I put my cell and charger into the coat’s inside pocket, then donned my leather gardening gloves. I grabbed the can of pepper spray and a flashlight, stuffed them into my side pockets, and finally picked up the key to the Hartman house and secured it in the palm of my hand.
“Okay, Petey,” I said as I glanced out the window, noting the rain had picked up again. “We’re going to make a dash for it. Perhaps the squirrels will be caught off-guard in the rain.”
As I attached the dog’s lead, he gazed up at me, his face serious, and I knew that, somehow, he was aware of the danger that lurked outside.
I took a deep breath, then exhaled. It was now or never. I reached for the doorknob, then stopped.
“No,” I said. “We’re not going out this way. The squirrels may be expecting us. We’ll go out the back.”
When I realized what I’d just said, I had to laugh.
“Oh, Petey, I think Mama’s gone bonkers. As if squirrels could think. Come on.”
He pressed himself to my side, looking up at me with that goofy expression that, I believe, is unique to setters. I managed a grin then led him through the house to the door off the family room that was closest to the Hartman property.
The rain was coming down hard now and I hoped that that would put the odds somewhere in our favor. I peered outside. Everything was dark and quiet except for the sound of raindrops hitting the roof and pavement.
“Stay by my side, Petey,” I whispered as I opened the door and stepped out into the night.
10
A Mad Dash
WE WALKED SWIFTLY up the paved path that led to the front of our house. When we got there, I glanced around. It was dark but I hesitated to use the flashlight. I stood quietly for a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the lack of light.
So far, so good. There was no sign of any murderous rodents.
“Come on, Petey,” I whispered as I led him across my closest neighbor’s lawn.
We hugged the house as we went, walking alongside the rosebushes and rhododendrons, hoping to be concealed by the foliage and the rain.
We were close now – only one lawn to go.
A faint rustling sound coming from the branches above caught my attention. Petey’s gaze moved to the tree to our right and he started over that way to investigate.
“No, Petey,” I said sternly. “No sniffing around. Stay with me.”
He turned his head, recognized that I meant business, and returned to my side.
The noise from above continued, getting louder.
Frightened, I picked up our pace. We only had a few yards to go.
I staggered.
Something had leapt from the tree and landed on the back of my neck. I managed to maintain my balance, but the squirrel dug in its claws and, in a moment of panic, I reached up, trying to rip the creature from my back.
The squirrel jumped onto my arm and bit down viciously on my gloved hand. Its teeth were longer and sharper than I had expected and slid like butter through both the fabric and the flesh that lay beneath. I screamed and smashed my hand against the brick façade of my neighbor’s house – over and over again – until the creature released its hold. Then I heaved it into the bushes, hoping it was dead.
I dropped Petey’s lead during this encounter, but he stayed by my side. I was panting, my heart racing, but knew I had to get myself under control. Taking a deep breath, I once again grabbed the leash.
“Let’s go, boy,” I whispered. “We have to get to the Hartman house.”
I started to walk but, as I moved, I heard more leaves rustling in branches above us.
The jig was up.
“Run, Petey!” I yelled,
The dog heeded my command and took off in front of me. The door was now only a few yards away. As I ran, I heard the squirrels landing on the ground behind me. We had only moments until they would be on us.
The door.
The key.
Despite my shaking hand, I got the key into the lock on the first attempt, turned it, and threw open the door. Petey raced inside just as a squirrel darted under my coat, ran up my leg, and bit me on the thigh.
I screamed again and jumped inside, catching and decapitating another one of the little beasts with the door as it slammed shut.
Breathing heavily and shaking, I unzipped my coat and tossed it on the floor. A squirrel was attached to my leg, halfway up. Petey’s instincts took over when he saw it.
He grabbed it by the neck, tearing it from my pants leg, shook it once, then tossed it across the room, where it lay motionless – dead – its neck broken.
I looked from the squirrel to my dog. Petey was now comically kicking his back legs, trying to remove his winter booties.
I managed a faintly hysterical smile. “Here, boy,” I said. “Let me help you.”
I took off his boots, patted him on the head, then glanced around. There was light coming from the hallway. The generator must have been set to switch on automatically when the power went out. I breathed a sigh of relief. God, it felt good to have electricity again.
Pulling my multiple hats off, I walked to the kitchen, where I found a broom and dustpan. This wasn’t my house and I felt a need to do my best to leave it as I found it. That meant cleaning up the dead squirrels in the entryway.
I tried the light switch in the hallway by the door, but nothing happened. I proceeded to clean in the dark and, when I finished, went back to the kitchen, trying different switches as I walked. Some worked, some didn’t.
When I reached the breakfast bar, I plugged my cell into its charger, then into a wall socket. The battery glowed green, indicating that it was charging.
I then went to the living room and tried the TV. Nothing happened.
I had to surmise, at this point, that while the Hartman family had a generator, it wasn’t powerful enough to energize the whole house. Thus, only certain lights and appliances got its juice.
Back in the kitchen, I poured a bowl of water for Petey.
