The Homing

by John Saul

  But it wasn’t possible, was it?

  How could she have imagined her skin being entirely covered with red ants?

  How could she have felt them?

  And not just on her skin, either.

  They’d been in her hair, her ears—even her nose!

  Panic welled up inside her once again, and she shuddered at the memory.

  Struggling to control the panic, she started back toward the house, breaking into a stumbling run.

  What if someone saw her? What if Otto were already up, fixing his morning coffee? If Kevin spotted her, running around in just her nightgown …

  How would she be able to explain it? What reason could she give for having gone out into the field in the middle of the night, almost naked?

  There wasn’t any reason, and now Julie ran faster, ducking around the corner of the house so that even if Otto was up, he wouldn’t be able to see her.

  At the back door she paused, listening, but heard nothing from inside the house. If everyone was still asleep, she could get back upstairs and—

  Suddenly she became aware of a humming sound.

  She turned, her eyes widening as she beheld a cloud of bees—thousands of them—moving toward the house.

  Instantly, her mind went back to the previous morning, when she’d bumped into one of the hives and the bees had attacked her. Now here they were again, coming toward her.

  And she was wearing nothing but a thin nylon nightgown!

  As the first of the bees streaked across the yard, Julie jerked the back door open, slipped inside, and quickly shut it again. She paused just inside, listening again, but the house was still silent, and she padded through the empty rooms and up the stairs as quietly as she’d come down a few hours earlier.

  She stepped into her room, and instantly knew something was wrong.

  The light from the window.

  It was an odd color—dim, and yellowish.

  Her eyes went to the window, raised high to let in the cool night air, and her breath caught in her throat.

  The screen was covered with bees; covered so thickly she couldn’t see out at all. They were layers deep, climbing over one another, the humming of their wings filling the room. For a moment Julie stood frozen, just staring atthem. Then she darted to the window, slammed it closed, and pulled the drapes as well, plunging the room into a darkness almost as deep as night.

  Still she could hear them, their humming muffled through the cloth and glass, but clearly audible.

  What was wrong? What was happening to her?

  Trembling, Julie went to her bed and crept under the covers, pulling the quilt over her head despite the already building heat of the summer morning. She buried one ear in her pillow and clamped a hand over the other one, attempting to shut out the terrifying sound.

  Outside, the bees found a tiny crevice in the siding on the house and set to work.

  Soon they had expanded the crevice.

  Then they began creeping in, filling the empty space in the wall that separated Julie’s room from the one next door.

  Karen was carrying a picnic basket.

  It was filled with champagne, caviar, and little sandwiches, and she was walking in one of the pastures, feeling the sun on her back, listening to the birds singing and watching the butterflies flit among the blossoms. The afternoon was perfect, and soon Russell would come and join her.

  They would walk down to the stream, open the champagne, and lie in one another’s arms, sipping the bubbling wine and feeding each other morsels of food. Then, as the afternoon turned into evening, Russell would begin opening the buttons on her blouse.…

  Her reverie was interrupted by a new sound, a low tone that made the birds fall silent around her. As the sound filled her ears, Karen turned, half expecting to see Russell coming across the field toward her.

  But it wasn’t Russell.

  Instead it was the giant threshing machine, moving toward her, its huge blades spinning, a green arc of fresh-cut hay pouring out of it, a mist of pale green seeming to hang over it.

  She stared at the machine, abstractly wondering where it had come from.

  It hadn’t been in the field when she’d arrived; of that, she was almost certain.

  Time seemed to stand still as she watched the mower come slowly closer, and it wasn’t until it was only a few yards away from her that she saw the empty driver’s seat.

  But that was impossible—with no one at the controls, how could the mower operate?

  Then, quite suddenly, she knew it was coming for her.

  The mower was going to run her down!

  She turned, fleeing through the field, but the faster she tried to run, the harder it became for her to move her feet.

  The drone of the mower grew louder, and she looked back over her shoulder.

