There's Blood on the Moon Tonight

by Bryn Roar

  The stumpy looking fellow outside the car seemed to defer to both of the men in the SUV. He stepped off the running board. “Understood, sir. But shouldn’t I wait here in case those kids come out this way?”

  “Negative. I need you to head over to the Sheriff’s office. Tell him we think it’s a couple of young men. Probably those same damn kids who’re always hanging around out here.The Creeps. He’ll know who I’m talking about. By the time he gets off his ass those boys will most likely be at the wax museum, cooling their heels. I’d call Rupert on my cell, but these days you never know who might be listening in. Tell him to get on this right now! If he gives you any static, call me right back. Just be discrete on the telephone, capice?”

  “Copy that, sir. Where will I find you once I’m finished in town?”

  “Probably back at the base examining the bodies. What a mess! Three infections in one day! Let’s just hope we nipped this thing in the bud this time. We can’t afford another clusterfuck like ’96. Damn, this shit is red hot!” He said the last with, what sounded like to Josie, avarice cheer. “At least now we know the super strain works.”

  “It can all blow up in our faces,” the second man in the Explorer reminded him, “if the mutation was passed on to those contacts from yesterday or this morning.”

  “I concur,” said the bald man. He was standing outside the open car door, blocking Josie’s view of the men inside the vehicle. The same lab rat she and Ralphie had run across that morning. Mr. Clean. He pleaded with the driver. “There are too many variables, boss. Too many loose ends. I still say we should get more men and comb these woods for victims. We can’t risk an outbreak! Hell, this whole fucking island needs to be quarantined!”

  Josie finally caught a glimpse of the man in charge. The driver of the Explorer. He was wringing the steering wheel as if it was somebody’s neck. Mr. Clean’s, most likely. Josie had to gasp for air. Dr. Clint Bidwell!

  Moon Island’s long time Family Physician tossed Cutter his biohazard headgear. “Don’t be hysterical, John. Such an action at this point would shut us down faster than you can say multi-millionaire. Which is what we’ll all be if we don’t lose our heads here. We’ve still got test subject 138, and there’s only a small window of time left to run further tests on him before he expires. Besides, those boys are probably home by now, hiding underneath their beds. Believe me, If they’re hurt, I’ll hear about it soon enough. That’s my day job; remember? The Sheriff can tie up those loose ends you’re so worried about, while we get back to the real business at hand!”

  He spun out, leaving John Cutter staring after him. Once Bidwell was out of sight, Mr. Clean shot both hands over his baldhead, twin go-to-hell-birds in the air.

  Josie watched him climb into the other Explorer and start the vehicle, all the while cursing under his breath. She stayed hidden until the truck had gone out of sight, then climbed back over the fence, leaving Joel’s fishing gear tucked along the edge of the wall. She’d return for it later.

  She felt pulled in opposite directions. Stay the course and find the boys, or get her shiny hienie back to the museum before the sheriff paid her frightened little friend there a visit. “Feck it,” she said, sprinting towards the deep woods. “God willing, I can still do both.”

  *******

  Every time Tubby attempted to speak, Bud would shush him. They sat there in the dark of the sinkhole for what seemed like an eternity before Bud finally whispered in his ear. “I’m going to slide out there and see if the coast is clear. You wait here.”

  Tubby’s eyes widened. “No! Bud, I can’t—”

  “SHHHHH!!!”

  “Sorry. Sorry. Just don’t leave me in here.”

  Bud sighed. “Listen to me, Ralph. Those assholes may be waiting on the other side. If you stay here until I give you the all clear—”

  “Please, Bud!”

  “Okay, Hoss. Okay. Just stay close behind me.”

  On that exasperated note, Bud led the way, sliding out on his belly. A root grabbed Tubby’s sweatshirt, and that was it for him. His imagination had stretched to its very limits and snapped under the pressure. In Tubby’s mind, that lonely, lost kid had reached out from behind him, pulling him back to that moldy mound of leaves…

  NO! LET GO! LET GO! I DON’T WANNA STAY! I DON’T WANNA PLAY!!”

  He didn’t stop screaming until Bud reached back to set him free. “I’m sorry,” Tubby whimpered. “So sorry!”

  “At least now we’ll know if they’re still out there,” Bud said, not bothering to whisper anymore. “I bet they heard you screaming over on the mainland.”

  They stood on the other side of the chamber, watching the lip of the sinkhole above them for several more seconds. Waiting to see if anyone would show up.

  Bud’s eyes slid over to Tubby. “Hear that?”

  “Hear what? I don’t hear anything but crickets and birds…oh!” His eyes grew wide. As did his smile. His girlish screams hadn’t given them away after all! “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Tubby was about to ask him how he intended on getting them out of the sinkhole, when Bud did his Tarzan thing, climbing out on the thick, hanging roots spilling into the hole. In no time at all he was up and out of the pit, with Tubby struggling far behind. Ralph had to rest more than once, his arms trembling, his face pressed into the dirt wall. His feet scrabbling for purchase. Eventually he reached up and dragged himself, hand over fist, out of the hole.

