolled down the window of the car and called to him.

  “I’m thinking of having a meeting with some of the men in town, probably at Sam’s place. Can you make it?”

  “What time?”

  “Oh, about eight I guess. Matter of fact, I’m going to be out rounding up a few people I want to be there. Want to go along?”

  “Sure, why not?

  “Okay, I’ll pick you up around six then.”

  Derek waved as Mike pulled away. He turned and stepped into the lobby. Ann was coming down the stairs, smiling and beautiful. Last night, he had made love to her, but this morning he found it hard to believe.

  “Where have you been all morning? I was going to treat you to breakfast.”

  Derek shrugged wryly. “Been out with Mike. I think he’s made me his unofficial deputy. I’m going to get myself a Stetson hat and a pair of six-guns, then run around looking mean and tough.” He moved his feet apart and hunched over, dangling his bent arms over his hips in a classic TV gunfighter stance. “Whatcha think? Another marshal Dillon?”

  Ann giggled and shook her head. “You’d have to inspire more confidence than that or you would be sheriffing over a ghost town.”

  * * *

  It was seven by the time Derek and Mike left the fifth and last farm house. Three of the men they had talked to had agreed to help pass the word about the meeting. After some debate, they decided to have the wives and children gather at one of the farm houses near town so that none of them would have to be alone.

  Mike seemed to be morosely wrestling with some problem on the drive back to town. Derek thought it best to leave him alone to sort it out and settled back into the warm car seat. He stretched his legs, the drone of the heater and the soft rattling of the rain on metal soothing his nerves, until a soft drowsiness stole over him. He stifled a yawn and closed his eyes, resting his head against the back of the seat.

  “What the shit?”

  Derek jerked upright at Mike’s yelp and felt the car slice madly through the mud, the tires grabbing for traction. The fuzzy twin cones from the headlights swung wildly over the country side before the car slid forward on the road again. Derek clutched at the dash to hold himself still in the seat.

  One of the headlights crossed a moving shape an instant before they felt the impact. The car slid only a couple of feet, then was still. Must be a damn cow or… He glanced at Mike. It had happened too fast for him to see what they had hit. Mike’s face was sickly pale in the dash lights, his eyes wide and empty as he stared through the windshield. Derek reached for Mike’s shoulder.

  “There!” Mike’s whisper startled him and he swung his eyes in the same direction as Mike’s.

  There was something in front of the car, and Derek felt icy tendrils wrap around his spine.

  It was standing at the edge of the hood between the headlights. All Derek could see was the silhouette of what looked like a huge, deformed man. There wasn’t enough light to see the features, but its eyes caught enough to reflect. Or glow…

  With a rasping, blood chilling snarl, the shape slammed its fists into the hood. They heard the metal groan and tear and felt the car shudder. Then whatever it was, was gone.

  Steam rose from the exposed engine. Mike’s body shook for a moment before he could regain control, turning unfocused eyes at Derek. “You saw...? I’m not…?” He cupped his face in his hands, inhaling hard. “Mother of god!”

  Derek reached passed Mike and flipped on the search light. He panned it slowly over the ground to the right of the car and then to the left. The rain and mist kept the light from penetrating more than a few yards in any direction, but at least the area around the car was clear of danger. It wasn’t there. He could see the crumbled car hood dimly.

  “Whatever the hell it was, looks like it’s gone now. And that doesn’t make me the least bit unhappy,” Derek said softly, his voice shaky, he set his hand on Mike’s shoulder and Mike turned toward him, his face taut. “You okay, Mike?”

  “Yeah. I guess so. That… that thing! What was it? In god’s name, what…?”

  “A bad dream straight out of the Twilight Zone. Or worse. Nothing I’d want to meet personally.” Derek gestured towards the front of the car. “Did a number on your hood. Should we check?”

  “Screw the hood. Let’s just get out of here.” Mike dropped the transmission in gear and plowed through the mud. “We gotta stop at my office.”

  “Is there something there we need?”

  “Yeah. It’s in a bottle in my desk.”

  * * *

  Sam’s place was an unexceptional mid-western beer bar, complete with neon signs, dim lights, and a dirt parking lot. It was filled to capacity when Derek and Mike went in. There were mostly work vehicles; big bent-up pickup trucks that matched their owners’ needs and personalities.

  Usually, the men were rowdy and laughing, putting the two old, worn pool tables to good use and keeping the bartender busy. But tonight the mood was tense and serious. A few of the men had been drinking, but most were sober, and the low growl of conversation showed the consuming worry of the men.

