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The Invasive

Page 11

by Michael Hodges


  She didn’t want to be so pushy, but her instincts told her to get this ball rolling. As a child, she’d always been the explorer, always wanting to see new things. And although she appreciated the relative safety of Big J, not knowing a freaking thing gnawed into her not all that differently from the gnashing teeth of the creatures. And it was knowledge of the new creature’s patterns and habits which must be known.

  Where did the fliers go to?

  Where did they come from?

  How many are there, and what is their impact?

  These questions pummeled her mind.

  Something else frequented her mind, something worse. It flashed in threatening black and red, front and center. She tried to ignore it whenever it flashed, but seeing the image knocked the air out of her lungs.

  Don’t you get him killed, she thought. Don’t you dare get him killed.

  *

  Dinner consisted of plain tuna, slices of questionable bread, and graham crackers. Colbrick ate on the couch.

  “We need to try one last time,” Bishop whispered.

  “He’s not budging,” Angela said, scarfing down the crackers.

  Bishop stood and walked over to Colbrick, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  “We need you, big fella.”

  Colbrick looked up from his plate.

  “Ah…thanks slick, but I’ll do just fine here. I wish I could say the same about you guys.”

  Bishop leaned into Colbrick and whispered, “You know, I don’t feel all that different from you on this. But Angela is no dummy. She’s smarter than both of us.”

  “I hope so,” Colbrick said, standing to meet Bishop. “We’ve been through hell, slick. I’ll be sad to see you two go. But what can you do? You’ve made your choice.”

  “As have you,” Bishop said, walking away.

  “Make sure you take the radio,” Colbrick said.

  “I thought you said the range was only good for two miles?” Bishop asked.

  “Yeah, I did. But you never know when we’ll be within those two miles, partner. Maybe never again, but you never know.”

  Colbrick retreated to his room and closed the door.

  *

  Night fell upon Big J, and there were no glowing-eyed fliers—just the silence of the mountains and the three survivors at last resting, their thoughts and dreams eclipsed in bleakness by the waking world.

  Inquisitor

  Dr. Ted Donaldson liked to chew gum. Lots of gum. He didn’t wear a white lab coat, but neither did any other field biologist. He had the look of his profession—half scruffy academic, half outdoorsman.

  Donaldson passed through the bright cafeteria of Northwestern University and waved at several of his peers in the biology department. They waved back with half-smiles. Sometimes, he got the impression they didn’t care for the way he chewed his gum. Or maybe it was something else. Their camaraderie was often laced with competitiveness, more or less friendly.

  Donaldson made his way down the tiled corridor to his office. When he opened the door, two men of similar height stood in unison from a pair of chairs. His red-headed secretary, Amber Johansen, stood in front of them.

  “These men need to speak with you urgently,” Amber said.

  Donaldson examined the men, and assumed them military right off the bat thanks to their crew cuts and rigid posture.

  “Dr. Donaldson,” the first man said, reaching out a hand.

  Donaldson shook it. He couldn’t help but feel these two men were brothers, or at least related somehow.

  “Sorry for the intrusion, but we have something we’d like to discuss with you.”

  The two men paused and their eyes turned to Amber. One of the men cleared his throat.

  “I’ve got some calls to make,” Amber said. She took a stack of papers from Donaldson’s cherry wood desk and shuffled out of the room. When she closed the door, Donaldson turned his attention back to the men.

  “Are you here about those strange reports?” Donaldson asked. “Everyone’s been talking about them. I got a call from a colleague last night.”

  The first man smiled. “Yes.”

  Donaldson lifted an eyebrow. “Give me the details.”

  “We believe the, uh, animals originated in northwest Montana, and we’d like to discuss some of the…shall we say, implications with you,” the first man said.

  It was clear to Donaldson this was going to go above and beyond his usual processes. “Who do you represent?” Donaldson asked.

  “Homeland Security,” the first man said.

  Donaldson tapped a finger on his desk three times. “What kind of implications?” he asked.

  “One right up your alley,” the first man said. “Possible invasive species. We’re familiar with your distribution model for the spread of invasive species. The link between distribution, physiology, critical thresholds, climate model projections, and spread predictions are very interesting to us, especially in regards to this situation.”

  The other man nodded.

  The first man pulled out a briefcase that had been resting on the carpet. He unlocked it and placed a manila folder on Donaldson’s desk.

  “We call them Harassers. The others we know as Stunners.”

  Donaldson sat there, staring at the picture. It showed a bat-like creature unlike any on earth. The next picture showed a six-legged seal-like creature atop a massive pile of trees, obviously taken from a long lens due to the atmospheric haze within the images. His colleague had been examining the remains of one of the aerial predators, but he didn’t know about the other animal.

  The first man retrieved a tape recorder from his briefcase, and pressed play while setting the device on Donaldson’s desk.

  The sound of cars and people talking roared from the device’s cheap speakers as Donaldson stared at the photos.

  “So what’s the connection?” Donaldson asked without looking up.

  The second man opened his briefcase and placed an iPad on Donaldson’s desk.