  He lay there on the ground, gasping for air, his heart slamming inside his chest, the pounding in synch with the little black dots pulsating in his field of vision.

  Good grief, he despaired, holding on to his thumping left tit. I think I’m having a heart attack!

  He was a little surprised Bud hadn’t given him a hand. He managed to roll his head to either side, in search of his friend, but Bud was nowhere in sight. For a moment, panic had its way with him again. Violating his every sense. No! This is Bud you’re thinking about here! Bud would never have abandoned him. No way. Not that guy!

  Tubby tried sitting up but couldn’t even lift his head from the ground. “I have got to lose some weight.”

  He had just gotten his heart rate under a hundred beats per minute, when a shadow fell over him. He peeked through one twitching eyelid to see Bud standing over him, smiling. “Gee, Bud. I’d kiss ya, if only I could get up.”

  Bud sat on his haunches, scanning the woods around them. “Catch your breath first, big guy. I took a look around. Those lab rats made themselves scarce. Even the remains of the chimp are gone. The ground there’s soaked with some sort of bleach concoction. I sure wish we’d thought of that yesterday.”

  “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Tubby asked him. “That they’re gone, I mean.”

  Bud didn’t look so certain. “Maybe. It could mean they’ve just fallen back, and are even now watching the perimeter of the Pines. Waiting for us to walk right into their hands. Even so, we’ve got to get back to Joe and Rusty. They’ll come looking for us if we don’t.”

  From their present location, it would take about two hours of brisk hiking to connect with the Old Oyster Trail. And in doing so, they’d be walking deeper into the Pines. Bud decided the safest way out was still the Cemetery Road. “We’ll just have to be extra careful when it comes time to leave the woods. Be prepared to run back into the interior. If necessary, we can hide out in the Bunker.”

  Bud helped Tubby to his feet and brushed the leaves off his sweatshirt, giving his friend another moment to catch his breath. “Ready, Hoss?”

  “As long as we’re not diving into any more sinkholes, then yeah, I’m ready.”

  They had walked for nearly half-an-hour, both of them listening for the telltale sign of a quiet forest. It had served them well, time and again. It was as if the crickets and birds had their backs. “Bud,” Tubby said softly. “How’d you know that sinkhole wasn’t flooded?”

  “Me and the guys used
to play war games back here when we were kids. Sometimes hide and seek.” Bud turned to Tubby and smiled. “And nobody’s better at that game than yours truly. There are forty or so sinkholes around here that I’ve explored over the years. Some even more complex than the one we just hid in. Only six that I know of are really flooded. We were lucky enough, though.”

  “How’s that?”

  “It could’ve been occupied by something nastier than a snake.”

  “Speaking of which, how’d you know it was a corn snake down there?”

  Bud laughed. “I didn’t. For all I know that was a water moccasin crawling over your foot.”

  Before Tubby could react to that bit of news, a loud rustling in the bushes brought them to another screeching halt. Bud pointed to Tubby’s left and hissed, “Run!”

  Whereupon Tubby Tolson fell flat on his face, tripping over a hidden root. Bud reached down to help him up, but it was too late. Someone, or some thing, was crashing through the brush. There would be no convenient sinkhole to dive into this time.

  Bud stepped over Tubby and slid his hand into his pocket. Like a curtain, the foliage parted, and there was Josie O’Hara. An Amazonian warrior in blue jean cut offs.

  She put her hands on her hips and arched one eyebrow saucily. “Is that a pistol in your pocket, Buddy boy? Or are you just happy to see me?”

  *******

  “How’d…you…find…us…so…quickly?” Tubby asked between gulps of air. He was out of breath again and struggling to keep up with his friends. Josie insisted it was urgent they get back to the museum right away.

  She glanced back at him. “I followed the tire tracks into the woods. Nothing too it, really. Wasn’t long before I heard you girls chatting away back in there.”

  “I still say it was a stupid thing to do,” Bud said, scowling. “You’re lucky you didn’t run into those lab rats!”

  “Lucky?! You’re damn right I was lucky! Lucky I was there in the cemetery to hear Bidwell’s plans to quarantine us! Lucky enough, I hope, to warn Rusty to keep his big mouth shut! I told you, Bud, you can’t trust adults!”

  Josie’s anger seemed over the top. “Damn, Josie. You act as if this is my fault.” He was still trying to process the news that Dr. Bidwell was somehow involved with the Research Center. He couldn’t make sense of that at all.

  They were coming up on the Cemetery Road entrance. To Tubby’s relief they came to a stop at the logging chain, cautiously looking both ways before stepping over it. Except for Mr. Pete’s pick up truck, the side street was empty of cars. And people. Josie wiped her face with the hem of her T-shirt. “No, Bud. I’m not saying it’s your fault. It’s just that for someone who can be so reckless at times, so Rebel-Without-a-Cause, your trust in the adult world confounds me.”

  “What the hell, Joe! What we were supposed to do? Keep the news about the rabies to ourselves?”

