by Gary Barnes
Then, forgetting his surroundings as he was so prone to do, Clayton instinctively lapsed into his detached, academic, lecturing professor mode. He seemed to speak with great respect for the creature dangling from his hand. “They're truly amphibious, having both lungs and gills. They experience direct development with no tadpole stage outside of the egg. To catch their prey they spit an extremely potent neurol-toxin that paralyzes them almost on contact. And on an unusually interesting note, they can reproduce either bisexually or asexually.”
“So just one of these things could reproduce thousands of its species?” shouted Bill.
Clayton was quickly brought back to the seriousness of their present circumstances. He was somewhat embarrassed at being so easily sidetracked and he quickly abandoned his lecturing attitude.
“Yes, ummm . . . that's correct. And since the aliens have gotten into the continental aquifer they can now threaten virtually every city in the country. They’ve already killed thirty-three people and injured scores more,” Clayton calmly explained, still not able to completely abandon his scholarly proclivity to recite facts and figures.
Ever the heckler, Bill again stood and yelled, “To these Frogodiles, or Salamogs, or Frogamanders, or whatever they are, we're just breakfast, dinner and supper. I say we destroy them all, before they get hungry again.”
“No!” Clayton yelled back, desperately fighting to keep from losing his patience. “This is a new species, from another planet. We’ve got to protect it. We can't just run wild on this. We've got to formulate a plan.”
“And just exactly what do you propose?” inquired the Mayor.
“I . . . don't know,” Clayton responded in bewilderment. “I . . . I just need more time to determine their weaknesses,” Clayton was groping for something, anything, to defuse the situation. He couldn’t let these ignorant backwoods people destroy the first proof of the existence of life on other planets simply because they were afraid of it.
Then from the back of the room an angry citizen stood and yelled out, “You've been watching too much science fiction . . . aliens? How gullible do you think we are? We may be from the country, but we’re not a bunch of hicks. You can’t bamboozle with yer fancy talkin’.”
“Yeah,” blurted out another angry citizen in the back corner. “Just like your kind who took away our best farm land for parks. Now you’re trying to shut down our lumber industry too! So why should we believe you!”
The room exploded into another uprising. The Mayor banged his gavel until order was once again restored. Ordinarily he would have become very angry at the unruliness of his fellow citizens and would have probably tossed most of them out of the meeting for disorderly conduct. This was a critically important town meeting, though. He understood the seriousness of their current situation and the fear that gripped the hearts of his fellow citizens. As difficult as it was for him, because of his usual organized and orderly demeanor, he determined that everyone was entitled to remain in attendance and to speak their mind on this important subject.
As the room again began to quiet, Tina stood and confronted the room. “Think what you’d like, but I know Dr. Clayton is right! Which of you have been personally attacked by these aliens?” The room was silent as she searched their faces. “Well I have! Twice, in fact. Two days ago Dr. Clayton risked his own life to save mine.” She then glanced at Larry. “And just this afternoon I was saved by his research assistant, Larry.” At that comment, Clayton sat up and peered at Larry inquisitively. This was the first he had heard of Larry and Tina’s encounter earlier in the afternoon. Tina continued. “I've seen big ones up close. So close that its breath blew my hair. I've dissected them. I tell you, they are not from earth.”
The crowd was speechless. Opal took advantage of this opportunity to address her friends and neighbors. She stood, facing the town gathering. “My daughter's right. I've distrusted city people as much, if not more’n the rest of you, and for good reason too. But I've gotten to know Dr. Clayton. I trust him. If he says there are space aliens in the aquifer then I believe him.”
“Me too!” Pearl announced as she stood near the middle of the room. “My Honace done bin kilt by those critters, an ‘es dogs too. If'n Dr. Clayton says thar space aliens what done it, I believe ‘em.”
The profound silence was almost palpable. After an awkward moment Sheriff Akers rose to conclude the meeting. “Well, we’re just speculating about what’s really going on. The military will be here tomorrow to begin their investigation. Let’s wait to see what they have to say about the situation.”
*
The next afternoon was a Sunday. Clayton and Larry, as usual, were once again at the Chitwood home for dinner, only this time they brought Dr. Welton along as a guest.
Though they had gotten off to a rocky start at the beginning of the summer, Clayton and Opal had by now become good friends and were again doing the dishes together; Opal washed and rinsed, while Clayton dried and stacked.
“So, those space critters are pretty dangerous?” asked Opal.
“Yeah, much more so than I would have expected, and extremely intelligent too,” Clayton responded.
Opal paused from washing and picked up a dish towel to dry her hands. She turned and faced Clayton. “Well, I just want ta thank ya. After findin’ that out ya could’a just high-tailed it on back to yer home in the city, where you’d be safe, but ya didn’t. Ya stayed here ta help us out; to give us a fightin’ chance. I’m much obliged.”
“I figured it was as much my fight as it was yours, probably more, since I should have recognized the danger. Besides, I don’t want the military to totally destroy them, this is a tremendous scientific discovery.”
Opal resumed washing and passed a large platter to Clayton for him to dry.