  It was gaining on her!

  In another few seconds it would be on her and she would be sucked into its blades!

  She redoubled her efforts, struggling to make her legs work harder, to force them to respond to her commands, but then she tripped. She sprawled out in the field, and her mouth opened as she tried to scream.

  Where was Russell? Why didn’t he come and save her?

  Her scream finally emerged, but it was a pitiable sound that she knew no one could hear.

  The mower was almost upon her now, and already she could feel the first agonizing slash of the huge blades as they tore into her flesh.

  Once again she screamed.

  And this time, as she screamed, she woke up, sitting bolt upright in bed, still in the grip of the nightmare.

  “Honey?” It was Russell’s sleepy voice. “Honey, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  Karen sat still for a moment, her heart pounding, her skin covered with the cold sweat of terror. Very slowly the dream began to release her from its grip. She eased herself back against the pillows. “The mower,” she began. And instantly fell silent.

  The drone!

  She could still hear the drone of the mower, even though she was awake!

  The panic of the dream flooded over her once again, and she clutched at Russell. “What is it?” she begged. “Russell, what do I hear?”

  Finally coming fully awake, Russell listened for a moment, then got out of bed and went to the window.

  Outside, the sun was rising and bees were buzzing in the warmth of the morning.

  Closing the window, he went back to bed. “It’s just a few bees, honey,” he told her, nuzzling her ear. “They’re always all over the place this time of year. Go back to sleep.” Snuggling up against her body, Russell sighed contentedly, drifting back into a peaceful sleep.

  Karen, though, remained awake, Russell’s unconcerned voice echoing in her mind: … just a few bees … all over the place this time of year.

  But what about Molly and Julie?

  What if they got stung again?

  Stop it! she told herself. You’re starting to sound like the kind of hysterical overprotective mother you’ve always hated! They didn’t die—they aren’t even sick! It was just a freak reaction, and it’s over!

  This morning, though, she would talk to Carl Henderson or Ellen Filmore about getting a supply of the antivenin for the farm. If she had the antitoxin, she decided, she could live with the bees.

  At least for the rest of the summer.

  At last, secure in Russell’s arms, she, too, fell back into sleep, and when she woke again an hour later, the humming didn’t seem nearly so frightening.

  Indeed, even the memory of the dream the humming had induced had all but disappeared from Karen’s mind.

  But in the wall, the swarm of bees had grown.

  CHAPTER 11

  “Julie, get up! We have to take care of the horses!”

  Julie groaned, rolled over, and pulled the covers over her head, but when Molly refused to give up—jerking at the quilt until finally it came loose from Julie’s grip—she opened her eyes just enough to glare at her sister. “Just leave me alone, will
you?” she said. “I’ll get up in a few minutes.”

  “But we have to—” Molly began, but Julie cut her off.

  “I said I’ll get up in a few minutes.” She grabbed the quilt back from Molly and snuggled under it. “Just get out of here, okay?”

  Molly eyed her sister, carefully calculating how far she could push before Julie took a swing at her. If Julie actually hit her, then she could tell her mother, and Julie would get in trouble. But then Julie might stay mad at her for two or three days, and if that happened …

  Overwhelmed by the complexity of possible results if she jerked the quilt away again, Molly left her sister’s room and headed downstairs to the kitchen. The rest of the family was already there, sitting at the table drinking coffee, and Molly began reporting her sister’s laziness even before she sat down. To the nine-year-old’s great disappointment, her mother was more worried about Julie than angry at her.

  “Is she all right?” Karen asked. “Is she sick?”

  “She’s just lazy,” Molly told her. “And she’s supposed to help me with the horses, too! She’s supposed to—”

  “I know what she’s supposed to do,” Karen told her, unwilling to let herself get involved in either a condemnation or a defense of her older daughter.

  “But she—” Molly began again, only to be cut off once more by her mother.

  “Enough!” Karen said, holding up a hand to silence her. “If she’s not down in a few minutes, I’ll go check on her.”

