by Byron Starr
He glanced into the rearview mirror. No sign of the beast. How close was it now?
He finally got the rifle down and opened the door, but when he stepped out and put weight on his injured leg, he found that it wouldn’t hold him. He collapsed to the ground.
* * *
Bret was one of the many who were still unconvinced that there was nothing more than a particularly imaginative serial killer running around in Newton County. Not having a very high opinion of this local game warden who appeared to be the local sheriff’s pet, his first thought was that Emilio was drunk.
“What has gotten into you?” Bret snapped as he strode toward the wrecked vehicles, still without a weapon and still clad only in his boxers and a t-shirt. “Have you lost your ever-loving mind?”
He was even with the hood of the pickup, almost where Emilio was lying, when he saw something that changed his mind entirely about what they were dealing with. In the middle of the spider web-cracked glass was a single black claw that was almost two inches long.
“Call for backup!” Emilio yelled. He was still on the ground, but he had the rifle in his hands and was keeping an alert lookout for movement.
His mouth agape, Bret continued to stare at the claw embedded into the SUV’s window.
“Call for backup!” Emilio screamed.
This time Bret snapped out of it, ran to his truck, and got on the radio.
* * *
The beast hit the truck hard. It flew over the hood, its rage momentarily lost in its pain. It hit the ground and rolled.
The first time it tried to rise, it slipped back to the ground, but on the second try it was able to gain its footing.
The beast had numerous injuries. It had lost the claw off the first finger of its right hand, and its middle finger was broken with the bone showing through the skin near the middle knuckle. A deep, bloody gash ran the length of the beast’s right forearm. Its left ankle was throbbing and already beginning to swell. Two ribs on its left side were broken, two more cracked; pain shot through its chest with every breath. The beast’s injuries would have proved incapacitating if they had been inflicted on a human, but not to this vile creature with its tremendous pain threshold.
When the beast rose from the ground, it could vaguely make out the object used to cause the pain earlier in the day resting right behind him in the vehicle. The collision had knocked some of the blind rage out of the beast but hadn’t lessened its hate. It would withdraw to the woods for now, lick its wounds, and rest for the night. But tomorrow it would come for them all. It would come for The One Who Sees, The One Who Caused Pain, and The Dying One.
It would come and it would kill them.
Chapter 22
The Calm Before
The hospital’s clean white walls and polished floors were a stark, almost shocking, contrast to the pandemonium outside. Despite the slight cracks in the ageing plaster walls, the old hospital’s hominess was almost able to shine through, creating a mark of noticeable serenity amid the chaos. However, the illusion was incomplete; the sounds of reporters chattering questions and Sam attempting come up with answers that were both adequate and evasive could still be heard from just the outside the emergency room entrance.
This morning the first real wave of news crews had engulfed the small town of Newton, Texas. The Pineywoods Hotel in Newton had been filled the night after news of Jana Parish’s attack got out, and by noon even the hotels in Jasper were filling up. By the time Emilio had been attacked that afternoon, it seemed there were more vans and communications vehicles owned by the networks than there were pickups owned by the locals. And now most of those vehicles were parked outside Jasper Medical Center, where Emilio Rodriguez had been taken.
Bill’s hard-soled cowboy boots echoed through the hall as he made his way toward the emergency room.
A small, almost petite man stood outside the door to the emergency room smoking a cigarette. Bill immediately recognized Doctor Paul Hewlett.
“How is he?” Bill asked.
“Pretty good, Sheriff Oates,” the Doctor Hewlett replied. “Two deep lacerations on his left leg. A lot of muscular damage, but not quite deep enough to hit any major vessels. He’s lucky. He’ll be on crutches for some time, but it could’ve been a lot worse. I’ve finished stitching and the nurses should be about through bandaging him up by now.”
“Can I go in?” Bill said with a nod toward the emergency room door.
Hewlett didn’t reply immediately, and when he did, he didn’t exactly answer the question. He took another long drag on his cigarette before asking a question of his own. “What’s going on over there in Newton County?”
Bill wasn’t exactly in the mood for chitchat, but he’d always felt a doctor in his hospital was due the same respect as a captain on his ship so he answered the question as best he could. “We’re not sure.”
Hewlett nodded toward the thong of reporters outside the glass emergency room doors. “They said it was a wild animal at first; now they think it’s a serial killer, but those weren’t knife wounds.”
“No, doctor, they weren’t.”
“Claws?”
“I believe so.”
“Big claws.”
Bill nodded.
The doctor took another drag. “You guys really don’t know what’s out there, do you?”
“No, we don’t,” Bill replied stiffly, his cheeks darkening a touch as his patience began to wear thin.
Hewlett caught Bill’s tone and backtracked a bit. “I’m sure you’ll catch it, whatever it is?”
“We will. Can I see my boy now?”
“Sure,” Hewlett replied. He turned and led the way through the door and into the emergency room.
