The Invasive_Pulse

by Michael Hodges

  The Invasive: Pulse

  by Michael Hodges

  Never judge a town by Main Street.

  Unless it’s overrun by strange animals you’ve never seen before. In that case, judge. And run.

  THE VALLEY

  The Apex Valley was, and always had been a classic tourist destination. The Apex Mountains charged to the sky from the valley floor, peaking at thirteen thousand feet. Tourists driving into town for the first time gazed slack-jawed at their majesty. It’s the lack of foothills, most of them said between licks of an ice cream cone or the sip of a huckleberry shake. The Apex River, and all its pristine tributaries were highly regarded trout streams, drawing in fly fishermen from all over the country to cast the fabled waters.

  Students filled the flower blooming valleys in summer, led by biology professors from universities. They students studied the diverse fauna and flora, such as grizzly bears, lynx, and wolverine. They researched vast old-growth forests, took soil samples, and combed over what they discovered.

  The mighty Apex River flowed through the heart of Elmore. Apartment buildings and condos had been built on the shores, and restaurants like The Tamarack built patios overlooking the river in the downtown district.

  Despite the onslaught of social media, the town remained remote and mostly undeveloped. The vast tracts of federal public land helped. Tourists returning from their vacations posted the spectacular photos on Facebook and Instagram, and their friends wondered why their beach vacations looked so dull.

  So the tourists came, and a lot of them bought what little real estate was available.

  To the north and east, the valley sprawled across a million acres of undeveloped national forest. A wild, raw heart of wilderness beat here. If a man or woman listened close enough, or hiked into the mountains long enough they could feel it-as if a pulsing lung.

  Life.

  And it was for these reasons that Robert Jenkins decided to escape from Minneapolis to the Apex Valley twenty years ago.

  As he swept a variety of paperclips, dust, and shredded papers at the payment office in the Elmore courthouse, Robert thought back to the day he moved to Montana. His landlord at Shady Acres (at least that was his pet nickname for it) had tried to extort an extra hundred bucks in rent. It had been the third or fourth attempt the landlord had tried that, and so Robert bailed.

  He knew exactly where to go.

  On his apartment walls he kept maps of the various national forests of Montana. He’d come home at 7 a.m. from cleaning various fast food restaurants, sit, and have a sip of whiskey and a cigarette. He’d stare at the maps and their wavy contour lines.

  And so, on the day his landlord Mr. Enrich tried to milk extra rent money from him, Robert left. He tossed his clothes, maps, whiskey and other items into his 84’ Bronco and headed west on I-94.

  He’d pulled into Elmore, his jaw dropping at the Apex Mountains and the lush forest. He’d asked around about jobs at the local gas station, and was pointed towards the courthouse, where he’d become the janitor.

  After that he rented an apartment at Geldon’s, a neat brick building right in the middle of downtown. The apartment was tiny, but he was okay with that. He’d always been okay with that. Who needed a great big apartment when you had a national forest nearby?

  Robert scooped up the debris he’d collected, then titled the dust pan into the garbage.

  The room was plain, dotted with few desks for those taking payments from offenders. Most were traffic violations.

  Robert noticed a note on Mrs. Engel’s desk. It was set at the edge, angled in a way meant for him.

  It was.

  Robert, it said, Please stop throwing away my snacks. They are not stale.

  Robert regarded several Snickers and a half-eaten muffin sitting near the computer monitor.

  I still plan to eat these, the note continued. Keep your dirty hands off my desk.

  Robert cringed. He had been tossing her snacks, because, well, they did look stale and mostly eaten.

  He didn’t touch the note, instead deciding to keep it on the desk. Maybe Mrs. Engle would read it again in the morning and realize it was worded in a rude way.

  Probably not.

  And that was the thing with being a janitor. No one respected you. People liked to take a shit on you.

  This had always bothered him. He was well read, had a variety of stimulating interests. He just didn’t care all that much about money. He didn’t like cards, or gambling, or the stock market. What he craved in life was new experiences. He relished the small things, like watching sunset in the Rocky Mountains. Or going on a date with a woman for the first time…that nervous, anticipatory sensation. These were the moments he cherished.

  He didn’t need “stuff”.

  He knew the more stuff you owned, the more it owned you. So he tried to keep his material acquisitions to a dull roar.

  But everyone had their vices, and Robert loved his 64gb iPod touch. He thumbed it on, and flipped to Clouds Taste Metallic by The Flaming Lips. As he turned up the volume, static overtook the line. But it wasn’t just any kind of static. This morphed into almost language-like inflections. As if something was trying to speak through the static, but couldn’t.

  Creepy, Robert thought.

  Then at once the static faded, and “Christmas at the Zoo” played through his speakers.

  As Robert swept, a funny feeling came over him. Well, maybe not so funny.

  He went to the window and stared out. The trees on Main Street swayed in the dark night. The courthouse gutter rattled.

  Robert thought of Vermillion.

  He’d rescued him from a dog shelter out in Shelby, Montana three years ago. He’d been abused by his owners, and there’d been cigarette burns in his fur.

  Robert knew right away he wanted him.