  “Why don’t you come with us?” Kevin asked Molly as he and his father stood up and started toward the back door. “Dad and Grandpa and I always have a meeting in the tack room to decide what needs to be done.”

  “Can I?” Molly asked, her sister’s laziness instantly forgotten at the prospect of going with Kevin. “Can I, really?”

  Kevin winked at his stepmother. “I don’t see why not. Of course, you might wind up having to help plow the east forty.”

  “Really?” Molly piped, skipping after Kevin as her mother mouthed him a silent thank you for having redirected the little girl’s energy. “Could I drive the tractor?” Molly’s questions continued pouring from her lips as they started toward the barn, but before Kevin could even begin to answer them, she ran ahead, eager to make sure her colt was still in its stall and had made it safely through the night.

  By the time Russell and Kevin got to the barn, Molly was already in the stall, opening the outside door to turn Flicka and Greta out into the paddock. Kevin stopped to give the little girl a hand with the two horses, while Russell went on to the tack room where his father would be putting a pot of coffee on the hot plate and already planning the day.

  Except that this morning the tack room was empty. The coils of the hot plate were cold, and the dregs of yesterday’s coffee, an unappetizing brown sludge, coated the bottom of the unwashed pot.

  Frowning, Russell went to the small window that faced out into the yard and glanced up toward his father’s house.

  Otto’s truck was parked in its usual spot.

  But where was his father?

  If he’d still been in his kitchen, he’d have called out to them as he and Kevin passed his house on their way to the barn.

  Could he still be in bed?

  His father never slept in—Russell couldn’t remember the last time Otto hadn’t been up with the sun.

  Unless he was sick …

  But his father was never sick, either.

  A knot of apprehension began to form in Russell’s stomach. His father was almost eighty, after all.

  Russell put the thought out of his mind. His father was perfectly healthy—Ellen Filmore had given him a physical less than a year ago, and found him as strong as a man of forty.

  Damn it, where was he?

  Unable to rid himself of apprehension, Russell left the tack room and started back toward the barn’s main doors. Less than a minute later he let himself into his father’s house through the kitchen door, which was never locked. “Dad?” he called. “Hey, Dad, do you know what time it is?”

  There was no answer. As he listened to the silence, Russell’s sense of apprehension grew stronger.

  Steeling himself against what he might find, he strode through the kitchen and small living room, then into his father’s bedroom.

  The bed was empty, fully made up.

  The fear of finding his father dead in his bed instantly dissipating, Russell started back to the barn. Not in his house. Not in the barn. Where in hell was he?

  Then, as he scanned the horizon, he had an idea.

  The hives!

  Of course—after what had happened yesterday morning, and with his deep suspicion of Carl Henderson, Otto had probably headed over to the beehives, just to make sure everything was all right. His sense of relief increasing, Russell stopped at the paddock to tell Kevin and Molly where he was going, then headed out toward the hives. At least Carl Henderson’s car was nowhere to be seen, so today wouldn’t start off the same way that yesterday had.

  As his father started down the long drive, Kevin went back into the stall to begin mucking it out, while Molly set about filling the water trough in the paddock. She had just turned the valve to start the water running when she heard a bark from somewhere behind her. Turning, she saw Bailey over by one of the toolsheds. He was crouched down, his tail laid out on the ground, and as Molly watched, he barked again, scooted forward a foot or so, then quickly backed up until he was back where he’d started.

  “Bailey!” Molly called out. “Come on, boy! Here, Bailey!”

  The dog looked over at her, but instead of jumping up and bounding toward her the way he usually did, he only barked again, then darted toward the area behind the toolshed.

  Curious, Molly forgot about the water trough and climbed between the two lowest rails of the paddock. Her eyes on the dog, she started toward him. “What is it, Bailey? Did you find something, boy?”

