“Jesus,” he said again.
He put the vehicle in reverse, and blocked off the oncoming traffic lane. Shay Hendrix did the same in her patrol car, cutting off the opposite lane of US 31. They were going to have to start directing traffic and routing it through the parking lot of the marina and back onto the southbound lanes.
Hex was going wild in his cage, spittle dotting his lips and webbing across the bottom of his jaw.
Outside, Scott could feel the heat of the flames boiling off the air even though he was a good distance away. Horns were honking, from both the upset motorists and alarms that had been jolted by the crash and set off in the nearby parking lots.
Hendrix was already waving drivers into the marina. Hopefully they understood to turn around. This was going to be a nightmare.
The first order of business was to set up a command center, which Scott would have to coordinate until Sheriff Alex Tremblay arrived on scene. The media would soon be having a field day, and, honestly, he was a bit surprised that none of the reporters from the local networks or papers had arrived yet. It was only a matter of time, of course. In the meantime, Tremblay was probably busying buttering up the mayor. Hopefully he found time to put in requests for support from the surrounding communities’ police and fire departments. Hopefully a request for some overtime, too.
Leaning back inside the SUV, he grabbed Hex’s leash from the center console and turned to open the rear door. Before it was even open wide enough, Hex shoved his way through, panting heavily and barking, teeth bared. The dog stopped to growl at Scott, taking small steps forward.
They’d been partners for six years, and he’d never seen the shepherd behave like this. Never. On top of that, this was the absolute worst time for such sudden disobedience. They had to get a perimeter established and get these people out of here to make room for more EMS.
“Platz, Hex,” he tried again, but that seemed to only incite the dog further.
Scott held his hand out, the universal sign for “stop”. “Ruhig.” Quiet.
Hand out, he stepped forward, but rather than step back or sit, Hex also stepped forward, growling.
“Nein. Sitz!”
Hex darted forward, his teeth burying into the inside of Scott’s outstretched arm.
“Nein! Aus! Aus!” Scott yelled. No! Let go! Let go!
Hendrix caught sight of the commotion and ran into the street, toward Scott. Horns were blaring, and drivers stared out of the windows open-mouthed. A few opened their doors and went to stand, but Hendrix waved them back inside.
“Stay in your car!” she screamed.
Blood was pouring down Scott’s arm and Hex was latched on good, driving his squat, muscular body forward and putting Scott on his ass. Scott’s face was burning red, teeth gritted in pain. He’d stopped shouting commands at the dog but something had Hex riled up good.
Hendrix knew enough not to try and intervene with a dog gone rabid. Her training kicked in, and she pulled her gun free, her heart hammering. She took aim and fired.
Hex released Scott’s arm and scrabbled away, falling to the side as his back legs gave out. His side was a bloody mess, the fur matted. He tried to get back toward Scott, his front paws scrabbling against the asphalt, growling and growling, pink bubbles popping from the corners of his snout. His black eyes were beady and evil looking, Scott noticed. There was no other way to explain it. Somehow the devil had gotten into his dog.
Hendrix’s shot had gone high, hitting Hex in the spine. She was careful not to get too close as she put a second bullet through his head.
Scott sat there cradling his arm against his stomach, his eyes puffy with tears.
She grabbed her radio and spoke the words of every police officers’ nightmare: “Dispatch, we have an officer down,” she said. “Repeat: officer down.”
4
LAUREN WOKE SLOWLY, HER eyelids heavy and gummy. Her entire head throbbed in a way that went beyond a mere headache, feeling utterly wrecked and bruised.
One eye was stuck shut, and when she palmed at it there was a sticky substance coating the skin. She rubbed harder until the lid sprung free and she blinked several times, trying to focus. Looking at her hand, she saw blood. A syrupy warmth crept down the side of her face.
After a very long moment, she began to recall what had happened, where she was, and the confusion began to evaporate. She looked to her right and let out a brief, startled scream, the black eyes of a doe staring lifelessly at her. Her heart knocked against her ribs as she drew in a calming breath.
The doe’s thick neck was bent awkwardly and her body obstructed most of the windshield. Lauren remembered hitting the deer, hitting the tree. White radiator steam boiled out from beneath the crumpled hood.
She moved slowly, her entire torso a knot of bruised agony. The airbag had gone off and was now deflated, probably the reason her face felt so puffy and painful. Even something as simple as unbuckling her seatbelt took tremendous effort and she winced at the pain in her neck and shoulders with a short hiss.
The car rocked with a thud against the driver’s side window.
She turned her head, ignoring the agony, and saw the buck. His antlers were spotted in gore. He jostled the car again, banging the side of his face against the driver’s side window, nostrils flaring as it snorted and briefly steaming the glass.
Then he reared on his hind legs and kicked. The glass spider webbed around the center of impact. Lauren swallowed her scream, her mind barely processing what was happening.