“Here you go, boy,” I said.
I watched him greedily empty the bowl, then leaned against the counter, my eyes investigating the kitchen. There was a bottle of wine sitting next to the fridge. It looked about half full.
I knew I shouldn’t, but a drink was called for right now. I pulled a jelly jar from the cupboard and poured myself a healthy glass. I was about to take a sip when I was startled by the chiming of my cell. Someone was calling me.
I took a quick gulp of the wine, then picked up the phone.
It was Tessa.
Oh, God, what would I say to her. I couldn’t tell her what was going on. But Larry – well, maybe he could get help.
“Hi, honey,” I said, trying to keep my voice as normal as possible.
“Hi, Mommy. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too, sweetie. Isn’t it a bit past your bedtime?”
Tessa giggled. “Yes, it is. But Daddy doesn’t know.”
“How can he not know? Isn’t he there?”
“No, he had a date. Becky’s here babysitting me.”
My hopes of getting help sunk.
“Who’s Becky?” I asked, hoping she was a grandmotherly type who could contact the authorities here in Laketon.
“She lives next door. She’s in high school.”
Great, I thought. A fifteen or sixteen-year-old. I’m not going to get any help there.
“Mommy? You still there?”
Sighing, I turned my attention back to my daughter. We spoke a little longer, then I heard a high-pitched voice in the background yelling, “Five more minutes, Tessa!”
“Was that your babysitter?” I asked.
“Yeah, I guess I gotta go.”
“It’s okay, baby, don’t sound so sad. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”
As I spoke, I had a hard time swallowing a sob that was trying desperately to escape from my chest. Was I telling her the truth? Would I still be around in a couple of weeks?
We said our goodnights and the
n hung up. Staring at the phone, I finished my wine, my thoughts troubled.
I dialed nine-one-one again. There was no answer.
What’s going on? I asked myself. Why can’t we get any help?
Determined to find the answer, I scrolled through my phone until I found the app for the local news station.
11
The Evening News
I SAT THROUGH ten minutes of local sports wondering how in the world anyone could care about that crap right now. The segment was followed by a commercial then national politics. I drummed my fingers on the counter, waiting.
Finally, they got to local news. The top story was North Laketon.
“Good evening. Tonight, authorities and residents are asking the same question: What‘s happening in North Laketon? Rumors of a chemical spill, wildlife gone amuck, and even a possible alien invasion are all over the Internet. The governor has called upon the National Guard and ordered that the town be cordoned off. As of this hour, no one goes in and no one goes out.”
When I heard this, I gripped the edge of the counter. No one goes out. Those words reverberated across my mind.
Why? I asked myself. People are dying in here. Why are they doing this to us?
The scene switched to an apparent roadblock set up at one of the main arteries that led to my town.
“Due to the crisis nature of the situation, the National Guard is stationed at roadblocks and checking I.D.s on anyone attempting to go in or out of Laketon. When we come back from a brief break, we’ll check in with reporter, Ben Mathers, who’s on the scene in this once-peaceful lakeside community.”
They went into a commercial break and, not knowing what else to do, I poured myself another glass of wine and waited for the broadcast to continue. Maybe this Mathers character could shed some light on what was actually going on.
Finally, the newscast resumed.
“Returning to our top story of the evening. The entire lakeshore section of North Laketon is under quarantine. No one is allowed in or out. The governor has been apprised of the situation and has called upon the National Guard to enforce the quarantine by sealing off the roads that lead to that section. We tried to get an explanation as to the cause for this action, but city and state officials are keeping their lips zipped.
“However, WKPZ reporter Ben Mathers has managed to get beyond the roadblock that’s about a half-mile from the city limits. Ben, can you tell us what you’ve seen?”
The screen went blank, then suddenly the face of a young man, whom I assumed was Mathers, appeared. He was standing on a street corner in the shelter of a doorway just out of the rain. He wearing a green slicker, hood up, and holding a microphone. Surprised, I recognized the area behind where he stood – it was about one mile from my home – at what the locals called “The Four Corners.”
“This is the heart of North Laketon,” the reporter said. “Usually a busy place, but today it’s deserted. The reason is beyond imagination. It’s like something out of ‘The Twilight Zone.’”
“What do you mean, Ben?”
The reporter hesitated, taking a deep breath.
“Squirrels,” he finally said. “Vicious, aggressive squirrels.”
“Did you say ‘squirrels,’ Ben?”
“Yes, believe it or not, I did. I’ve spoken with several residents, none of whom will agree to come on camera. Apparently from what they tell me, this upscale community has been overrun by some kind of hybrid squirrel – an aggressive type – which is creating havoc in this once-serene little town.”
“By aggressive, Ben, do you mean they’re attacking people?”
Ben Mathers nodded. “Yes, Felicia. They are attacking and, by some reports, killing the residents. And, this attack has all the earmarks of being coordinated.”
“Coordinated? Do you mean the squirrels planned it?”
The anchor’s voice sounded incredulous and I noted that it was pretty obvious she wasn’t buying Ben’s story. But I was.
