Twenty-five
The mayor of Brighton Hollow called a town meeting
Tuesday afternoon. The population of town packed a local Methodist
church. Rex sat with the group of community leaders on the stage and
faced church pews filled with drawn faces.
He listened to Mayor Kline's impassioned pleas for
reason and restraint in dealing with the crisis. Visits to Cyprus
Junction a day after Rex and Doc's investigation reported a town all but
abandoned by its population. Orange City had fallen prey to another
extreme, a gang led by Deputy Richard Jenkins and his cronies. The town
had been cordoned off, ostensibly for its own safety. Outsiders were
being turned away. He listened to mellow voices explaining how Brighton
Hollow would fend better than either Orange City or Cyprus Ridge by virtue
of its superior leadership. Aside from gasoline, electricity, and medical
supplies, Brighton Hollow was a self-contained community. Surrounding
farms would provide adequate food supplies to last until the cold weather
set it, and wells to supply plenty of fresh water. The town itself would
serve as a fortress should the need arise.
Rex was then asked to act as commander for a small,
armed home-guard that had been assembled and organized before he had even
heard about it. He overwhelmingly approved of the selection of men,
though, vets and the best game hunters in the area. One of the men, Carl
Miller, a fifty-year-old Vietnam vet, was a natural leader and willing
participant and quickly shouldered a hefty portion of the responsibility
for implementing plans to safeguard the town. Guards would be placed
about town at night and along the highway passing through town during the
day. Doc would head the effort to determine the exact nature of the
hazard threatening the community and suggest steps that could be taken to
improve security. Rex was left with the job of trying to contact and
coordinate with federal or state authorities.
Surely the crisis would be resolved in short order.
Brighton Hollow was cut off from the outside world, but the populace was
reminded of the immense powers available to the state and federal
governments to deal with any imaginable emergency, not to mention the
United Nations which would be equipped to extend the mighty hand of the
major world governments anywhere upon the face of the Earth. Reverend
Baker spoke on biblical prophecies of the last days and Armageddon,
assuring his congregation that a world of evil cupped in the loving hands
of God would emerge cleansed and wholesome in the end, freed of the taint
of death.
And Doc spoke. In a soft voice, he stated his own
theories that Earth had been infested by a life form from outer space, one
that appeared to be insidiously effective at utilizing the weaknesses of
mankind to prey upon the species. Wildlife hadn't been affected. Deer
populations were high. Birds and insects were untouched by the scourge.
Hopefully, Doc said, the major disease control centers of the world would
quickly analyze the nature of the invader, pinpoint its own weaknesses,
and find the means to eradicate it.
Rex cornered Doc on the front lawn when the meeting
ended. "You didn't sound convinced by your own argument."
"I didn't want anyone to listen too closely to what I
had to say," Doc said softly. He turned away from the sparse crowds
leaving the church so that he would not be overheard. "I can't imagine to
what possible use the truth can be put."
"What would you have said had you been your usual
blunt self?" Rex masked the seriousness of his question with a vague
smile.
"I would have told them that humanity has been
specifically targeted by an superior agent seeking its destruction, and
it’s not likely we’ll have any defense at all against it."
Rex had to take a moment to assimilate the statement
and all it implied. "They're just bugs. I killed one. They're not so
big that they can't be stepped on."
"The bugs are weapons," Doc said.
"Like biological warfare?"
"We haven't seen the agent responsible for the
caterpillars. It knows us, Rex. Intimately. The caterpillar is being
used to pit us against ourselves. Do you see the strategy at work?"
Rex saw only too well. The caterpillars catered to
the evil in men and gave them the power to go after anything they wanted,
all in exchange for the opportunity to kill indiscriminately. "You don't
think we can fight back?"
"We have already lost the fight."
Later that day, multiple gunshots echoed in the hills
toward the direction of Orange City. Rex took Carl Miller and two guards
to investigate. He commandeered an abandoned Ford Bronco and fetched Doc
Kaufman before leaving town.
With Doc seated beside him, Rex drove to the scene of
the gunfire less than five miles away. He swung about a blind curve along
Troll Valley Road and jammed on the brakes. The Bronco slid to a stop and
stalled several hundred feet from a desert tan, military five-ton.
A fatigue-uniformed Army sergeant sat motionless
behind the wheel. As far as Rex could see, he was still alive. The
pavement about the truck was littered with camouflage fatigues and black
boots. A few of the desiccated corpses were partially intact. The rest
were crumbled bones and shards of dehydrated skin.
Doc put his hand on his arm and squeezed tight.
"Shit," Rex said mildly.
The three armed townsmen in the back seat all spoke
up at once in a raucous demand for an explanation. None of the three had
previously witnessed the destructive potential of the caterpillars. Only
he and Doc shared that honor.
