They Came With the Rain

by Christopher Coleman

  “What do you think it was, Josh?” Allie ventured. “What do you think the thing was that grabbed you? That spoke to you?”

  “I don’t know exactly. It was...a monster. There’s no other word I can think of to describe it.”

  Allie gave his response a moment of consideration. “Do you think—?”

  Allie suddenly stifled her question, her eyes now locked on the tail end of a white pickup that emerged like a mirage at the intersection of Idaho and 91 and then turned slowly onto the main interstate.

  “Oh my god!” Allie whispered.

  “What is it, Ms. Allie?” Maria asked.

  “Look! Do you see that? It’s a Grieg truck. Right there!”

  “Yeah, I see it. It must be their weekend to be here.”

  Obviously, Maria hadn’t recognized the unusual emptiness of the town either, the presence of the truck unsurprising to her.

  “Maybe they know what’s happening,” Josh added. “Maybe they know about those things.”

  Allie had the same thought, and not giving herself a moment to deliberate, she pressed the accelerator to the floor and gave chase to the truck.

  She was on the bumper of the pickup in seconds, nearly tapping the tailgate as she pulled up to the rear of the vehicle. She quickly flicked a switch on the console, sending the blue lights spinning as she gave a whoop of the siren.

  There was no evidence of resistance from the white truck, and it slowed almost immediately and turned on its hazards before pulling to the right shoulder. Allie followed it, leaving less than a yard or two gap between the two bumpers, and when the truck came to a full stop, she threw the cruiser into park and spun around, facing the children.

  “I want you two to stay here, obviously, but I also need you to pay attention. Approaching a stopped vehicle, especially under these circumstances, should be done with two people. But there’s only me right now, so I need your eyes. Both of yours. If you see anything unusual happening, like someone coming out on the other side of the truck, for example, I want you to honk the horn. Do you understand? Just lean on it. Let me know.”

  “You want us to cover you,” Josh said, grinning.

  Allie smiled back. “That’s it. Cover me.”

  Allie was beyond caring about violating protocol at this stage in the day, and she snatched her sidearm from her holster and then checked it for readiness before opening the door and stepping from the cruiser. She walked quickly to the truck, her pistol pointed at the driver’s window as she approached.

  “Roll down your window and put your hands outside! Now!”

  She kept her pace steady, and by the time she reached the truck, the window to the vehicle was fully down and a pair of empty hands was dangling outside.

  Allie arced around the side of the truck until she was facing the driver from about ten feet away. She lowered the gun and stared at the man, who looked to be in his late sixties; his eyes stared forward, his face expressionless. A woman sat next to him on the passenger side of the bench seat, another man in the back.

  “Put your hands on the steering wheel,” Allie ordered. “You two,” she nodded to the passengers, “hands flat on your laps where I can see them. Slowly.” When everyone was in compliance, she asked the driver, “Who are you?”

  The man’ expression didn’t change as he answered. “I work as a monitor for the telescope.” He looked over his shoulder to the man in the back. “What have I done wrong, Mr. Filemon?”

  The man in the back seat, who looked as if he could have been the driver’s son, wrinkled his brow and stared at Allie. “Hello, officer, my name is Zander Filemon.”

  Allie said nothing, studying the interactions, looking for a signal between the two that might tip her off to danger. Thus far, however, there was nothing unusual.

  “I am a senior analyst at our Headquarters. My associate, Mr. Jari, is new to the company. This is his first assignment as an auditor. I’ve come as an observer. On-the-job training, yes? What is the problem exactly?”

  Allie had met many of the employees from the Grieg over the years, but never this person, and she disliked him instantly. “I’ve never seen any of you before.”

  “As I’ve said, this is my associate’s first assignment. And I am only here today as a trainer.” The man’s words were flat, stoical, which Allie inferred as something of a challenge, if not a threat.

  “And who is this?” Allie nodded to the woman sitting next to the driver, who was also much older than Zander Filemon.

  “She is my boss.”

  The woman met Allie’s eyes with the same lifeless stare and nodded.

  “That’s a lot of muscle for a simple observation.”

  No replies.

  “When did you get here? I was told you wouldn’t make it this weekend due to the giant hole in the middle of the interstate.” This was a lie, but Allie thought it the perfect item for which to set a trap.

  There was a pause in the man’s response, a slight thinning of his eyes. “We arrived a few days early.”

  “Why?”

  “This is not anomalous. Our trucks often conduct audits off their normal schedule. If everyone knew the exact day and time of our arrival, it would negate the quality of our auditing.”

  This was correct, of course, in terms of both activity and rationale. Off-the-books audits were, if not common, not entirely abnormal either, and had been conducted as long as Allie had been on the force. She frowned. Can I see some ID, please? From all of you?”

  Zander and his cohorts handed their credentials to Allie, and after perusing them for several seconds, she handed them back and asked, “Have you noticed anything unusual today? Any of you?”

  “Unusual?” Zander replied.

  The question was clear, and Allie kept silent.

  Zander squinted and frowned in thought, and then he stared forward through the windshield. “If you’re referring to the absence of citizens on the streets today, yes, we noticed. Is that unusual?”