  “No, of course not. But why couldn’t the anonymous call be enough for you? Why did you find it necessary to risk your freedom—shite, Bud, our freedom—on this fact-finding mission of yours?”

  Realizing she had his number Bud could only shake his head. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see how the Center fit in to all this.”

  Josie put her hand on the back of his head, wondering how she was going to break the news to him about Oscar Wilson. What would it do to Bud’s already fragile psyche? “I’m sorry for going off on you like that, love. I know your intentions are good. You had no way of knowing the Center would insist on such drastic steps—”

  “Are you sure you heard Bidwell say that, Josie? To quarantine any and all witnesses?”

  “I was close enough to spit on him! That’s why we’ve got to get to Rusty before the sheriff does! Remember what you said in the diner? If anyone questioned us before you got back, we were to say we saw the dog in the Pines. Bud, If Rusty tells Rupert that…”

  Tubby looked up from the ground where he’d fallen to his knees. His face was an alarming shade of purple. “Listen…ya’ll…go ahead… I’ll meet up…with you…later.”

  Bud put his hand on Tubby’s heaving shoulder. The boy’s sweatshirt was sopping wet. “You sure, Ralph?”

  Tubby nodded and waved them on ahead.

  “Rusty…you must help…Rusty!”

  *******

  Rupert Henderson pulled his patrol car in front of the wax museum. As usual, finding a parking space in front of the enormous building was no trouble at all. As far as he was concerned, the museum was the biggest waste of space on the island. It never did any business to warrant so much square footage. Even so, he respected the owner Bill Brown, an ex-lawman himself. Maybe respected was the wrong word—feared was more like it. He’d seen the results of that man’s ill temper, and didn’t want any part of it.

  He got out of his Crown Vic and ignored the parking meter in front of him. He’d only been in the wax museum one other time and was of the opinion it was the worst kind of trash. “Monsters, mayhem, and madness. All that horror shit rots the young ‘uns minds. Damn near bad as crack cocaine,” he said, pulling on the front door.

  Not that Rupert Henderson had much experience with users of that narcotic. Before taking on the job here as sheriff, he’d been a deputy in a backwater Georgia town, where crystal meth was the illicit drug of choice. He’d always assumed he’d gotten the job as Moon Island’s Chief Constable due to his qualifications, but the fact was Rupert had been the only experienced lawman to even put in an application. Jesse and Ham Huggins had in fact begged Bill Brown to take the job, but Bilbo refused the long-term position. He of course had other plans. That left Deputy Dawg, as Rusty Huggins called the old man.

  As Rupert entered the shadowy lobby, cold air hit him in the face, drying the sweat trickling down his forehead and back. He lazily scanned the lobby, finding two kids to question. Rusty Huggins, behind the concession stand, and the little O’Hara boy, playing one of them damn vidier games. Fucking things rotted the young ‘uns minds.

  He took out his notebook from his back pocket and flipped it open. He studied the names he’d written down earlier in his office, thirty minutes before coming down here:Bud Brown. Josie O’Hara. Rusty Huggins. Question: concerning gray mutt and Oscar Wilson. (Chimp?) Contact Bidwell if they’ve had any contact with either! Whereabouts today and yesterday afternoon. Note any injuries. (Bloodshot eyes??)

  He saw the spooked look on Rusty’s face, and let the runt sweat it out some, refusing to acknowledge him just yet. It had been a strange couple of days on Moon. The strangest in fact since the fall of ’96, when Moon Island suffered its very first murder. Now the island had its second homicide under its belt—despite what those eggheads at the Center said to the contrary. He himself had discovered the corpse that very morning, after receiving the second anonymous call in as many days. That last call, though, had been about a dog behaving strangely, possibly rabies, not the dead man he’d practically stepped on out there!

  It bothered him particularly that both calls involved the Pines. It was common knowledge on Moon that those delinquents who called themselvesThe Creeps were the only people who hung out in them damn woods anymore.

  “Creeps,” Henderson said, sucking at the gap in his false teeth. It sounded an awful lot like a gangname to him. Gangs, they rotted the young ‘uns minds. He took off his Smokey hat and wiped down the prickly gray stubble on his head with a red bandana he kept tucked in the crown. He was getting long in the tooth, be sixty-one come January, and was counting down the months until he could retire next year. He scratched his dry scalp in thought. Dandruff floated down on his shoulders like scabby snow. Funny thing, that fire yesterday. Old lady Purcell told him it sounded like kids…two of ‘em…who had placed the 911. One of ‘em claimed to be Lester Noonan. Mighty suspicious since Rupert knew it to be a dang lie! He’d seen Noonan practically diddling that slut Tansy Wilky in front of Moon Island Treats, not thirty minutes before the call came in, his hand up under her short skirt, rootin’ around in her panties. No
way had that punk set the fire. He didn’t have the time! Moreover, when Rupert had come out of the Pines, hadn’t he seen thatCreep Rusty Huggins standing around with a bunch of other gawking kids? Yes, sir! In fact, he’d been with that fat boy whose family had just moved to Moon. Tolson, he believed their name was.