Was the war still going on? Was he still in Iraq?
No, he had been in the forest. He had been running. Weaving in and out. No wait, that didn’t make sense. But it was still true. There had been three, not just one, moving about. Yet, somehow he had been all three. It was fleeing him, but he could still feel the sensation of being one mind moving in three different directions. It must have been a dream, but it had seemed so real. He recalled a sense of three sets of eyes surveying the dark forest. Three bodies shook themselves free of the river water. But that was all starting to fade, and he was glad to see it go. It was too much stimuli to process and his head was starting to hurt.
He touched his face. There was a bandage covering his forehead. He almost had it . . . what had happened and where he was. It was on the tip of his brain, teetering over the abyss.
The curtain parted at the end of the bed and a heavyset nurse stepped through. “Back from the dead?”
A terrible chill rolled through Casper’s body. “What did you say?”
“How is your head?” Her smile was broad and friendly. She swept to the bedside, checked the clattering machines then turned her attention to him. After a thorough evaluation she nodded with approval. “You look tip-top. I’ll go tell Maggie that you’re awake.”
He wasn’t sure how much time passed, for he could feel himself slipping back into unconsciousness, but after a time the curtains parted again and there stood Maggie. She still wore her nurse’s uniform, though it seemed weathered somehow. Her eyes flamed red with spent tears and her face held that certain look she donned when she was simultaneously pissed and relieved.
He opened his mouth and forced his voice out through a throat full of gravel. “Did I at least save the sack?”
Maggie’s faced hardened. “No. The kids said that’s what you jumped in after, but when Officer Wicket and the McTreaty kid pulled you out, it was gone.”
“Officer Whozit and Mc-what kid?”
“I’ll explain later when the anesthesia wears off.” She touched his hand, but there was no joy in it from either end. “Do you always have to be the hero?”
“Can’t help it. It’s in my blood.”
“What about being an asshole?”
“That’s part of the training. Blame that on the Marines.” They had had this same conversation long ago in Iraq.
“Don’t give me that shit. You almost drown . . . in front of your own children. And for what? They’re a mess. Did you even think of them before you jumped into the water?”
Before he could answer she leaned in, kissed him gently on the lips then laid her head on his chest.
She had endured enough sleepless nights while he was away on active duty. After all that he had seen and survived, to die drowning in a river a few miles from his own home seemed a cruel and laughable tragedy. But once again he had made it out. He’d live to fight another day. Had she been at the river, had heard the cries coming from within the sack then she wouldn’t judge him so harshly. He wrapped his arms around her, but he refused to apologize.
His eyes felt too heavy to keep open, but when he allowed them to close, he had a sudden vision split into thirds. Three separate and distinct views of a forest were rolling past him. It was as if he were watching three different movies, all overlaid on one television screen.
Casper opened his eyes and fought the urge to retch. Maggie looked at him, concerned, but he gave her a small smile and touched her cheek where a tear had left its mark.
His eyelids started to fall again, and this time he poured all of his will into not seeing the triple-vision. Whether it worked, or not, he didn’t know. Blackness overtook him.
* * *
Casper spent a total of four days in the hospital, not counting the day of his admittance. Two of those days had been observation of the moderate concussion he received from head-butting a concrete pylon at twenty miles per hour. The other two were recovery from the surgically inserted steel rod that was now attached to his left femur. The Thursday and Friday of the following week he spent at home in bed, lost in a Vicodin induced fog, haunted by nightmares of strange, impossible monsters and the reoccurring visions of a three-way perspective of Shadeland.
By Saturday, one week after his spontaneous swim in Rogers River, Casper had had enough. The Marine within him screamed: Don’t be so weak. Get up soldier. It’s only pain. Casper sat up. A mild throb settled behind the bridge of his nose. In his mind he envisioned a light switch with the word PAIN written above it. Then he pictured his hand knocking the switch from ON to OFF. The tension behind his face didn’t vanish but it eased quite a bit.