  Allie chortled. “Uh, yes.”

  Zander shrugged and looked toward the empty street again. “As I said, Mr. Jani is new to the town, and I’ve not been here in years. My superior has never been. We didn’t notice.”

  Allie measured the reply, mentally examining it for logic. “Do any of you have a cell phone?”

  Zander looked up at Allie curiously, the first sign of true expression that she’d seen in the man’s face. “Of course not! They are forbidden here! We wouldn’t risk polluting our own data.”

  Allie frowned and turned back to her cruiser, checking on the kids inside. She could see Maria through the windshield, her eyes desperate and worried. She began waving Allie back to them, encouraging her to hurry. Allie nodded and held up a finger, and then she turned and looked down the empty street ahead. “Where are you headed now?”

  “To the telescope.”

  “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

  “As I said, my associates are here for the first time, and we at the Grieg believe it important everyone become acquainted to the foundation of our work. The tele—"

  “It’s not safe,” Allie suddenly announced, now feeling the pressure of the task ahead and the children waiting for her in the car. “You can’t be out here.”

  Zander’s eyes didn’t move, but the corners of his mouth turned up just slightly, as if he didn’t quite trust Allie’s warning and was studying her for the tell of a prank.”

  “Did you hear me?”

  Zander finally blinked several times and asked, “Not safe? What does that mean?”

  Allie studied Zander for a few extra beats, trying to find the physical characteristic in his face that was provoking her suspicion. But she couldn’t place it, and after a few more seconds, she decided there was no point keeping secrets. Whoever these people were—whether auditors or burglars or missionaries—they were trapped in Garmella too and had a right to know the danger. “There have been...people have been killed here today. Several people. At least six.” She then added, “An
d likely more than that.”

  Zander blinked back at Allie, his face a blank slate, as if he were hearing some off-color joke and was now waiting for the punchline. When none came, he whispered, “My goodness.”

  “It’s not safe to be here. On the road or in this town at all. But for now, there’s not much we can do about the latter.”

  “Are you sure? We haven’t seen anything that—”

  “Do you think I would make that up!” Allie regretted the shout immediately, but she didn’t apologize. “There’s someone—something—in this town that is killing people. So, I’ll say it again so it’s clear: you are not safe on the road and you have to find shelter. And even then, protect yourself.”

  “Who is aware of this killer? Aside from you?”

  Allie thought the question an odd one; not the content but rather the timing of it. It seemed an inquiry for further down the road.

  “The sheriff,” she answered. “He’s out now trying to find anyone else in town who might have been...affected.”

  “What about the state police? The FBI?”

  Allie shook her head. “The phone lines are down. And you already know about the cell phones. And with the sinkhole, we don’t have a way out of town right now. We’re locked in as far as communication goes. And I guess literally too.”

  Zander let the information settle and then said, “You said ‘something.’”

  “What?”

  “You said, ‘Something in the town is killing people.’ What does that mean? It’s not a man? Is it an animal or something?”

  Allie averted her eyes and swallowed. “Yeah, something.”

  Zander waited for Allie to elaborate, but he quickly understood her brevity was no accident. “Then we will heed your warning, officer. We shall retreat to our residence.”

  “Where is that? Where are you staying?”

  “We usually stay at a hotel in Simonson—as you probably know—but the company rents a house by the lake in the summer when activity is heavier. It allows us more flexibility with the off-schedule audits. The summer tourists have not yet arrived, but the house is paid for, so that’s where we are.”

  “What house? Where? Who owns it?”

  Zander shook his head. “I don’t handle the accommodations, so I don’t know the owner. But it’s across from a seafood market. Kelly’s, I believe is the name of the store.”

  Brian Brandt’s house. He was recently divorced and weighing his options on what to do with the lake house. “Okay, listen very closely. Go back to the house and stay there until I come and get you. I would escort you there if I could, but I have somewhere else I need to be right now. I will be back though, so don’t leave.”

  Zander nodded, the hint of a grin still upon his face, and Allie now considered it was simply his resting expression. “Of course,” he said.

  “And if you do see something, something that you’ve never seen before, don’t go near it. Don’t open the door for it or even look at it. There’s danger in this town right now. Real danger.”

  Zander’s lips turned up just a twitch higher. “What exactly is it we should be looking for, deputy?”

  Allie wasted no time in answering. “It’s a monster, Mr. Filemon. There’s no other word I can use to describe it.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Ramon kept his head moving at a steady pivot as he crawled his cruiser up the incline of Tecumsah Canyon Road. He reached the corner at Wicomico where the large green space that acted as the town’s only real park was situated. Normally, on a weekday in late spring and early summer, the area swarmed with young mothers and children, retirees and college kids. But today it was empty.

  He passed houses that looked exactly as they did on any other day, except, in the context of the situation, they now looked more like props on a movie set, lifeless structures of siding and wood and metal, uninhabitable. He said a silent prayer that a car would start in one of the driveways, or that the light from a lamp would flash or a curtain would open. But with each house he passed on his way to Gloria Reynolds’ residence, there was only stillness.

