by Brian Parker
“Hmpf,” he grunted. He was sure that the pupils would be as big as the colored part of the eye, but they looked normal, like what his dog’s eyes looked like. That was strange. Maybe he should take the body in to the veterinarian office to see if they could look at it. There might be some new strain of the virus that he could get a finder’s fee or something for discovering it in the wild before it got out.
The hunter bent over and grasped the coyote’s tail. He planned to drag it back to his four-wheeler where he’d drive the six or seven miles to where he parked his truck and trailer. Before he stood up something small landed on his back. “What the hell!” he yelled out and shot strait upright.
Seth could still feel something clinging to his neon orange hunting vest. He shook back and forth but it was still attached. He jerked the front of the vest open and shrugged out of it as fast as he could. As it slipped down over his wrist he flung the vest forward and it impacted against an oak tree with a sickening thud.
He bent and picked his rifle up off the moss where he’d dropped it when the animal had jumped on his back. He raised it to his shoulder and advanced towards the neon heap at the base of the oak. The end of the 30.06 poked forward and he carefully lifted a corner of the vest. A little chipmunk clawed helplessly at the barrel of the rifle. Its back legs were resting on its back at an extremely odd angle.
Given the coyote’s strange behavior and now the chipmunk attacking him, Seth was positive that he’d discovered some new type of rabies. There was no way that a damn chipmunk would ever attack someone. I’m gonna be rich! He could see the mansion and feel the cool water of his in-ground pool already.
The rustling of leaves startled him from his daydream. The buck that he’d sighted earlier had crept back up on him and was less than a truck length away. Seth started to raise the rifle but the fallen leaves crackled all around him in the wood line and he stopped short to look behind him.
The deer covered the distance in seconds. Seth heard it charging, but he was powerless to do anything that could stop it. The last thing he saw was the beast’s head lowered and coming towards him at over thirty miles per hour.
The hunter was knocked unconscious from the force of the impact, but he was killed by the hundreds of lesser forest animals who swarmed his body and chewed him to pieces.
*****
“What the hell is happening?” the traffic helicopter pilot asked.
“I don’t know,” the copilot answered, “but there’s another one.” He gestured towards the highway below and the vehicle that was turned over in the median, wheels still spinning.
Atlanta’s afternoon rush hour traffic on I-285 was a total disaster. Hundreds of accidents, most of them severe, clogged the highway that circled the city. Massive smears of blood could be seen everywhere that the pilots looked.
“What’s causing all of those animals to do that?”
“Beats me, Bill. Normally I’d say that they were running from a fire, but I don’t see anything in the woods and I sure as heck don’t understand how it’s happening all the way around the city.”
The disaster had started innocently enough an hour before. A deer ran into traffic and a car traveling at 70 miles per hour hit it. The car ended up flipping across three lanes of traffic and coming to rest against the concrete barriers separating the north and southbound lanes. The driver and passenger of the first car were killed instantly and four others ended up in critical condition. Those kinds of accidents were common enough on The Perimeter, which is what the locals called the I-285 ring road.
While the traffic helicopter hovered overhead at the accident site, they’d witnessed another accident less than a mile beyond the first. The car had just returned to highway speed when another deer ended up in the road causing a single-vehicle accident. Then things began to get strange.
The police scanner that they monitored for directions to their next traffic story exploded with multiple accidents along the highway. It quickly became so choked with multiple emergency operators attempting to contact units that the pilots couldn’t even understand what they were saying. They circled above the highway like they were traveling over a race track, making continuous circles around the city and the accidents continued to add up.
“Wait, what’s happening down there now?” Bill asked. He could make out a lot of movement down below, but he had to focus most of his attention on flying the helicopter.
“Holy… We need to go live. Hold on.” The copilot frantically jabbed at the phone to dial the station’s control room.
“Channel 43.”
“This is Jeff McMaster in the News Channel 43 helicopter. We need to go live.”
“Uh, what’s the story, Jeff?”
“Animals are attacking the traffic jam on The Perimeter!”
“Okay, I’ll plug you in now.”
“Thanks.”
There were a series of clicks and then, “Let’s go live to Jeff McMaster in our News Channel 43 traffic helicopter. Jeff, can you describe what you’re seeing right now?”
“Thanks, Brian. As you know, we’ve been monitoring the developing situation along I-285. All afternoon, deer have been streaming from the wood line and neighborhoods beside the highway, causing hundreds of accidents and massive pileups.
“Can you see our video feed, Brian?”
“Yes, we see… Oh my. Is that? Jeff, can you describe what’s happening right now?”
“Right before we contacted you, black bears began emerging from the woods below us. People panicked and instead of remaining in the safety of their vehicles, they tried to run away.
“As you can see, bears are much faster than a human for short distances.”
“I would like to apologize to the folks at home for the graphic nature of the live video feed. This is unedited footage of the events happening now, on the I-285 ring road. Jeff, do you see any police or emergency vehicles heading towards the scene?”
“Not yet, Brian. It’s… Oh my God, did you see that?”
