by R. Gualtieri
“Good to hear,” Mitchell replied.
“We did some work for DARPA a few years back. At the time, everything was upgraded to government standards. You should be able to connect to whatever systems you need to.”
“Network logs?”
“Disabled as well.”
“And the equipment itself?”
“All of the machines with local memory have been backed up and wiped as per your instructions, Dr. Harkness.”
“Mister,” Mitchell corrected. “And you can call me Mitch.”
“Very well, Mitch. As for the master passwords, I’ll be sending one of our lab techs up with them later. I’ve taken the liberty of freeing up his schedule. Make use of him as you will.”
“That’s very kind of you, doctor. I can definitely use the help. I appreciate your foresight.”
The rest of the team stood back and let Mitchell take charge. Though Derek was every bit at home in the lab as his friend, he knew Mitch really had a knack for it. Though a medic and field researcher, Mitchell’s organizational skills far exceeded his own. Truth be told, Derek was happy to let him run the show. Lab work, though necessary, had always bored him.
As for the rest, Francis’s eyes glazed over the moment they stepped foot into the place, whereas Danni’s interest was marginal at best even though, as junior member of the team, if Mitchell needed help she was first on deck for the job. She was still a student, and as such, a little extra learning wasn’t a bad thing as far as Derek was concerned ... whether she liked it or not.
♦ ♦ ♦
A short while later, one of Zeist’s men arrived with the samples Donald Krychech had promised. By then, Derek and Francis had returned to the vehicles to begin correlating the disappearances with both the recent sightings and historical data, leaving their remaining two teammates in the lab to begin the analysis.
“What the heck is this gunk?” Danni asked, eying the sealed plastic container.
Her question was met with silence.
“I believe my teammate asked you something,” Mitchell said, looking up from where he was preparing slides of the secretions.
“Mr. Krychech told you his thoughts. I have nothing further to add,” Eric replied crisply, ignoring Danni.
She could have gladly slugged the asshole. First Yarlberg had practically mounted her with his eyes. Now this sexist jackass was barely giving her the time of day.
Mitchell seemed to sense the tension as he was quick to add, “If that’s the extent of what you have to offer, you’re free to leave.”
“The governor sent us to make sure the sample isn’t compromised.”
“Compromised?”
“They probably think we’re going to put it up for sale on eBay,” Danni replied, causing Eric to glower at her from behind his mirrored sunglasses. The guy was a major creep, as far as she was concerned.
“Jar of monster snot,” Mitchell said. “I’m sure we could get at least three-hundred for it.”
“At the very least. Is that what it is, by the way?”
“Could be,” he admitted. “Until we’re up and running, your guess is as good as mine. Could be snot. Could be mucus. Could be an anal secretion for all I know.”
Danni backed up a step. “Glad I let you touch it first.”
“Bottom line is I’m not sure.” Mitchell lifted his arms and stretched. “I’ll start prepping the samples for a deeper analysis.” He turned toward the security director. “Under what circumstances were these collected? If they’re contaminated...”
“You’ll have to discuss that with Mr. Krychech,” Eric answered sharply.
“Well, he’s not here and I don’t have his phone number.”
“He’s a busy man. I’ll pass your question on to him.”
“Thanks,” Mitchell replied dryly before turning back to Danni. “Let’s get to work. Hopefully, by the time we’re ready, that lab tech will be here.”
“Want me to give Dr. Reingold a call?” Danni asked.
Before Mitchell could reply, though, the door opened. Zeist and his men visibly tensed as a young man entered. He was in his early twenties at the latest and of average height. He had short brown hair, a medium build, and wore glasses. Overall there was nothing overly remarkable about his appearance.
The newcomer stopped just inside the door. He nervously glanced around, taking stock of them all. Danni couldn’t help but notice his eyes momentarily widen with recognition as they settled on her and Mitchell, although he was quick to avert his gaze.
What are the odds he watches the show? Danni pondered, inwardly smirking.
“Mr. Harkness?” the newcomer asked, then quickly added, “Ms. Kent.” Mitchell nodded and he continued, “I’m Arthur Killian. I work with ... for ... Dr. Reingold. I’m here to, well, help you in any way I can.”
“Glad you could make it,” Mitchell replied. “Although we can drop the formality, unless you’d prefer us to call you Mr. Killian, that is.”
“No, sir.”
“Relax, son. I’m Mitch. This is Danni.”
“I know. I watch your show. I just wanted to let you both know that...”
“It’s nice to meet you, Arthur.” Danni offered her hand to him. After a moment, he took it and gave a quick shake with a slightly sweaty palm before pulling back as if she were hot to the touch.
Hopefully he’d get over his nervousness quickly. The show wasn’t that big of a deal, as far as Danni was concerned. It’s not like her and Mitch were Hollywood stars. Besides, it would be nice to talk with someone her own age. Heck, this was a college campus. She wouldn’t have minded being given the tour and maybe checking the local hangouts. The past year had been busy for just about everything except her social life. She could barely remember the last time she’d done something simple like sit down to chill with some friends over a burger.