In a way, the emergency room was very similar to the hall outside – plain white walls, slightly aged but still in good shape. In here, however, much of the wall space was covered by charts and instructional posters on emergency medical procedure. Three nurses were over by the sink, two removing their latex gloves while the third cleaned her hands with disinfectant. Emilio sat in a chair against the far wall. His left pants leg had been ripped open all the way up his leg, and his upper thigh was thickly wrapped with bandages. He looked a little pale – perhaps from blood loss or perhaps from the recent scare – but his face was beaming its usual smile.
“Howdy-doo, sheriff.”
“How’s the leg?”
“Oh, it’s still there.” He patted a pair of crutches resting against the wall next to his chair. “I think I’ll be on these for a while, but I really doubt it’ll be as long as they’re telling me.”
Bill turned to Doctor Hewlett. “I need talk to him alone.” He turned to the nurses and politely added, “If you ladies don’t mind.”
“No problem,” the oldest of the three replied. “We were just cleaning up.”
Bill turned back to the doctor. “You are through with him, aren’t you?”
“Just a little paperwork is all, but Captain Jones said he would take care of that before he left.”
“Thank y’all,” Emilio said to the nurses as they filed out the door.
“You’re welcome.”
Hewlett turned and followed the nurses into the hall.
Emilio started to say something as soon as the door was closed, but Bill held up a finger for silence. Bill walked over to the ER’s intercom and made sure it was turned off before he turned back to Emilio. “How much do they know?” Bill said with a nodded toward the door.
“Only a little gossip and what they’re hearing on the news. The doctor was full of questions, but I think he was more concerned about infection than picking my brain for gossip.”
“What about the girls?”
“The nurses? They were a little curious, but Judy – that’s the head nurse, Judy Trotter, I think – she was pretty heads up on the situation. She told them to mind their jobs and save their questions.”
“Good.”
“Sheriff, I really don’t see why we’re so worr
ied about secrecy here. Ever since that reporter died we’ve been top story in the nation. It’s only a matter of time before it gets out.”
“But as long as we keep ’em thinkin’ it’s a series of unsolved murders we can keep it a State operation. I don’t want the Feds jumpin’ in and screwin’ everything up.”
“Why not bring in the Feds? They get a look at that tape and, who knows, they might have military choppers combing the woods within hours.”
“They might have more gizmos to throw into the woods, but we’ve got James. You know as well as I do that they won’t believe us about him, and I think he’s the only answer to whatever the hell is out there.”
Emilio also knew that a lot of Bill’s desire to keep the problem local stemmed from his mistrust of the Feds. He remembered a year ago when a Detroit city police officer who had grown tired of city life and move to his wife’s old home in East Texas. Despite the man’s experience and flawless record, Bill had balked on hiring him. Emilio had overheard the old sheriff saying that he simply didn’t trust a man who’d never pissed behind a tree. And in the eyes of Sheriff Bill Oates, all Federal agents were city slickers.
Emilio started to push the argument to bring in the Feds, but he held his tongue. While Bill’s urban prejudice might have something to do with the decision, he had brought up another very valid point – James. How many would have to die before the Federal newcomers would realize his connection? And what of the helicopter squadrons Emilio had envisioned flying to their rescue? Was this a realistic hope, or was it just a typical American pipedream of calling ol’ Uncle Sam coming in with guns blazing for the quick fix? The machine always has a human head, and Emilio doubted if anyone could come down from Washington and do a better job than Sam and Bill had done so far.
“What happened out at my place after I was hauled off?” Emilio asked, changing the subject. “Geraldo Rivera didn’t come in and trash my house did he?”
Bill smiled and said, “We had our fair share of reporters follow us out, but that line of trees between your pasture and the road was a godsend. We blocked them at the entrance and there was no way they could get around. A few lugged their cameras through the woods to get a shot of your house from the trees, but they couldn’t get any closer.”
“Good, I’d hate to come home and find Wolf Blitzer raiding my fridge,” Emilio said. “How bad do you think it’s hurt this time?”
“Not a lot of blood, but it left a claw in your windshield.”
“Great,” Emilio murmured sarcastically. “It broke a nail.”
“It took a better beatin’ than that. May even be crippled. And the lack of blood doesn’t mean it’s not banged up inside.” Bill paused, and added. “I still doubt it’s mortally wounded, but it’s been shot and run over. There’s little doubt we’ve hurt it.”
“Animals are always more dangerous when they’re injured.”
“But it might make it careless. Look how it attacked you in broad daylight.”
Emilio nodded; then reached for his crutches. “I’m ready to get back to the fort. Let’s get a move on.”
“That’s another thing I want to bring up,” Bill said. “We’re going to run you out to your place so you can get your things; then we’re sending you back home to Midland.”
“What?” Emilio replied, forgetting the crutches and turning back to Bill.
“It’s for your own good. Your place isn’t safe. It’s already come for you once. It could come again, and this time you’re in little shape to put up a fight.”
“You’re not sending me home, Bill,” Emilio said bluntly.
“We really don’t have a choice.”
“Yes you do. You can come up with another pillow and a blanket and move me into the jail with you. And I won’t just be in the way, either. I may not be able to go on patrol, but I’ll have even more time to handle the paperwork.”
Emilio didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll stay at my house by myself if I have to, and if you try to keep me away from my house I’ll stay in the damn woods. I’m not leaving,” he said, surprising Bill with an uncharacteristic burst of frustrated anger.