“Yes, um… Can we cut away from the live feed please? Folks, we will continue to monitor the situation, but the station feels that it is in our viewers’ best interest to no longer carry the gruesome footage that we are currently receiving from our traffic helicopter.”
“Brian, are we still on?”
“Yes we are, but we are no longer showing your camera footage, Jeff.”
“Okay. As you saw, there are probably a hundred bears—maybe more—that have attacked the motorists trapped in their vehicles on I-285. We don’t have any confirmation of fatalities, but from what we could see, there has to be many, many severely injured people.”
“Thank you, Jeff. We’re being told that the Atlanta Chief of Police will be making a statement about the day’s strange events. We’ll be leaving the News Channel 43 traffic helicopter for now and heading to the coverage of the Chief of Police’s statement.”
Jeff listened as the phone clicked off. “What the hell is happening, Bill?” he asked the pilot.
“I don’t know. I hope my wife and kids are okay.”
FIVE
“We’ve got a few more questions for you, Miss Lockhart,” the detective stated as a way of saying hello when Reagan walked down the steps from the business administration building. She’d just finished her fourth class of the day and still had another to go before she could begin her weekend.
“Hi, Officer Steve. Can’t it wait another hour until my last class is over?”
“No. You’ve got to come with me to the station right now.”
“Haven’t you guys ever heard of a good Samaritan? All I did was call the cops when I was a witness to an event,” she complained.
“Most good Samaritans who call the police are also innocent and have a solid alibi,” the police officer retorted.
Reagan adjusted her backpack and resigned herself to another afternoon at the police station. “What could you possibly have to ask me about now? Haven’t you asked me every question in the book?”
“Detective Simms said to bring you in. I don’t make the rules; I just enforce ‘em,” the plain-clothed Steve answered. “Come on, my car is just around the corner.”
When they walked up a campus security guard was furiously scribbling on a pad of paper. Steve sauntered over and asked, “What are you doing?”
“Is this your vehicle, sir?” the guard asked.
“Yeah, it is. What’s up?”
“Sir, you don’t have a university parking permit. That’s a fifty dollar fine for parking on university grounds.”
Steve whipped out his badge and showed it to the security guard. “I’m here on official police business and this is an MPDC vehicle, so you can keep your ticket.”
The guard shook his head back and forth. “No, no, no! I enforce the rules on campus and you violated university code three-oh-seven,” the guard stated. He ripped the top layer from his carbon ticket pad and handed it to Steve. “Sir, here is your ticket. Accepting the ticket is not an admission of guilt—”
“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” Steve cut him off. “I’m a police officer. I know that a ticket doesn’t automatically mean I’m guilty. Give me the damn thing before I arrest you for interfering with an investigation.”
The campus guard flinched as Steve snatched the ticket out of his hand and crammed it into his pocket. He started to say something but thought better of it and walked quickly back to his security cart. The little transmission ground as he hastily tried to put it into gear before finally speeding off down the street once the gear caught.
“Get in the damn car,” Steve ordered a grinning Reagan.
*****
It took Steve and Reagan about fifteen minutes in the early afternoon traffic to drive down to the headquarters of the Metropolitan Police Department of the District of Columbia, MPDC for short. If it had been two hours later, the short drive from the university to the headquarters on Indiana Avenue would probably have taken an hour or longer. While the officer drove, Reagan sent her mother and little sister a text message letting them know that she was being taken downtown for yet another round of questions.
Her father had just about had enough of the MPDC after Reagan told him some to the ridiculous questions that they’d asked her over the course of the week and was on the verge of seeking legal counsel. Her mother had been the one to convince him otherwise since she still believed that the system would set things straight and clear her daughter of any wrongdoing in the horrible incident.
They walked into the building and Reagan submitted her backpack for an x-ray scan while she walked through a metal detector. This, like most of the past week, had now become routine to her. Once her bag was cleared, she was taken to a room that contained only three chairs, a table and a video camera mounted high up in the corner. Steve gave her a Styrofoam cup of water and she settled down to read the assigned section in her History book.
Twenty minutes later, Detective Simms opened the door with another person in tow. Reagan capped her highlighter and slipped her notepad inside the book to keep her place before closing it. “Hello again, Reagan,” the detective said.
“Alex. Nice to see you,” she replied.
“This is Juan Quintana from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
Reagan blanched and said, “Do I need a lawyer? This is the fifth or sixth time that I’ve talked to you guys and now you’re bringing in the FBI?”
“Miss Lockhart, it’s certainly your right to have your lawyer present,” the federal agent stated. “You’re not a suspect in any crime, at this time, but we do have some very pointed questions for you. Would you like to have your lawyer in here while you talk to us?”
She thought about it for a minute and decided that her father was right—Wow, imagine if he heard me say that! “Yes, I’d like to contact my father. He has a lawyer ready to go.”
Detective Simms threw his hands up in disgust. “Didn’t you hear what Agent Quintana said? You’re not a suspect.”
“I’m glad that I’m not, but this is getting out of hand. I’ve been hauled down here every day for a week to answer meaningless questions. The first day was the only day that you even asked anything pertinent to the damn incident!”