  Mike stood by the bar in front of the men and waved for quiet. One of the men, dark haired, tall and thin, stood up and faced Mike. The room grew silent. “You got something to say, Jack?”

  Jack Hosserman was the feed dealer for the town, and all the men there had known him for years. “Yeah, I do, and I think I’m talking for everybody here.” Jack looked around the room, gathering murmurs of agreement. “We’d like to know why you called us here, what’s going on, and what you’re do
ing about it.”

  Mike glanced at Derek and then back to Jack and the men. “Okay, here it is. I don’t know what’s going on, and I can’t do a damn thing until I get an idea what is. That’s why I called you all out here tonight. I want to know if any of you have seen or heard anything out of the ordinary, or anything that might help me. Several people have been killed, neighbors of yours, and I want to keep it from happening to any more.” Mike paused to look from face to face. “Now, does anyone have anything to tell me?”

  The men talked to each other and to Mike, but no one had anything of importance to report other than unidentified noises and general vague fears. There were many questions and no answers, and Jack Hosserman again spoke for the group.

  “Mike, none of us know what it is, but there are a few ideas about what it might be. Some of us have seen what might be wild dogs here and there. Do you think we may have a killer pack on our hands? We’ve heard of that happening before.”

  Mike shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’s the problem. If it was wild dogs, or a renegade pack, they would be after the livestock. Chickens, calves, things like that. Have any of you been losing any more livestock than usual?” There was a general negative. “I didn’t think so. Whatever it is we’re up against, it’s after people.”

  “What about getting the state police out here to help? I mean, we pay taxes for stuff like that.”

  “I’d be glad to have them swarming out of the woodwork right now, but if any of you have tried to use a telephone lately, you know they’re not working. And with the mudslides and the bridge out, I don’t think anyone could get out to let them know what’s going on here. So, at least for the time being, we are going to have to try to handle this thing ourselves.”

  “And how do you suggest we handle it, Mike? Seeing as we haven’t done so good so far.” Jack waved his arm at the men. “What do you say we gather up our guns and track this thing down? What do you say we do the job ourselves and keep anyone else from getting killed? If we don’t, which one of us is going to be next?”

  Mike’s hand shot out and caught Jack’s arm, hard, and spun him around, his face angry and stiff. “Damn you, Jack! If you get these men going…” He shoved Jack back towards the bar. “Listen to me, all of you! If you go running around in this rain, crazy to kill you-don’t-know-what, half of you are going to end up with your heads blown off! You’ll be shooting at each other! Then who’s going to take care of your wives and kids?”

  There were a few nods of agreement, but most of the men were restless and worried. Jack wasn’t ready to give up the floor, either. “Then what do you suggest we do, sheriff? Sit around until whatever it is gets to us one by one? Or maybe it’s just that you don’t like somebody doing your job better than you!”

  “You say another word like that, Jack, and I swear I’ll break your face! Now shut up! What I want you men to do is to get your families and go home. If some of you want to stay with others, that’s fine. Nobody should be alone at any time, not even for a minute. If you have chores to do, have someone with you, and carry guns. Be ready to use your guns, but don’t shoot until you know what it is you’re shooting at. We’ve got enough trouble without killing each other. Anybody got questions?”

  “Yeah.” A mean, heavyset, shaggy man pushed his chair back and stood up. “While we’re doing this, what’re you gonna be doing, Mike?”

  “Everything I can, Paul. Every damn thing I can.”

  * * *

  “I already know, but tell me anyway. Why didn’t you say anything to those men about what we saw tonight?” Derek stood at the window of Mike’s office, Staring out, but seeing nothing.

  It’s out there, Mike. You know it and I know it, but my god! What is it?

  Mike sighed and crushed his cigarette. “What would I tell them? That you and I were driving around in the rain and just happened to run into a seven-foot monster? That we’re being invaded by ghouls from outer space or god knows where and they’re running around tearing people to pieces? Shit and double shit! Even if I am sheriff, they’d lock me in my own jail cell and lock you in with me. And if for some reason they did believe me… These are simple, god fearing people in these parts, but they wouldn’t handle something like this any better than anyone else would. It would be a mass, free-for-all panic! People killing each other for any kind of chance to get out, and heaven help the man who got in the way, or who they thought was in the way.”

  Mike scowled and lit another cigarette. It tasted terrible. They all did anymore. “No, I don’t think it would be good to say anything yet. Not till we can tell them something that’s going to help, not just something that’s going to make them laugh or scare the holy shit out of them. And if they think I’m a fool, or worse, I’m not going to be able to help them at all.”