On his side table was a glass of water. Diminished ice cubes floated about the top and beads of condensation raced each other to the coaster’s soaked cork lining. Beside the water was his next dose of Vicodin. At the sight of the two red horse-pills his leg began to itch, as if begging him not to be foolish. Casper grabbed the water, leaving the pills where they lay, and downed the whole glass. He pulled the covers off, eased his left leg out of bed then turned to sit on the edge. A fast jolt of pain traveled from his hip to his ankle, warning him not to attempt walking. The room seemed slanted. He couldn’t take much more of this.
His crutches were nowhere to be seen. Maggie had been dealing with him a long time. She was all too familiar with her husband’s propensity for disobeying doctor’s orders.
“Mags,” Casper called his voice hoarse and weak. She didn’t answer.
The grogginess rolled over him in waves; the peaks brought the inability to open his eyes, the valleys filled him with an intense and sudden anger. If this was coming down, then the junkies could keep it.
“Maggie.”
He fought off the urge to smash his alarm clock. “You there or are you at work?”
The sheer ignorance of that question caught him as funny, and then he was caught up in a spell of laughter that left his stomach aching. Another wave of drowsiness hit him, forcing his eyes shut as he leaned back against the headboard.
“Anybody home?” He wasn’t sure if he spoke it aloud or it was only in his head.
“You all right, Dad?”
Casper opened his eyes. Tad stood in the doorway watching him. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and he wore a strange expression of sadness commingled with nervous agitation. Seeing your father almost drown would do that to you, Casper supposed.
“Yeah, bub, I’m fine. Just a little wonky, that’s all.”
At hearing his nickname, Tad cracked a small smile.
“Where is your mom?”
“She took Lucy to her dentist appointment. Me and Beth are here if you need us.”
Casper closed his eyes and suddenly he could see Maggie and Lucy just as if they were standing right in front of him. For a moment he thought he was lying on the ground for they were looking down on him. Though, it was only a single view, it was no less potent than the triple visions. Casper shook off the dizziness and Maggie and Lucy faded away. What kind of drugs do they have me on?
“Can you get me my crutches?”
Tad stood straight and looked behind him as though he suspected an eavesdropper. “Mom told us to keep you in bed. She said you didn’t need to push it too hard.”
Casper smiled in spite of his smoldering aggravation. “I know. I won’t. I just want to get up and move around a bit. Clear my head. I promise I won’t try to re-shingle the roof or anything.”
Tad mulled it over for a moment then decided his father’s reasoning was sound. “All right, but if mom yells at me you better have my back.”
Casper laughed. When did Tad learn to talk like that? He sounded so grown up. “You got it.”
Tad went to the closet and brought out the crutches. Maggie had already adjusted them to his height and even fitted them with soft towels to ease the strain on his armpits. Casper made a test run across the bedroom, stopping only once for a quick bout of dizziness. The master bedroom was on the main floor so he could put off tackling the stairs for a while. He
went into the kitchen with Tad on his heels.
“Where’s Beth?” Then, as if summoned by the mention of her name, Casper saw his daughter’s face float before his eyes. She was smiling and peppering his face with kisses. He had the strangest sensation that he was sitting in Beth’s lap.
Before he could see more, the vision vanished and he stood staring at Tad.
Tad scavenged in the refrigerator like a half-starved hyena. Thirteen was coming fast and teenage boys were gangly, squeaky-voiced eating machines. “She’s outside playing with some dog.” He pulled out some orange juice and drank straight from the carton.
“What dog?”
“I don’t know. Some little black dog. She found it after mom left. It was just sitting on the back deck like it was waiting for someone to come out and play with it.”
Casper went to the kitchen window, but saw only an empty yard. He didn’t like where his mind was taking him. It was impossible. It was only a dream. A reaction to the medication. Nothing more.