“I have my reasons for asking those questions, Reagan,” Simms defended himself.
“Really? Asking me about rabid animals is part of the investigation? Come on, man,” she retorted. “I’m not answering anymore questions until I can have a lawyer present who will force you guys to play it straight and quit harassing me.”
“Fine, call your father. You just turned a thirty minute conversation into a three-hour one.”
“Detective Simms, I think we just need to calm down,” Agent Quintana said to defuse the situation. “She’s got a point. She’s been more than cooperative with the MPDC for interrupting her life to come down here and answer questions. Let’s give her the opportunity to exercise her rights and bring in a lawyer. Is that still what you want to do, Miss Lockhart?”
She looked back and forth between the two officers. Their body language seemed a little too stiff, even rehearsed. Reagan decided that she was being played by the old “good cop, bad cop” routine. The new guy meant for her to trust him and not get a lawyer involved. She nodded her head and replied, “Yeah, I’m still gonna call my dad and have him come up here with our lawyer.”
“Dammit! Fine, we’ll be waiting for your guy to show up,” Simms said as he exited and slammed the door behind him.
“I’m sorry, Miss Lockhart. I’ll talk to him. We just need all the help that we can get and we may have a potential lead into the case. I’ll see you whenever your lawyer arrives.”
Reagan slipped her cell phone out of her bag and called her father. “Hey, Daddy. It’s Reagan. I’m at the police station, again.”
“Yeah, your mother told me. This is getting out of hand.”
“I agree. I’ve decided to call in a lawyer. Are you still talking to that one?”
“Of course, honey. I’ve already got one on standby and briefed. I can have her there in a little bit.”
“Okay. Thank you. I don’t know what they’re trying to pull, but they’ve brought in the FBI.”
She heard her dad curse under his breath. ”Alright, I’ll be sure to tell Erin the latest news before we head down there,” he replied. “Are you sure that you’re alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m totally innocent, so everything should be okay, right?”
“I hope so, honey. Let me call Erin and we’ll get you out of there.”
”Alright. See you soon.” She clicked the end call icon and settled in to finish reading her History book.
*****
Detective Simms and Agent Quintana escorted the lawyer in and Steve carried a fourth chair for her to sit in. “Hi, Reagan. I’m Erin Weston,” the attorney stated and held out her hand for the girl to shake. “Your father hired me to sit with you while you answer the police officers’ questions regarding the incident last Saturday night at the Razor’s Edge club.”
“Nice to meet you,” Reagan replied automatically. “Where’s my dad? I thought he’d be here.”
“He’s out in the lobby. Since you’re over eighteen, procedure says that he doesn’t have to be present and the police can talk to you alone.”
Reagan nodded slowly. “I don’t get it. I did the right thing by calling the police about a crime—or an incident, I don’t know what to call it—and now I’m being questioned like some criminal.”
Erin looked sternly across the table to the two men and asked, “Is my client being charged with a crime?”
“No, Miss Weston. We simply had some new information and we wanted to ask Miss Lockhart about some of the details.”
“Okay, go ahead.”
Agent Quintana cleared his throat and pulled a photograph from his folder. “What were you doing in Canada last week, Miss Lockhart?”
“Huh?” Reagan asked dumbly.
“Look at the picture. We pulled
this from the security cameras at the Calgary International Airport. You were clearly there for something. We’d like to know why.”
“What?” she said and grabbed the picture from the table to stare at it. It certainly looked like her, except the girl in the photograph had blonde hair and looked much thinner than Reagan. It had been years since she’d worn her hair in its natural color, but the resemblance was uncanny. “Wow, she looks almost just like me, but I’ve never been to Canada.”
Erin took the photo from her and stared hard at the black and white image. “Okay, so you have a picture of someone who looks a lot like my client, but obviously isn’t. What does this have to do with her? For that matter, what does it have to do with the case at all?”
“We’re just trying to establish the whereabouts of Miss Lockhart immediately leading up to the incident. Canada is a hotbed of non-regulated pharmaceuticals and maybe she inadvertently picked up something on her recent trip,” Quintana answered.
“I’ve never been to Canada!” Reagan said. “Check… Check the manifest or whatever. You’ll see that I wasn’t on any flights.”
“Where were you on the fourteenth then?” Simms asked.
“I… What day was that? Thursday? On Thursday I was at home working on my mid-term paper for biology.”
“Any witnesses?” the police officer asked.
“My mom was home almost all day. My kid sister and father were there in the morning and in the evening. I was at home.”
“Computer facial recognition software has matched your face with the face of this person in Calgary. It’s matched you two with 98.7 percent accuracy. Unless you have a twin sister, that’s you in Canada last Thursday.”
“Are you kidding me?” Erin cut in. “My client is a college student who was home with her family studying all day and you want to believe a computer program that matched an airport security camera picture? Have you even looked at the picture or are you only listening to your computer? The woman in the photograph is deathly thin; Reagan is a healthy young woman. And don’t get me started that you likely didn’t obtain permission from the Canadians to be in their database.”