“Oh shit, oh shit,” she said, scrambling for the seatbelt release. The shoulder strap was locked in place, keeping her torso pressed into the seatback. She closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath, the car shaking against another impact. In the still quiet between thudding attacks, she could hear the safety glass cracking again, like breaking ice.
She grabbed the shoulder strap and forced herself to relax as she worked the harness loose, unlocking it, and then thumbed the release. The seatbelt retracted with a whispery noise, the metal male connector clanking against the interior window.
The buck was pacing and snorting, watching her all the while, preparing for another attack of the driver’s side window.
The doe’s head was slumped over the dashboard, shards of broken safety glass stuck in its matted, blood-encrusted hair and strewn across the passenger seat and floor. The way the deer had come through the windshield didn’t leave much room for her to escape. The dead body took up too much room and didn’t leave her with enough space to climb over the center console and out the passenger door.
The buck was readying to strike again, and she knew this would be the final blow. The window was barely holding together, and one more strike would make her deer food. She was surprised he hadn’t ripped through the soft top of the Jeep already.
She had to get out of the Wrangler, but there was no way she’d be able to slip past the buck, either.
She slipped her hand between the door and the seat, reaching for the seat back release and pulled it all the way up, leaning into the back and pressing it down. She ignored the flaring sparks of pain that lit up her neck and spine and pushed herself back, just as the glass exploded and showered down upon her bare legs. A hoof banged into her knee and she let out another surprised shout, kicking herself across the seat back, tumbling onto the bench seating behind her.
The buck’s head was reaching into the vehicle, but his antlers prevented him from getting very far in, nipping at her and snorting angrily, a hot gust of fetid breath warming her ankle.
This cannot be happening, she thought, breathing raggedly and taking a brief moment to recoup from the exertion.
The buck retracted its large head and glared at her through the rear driver’s side window. Then he slammed his face against the glass.
“Here we go again,” she said, forcing herself to sit up.
She pushed open the passenger door. It stopped, leaving only a scant few inches of space. A tree was blocking it from openi
ng any further.
“Son of a bitch,” she said. Adrenaline was coursing through her, her flight reflexes kicked up to eleven. She wanted to run, and to just keep on running. She didn’t care how badly that would hurt, how much her sore ribs would ache. She needed to get out of here.
And panicking isn’t going to help, she chided herself.
She pulled the door shut as the buck kicked both front hooves into the opposite window. The glass cracked.
She chided herself for being stupid as she realized there was a way out of this. She was too jazzed and afraid to think straight, but she saw her answer well enough and began rolling the window down with the manual hand crank. The Wrangler was an older model, and she’d not been bothered by the lack of power windows, never thinking their absence might one day save her life. Turning the crank took damn near forever, though, what felt like hours and days, and the buck struck again.
Once the window was down, she shoved herself through head first, landing in a mat of dirt and old, dead leaves. Still feeling dazed from the crash, she slowly made it to her feet.
The buck was still on the other side of the vehicle, grunting angrily. When the Wrangler had crashed, its back end had slid, catching against another tree. If the deer was going to come after her, it would have to go around the front, and she wasn’t sure how long it would take for him to realize that.
Which meant she was still a very viable target, she realized. Getting out of the car had only been a small step in getting away from the crazed buck. She wasn’t out of the woods yet, she knew, and rather literally at that.
She pushed deeper into the trees but kept sight of US 31, treading lightly so as not to attract attention but also to maintain a more comfortable pace. Running would be too loud with the floor of the woods covered in so much detritus and rotting vegetation, and too painful on her taxed and whiplashed body.
The buck was making plenty of noise, though, attacking the Wrangler. Hopefully the ruined remains of her Jeep would keep him distracted, although she kept checking her surroundings to make sure he wasn’t giving chase, or that she wasn’t being followed by anything else.
There was clearly something wrong with the deer. That wasn’t difficult to surmise, but she had no idea what had made them go crazy. Usually deer spooked easily, but these guys? She’d never even heard of something like this. She had heard of deer attacking, even seen a few YouTube videos, which she recalled heartily laughing at with her girlfriends, but, Jesus, not like this. This was fucking insane.
She wondered what had happened to the woman, the one she’d seen running across the bridge over 31, whose partner had been gutted and stomped to death. She hazily recalled two other deer going after her, and tried desperately not to think of the awful outcome. Those deer had been rabid, too, like the buck. Had they all eaten something they shouldn’t have, or been attacked by something or infected with a virus?
Jacob would know. Or at least maybe have some kind of insight. She had to get to him.
Her feet crunched through the dry leaves, the world slightly off-kilter. Her head was pounding, her pulse a steady, aching drumbeat in her ears. She kept one arm out to support herself against the trees, as if she were passing herself between the thick trunks.
A rustling to the right, from deeper in the woods, made her pause, a quick flash of movement making her jump. Something small and fast darted beneath a leaf, a rapid skittering of tiny feet giving chase.