  He reached the end of Tecumsah Canyon and then turned right onto the gravel driveway that led to Gloria’s house.

  Ramon parked the car and took a quick, heavy breath before exiting and striding with purpose toward the house, taking three jogging steps up to the front porch to the front door. He knocked once, waited a beat, and then turned the knob and entered.

  And with the first scent of the interior air, Ramon knew Gloria was dead.

  There was no obvious evidence of a break-in, no overturned tables or broken glass that he could see from the stoop; but the smell hit him immediately, the odor of demise and catastrophe, a smell that he’d experienced more than once over his lifetime, almost always in the home of some elderly person who had passed several days earlier and who had no one in their lives to notice.

  “Gloria?” He called in, his voice barely above a whimper, hopeless. He cleared his throat. “Gloria, it’s Ramon.”

  There was no reply, and Ramon stepped across the threshold and directly into the living room of the small rambler. He closed the door behind him and, despite the bright sun shining in the sky above, the house became a dungeon.

  Boxes of all designs and sizes blocked each of the grimy windows, eclipsing any light trying to force its way in. Ramon felt his heart begin to race, the early signs of claustrophobia setting in.

  “Stay cool, Ray.”

  He stalked through the living room and into the hall that led to the kitchen, squeezing through the maze of cardboard cubes that had been arranged for just that purpose. He left his gun holstered, but he kept his hand parallel with his hip, his fingers dangling, expecting to find the crisped corpse of his deputy with every step, her mouth wide and desperate as she screamed in frozen fear, her body wrecked in a way that resembled the young guard at the Grieg.

  But as Ramon stood on the sticky linoleum of the kitchen floor, staring at the cascading overflow of glass and ceramic, plastic and metal, coming from the kitchen sink, he realized the smell and mayhem inside Gloria’s home had nothing to do with any mysterious creature. It came as a result of his deputy’s lifestyle.

  She was a hoarder.

  Ramon had missed something in Gloria, obviously, some sadness or trauma that had led her to a life of solitude and despair, filth and misery. Her outward personality, at least as far as Ramon could see, displayed nothing that would have led him to believe she lived this way. He hadn’t been inside Gloria’s house for several years, but on the previous occasions when he had, it had been pristine, austere.

  But there was no time now to reflect on Gloria’s personal life; his town was under attack, under siege. And he still had the rest of Gloria’s house to clear. There were still rooms to check.

  Ramon moved across the kitchen and into a narrow hallway that contained four doors, two on each side of the hall. The far door on the right was to a bedroom, a fact Ramon knew based on the window that looked out to the front of the house. But the other doors were a mystery, though one was obviously a bathroom.

  He took two paces forward and quickly opened the first door on the left and instantly turned away at the stench that erupted.

  The bathroom.

  He inhaled and held his breath and then turned back, looking for any sign of his deputy inside; but the room was barely big enough for the toilet and bathtub it held, and the latter fixture was curtainless, exposing the only place in the room where Gloria could have been. It was empty.

  On the opposite side of the hall was the first door on the right, which Ramon opened without hesitation. The pressure of time—a feeling that every passing second was drifting him further away from surviving the day—was beginning to weigh down on him now. He prepared for an attack as he swung the door wide, turning his body slightly and stiffening his core; but the door led to a tiny coat closet, and Ramon was met there by a wall of boxes stuffed so tightly inside he was unable to close the door again.


  Ramon walked down the hall to the bedroom door next and opened it slowly, more conservatively than the closet, and inside he found exactly the dishevelment and chaos he’d expected. The smell of rot was even more pungent than in the kitchen, and though it likely came from old food and deceased rodents and not from the decomposing body of Gloria (if she was dead, he reasoned, it would have been too soon for her body to take on that odor), he couldn’t hold off that feeling of dread, that sense that she was inside the house somewhere, dead and literally petrified.

  Ramon did a quiet scan of the bedroom, covering his mouth and nose like someone who’s just learned of an astonishing secret, searching for any movement beneath the piles of blankets and papers, or behind the thick musty drapes that had been hung across the entire length of the far wall.

  But there was only stillness in the room, staleness, so Ramon closed the door and turned finally to the fourth door behind him, the last door on the left. He stepped to it and eased the door open as if he were entering a nursery, careful not to make a sound, and though he could sense an openness in the room that was nonexistent anywhere else in the house, he could see nothing in the darkness.

  But there was a smell there as well, not the stench of decay or mildew, but just as revealing. It was the smell of chemicals, ammonia and urine.

  He knew it instantly.

  Meth.

  Ramon flicked the switch on the wall beside him, and as the room illuminated in a swell of dull orange, Ramon scoffed in disbelief at the sight of the long, wooden L-shaped table that ran along the right and rear walls of the room. On top of the surfaces, spaced a few feet apart, were six single-burner electric plates, each of which held a 12-quart stock pot. On the floor, in addition to the filth and disorder present in the other rooms, was a litter of propane tanks, as well as an army of 10-gallon Home Depot buckets, each stained and coated with the powdery residue of the product that had brought so much misery to his home state, though, at least until that moment, had largely circumvented Garmella.

  “Oh no, Gloria. No, no, no.”