  And in a half hour, at 11:30 pm., he’d be able to leave the courthouse and feed his beloved pooch.

  Robert’s stomach growled, and he made his way to the break room. He took out his red Tupperware dish from the refrigerator, and wolfed down a bowl of cold mac and cheese.

  As he ate, he heard an odd noise coming from outside.

  A first it sounded like a loose shutter scraping on the courthouse siding. But that wouldn’t be likely since Mr. Jeffords had just repaired the place, basement to roof.

  Still, Jenkins headed back into the payment office and peered out the four foot windows that looked upon the intersection of Main and Pine Street.

  A dim street lamp flickered off and on. A wrapper of some kind tumbled in the wind in the cone of light, and disappeared. But something followed the wrapper into the darkness beyond the street lamp. At first Robert thought it resembled a leaf. But he swore he saw tiny legs.

  Robert shook his head, wondering if sleep was starting to take him.

  The scraping sound continued from outside.

  Robert exited the employee back door into the cool summer night and aimed a flashlight on the exterior of the courthouse. The light illuminated the fresh white paint, but the shutters were all intact, even the second and third floor windows.

  Robert checked the downspout, and noticed it was loose.

  Could’ve been that, he thought.

  The sound came again.

  Robert hurried over to the front, past the big porch and the white pillars holding up the eve.

  The wind picked up as Robert turned his back to Pine Street and stared up at the eve. There, perhaps two-thirds of the way down, perched a creature Robert had never seen before. It resembled a bat, but it wasn’t a bat, not quite. It was chunkier, with a longer wingspan. And it scraped a vestigial claw on its wing along the eave.

  Call animal control, Robert thought. He went for his pre-paid flip-phone and
dialed 911. Amanda Bray would be up manning the phones, and she’d transfer him to the appropriate place.

  As Robert put the phone to his ear, he kept an eye on the creature, which stared back at him with curious, green eyes.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  “Hi Amanda, it’s Robert Jenkins up at the court house. It’s not an emergency per say, just found a weird animal.”

  “Got it. I’m putting you through to animal control. But I doubt their open at this hour,” Amanda said. “They’re all the way up in Spargus. It’s a county deal.”

  “That’s fine,” Robert said. “I’ll leave a message.”

  “Okay, stay safe Robert,” Amanda said.

  “Always,” Robert said.

  The phone at animal control rang with an odd metallic rattling, and the ringing was interrupted by a burst of static.

  Weird, Robert thought.

  Finally, the voice mail beeped. Robert watched the strange creature as he spoke: “Hey, I’ve got an over-sized bat up at the courthouse,” he said. “But it’s not really a bat. Hard to say. Maybe three times the size. Never seen anything like it. It has leathery wings, vestigial claws, and big green eyes.”

  Robert hung up the phone.

  He heard a scurrying sound, and watched as what he thought had been a leaf crawl under the street lamp again.

  What the hell is going on? he thought.

  He turned his attention back to the bird on the eave. The thing watched him with its curious green eyes.

  “What the hell are you?” Jenkins said.

  The creature blinked. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU? it barked back.

  Robert stumbled backwards and dropped his flashlight.

  WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU? the bird barked again.

  What in the freakin’ A’, Jenkins muttered to himself. Robert whipped off his Twins baseball cap and ran his fingers through his hair. He gawked up at the bird, incredulous.

  WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU, it said.

  But the thing that killed Robert was not just how the bird was talking, but that it was using his voice. It sounded just like him. Robert remembered all those cassette tape commercials from back in the 80’s and 90’s, when people still owned tape decks.

  Is it live, or is it Memorex?

  WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU? WHAT THE HELL WHAT THE HELL WHAT THE HELL.

  Robert stumbled backwards again. He wanted nothing more than to get away from the bird.

  He held his flashlight high and beamed the cone of light right into the bird’s face. It squawked twice.

  What are you, he wondered.

  A scurrying commotion came from behind Robert. He turned. As soon as he did, a leaf-like thing lunged at him. Robert swatted it away with his Magnum flashlight. The leaf arched its back and pulsated an angry red.

  Robert stepped back, his legs rubbery from shock. Growing up, his father had often told him that the only real monsters were the bad people. His father was a strong, tall man, and didn’t like to play games, or indulge in emotional futility. He got to the point, and quick. Not because he was rude, but because his father respected other people’s time, and thus his own.

  His father had told him on the porch of their shitty Minneapolis apartment that no matter how bad a creature was, no matter how it ate or lived or survived, it wasn’t as bad as what people could do.

  Still, Robert had to wonder.

  The leaf creature pulsated vibrant reds, THEN let out a shrill screech.

  Robert turned back to the bird on the eave. Eerily, the bird acknowledged the call from the leaf with two sharp chirps and a creepy head nod.

  WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU it said in Robert’s voice. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU.

  The wind pushed harder through the pines, making the smaller trees kneel and blowing Robert’s Twins cap from his hand. He chased it down and grabbed it in the middle of Pine Street. When he looked up, the bird was gone.

  A whirring of wings and sharp chirps came from overhead. The full moon lorded over the dark night sky, as subtle wisps of clouds streaked in random patches.

  A moment later, something blocked the moon.