“Ya got any ideas on how ta git rid of those creatures?” she asked.
“No, I really haven't had any time to think about it. Since the town meeting last night our campsite has become a regular Mecca for curiosity seekers with hoards of questions,” Clayton lamented as he placed the dry platter onto the kitchen table along with all the other dishes he had dried.
“Well, they’re just really scairt. Don’t let their curiosity or fear git ‘cha down,” Opal counseled.
“Oh, I won't. I know they just want answers. I just wish I had some to give. But, even though it's been really frustrating, hope never fails. I'll find the solution.”
Startled, Opal immediately stopped washing and turned to him inquisitively. “What did you just say?”
“I'll find the solution,” Clayton repeated.
“No, before that,” she said, clarifying her request.
“Uh . . . ‘Hope never fails.’ That’s not exactly how it’s worded in the Bible, but that particular rendition has special meaning to me.”
Opal’s face registered surprise and bewilderment. She could not believe she heard what Clayton just said.
“I just need time to collect my thoughts,” Clayton continued with a sigh.
Opal dried her hands, took two steps toward the table and sat on one of the wooden chairs in the tiny kitchen. She was visibly moved by Clayton’s comment. For a moment, she seemed lost in far away thoughts, then looked up at Clayton. “When I was a girl there was a place I went when I needed to think.”
“I know the spot.”
“You do?”
“Yes, the triangular grotto. Tina pointed it out the first time she took us to Blue Spring.”
Opal seemed surprised, pleased, and confused. Her mind was reeling, trying to take it all in.
“May I have your permission to go there when we finish these dishes, to sort things out?” Clayton asked.
“Of course . . . I . . .” Opal seemed deep in thought again, then spoke, “I thank you for helping us out. I, uh... I lost my first son. It's been very painful all these years. He’d be ‘bout your age. I’d like to think that he would’ve grown up just like you.”
Clayton smiled. Opal brought the corner of her apr
on up to wipe a tear from her eye as she arose from her chair and left the room.
=/=
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Blue Spring
Two hours later Clayton descended the steep path as it twisted and wound its way down the face of the bluff to the triangular-shaped grotto on the far side of Blue Spring. Reaching the bottom of the trail near the water’s edge he turned to his right and continued along the footpath about twenty feet to the opening of the grotto.
Entering, he sat upon the ground and looked around. The grass-covered floor of the grotto was elevated just a few inches above the water level of the spring’s glassy smooth surface. Lush ferns grew in thick clumps along the trail and around the grotto’s entrance.
The grotto was not very deep, extending not more than ten feet into the wall of the cliff. Clayton leaned his back against the cool limestone rock wall. He stretched his right leg out fully on the ground but bent his left knee, bringing it up to near his chest. He rested his left arm upon it and gazed out over the serene setting before him. The peace and tranquility of this private retreat seemed the perfect place for introspection and reflection upon important or difficult topics.
As he surveyed his surroundings, he subconsciously began to play with the tiny infant ring dangling from the gold chain around his neck. He twirled it through his fingers as he quickly lost himself in thought trying to solve the alien problem. But, as had happened on so many previous occasions when he was searching for answers to critical problems, his thoughts began to focus upon the tiny ring.
Why did my mother give me this ring? he wondered as he grasped the ring, turning it over in his fingers.
Clayton removed the chain by pulling it over his head. He grasped the ring between his thumb and right index finger and held it up to eye level. For what seemed like the one millionth time, he again read the inscription on its interior, “Hope Never Fails.” Following the inscription was a curious symbol “=/=”. What did it mean? Surely it must be a riddle he was to solve, but there were no other clues. His mother had sent it along with him when she gave him up for adoption, with no explanation for its meaning. Why? What was she trying to tell him?
Many times throughout his life Clayton had pondered the meaning of this symbol and had come up with numerous possibilities, though after much consideration none of them had proved plausible. Obviously it must have meant something to his mother, something special and important or she wouldn’t have placed the symbol here. But what? What was the puzzle it was supposed to solve?
Then, as always, the other question popped into his mind – the question that was most prominent and most frequent; the one question that had haunted him relentlessly, but for which there had never been any answer, “Why did she give me up for adoption? Why didn’t she keep me, raise me, and love me?”
Instinctively, or at least logically, Clayton realized long ago that his mother must have loved him or she wouldn’t have given him this ring in the first place.
Obviously she could have aborted him, but she hadn’t. Valoura had loved him enough to carry him to full term, granting him life. But if she loved him that much then why did she do what she did?
For over fifty years Clayton had pondered these questions, but was no closer now to resolving them than he was when he began. He brought his right knee up to join the left one and clasped both arms about his bent legs. He closed his eyes and softly sighed very deeply while lowering his head. He gently bounced it several times upon his knees. Softly he spoke to himself, “Valoura! Valoura! Where are you? Who are you? Why did you do it? Why? Why? Why?”