“Yes,” answered Mathers. “As bizarre as it sounds, the attack began with the power outage this afternoon and has escalated since. One resident reported that cars have been disabled – gas lines ripped out – so that residents are now, in effect, being held hostage in their own homes.”
“But if this is so, why aren’t authorities going in to rescue them?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Felicia. Perhaps they don’t really believe the reports. I don’t know.”
“Well, is there any way these poor folks can get out?”
“There is one bright spot. The squirrels seem to be concentrated in the cul-de-sacs – where the giant oak trees reign. Once out on Main Street, the road that divides the town, their numbers decrease dramatically. If residents can manage to get to that street, stay in the middle, they might make it here to The Four Corners and safety.”
The anchor and reporter went on to talk about the National Guard checkpoints and what the governor was doing about the situation, but I ceased to listen.
Main Street, I thought. It was only two houses from here. If we could just get there without being killed.
I sipped my wine, weighing the odds of escape versus staying put until help arrived. The sound of a sharp bark from Petey, followed by a flash of light reflected off the living room picture window, cut my thoughts short.
A car!
I rushed to look out.
A police cruiser, lights flashing, was slowly making its way up the cul-de-sac.
I tried to open the window to yell out to him, but it was locked. Using my flashlight, I located the latch and threw it wide open. A blast of damp air and rain hit my face.
“Help!” I yelled. “Over here!”
But the cop didn’t seem to notice. The wind had picked up and my cries were undoubtedly drowned out by the rain, which was coming down in earnest. I ran to the front door and opened it, keeping the screen securely latched. I thought about running outside to get the officer’s attention, but knew, if I did, the squirrels could be on me in a minute.
Not knowing what else to do, I watched intently as the vehicle came to a halt in front of the Gainer residence. The car’s headlights illuminated Ruth’s body lying still on the concrete.
The cruiser’s door opened.
Fearful of what might happen to the officer if he stepped out, I frantically yelled through the screen door, but he didn’t seem to hear me. I tried to use my flashlight as a signal to get his attention, but he was apparently focused on the ground and the body of poor Dr. Gainer. He exited his vehicle and crouched down beside her corpse.
My eyes strayed into the tall oaks that surrounded the Gainer’s driveway. The rain was beginning to let up and the wind was calming, but there was still movement in the branches.
Terrified of what would happen next, I threw caution to the wind and opened the front door.
“Watch out!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, waving my flashlight frantically. “The squirrels … they’re coming!”
The officer turned in my direction, aiming his torch on the doorframe. He stood staring for a moment, then began to walk toward my property. He hadn’t gotten very far before his attention was diverted by movement in the branches above him.
Without warning, something hidden by the leaves came flying down at him, landing squarely on his face.
The cop dropped his flashlight and desperately grappled with the creature, trying to pull it off. But the squirrel had already dug its claws into the man’s cheeks and had clamped its jaws down on the area above his right eye.
The officer screamed.
Another squirrel, a small one, leapt from a branch to join the first, covering the man’s mouth and stifling any further cries.
Dozens of other squirrels now attacked him, forcing him to the ground.
I stood helplessly, watching. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer and turned my head away. It was too gruesome to be believed.
Tears in my eyes, I began to close the door when a small squirrel came
running up to the front steps, something hanging from its mouth. The creature, looking unbelievably cute and cuddly, stood on its hind legs, staring at me.
My jaw fell open. It was Rocky, the baby squirrel. I started to speak, but the little squirrel broke eye contact, opened its mouth, and dropped whatever was inside on the porch. It gave me one last glance, as if to acknowledge our kinship, then scampered quickly away, back to the oaks.
I watched it go then turned my attention to the offering that Rocky had left for me. In the dark, it looked like a black blob. I trained my flashlight on it to get a better view.
It was pink and appeared to have a rough surface. Blood seeped from one end.
Bile rose in my throat.
It was a piece of the officer’s tongue.
Sickened, I slammed the door, ran to the bathroom, and vomited into the toilet. When my stomach stopped heaving, I ran back to the kitchen, picked up my cell and, again, dialed nine-one-one. It rang and rang until it finally switched to voicemail and I got the same old recording asking me to call back later.
I pounded my fists against the kitchen counter in frustration. Why aren’t they answering? I picked up my wine glass and drained it, my mind haunted by the vision of the officer’s tongue lying on the front porch.
I thought briefly about his car … if I could only get to it. But if I took that chance, what if those bastard squirrels had disabled it? I’d be a sitting duck. No, I couldn’t chance it.
I looked down at my feet. Petey was staring up at me, eyes wide, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. I reached out and patted him on the head.
“No, buddy,” I said. “We ain’t going nowhere. We’re safer here, I think. Better to stay put right now. Maybe in the morning, someone will come to rescue us.”
My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten since morning and what little I’d had had exited after seeing Rocky and the tongue.
“Okay, Petey,” I said. “Let’s see if there’s anything here for us to eat.”
The Night of the Sciurus Page 5