  “We thought you might ask that,” the first man said, turning off the cassette player. “Now here’s the video.”

  Donaldson watched as the iPad entered video mode. A cluster of the bat-like animals fluttered across a grey sky over a prairie. The speakers on the iPad blared with the same sound of cars and people, but the problem was there were no cars and people, at least not in view.

  “They mimic,” the first man said in a way that made Donaldson shiver. “Beyond any creature we know of.”

  Donaldson pulled out a wad of Big League chew from his desk drawer and turned back to the video. “OK, so this new animal can mimic with much higher precision than a parrot. Where was this footage taken? I’m guessing either North or South Dakota since I can see a few red scoria caps in the background.”

  “Very perceptive,” the first man said. “The video was captured near Theodore Roosevelt Park in North Dakota.”

  “Astonishing,” Donaldson said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Again, it goes back to your report, Doctor. We believe several new species have emerged in northwestern Montana, in the Apex Valley. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

  “Can’t say that I have,” Donaldson said.

  “Most people haven’t,” the first man said.

  “What’s this second animal, the one on the jumble of trees?” Donaldson asked.

  “This one is a real zinger. It has the ability to construct large dams from forest materials. It has a tail made of keratin which can cut down trees. It’s also put a few of our finest in the hospital.”

  “How?”

  “Frequency blasts to the central nervous system,” the first man said. “Nasty things.”

  Donaldson leaned forward and met the first man’s eyes. “So both of these species are predators,” he mused. “Predators need large territories to maintain adequate food supplies. Usually, juvenile males will strike out great distances to find new territory. My colleague wasn’t able to determine the age of the specimen, but tha
t process means that these species could start radiating out quickly depending on their rate of reproduction.”

  “In your report, you concluded that the spread of raccoons into new habitats was hastened by warmer temperatures. While we haven’t proven it yet, we believe these new species may have spread because of warming temperatures, specifically the removal of glaciers from the ecosystem. Same process, different players, Dr. Donaldson.”

  “Perhaps,” Donaldson said, nodding. “But they had to come from somewhere. There has to be a source.”

  The first man glanced to his feet and then back up. “Yes…a source. We’re working on that.”

  “Let’s be clear here,” Donaldson said. “It’s obvious these new species did not originate on this planet. Do you have any idea how many there are? My colleague speculated that this new predator was able to establish itself on our planet because the protein molecules it is ingesting must be similar to its original food source. Plants contain many potentially toxic substances, which the herbivores on our planet have co-evolved to digest, making it potentially more difficult for an alien herbivore to become established here. If there are more than one species out there then that would imply that perhaps an entire “ark” so to speak may have been sent here. I don’t know if you are familiar with the concept of convergent evolution, but this discovery confirms that it applies to any planet. Particular types of body plans are more adaptive in similar environments, so even in different lineages similar forms will evolve with similar strategies. What strikes me is not how different these animals are, but how similar they might be. Species are only able to become invasive when they are both able to adapt to a new environment and can out-compete the native species. I’m sure Homeland Security is most concerned about these large predators, but in the long run, smaller species and plants can be the most difficult to eradicate and have increased rates of reproduction, allowing each successive generation to become more adapted to their new environment. Once a species becomes established, it can rapidly take over. Do you know exactly where the point of origin is?”

  “The Apex Valley.”

  “I certainly hope you came here to take me there.”

  “The Department of Homeland Security has the paperwork in order for your temporary absence. We have men at the base of several of the dams now, taking samples and gathering evidence.”

  “I’m in,” Donaldson said. “But I would like to know if there will be an opportunity to conduct research, or if you are only interested in containment?”

  The second man spoke for the first time. “You will be able to perform research, Dr. Donaldson,” he said.

  “When do we leave?”

  “Tonight. We’ll have a car pick you up at nine p.m.”

  When the men left his office, Donaldson picked up the phone and dialed his wife.

  He listened to the hollow rings. Already he felt a thousand miles away.

  “Hello,” Sarah Donaldson said.

  “Hey, hon, how was your day?”

  “Ugh,” she said. “Ben hit his head on the slide. We have an ice pack on it now. Suzy is holding it for him. It seems the only time they get along is when the other one is injured.”

  “That’s good,” Donaldson said. “Family instinct.”

  “I suppose. When will you be home?”

  “I’ll be home at five, and then I need to pack.”

  “Pack? For where?”

  “The Apex Valley.”

  “Where the hell is that?” she asked.

  “They say it’s in Montana,” he said.

  Elmore

  “So I guess this is goodbye,” Angela said to a rough-haired Colbrick in the driveway.

  “Yup.”

  Angela went to hug him, and he tried to turn away, but she caught him, tucking her head against his chest.

  “Thank you for saving our lives,” she said, squeezing him.

  “Not a problem,” Colbrick said.

  Angela pulled away, leaving a clear path between Bishop and Colbrick.

  Bishop went to shake his hand, but Colbrick turned, keeping his head down and walking into the lodge.

  “It ain’t no goodbye yet,” Colbrick said, slamming the door behind him.