A chipmunk bolted into view and stopped, small beady black eyes looking at her briefly before studying the ground, its nose puckering as it sniffed with intent. Another chipmunk broke cover and popped out from under the leaves, too slow.
The small critters fought viciously, their bodies rolling through the leaves and muck. One was clearly larger and fought viciously.
Lauren stood stock still, open-mouthed, horrified at what she saw. A trail of blood stretched across the woodland floor, leading to an unmoving mound of fur, close enough that she could make out the torn fur and deep lacerations.
The larger chipmunk wriggled loose from beneath the small dead body and stared at it for a long, hard minute. It moved cautiously and then launched itself at the body once more, its claws digging into the dead one’s belly, tearing it open to stick its face into the gap.
Her eyes refused to close, and she was too afraid to move. There was a mixture of disquiet, disgust, and morbid curiosity at the sight of this alpha chipmunk’s cheeks bulging out with harvested guts.
Move, idiot, she thought. Get the fuck out of here!
Deer. Chipmunks. What the fuck is happening?
Her head swam in a confused and funky miasma, but she had to move. She wasn’t safe here.
Cautiously, she raised one foot, intent on taking a slow and quiet step forward and away from the rabid animal. But the movement—or whatever minimal sounds she might have made—was enough to catch the animal’s attention. Those little beady black eyes latched onto her instantly.
The chipmunk watched her with deliberate intent, challenging her. A small pink thread hung from its mouth, its whole face covered in gore.
She set her foot down, the leaves crackling under foot, the woods quiet enough that she could hear the squelch of damp soil beneath the soles of her sandals.
The chipmunk darted at her and she kicked out at it. She missed, but it was enough to make it pause and reconsider its line of attack. The animal took small herky-jerky lurches toward her, but Lauren wasn’t about to wait and see what it would do next. She was moving, as fast as she could.
Pain wracked her body, but adrenaline compelled her forward. Four years of track, of running in freezing rain and through charley horses and horrible periods that lit her belly on fire with cramps, kept her running determinedly through the aches as she cut a line between the trees toward the road.
Her sandal sank into mud and stuck. She tripped and fell forward, the road in sight. A light, furry weight scrambled up her leg, over her butt, onto her back, sharp claws stitching fresh pinpricks of stabbing pain in a jagged, vertical line up her body.
She rolled over, kicking the sandal free, hoping to crush the chipmunk beneath her but the damn thing was freaking fast. It moved across her neck, onto her shoulder, and up the side of her face where she swatted at it. The damn thing was in her hair.
She found her footing again, standing up as she ran her hands through her hair. Barefoot, she began running again, trying to shoo the creature out of her long, brunette locks.
“Ow!” Fucking thing bit me!
She flung her hair out, the rodent hopping into her hand and scrabbling down her arm, but she kept running, running, running. Almost to the road.
The chipmunk’s claws dug into her neck as it climbed, darting past her groping fingers.
Her foot hit the rocky rise of the shoulder right as the furry little fucker bit her cheek. Its small attack gave her just enough time to grab it, wrapping it tight in her first. It writhed against her palm, taking small chunks of skin out of her hand, scratching and biting at her.
She reeled back her arm, like she did in her old softball pitching days, and threw the damnable creature into the road—
And into the path of an oncoming Saturn.
The small thud of the chipmunk striking the windshield sent a small shiver of satisfaction through her. She hadn’t even noticed the car, but damn if the timing hadn’t been fucking perfect! She couldn’t help but laugh, on the verge of hysteria.
“Hey! Hey, wait!” she yelled, waving her arms at the open-mouthed driver and rushing after the vehicle’s brake lights. At least he was slowing down. The car looked familiar, too.
The heat trapped in the asphalt burned through her muddy soles, and as she approached the vehicle she got a clearer look at the driver. And yep, just as she thought, it was Declan Carver, who lived at the other end of their subdivision, leaning across the center console to open the passenger door for her.
“Lauren?” He seemed surprised.
“Hi, Dec.�
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She fell into the seat with a groan and a relieved sigh. Declan stared at her, his mouth still open, looking utterly lost. Then Sarah’s crying caught her attention. She’d babysat the infant once before, for a couple hours. There were small bandages on the baby, her face marked in at least a dozen spots, and on her arms and legs. Everywhere, really.
As Lauren looked toward the backseat, her spine screaming bloody murder, she caught movement on the side of the road.
The massive buck was striding down the center of US 31, heading directly toward them.
“Oh, shit,” she said.
“What is going on, Lauren? Is that your Wrangler back there?”
“Just drive, man. Go!”
Dec check the rearview mirror, saw the horror in the teenager’s face, and clearly realized now was not the time to argue. He put the car back in drive and gunned the accelerator.
“What happened to Sarah?” she asked.
“About what happened to you, from the looks of things.”
As Lauren looked at him—really studied him—she saw that he, too, had been bleeding.
Mass Hysteria Page 3