“People need to keep their dogs penned up. You can’t just let animals run wild. And strays are the worst. Rabies is just one of many things a dog bite can give you.”
Tad shrugged. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about this dog. She’s so small a squirrel could kick her butt.” He returned the orange juice to the fridge. “Can I ride my bike?”
Casper turned away from the window. “To where?”
“Down to the golf course and back.”
“I don’t know. There’s a lot of traffic.”
“There’s a sidewalk all the way there. I’ll ride on it. I’ll only be gone for a little while.”
How could he refuse him such a little request after all that he’d been through? The move hadn’t been easy on any of the kids. Jumping locations from Iowa to Indiana in the middle of the school year, leaving behind best friends and familiar territory, and now forced to start over. It was a lot of stress for an adult, let alone someone not yet a teenager. Both he and Maggie were used to moving. It was just part of being in the military, but they hadn’t been relocated since Tad was tiny. The kids had cloistered themselves in this house for the past month and on their first real outing they almost witnessed their father drown. All things considered, a little bike ride didn’t seem too much to ask. And hell, he was nearly thirteen. What was the harm?
“All right. You can ride to the golf course.” Tad’s face lit with joy and he started out the door, but Casper called him back. “Are you planning on going up into the Villa?”
Cypress Villa was the little community of houses nestled in and around the golf course. They were a collection of moderately expensive houses, and the grounds hosted a small park that Tad seemed to notice whenever they passed the place.
Tad watched him for a moment, trying to discern his mood. “I might.”
“If they tell you you’re not allowed in there, don’t give them any lip. Just ride back home. The park might not be open to the public. Got it?”
Tad shot him two thumbs up then darted down the hallway. Casper smiled despite the deep pain settling into his left thigh. That kid was growing up too fast.
Casper maneuvered himself into the family room. He hoped he wouldn’t have to be on the crutches too long, because this house definitely wasn’t designed or decorated with a man on crutches in mind. On the way he bumped into an end table, nearly upsetting a vase of flowers (presumably ones he had received while in the hospital) and nearly fell on his face when he caught one of his crutches in the bathroom doorway. He made his way to the back door, somehow managing to stay vertical.
Outside, the air was cool but thick with the humid threat of another rain. The sunlight shone bright despite the thick lining of clouds that concealed the Big Blue.
Beth rounded the corner of the house in a playful jog. He started to smile at her, but stopped when he saw the small black dog in tow. “Hi daddy. Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” he said though it seemed a lie to him. “I’m okay. Whose dog is that?”
The dog stood only two feet to the top of its head and couldn’t have weighed more than twenty pounds. It had a shiny, jet black coat with just a hint of red hidden within. Its fur was thick around the neck and haunches, but was as sleek as oil on the rest of its body. It had a long bushy tail that curled upward when it wasn’t wagging. The ears were long and pointed giving the dog the appearance of a black fox. Its eyes were the deep yellow of burning deserts, intelligent and somehow mischievous.
“She doesn’t have a collar or tags.” Beth knelt down and scratched the dog around her neck. The dog stretched upward to oblige. “I think she’s a stray.”
“I don’t know, honey,” Casper said wielding his gentle-disapproving voice. “That dog looks well taken care of. I’d say someone’s show-dog snuck out of the house. They’ll be looking for it.”
“Can we keep her, daddy? Please? She’s so little.”
Casper had been expecting this question, but was still vulnerable against the well-practiced look of longing in his daughter’s eyes. “Bethy, darling, she belongs to someone else. There’s probably another little girl out there crying over her right now. She needs to go home.”
“Well, can we keep her until her owners come looking for her?”
The dog sat down with her broad chest puffed out, and watched father and daughter as if it were a mediator in the conversation. Casper had the strangest sense that the dog could not only understand what they were talking about, but had its own opinions on the matter. Maybe it was the little ridges of its eyebrows that granted her such an expressive face. Maybe it was the pain-killers lingering in his brain. Whatever the case, he didn’t fully trust the dog. But, what could he say? That he didn’t like the dog because she had a devious look to her?