“Okay, you can stay. I think I can come up with another one of Faye’s feather pillows.”
* * *
The small line of light running along the far wall widened until the rectangle of light revealed the face of Captain Sam Jones. Sam was stretched out on the concrete bed with his sport coat still on. It was two in the afternoon, but for the last couple of weeks he’d had to catch what little sleep he could whenever he could find it.
“Sam?” Bill said from the doorway.
Sam’s eyes fluttered. He brought one of his big hands up to block out the bright light in the hall. “Don’t tell me we’ve got media troubles again,” Sam said his voice still hoarse and cracking from sleep.
“No, it’s the FBI again.”
Sam started to roll onto his side, but a pain in his upper back prevented him. “Bill, these hard beds are killin’ me.”
“I know. I’m sleepin’ at my desk now. Takes longer to get to sleep, but I don’t wake up with a crick in my neck or a catch in my back.”
Sam turned his head to Bill. His eyes were still adjusting to the light. All he could see was Bill’s outline. “What’d the Feds have to say this time?”
“Same as before, for the most part. As long as we keep telling them it’s a serial murderer and the state’s handling it, they’re okay, but they’re starting to ask questions about some of the rumors they’re hearing.”
“You think they know something we don’t?”
“No. If they did they’d already be down here.”
“True,” Sam replied. He tried once more to rise, but found the knot in his back was still there.
“I wouldn’t have bothered you, but Anderson said he needed to talk to you.” Special Agent Steve Anderson was a friend of Sam’s; he was supposed to be helping keep the Feds off their backs. Bill had only met Anderson on a couple of occasions and didn’t hold him in quite the same high regard as Sam did. “I hope he hasn’t screwed something up for us.”
“Actually, he’s been a lot of help keeping Washington out of this one.”
“Anderson?” Bill asked, genuinely shocked. “That kid couldn’t find his ass with both hands.”
“That kid just turned fifty-five and he’s got three grandchildren.” Sam laughed. “Bill, we’re gettin’ old.”
Bill didn’t reply.
“Anderson probably just found out about what I worked out with the State and wants to know what to tell Washington if they ask.”
“Speaking of which, what did you work out?”
Sam smiled, “Let’s just say being one of the living legends of the Lone Star State has its benefits. I called Austin and told them we need more manpower. They’ve got about two dozen more troopers and game wardens heading our way as we speak, and they promised more later in the week, perhaps even the national guard, although that would have to be okayed by Washington.”
“Looks like something finally went our way,” Bill commented.
Sam tried once more to get up and failed again. He grimaced, and glanced over at Bill. “Are you going to stand there or are you going to come over here and help me get up?”
* * *
That night passed quietly. When James finally was able to drift off to sleep, he found he was able to get some real sleep, up until the middle of the night, when the beast awoke from its temporary lair in a dried-out creek bed.
This time it was a new experience for James. He was used to his senses merging with those of the beast, including the sense of touch. But all day it hadn’t dawned on him that he would also feel the numerous injuries the beast had acquired during the day. The pain wasn’t as bad as James would have imagined due to the extent of the injuries; apparently he benefited from the beast’s high pain threshold just like he benefited from its heightened senses. But the pain was there, and was certainly a far cry from comfortable. The beast’s enti
re left side was sore, and every breath caused the left side of its chest to throb. Its right hand also hurt, especially the first two fingers.
The beast pulled itself out of the creek bed. As it did, pain shot through its left ankle. It climbed up on the bank, and lay back down.
James then saw something that reinforced his belief in the beast’s human-like intelligence. The beast grabbed its right middle finger and set the broken bone in place. The pain was extreme, but still not as much as it would have been if it had been James’ own finger.
The beast then began to lick its wounds. James found the taste of the thing’s blood along with the mud from the creek bed to be unbearably repulsive. He began to try to wake up, and after only a few seconds was able to do so.
Once he was awake, James got dressed and went to the dispatcher’s office, where he chatted with Clara and Jack for a few hours. Neither proved to be much of a conversationalist so at around three in the morning, James decided to try sleeping again. If the beast was up, he could check on it and see if it was hunting; if it was asleep, James could get some rest. He was hoping for the latter. When he settled back in and fell asleep, he drifted into a deep dreamless sleep. Obviously the beast was worn out from the day before and asleep as well.
The next morning James, Emilio, Bill, and Sam gathered in Bill’s office to discuss James’ vision of the night before. James told them of the banged up condition of the creature, and they were hopeful it was dying. But James told them he doubted it.
The next day was spent mostly dodging reporters. James, Emilio, and Bill stayed pretty much in the Sheriff’s Department under siege by the masses of cameras and recorders outside. Sam was in charge of playing ringmaster to the hoard of reporters, keeping them up to date on the progress of the investigations of the killings, especially the investigation into the death of Jana Parish. In fact, many of the Newton townspeople were sick of hearing her name. They felt the media was treating the entire tragedy like it was a dramatic play entitled: THE TRAGIC DEATH OF JANA PARISH (and a few unnamed peons).