Rex threw his door open and unholstered his
revolver. The military truck driver stared straight ahead as he
approached on foot. Rex could see the man tremble, but apparently
oblivious to his presence. He circled the truck once and counted five
bodies on the pavement and another three in the back of the truck. Water
dripped from the rear bed. Pools of the liquid had discolored the
blacktop.
The metallic sweetness in the air was overpowering.
He had smelled the same odor in the basement of the house of death in
Cyprus Ridge, and in the barn following Biggs' death.
The three townsmen took up self-defensive positions
about the Bronco. One cried out and pointed toward movement in the
trees. Rex dropped to one knee and braced his right hand and sidearm for
an accurate shot at the first available target. He heart began racing
wildly.
A familiar voice rang from the trees. "Hold your
fire, Logan!"
Richard Jenkins stepped from behind a tree. Several
other men armed with rifles did the same, holding their weapons out with
one hand to show their peaceful intent. Two carried five-gallon gas
cans. Another carried an armload of M-16 rifles taken from the dead. Rex
pieced the situation together when he saw the pick-up pulled into the
trees further down the road. He watched appalled as the group with the
gas cans met at the truck, uncoiled a length of silicon tubing, and began
siphoning gasoline.
Jenkins approached with a mild grin. "Sorry, but we
were here first. Finders, keepers."
"Did you see this go down?"
"We were in the neighborhood and came running when
you did. You can have the truck, if you want it."
"But that's a military vehicle," Rex said, confused
by Jenkins’ cold-blooded behavior.
"And those are dead soldiers on the ground. And if
the bugs come back for second helpings, you and I are as dead as those
poor bastards. I'd say the bugs move too fast to make good targets, even
for an M-16 and a trained trigger-finger."
Jenkins' men finished siphoning gas and hurried back
to the pick-up. The pick-up leaped forward. Jenkins climbed aboard and
gave a cavalier wave as it swung around and drove away.
"He's right," Doc said. "If these men couldn't
defend themselves, neither can we."
"He's still a foul son-of-a-bitch."
Doc tried the doors of the five-ton, then pounded
with his fist, trying to get a reaction out of the catatonic driver seated
behind the wheel. One of the townsmen used his rifle butt to knock out
the passenger side window of the cab. Another leaned across the driver to
unlock his door and two others pulled the dazed Army sergeant from the
vehicle. The name on his pocket tag read Moresey.
Carl Miller drove the five-ton into the trees. Rex
drove the group back to town and helped Doc move the sergeant to the
examination room in his home. Doc conducted a quick check of pupil
dilation and reflexes. "Help me get him into the living room. He's in
shock, but I think he’s coming around quickly enough."
Rex made coffee. With the hour, Moresey was sipping
the hot brew with shaking hands, but avoiding eye contact with his hosts.
It took another half hour of Doc's gentle coaxing before Moresey told his
story.
Moresey had the voice of a mild-mannered college
student. The truck had been on its way from Culverton to reinforce a
National Guard armory elsewhere. "We didn't figure the bugs would attack
a moving truck. A bunch of kids stood in the middle of the road and
stopped us. I knew what they were, but I couldn't bring myself to just
run them over."
"Kids?" Doc said.
Moresey looked at Doc with a haunted expression.
"Three of them, two boys and a girl. Eight, maybe ten years old. I
locked my doors. The little bastards and their bugs couldn't get to me
inside my truck."
"Then the state and federal governments are aware of
the extent of the crisis," Doc said calmly.
"What's left of it," Moresey said, his look still
blank and his tone of voice emotionless. "We're not doing too well.
There were too many meteorites for the bio teams to handle. Infection got
into the general population faster than hell. We rounded up quite a few
shells of our own. When they opened, they took out a lot of our own team,
and we got wiped out from within before we knew what was happening."
Rex drew closer, morbidly fascinated. "Kids, you
say?"
Moresey glanced up at him. "They don't stay sane for
long, you know. The little girl thought I was her daddy. She wanted me
to let her in the truck and take her back home."
Moresey wiped sudden tears from his face. "Like I
could make it better for her. But when the caterpillars were finished,
she just tucked hers under one arm and walked back into the woods. The
caterpillar was more important to her than her own father. That's the way
it is. I couldn't have helped her. Nothing can ever save those kids."
Rex didn't understand.
"They're slaves," Moresey explained. "When they get
bit, it's like a drug. They need the caterpillars or they die, and from
what I hear, they don't die very pleasant. They don't have a mind of
their own after they're taken host."
"I can't believe they don't have a choice," Rex said.
Moresey shook his head. "Heaven help you should ever
have such a choice. I've seen it. You have no idea. They’re completely
helpless."
Rex turned away, unwilling to be influenced too
heavily by another man's convictions. He'd find out for himself.
Caitlin would help him understand.