Of course, this wasn’t a social outing, she reminded herself. They were here to work. Still, it’s not like there wouldn’t be some downtime. Hell, there was a good chance the whole thing was just a crock to begin with, a smokescreen to keep the governor from getting any bad press.
“Here, mister ... err, Mitch,” Arthur said, handing him a printout. “It’s a list of all the master passwords, as well as some instructions for navigating our network. I’d be more than happy to show you how to work anything in here.”
“Thanks. I’m good for now, just stay close,” Mitchell replied, opening the paper and walking over to the nearest terminal. He logged in, then headed over to the centrifuge.
Danni had seen this before. Once Mitchell was on the case, he tended to tune out everyone else. Oftentimes, her assistance came down to little more than reminding him to occasionally take a lunch break. Not that she minded, though. Most of this stuff was of little interest to her. She could always devote the time to her own studies or, at worst, listen to some music on her phone. Of course, with Zeist and his goons around, she wasn’t likely to let her guard down enough to relax.
She noticed Arthur standing there, a look of helplessness on his face, and smirked. If he was waiting for Mitchell’s input, he might be waiting for a while.
“Don’t worry,” she said, stepping alongside him and causing him to jump ever so slightly. “He gets like this.”
“U-um,” Arthur stammered, “is there anything we should be doing to help?”
“Not really. If he needs it, he’ll ask ... and he almost never asks.”
“Oh.”
Almost as if on cue, Mitchell turned to them. “This is going to take a while. I’m afraid there won’t be much for either of you to do until it’s finished. So ... if either of you have somewhere to be, now’s the time.” Just as quickly, he focused on his work again.
As I thought. “I have an idea,” Danni said to Arthur. “He’s going to be busy for a couple of hours, and I doubt the others will want to bother him while he’s working. Why don’t you show me around campus?”
“Well...”
“We won’t go far. I have my cell if he needs us.”
“I guess...”
“Awesome!” she said. “Mitch, we’re gonna go grab some fresh air. Call me if you need anything.”
“Sure thing,” he absentmindedly replied, tuning the electron microscope.
“Come on.” She grabbed Arthur by the hand, noticing how he flinched at her touch.
Danni rolled her eyes. She had almost forgotten how shy some guys could be. Arthur kind of reminded her of Rob, her brother’s old roommate. He’d also been...
She quickly pushed that thought away. She didn’t need to be reminded of that right now. Bonanza Creek could stay buried in the past for at least today.
“Why don’t you show me what passes for the local roach coach?” she said as they approached the door. Eric and one of his men stood flanking it. “Are furloughs allowed, or should I stay in my cell?”
He glowered down at her for a moment, but then shrugged dismissively.
Dickhead. She stepped out the door and Arthur followed a moment later.
“This way, I guess,” he said, taking the lead.
After they had rounded a corner and were out of earshot, he turned and asked, “What’s up with that one guy? He’s kind of creepy.”
“Nothing,” she replied offhandedly. “Just your typical run-of-the-mill asshole.”
CHAPTER 12
Bob Hernandez scanned the empty street in front of them, wondering how such an easy gig could go south so quickly. “Where the fuck did they go?”
“I told you to take that left.”
“Nobody likes a backseat driver, man,” Bob replied to Chris Hopper, his partner for this assignment. It was shit duty like this that made him hate his job some days. The fact that Eric had seemingly gone out of his way to piss off their guests earlier certainly hadn’t helped matters. As a result, they hadn’t even waited to reach the city limits to make a run for it.
Hopper placed the copy of Field & Stream he’d been reading onto the dashboard. “You gotta admit, it’s pretty impressive. Can’t be easy to pull a Houdini with a ride like that.”
“It is when your ass is busy planning your next fishing trip instead of acting as lookout.”
“Not my fault they went squirrelly on us. Maybe next time the boss should actually say ‘hi’ first before he pulls out his dick and has a pissing match with the people we’re supposed to babysit.”
“I don’t see you telling him that.”
“That’s because I enjoy getting a paycheck.”
Bob shook his head, then turned down Myrtle Street, hoping to catch sight of the jet black boat of a SUV. Unfortunately, the numerous side streets and turn-offs made it nearly impossible to tell where they’d gone without getting lucky. “So what do we do now?”
“Not sure there’s much that needs doing,” Hopper replied. “They didn’t do anything wrong. We were just asked to keep an eye on them.”
“Which we fucked up.”
“True, but do you want to radio that in?”
“We kinda have to.”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean we have to do it right away. It’s not like these guys are under arrest.”
Bob considered this. “I suppose being bitched out can wait until after lunch.” He turned to Hopper. “There’s a new Mexican place up on Fourth. What do you say?”
“Now you’re talking.”
♦ ♦ ♦
It took Francis all of five minutes to ditch their government-issued escort.
With Mitch and Danni occupied and Zeist overseeing things, Derek realized there was no time like the present to head over to Shilough and get a lay of the land.
He knew that Zeist’s personal goon squad could probably track them down if they took a few minutes to figure it out. But he was willing to bet these guys were probably more closely related to mall cops than any sort of actual trained security detail.