The phone started to ring. Casper turned to go back in the house and caught a vision of himself from behind. He stopped and looked back at the little dog.
“Can we keep her, daddy?” Beth asked again.
“I don’t know. We’ll see.” He stumbled through the door and went for the phone in the kitchen. He grabbed up the receiver and said, “Hello.”
“May I speak to Mr. Brown?” said an unfamiliar voice.
After Casper identified himself the man responded: “My name is Officer Dale Wicket. I was one of the men at the scene of your accident.”
“On the scene? I hear you’re the one that pulled me out of the river?”
There was a slight pause. “Well, Patrick McTreaty is the one that actually pulled you out of the water. I just performed CPR.”
I just performed CPR. As if this were no more trivial than giving someone a drink. “Either way, you saved my life. Thank you.”
There was another small silence that affirmed to Casper that Dale Wicket was a man of humility as well as courage. He seemed almost embarrassed by the gratitude. “I was wondering if you would mind if I stopped by sometime—when you’re feeling up to it—and ask you some questions about the accident.”
“Not at all.” It was a great excuse to meet the quick-thinking cop face to face. “You can come by whenever you like. It looks like I’ll have plenty of free time on my hands. But may I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“Did I do something illegal? I wasn’t trying to commit suicide.”
“No, I know that,” Officer Wicket said. “There is no investigation. This will just be a personal conversation . . . off the record.”
“Is this about the burlap sack that came over the side of the bridge?”
“My shift ends at eight tonight,” Wicket said, ignoring the question. “Could I come by then?”
“That should be fine.”
“Great. I’ll see you then.”
Casper hung the phone up and started toward the living room. His leg had a cartoonish throb going and he wanted nothing more than to lie down with his foot propped up. As he went to do just that, he heard the familiar sound of the Navigator pulling into the drive, followed by t
he mechanical whir of the garage door opening. Seconds later, Beth came bursting in the door from the garage.
“Mom and Lucy brought home another dog.”
Casper leaned against the counter with his face in his hands. Beth’s news didn’t surprise him, for he had seen their faces through the dog’s eyes, and somehow knew it was coming. What troubled him now was the vision he was having of Tad standing near a sparkling pond, skipping rocks.
Something moved behind Tad. Casper couldn’t quite make out what it was. It seemed to be camouflaged. It had to be an animal of some sort, though, for it was silently stalking Tad.
Scorpion
Scorpion.
That is what both the man Clifton and the woman June had thought when it had uncloaked itself. It knew this not because it could read minds in the sense of true telepathy, but because it had infiltrated the brains of both with its stingers and searched their thoughts. Though it was in no way an insect and bore very little resemblance to an arachnid, that was still the image that had fixed in both their minds. It didn’t so much like being associated with something as insignificant as an insect, no matter how revered, but the repulsion and fear brought on by this image was quite stimulating. Scorpion seemed like a good name. As a mere drone, having a name was useless but it could sense no other of its kind in this place, which meant it was alone. Being alone meant inevitable death, not just of itself, but of all the memories and collective thoughts genetically bequeathed from the hive.
Scorpion wasn’t sure how the strange man—the one with the red mark on his face—had summoned it to this place, but now that it was here it needed to start its own hive. The humans known as Clifton and June were being utilized for that purpose. The nestlings were almost ready to begin. Soon, when these two were no longer required, it would begin its own metamorphosis.
But right now it was time to hunt.
Scorpion left the log cabin and made out through the forest. It had absorbed all of Clifton and June’s memories giving it a detailed understanding of its surroundings. There was plenty of small fauna to feed on, but it would expend too much time and energy to fill its cache. Even the larger animals, like deer, were not suitable. No, it needed to pick from the highest species. And thanks to the nestlings’ memories it knew just where to go.
Predatory Animals Page 5