  “But Mike, we’ve got to do something. I agree, we really can’t tell them much, but how safe are they not knowing anything?”

  “You telling or asking? If there was any…”

  The air around them seemed to light up for a moment, thick, almost alive from the rain and fog. At the same time the telephone on Mike’s desk jangled and the lamp beside it dimmed and flickered, then grew bright again. Instinctively Derek counted, one… two… three… Thunder rolled, muted and heavy. Eleven hundred feet per second, not too close. If you see it and hear it at the same time, better check your back pocket…

  “Yeah, that’s all we’d need, the power lines to go down,” Mike muttered. He picked up the telephone receiver, and then put it back without listening to it. The room seemed quiet. For a while, even the rain gave the impression of slacking off out of respect for the sound of thunder… before slashing down again with renewed strength. “Derek, what do you think it was we saw?”

  Derek left the window to slump in a chair opposite Mike. He snaked a cigarette from Mike’s pack and lit it. “That depends on whether you want an answer that sounds reasonable or not. If you want reasonable I’ve got no idea. If you want unreasonable, it still sounds ridiculous.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Think about it. The things that have been going on, this whatever-it-was we saw, and the stuff you said about the Jarmans.”

  “Wittakin was talking in that direction too, but even after tonight, it’s still hard to buy. Halloween is still a long time off.”

  “Then what was it we saw?”

  Mike glared at Derek for a second, then swung his gaze toward the window. “I’m getting a headache.” He straightened up and rummaged in his desk for a minute, then shoved a revolver and shells across the desk to Derek. “Thirty-eight Smith and Wesson. You know how to use one?”

  “Yes.” Derek picked it up. It was well worn, efficient and ugly. “Why?”

  “I’m going to have to do some digging around and I’m likely to run into that thing again. If I do, I’d rather not be alone. What do you think?”

  Derek looked back at the gun in his hand, then nodded. “I’ll help, but I don’t think it’s going to be fun. Are we going to be able to handle this thing ourselves?”

  “I guess we’ll have to. There’s only one thing that bothers me.” Mike indicated the gun wryly. “I just hope we don’t need silver bullets.”

  * * *

  “Shut up, Pat! Just shut the fuck up! I’ve had all the bitching from you I can take for one night!” Paul Sims juggled the clutch and accelerator, working the gearshift from first to reverse and back again. He was an expert driver, but the thick, slick mud held the Chevy pickup tighter with every revolution of its wheels.

  The mud won; with a dejected shudder the truck settled deeper and the tires spun futilely. Paul sagged in the seat, scowling, and switched off the ignition. The rain was loud.

  “Well, Paul, you just gonna sit there? I want to go home. Do something.” Patricia Sims was seven years older than Paul and could find hundreds of ways to make his life miserable, not the least being her voice. Paul was positive it would shatter granite if it was any louder.

 
“I’m gonna have to find something to stick under the wheels. Brush or sticks or something. I’ll need your help.”

  “You want me to get out in that?” Her voice shifted into a whine, more irritating than before. “You can do it. You don’t need me.”

  Paul slammed the door open and jumped out, mad. “You’re damned right I don’t! You just sit there!” Goddam old bat! I’d like to shove you under the wheels. They wouldn’t be able to tell you from the mud. “Just give me the flashlight out of the glove box.”

  He grabbed the flash light and stomped to the side of the road, thumbed the switch, and watched the light dim and go out. Banging it on his palm did nothing; it was dead, the batteries drained. He wanted to cry, to scream how unfair it all was. He threw the useless flashlight as far as he could into the darkness. It felt good, but not good enough. Mile and a half from the house, no goddam light, that worthless lump in the truck, and something running around out here in the dark looking for somebody to kill. Holy shit.

  He considered yelling for his wife to turn on the truck lights, but decided against it. She’d just bitch some more. He didn’t want to ask her for anything. Anyway, he could feel what he needed under his boots, dead weeds and small rocks, things he could use to get traction with if he shoved enough under the tires.

  Gathering as much as he could in his hands, he began piling and packing it around the wheels. Again and again he repeated the process until he was sweating in spite of the rain and chill. The truck was stuck badly enough to make his hopes of getting it out slim, but he was going to try.

  He was crouching for another handful of weeds when he felt the explosion in the side of his head. He felt himself spinning in slow motion through the darkness to land softly on his back in the mud. It didn’t hurt, nothing ever would again. The blow had broken his neck.