  Bishop watched his tall, shadowy figure disappear through the frosted side windows.

  “That guy’s responsible for us even being here,” Bishop said. He reached for his cheek and wiped away a tear.

  Angela blinked her moist, reddening eyes. Then she reached for Bishop and embraced him.

  *

  Although Bishop hated the idea of leaving Colbrick, he trusted Angela. They needed to know more. Sitting back at Big J and waiting for whatever crept or flew along was not what he wanted to do for the rest of however many days he had. Someone was out there—someone who knew at least a tiny bit about current events. And it was their duty to find out.

  They checked the truck for ambushers, got in, and sped down the road, leaving an expanding, roiling cloud of dust between them and Colbrick.

  No secapods sunbathed on haystacks, and no wacky bird teetered in the grass. Things looked as they should.

  Except for the road dam to the north.

  Angela glassed the highway, checking both routes. “It’s still there,” she groaned.

  “I wish we could do something about it,” Bishop said. “Imagine what it’s doing to the land. How many lives is it trapping? How many people have been killed?”

  “It’s probably best not to think about it right now,” Angela said. “There’s nothing we can do.”

  Bishop gripped the wheel hard enough to whiten his knuckles. “Just letting something like that rape our world…”

  He pulled onto Highway 18 and headed south, grinding his teeth. Then he checked the rearview mirror and the hazy road dam.

  “I’m not done with you yet,” he muttered.

  *

  The summer day was bright and clear—as they are in the Rockies—with pleasing contrast between rock, vegetation, and sky. But there were no birds singing, or deer feeding, or bears thundering through the understory. For all intents and purposes, Apex Country was dead.

  The truck sped down Highway 18, back towards their vacation rental in the heart of the Apex Valley.

  “I wish we had sunglasses,” Angela said, wincing.

  “You’d think there’d be some lying around,” Bishop said with a light chuckle.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because in disaster movies, everyone seems to have a nice pair of sunglasses. You’d think with everything fucked up, that…I dunno…maybe the sunglasses wouldn’t be in the best shape.”

  Angela laughed. “I suppose. Unblemished designer sunglasses would seem to be in short supply during apocalyptic times.”

  They let out a rip-roaring laugh and the pain of leaving Colbrick receded. Silence filled the truck as they thought of the hard-as-nails man back at the lodge. Bishop pictured the stubborn bugger fighting off legions of secapods and pigras, taking them out like they were nothing, then cooking them up for a barbecue.

  The road changed, as Bishop expected it would. He reduced speed and rolled to a stop. Their mouths hung open as their eyes canvassed the devastation.

  For hundreds of yards on either side of the highway, the trees lay like toothpicks. Jagged half stumps with bright, raw wood gleamed in the sun. Millions of broken branches jabbed up from the tangle like the arms of pleading, injured people. A creeping mist shrouded certain portions of the blasted heath, and Bishop wondered what obscured creatures lingered there. He knew what lay ahead in the murk: the road dam they’d approached earlier. The carcasses of moose, elk, deer, and other animals littered the stained ground. The air reeked of feces and a strange glittering lingered about the area. Bishop wondered if it might be a leftover pheromone from the frequency seal workers.

  “Holy shit,” Angela said.

  “I don’t think there’s anything holy about it,” he said.

  “Do you think this was built by the same thi
ngs as the one north of Big J?”

  “I have no doubt,” Bishop said. He gazed northeast to an impossibly wide swath of cut and slashed forest. Bishop pointed to the carnage. “They probably cut a path through the woods and then came back up on the highway north of Big J. They seem smart enough not to destroy a route that brings food.”

  “What about the jets you saw? Couldn’t one of those kill them?”

  “Sure, but not all of them. Also—”

  Bishop paused and looked into the footwell.

  “What?”

  “The jets could have flown into the fliers we saw the other night. I only heard one pass, Angela, one pass—and they were going north. The smaller fliers could’ve fouled the jet intakes.”

  Angela turned away and said nothing.

  “We’ve got to get around this,” Bishop said. “There was a gravel road a mile back, it might take us around this thing. But I sure can’t see that well from this position.”

  Angela’s eyes sparked.

  “I’ll go on the roof,” she said.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “I’ll go on the roof and scout while you drive. Keep your window open so you can hear me.”

  “I’m not letting you on the roof. The fliers could pick you off, or who knows what else.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything here,” Angela said, turning her head to examine the landscape. “Come on, Bishop, how else are we going to get around this dam?”

  Bishop gazed out the windshield at the rough terrain.

  “Fine. But you hold onto the roof racks when we go over some of this shit, do you understand?”

  “Of course.”

  She hugged him, the warmth soothing his nerves.

  After driving back a mile, Bishop found the gravel road and turned right. Angela lowered her window, opened the door, climbed onto the hood, and accessed the roof via the windshield. Bishop leaned over and closed her door. He left the window down so she at least had some kind of quick entrance if any of the creatures showed themselves. Bishop took a deep breath, reached into the backseat, and grabbed the shotgun, resting it in-between Angela’s seat and the center console.

 

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