Clayton raised his head and took a deep cleansing breath. While exhaling slowly through his pursed lips, he opened his eyes then released his grasp from around his legs and stretched them out straight again. He then raised the ring and again read the inscription, “Hope Never Fails.” Why did she word it that way instead of the way it is written in the Bible, “Charity never faileth?” Again he read the inscription and repeated it silently over and over in his mind several times.
Then suddenly the word leapt out at him, “Hope!” And he was jolted back to the present and the events of the past few days.
Painfully he remembered discovering Ellie Jo covered with amphibian eggs; Susan being yanked out of her inner tube by something underwater; Larry and the mutant frog; the garden tree stump explosion; the frog toe clippings; and the aliens currently threatening the people living around Eminence. If ever there was a time he needed hope it was now.
Then slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, an idea began to formulate in his mind. Then, taking shape like a lumbering freight train gathering speed, the ideas began to come faster and faster. Of course! Why hadn’t he thought of that before! Clayton’s facial expression began to register the ideas that were now rushing into his mind faster than he could absorb them. He smiled and feverishly began to write notes on a small tablet of paper he took from his breast pocket.
*
At that moment a man in military uniform strode into Sheriff Aker’s office. He walked up to the Sheriff and stiffly introduced himself.
“I am Major Richard Reid from Ft. Leonard Wood,” he said with great solemnity. “I understand that you reported having problems with some . . . alien life forms?” he said rather sarcastically. He then forcefully clarified his intended message while smirking rather condescendingly. “I believe that you mean . . . alligators.”
=/=
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Jack’s Fork River
Numerous private cabins and several motels lined the north shoreline of the Jack’s Fork River at the edge of the Eminence city limits. Crossing the bridge into the newer section gave the striking impression of traveling through time from the depression to the current era. Most all of the city’s new growth had occurred during the previous ten years. In fact, prior to that, if a person didn’t live in Eminence, or have family there, they would probably never have heard of the town. It was an unimportant and obscure little town in the middle of the most poverty-stricken county in the state - and though it was the County Seat, Eminence was the most poverty-stricken city in the county, with a median annual per capita income of barely $17,000.
When asked what people in Eminence did for a living, the head of the Chamber of Commerce replied; “Well, there’s really only three ways to make a living in this town. You can be on welfare year-round; you can work in the tourist trade, in which case you’re on welfare for eight months of the year; or you can work for the government, in which case you’re really on permanent welfare because your money comes from the taxpayers and you don’t produce anything to earn it.”
Even with the recent tourist explosion, Eminence remained an unknown entity, about as obscure as it had ever been and certain to remain so ever after. The Chamber of Commerce had labored diligently to bring new business to the town, even developing a website, www.eminencemo.com. They hoped that the website would spur interest in their town and designed it to promote the tourist trade. They highlighted many of the local attractions such as the annual trail ride, boasted to be the largest in the nation; the wonderful country-cooked food sumptuously served at a variety of Ozark-themed restaurants; the great fiddlin’ and bluegrass music played at the annual festival; boating, fishing, swimming, camping, golfing, antique and craft shops and the town’s new slogan, Take A Step Back In Time To Where The Hills And The Rivers Meet. The council wanted to promote Eminence’s image as a quaint, old-fashioned small town dubbed “Missouri’s Top Outdoor Outpost.” Though this promotion had resulted in dramatically increased tourism, the total net effect upon the local economy was still quite negligible. Eminence, it seemed, would never be classified as a booming tourist resort like Branson, an hour-and-a-half to the west.
Not everyone in town was pleased with the growth in the tourist business, though. The noise and congestion the tourists brought to their community was more than some of the old-timers could stand, though they obviously did not really know the meaning of conges
tion. To the tourists who flocked there, Eminence seemed like a sleepy little town. They were glad to be there – away from the congestion of the big cities from which they had fled. Fortunately for the town’s citizens, the tourists remained mostly along the river and along the first few blocks of Main Street.
Unfortunately, the price of real estate had skyrocketed since tourists discovered the town. Homes that used to sell for $18,000 to $20,000 now went for as much as $50,000. Most of the townspeople couldn’t imagine paying that much for a home. They thought it was a downright waste of good money to spend that much for a place to sleep and eat. To them the tourists had more money than brains and were quick to flaunt the abundance of the former and the lack of the latter.
The long hot August days stretched through the peak of the short tourist season and the town, it seemed, was currently overrun by tourists. Truth be known, less than one or two hundred tourists were ever in town at the same time. Though that seemed like a tremendous number to the town’s citizens, Eminence really was one of the best kept secrets in the family oriented tourist industry.
*
The Henshaws, an out-of-state family, checked into the River’s Edge Inn, one of the new motels built on the north shore of the Jack’s Fork River, just across the bridge from the main part of town. The family was settling into their third floor room about an hour before sundown. The husband, George, his wife, Thelma, and their three children, Billy age eight, Sally age nine and Jason age fourteen, were holding a family meeting to discuss their options and to express their frustration at the “no swimming” sign the Sheriff had just posted.
“I didn't drive fifteen hundred miles to be locked up in a motel room in Podunkville!” exclaimed George.