  A beat of wings-no doubt much larger than the bird he’d been watching pummeled the air overhead, and was gone.

  Robert spun in place, trying to ascertain the what exactly had made the wing sound, but the night grew quiet.

  Or maybe not.

  Out of the darkness blared his voice, this time significantly amplified compared to the bird on the eave.

  WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU? it said. WHAT THE HELL WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU?

  Robert turned and ran for the courthouse porch. When he reached the steps, something enormous thudded onto the lawn behind him. He fumbled for his keys, jamming them into the front door lock.

  Don’t look back, he thought. Don’t you freaking look back.

  But in the window reflection, Robert saw exactly what he was hoping not to see: A school bus-sized bird with green eyes the size of dinner plates. The bird ogled him as it opened and closed its giant beak.

  Robert fumbled with his keys as the warm sensation of urine trickled down his pants.

  WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU? it roared in his own voice. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU.

  At last Robert found the proper key, and carefully inserted it into the lock. He put his full weight on the door and swung it open, then shut it and slid down the wall along his back.

  A giant beak slammed through the window, raining a cascade of broken glass down onto his Twins camp.

  Robert ducked, and rolled away from the door as the beak opened and closed.

  WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU? it asked in his voice.

  Robert didn’t bother to answer. He was already upstairs.

  2.

  Robert ran to the back of the courthouse, above the main courtroom, his steps reverberating on the vintage hardwood floors. Forest green file cabinets surrounded him. Beating wings shook dust from the ceiling, and it cascaded around him, glittering in the flashlight beam.

  Robert sat in the far corner with his back to the wall. Then he grabbed his phone and dialed 911.

  “Hey Amanda, it’s Robert again. “I need you guys to get your asses to the court house, pronto.”

  Amanda sighed. “Is it the bird again, Robert?”

  “I can’t describe it,” Robert said. “The police need to see it for themselves. Just be careful.”

  Robert thumbed off his phone, and thought about calling a woman he’d recently started dating named Tara. They’d only been on a few dates, but he thought she liked him well enough. The phone rang six times, and a woman spoke groggily on the line:

  “Hey Robert, everything okay?”

  “Sorry for calling so late,” Robert said. “But something weird is happening. Can I swing by in a few?”

  The sound of blankets rustled across the line.

  “Sure thing,” Tara said. “You aren’t one of those weird stalker types, right Robert?”

  “Hell no,” Robert said. “I’ll see you in a few.”

  As Robert folded his phone, bits of dust and splinters caked off the roof support beams. He shined his flashlight to the ceiling as something thudded again and again on the roof.

  This can’t be happening, he thought. This can’t be freaking happening.

  Numerous scenarios flashed through his mind like a rolodex. His trucked was parked in his apartment complex, and he’d walked the half-mile to work this evening. Vermillion was back there, no doubt hungry and waiting to be let out.

  Slowly, a plan formed in his mind. He’d lock up the courthouse and use the houses as cover on his way back to his truck. Then he’d go pick up Tara, and take her back to Geldon apartments so he could keep an eye on Vermillion while the authorities took care of whatever the hell the thing was on the roof.

  Robert took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

  His father’s voice rang in his e
ars: monster’s aren’t real, he’d said. People are the monsters.

  Robert stood and headed for the stairs. Halfway across the room, something thunked against the window.

  Don’t look, Robert said to himself.

  But he did anyway.

  The smaller bird pressed flat to the glass, its wings spread and chest pulsing. It looked at him with a cocked head.

  WHAT THE HELL WHAT THE HELL WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU? It said in Robert’s voice.

  Robert hurried down the stairs, just in time to see red and blue lights flashing in the windows. He yanked open the busted door as Officer Raymond greeted him.

  “Robert,” Raymond said as the lights of his squad car flashed behind him. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “Get inside,” Robert said.

  Officer Raymond furrowed his brows and put his hands on his hips. “You okay, Robert? Forget to take a pill?”

  Robert stood there, slack-jawed. He’d never taken pills. And he sure as heck didn’t like being treated like a five year old.

  “Something big is out there,” Robert said. “Please come inside.”

  Officer Raymond dug into what was sure to be another condescending moment, but then his attention turned to the roof. Slowly, his jaw hung loose as he craned his neck.

  “What in the fuck is that?” he said.

  “Get in here,” Robert said.

  The enormous bird leapt from the roof and swooped down towards Officer Raymond, beak opening and snapping shut.

  WHAT IN THE FUCK IS THAT? WHAT IN THE FUCK IS THAT it roared in Officer Raymond’s voice.

  The thing cut between Robert and Officer Raymond, landed, and flew back up into the air, its massive left wing crushing a newly planted tree. When it was gone, so was Officer Raymond.

  A moment later Robert heard him screaming high in the air.

  3.

  Robert called 911, but no one answered.

  He locked up the courthouse amidst the flashing red and blue specter, then ran for a row of houses. The leaf-thing scurried under a street lamp, and was gone.

  So to was Robert. He kept tight to the backyards, jumping sand playgrounds, swing sets, patios, decks, and numerous toys that got in his way. He cut up his arms diving through hedgerows.