  The big dog wagged his tail eagerly as Molly came closer, and began whimpering as if trying to tell her something. By the time she was close enough to squat down and pet him, his whole body was quivering with excitement. With one more bark, he leaped away from Molly, disappearing around the corner of the toolshed.

  Molly rose to her feet and started after the dog just as Kevin called out to her from the paddock.

  “Hey, Molly! You left the water running!”

  Molly paused, torn. Should she go back to the paddock and turn off the water, or see what it was that Bailey had found behind the toolshed?

  It only took a fraction of a second for her curiosity to win out, and she called out to Kevin as she moved around the corner of the shed. “Just a sec—” she began.

  Her words abruptly died on her lips as she stared at what had gotten Bailey so excited.

  For what seemed a very long time to her, Molly simply stood staring at the body stretched out on the ground, facedown.

  She knew who it was.

  She could tell by the almost white hair, and the clothes.

  She wanted to turn around and run away, but couldn’t. In fact, she wasn’t sure she could move at all. “K-Kev-in …” she began, his name barely audible even to herself. Then, as Bailey sniffed at Otto Owen’s body, pawing gently at it as if trying to wake the old man up, Molly finally found her voice. The second time she called her stepbrother’s name, it was audible all the way up to the house.

  When Kevin got there, Molly still hadn’t moved. He dropped down next to his grandfather’s body. “G-Grand-pa?” he said. Gingerly, he reached out and touched his grandfather’s neck.

  Refiexively, his fingers jerked back from the cold flesh.

  “Oh, Jesus,” he whispered. Standing up, he swiped at the tears flooding his eyes, and reached for Molly’s hand. “Come on,” he said. “We’d better get help.”

  Half dragging, half carrying the little girl, Kevin ran up the slope toward the house.

  Mark Shannon was slouched behind the wheel of his green Taurus squad car when the
call came in. As usual for seven A.M., he was parked at the A&W, and also as usual, he was making his ritual attempt to convince Charlene Hopkins to marry him.

  Charlene, of course, was refusing, which was just as well, considering that Mark hadn’t the slightest idea what he’d do if Charlene ever accepted his proposal—an unlikely prospect at best, since she was already married to the A&W’s owner, who usually came out and offered to stand them to a honeymoon if Charlene would just accept Mark’s offer.

  When the radio suddenly came alive and the sheriff’s dispatcher interrupted their conversation, Charlene’s habitual happy smile faded. “Did she say Russell Owen’s farm?” she asked, hoping she might have heard wrong through the static.

  “That’s what she said.” Mark sighed, reaching down to start the squad car. “And it sounds like it’s a lot more serious than yesterday.”

  Charlene shook her bleached blond head sympathetically. “I hope it’s not one of those girls. Seems like nothing’s gone right for Karen since the day she came back here.”

  Having long ago learned to make no comment on anything that came over the radio, Mark put the Taurus in gear. “Talk to you later.”

  He pulled out of the A&W, switched on the lights and siren, and headed out of town. No more than a couple of minutes later he switched off the sound and light show as he turned into the Owens’ driveway and spotted the small cluster of people behind the shed just south of the barn. Russell and Kevin were both crouched down next to someone who lay on the ground, while Karen stood close by. Molly was clinging to her mother’s waist, and Karen had one arm around Julie, holding her close.

  Pulling the car to a stop a few yards from the toolshed, Mark jumped out and hurried over to Russell and Kevin, dropping down beside them.

  One look at Otto’s face was all he needed to know the old man was dead: Otto’s clouded eyes were wide open, staring unseeingly upward, and his mouth was agape. Still, Shannon pressed his fingers to the old man’s wattled neck, searching for a pulse. “What happened?” he asked, glancing up at Russell.

  Russell, his eyes still fixed on his father’s distorted face, shook his head slowly. “I don’t have any idea,” he said, his voice dull. “He wasn’t around this morning, and I went looking for him. I finally figured he must have gone up to the beehives, but …” His voice trailed off and he shook his head again. “Molly found him,” he finished. “Or I guess Bailey did, really.”