“That was pathetically easy,” Francis said from the driver’s seat of the SUV, almost sounding disappointed. “I mean, hell, we’re pretty hard to miss in this boat.”
“Better to ask forgiveness than permission,” Derek replied, scanning his phone for any messages. So far, it was clear. Apparently Zeist’s men weren’t too keen on phoning their boss to let him know how quickly their assignment had turned to shit.
“Think our new masters are going to be in a forgiving mood?”
“Ask me if I care.”
Roughly forty minutes later, they took the exit from 206 as directed by the GPS and turned southeast toward Shilough. After a few more miles, when the device got confused and tried to get them to make a U-turn in a bog, Derek turned it off. “Just keep following this road.”
“You sure?”
Derek shrugged, noting to himself how much difference a couple of miles made, even in such a densely packed state. The road they were on had narrowed greatly. Now there was barely enough space for two cars to pass each other going in opposite directions. There wasn’t much room for error, as the shoulder gave way to a ditch on both sides. “No, but it has to let out somewhere.”
“If you say so,” Francis said, “but I’m not seeing any signs for Shilough. Just for the record, the Atlantic City Expressway is only a few miles back the way we came. Personally, I think we’ll have a better shot at the craps table than with this turd hunt.”
“Don’t tempt me.” Derek sat up straight in the passenger seat and pointed. “Over there. I do believe we’ve hit paydirt.”
“Dirt anyway,” Francis replied as they passed a tiny sign which read ‘Shilough: Established 1813.’”
As it turned out, the sign was a fitting precursor for the town itself.
Francis scowled as they drove past a beaten-down bait shop. “We really should make a game of road bingo for shit-holes like this.”
“It’s not that bad. It’s kind of quaint.”
“Quaint, huh?” Francis pointed to an old church with a sign outside proclaiming that homosexuals were damned to burn in the fires of hell. “Why don’t cryptids ever haunt anywhere nice?”
“There’s that reptoid population living beneath Los Angeles.”
“Beneath, and Los Angeles are the keywords there.”
“What about last year when we were down in Australia for that rogue Yowie? That was nice.”
“If you call being bitten by a dingo nice. I mean, seriously. Would it really hurt one of these things to, say, show up in Bermuda or maybe Saint Martin?”
“There’s no pleasing some people,” Derek said with a smile before turning serious again. “Hello, what’s this?”
Near the far end of the dingy little town, tucked back from the road, Derek spied a small, one story structure. It didn’t seem any more remarkable than anything else they’d seen so far. What caught his eye, however, was the old hand-painted sign out in front of it. It depicted a faded image of a winged creature and had the words “Devil Museum” printed above it.
“Even the worst dung heap on the planet is going to have at least one tourist trap.” Despite his complaints, Francis pulled in to the gravel lot and parked the large SUV. “Think they’ll have anything useful in there?”
“Doubt it,” Derek replied as the other man shut off the engine. “From the look of the place, I’m half surprised it isn’t condemned. But you never know. Blind squirrel theory and all. Grab the gear. Worst case, maybe we can get some usable footage. It sure as hell looks like they could use whatever publicity we can give them.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Francis took a few minutes to film the nearly empty street. If not for the working traffic lights and a few small stores displaying neon “Open” signs, one might have thought they were in an abandoned ghost town.
“Kinda creepy.”
“It’s the middle of the day,” Derek said. “Kids are in school and their parents are at work. I bet this place is hopping on the weekends.” He smiled and added, “O
r at least limping. How’s it look?”
“I think that’s good for now. Let me get a shot of that sign and then we can go in.”
Derek waited for him to do so, then they both walked toward the front entrance. “And now for the moment of discovery.” He turned the handle of the door, firmly expecting to find it locked. It wasn’t. A bell jingled overhead as it opened.
“Think the Smithsonian should be worried?” Francis whispered.
They found themselves in a large, open space. A modest number of display cases and photos lined the walls. Before they could do much in the way of examining them, a man stepped in from a back room and approached them.
“My apologies for the delay,” he replied in a slightly guarded voice. “The museum also functions as my home. I was in the back enjoying some afternoon TV.”
“That’s ... no problem at all,” Derek replied, forcing himself not to stare.
The proprietor was tall, thin, and appeared to be middle-aged, but it was his face that caught Derek’s attention. He had a crooked nose, a protruding brow, and an overly pronounced underbite which gave his face a decisively off-balance appearance.
The man walked up to them. “Admission is two dollars per person.”
“Not a problem.” Derek pulled out his wallet and extracted a bill. “Sorry. I only have a twenty.”
“I’m a little short on change,” the man replied. “However, donations are both welcome and tax deductible.”
Derek smiled and handed the money over. “Of course. Always happy to help out a local business.”
“Much appreciated.” The admissions fee quickly disappeared into the man’s pocket, almost as if he were afraid Derek might change his mind. He made to turn toward the displays, but then stopped and glanced toward Francis, who was preparing to turn his camera on again.
The man held up a hand. “I am afraid there is no photography allowed. Video, too. Some of the artifacts here are unique, and we would prefer visitors come see them in person rather than on some website.”
“We?” Derek asked.
