The call came in over my police scanner as I approached Exit 9 on the NJ Turnpike. My boss, To-ny Vincenzo, had sent me on an all- expenses -paid weekend to Atlantic City. As I walked into the office one morning, I found I had won a stay in a raffle. I praised the youngster who had squeezed the dollar out of the Great Vincenzo. Tony’s accountant cousin plots out his expenditures of every cent, and a dollar must have raised a red flag.

I pulled off the exit, happy to get off the monotonous highway. The NJ Turnpike looked the same along its entire length, from Delaware to the NY border. East Brunswick was typical of New Jersey. The number of people packed into a region the size of Israel is astonishing. Yet, there were bountiful farms spread throughout the lower half of the state.

I followed the directions with care. My paper, the Boston Scoop, provided my GPS. The eight-year-old device lacked the technology to give the speedy information I needed to get to my destination. The number of strip malls I passed along the way made my head spin. I missed the exit because my GPS told me to turn after I had passed it. A few minutes later, I made a U-turn. Confused by a Jersey loop and a ramp, I ended up on Warren Road.

Warren Road wove its way past several quiet neighborhoods. I turned when my device told me to, and I spotted the flashing lights of the police cars. A wide field of open land stretched out before me as I pulled up behind an ambulance. I climbed out of my rental car and looked around the barren landscape.

The police gathered in a tight group on one side of the road. Two cars had their flashers blaring. I walked up and saw a scene I had encountered all too often.

Three bodies lay on the ground: two women and one man. They lay on their bellies where they had fallen. I could see no blood. I noticed something odd about their hair.

“Who the hell are you?” said an authoritative voice. I tore my eyes away and saw the imposing form of a local lawman. He was a head taller than me, dressed in a spotless uniform. A clean beard and mus-tache framed a face unfamiliar with tragedy until now. He looked soft, but the way he moved toward me showed he could handle himself.

“Carl Kolchak. Boston Scoop.” I held out my ID.

“I don’t care if you’re Mary Poppins,” he said. “What are you doing here from Boston?”

“I was coming back from a story in Atlantic City and heard the alert.” I lied about my visit to the ca-sino. He didn’t need to know that I had spent 48 hours doing absolutely nothing.

“What do you want, Mr. Kolchak?”

“I’m here to cover a story. What do you want, sheriff?”

He stood there, fuming. He didn’t want me there, but he knew I had every right to be there. I had my pocket Constitution with me and could debate with him about Freedom of the Press. It wasn’t neces-sary, as his tone softened. “Step away from here a moment.”

We backed away until we were just out of sight of the bodies. The coroner pulled up as we stopped moving.

“Sheriff Harlan Jackson,” he began. I shook his hand. “Someone driving by noticed the cars here and called us. One of our cars drove here and found this.”

“What is this, sheriff?”

“Three people parked their cars and left them. As you saw, they were all standing in the same general area. A minute or so after they left their cars, something killed them.”

“Do you know what that is?”

“Not yet. There’s no sign of violence aside from their heads. I want you to give me your word that what I’m going to tell you will stay off the record.”

“Of course, sheriff. I’m always discrete.” Little did he know.

“The victims are missing their brains.”

“Their brains? How?”

“That we don’t know yet. It happened quick. None of them took more than a step before it struck them down. All of them experienced death at once. That’s clear from them still being together.”

“That’s horrible,” I said.

Sheriff Jackson looked both ways before he looked me in the eye. “This is the third incident of its kind this week.”

“Meaning what?”

“Five more people have died the same way.”

“Their brains?” said Tony. “Let me get this straight, Carl. Eight people in one week have had their brains removed on remote roads in the middle of New Jersey.”

“That’s the story so far, Tony,” I said. “I’ll have the pictures and full details in the morning.”

“You will? That’ll be different. How’d you get the pictures?”

“I have my methods, Tony. You know that.”

“You don’t have them.”

“No, no. I’ve got them. I just need to get better ones.”

“All right, Carl. Stick with it and don’t get it any trouble. And get receipts. Your vacation is over as of an hour ago.”

“Thanks, Tony.”

I took a dozen pictures before the assistant coroner took the bodies away. I called the coroner’s office and got a statement from him. The deaths had cost the coroner his annual vacation to Orlando. Regarding the crimes, he mentioned visiting him at the coroner’s office later in the day. I received the address and confirmed my attendance.

This was a good story, a big one. Residents being killed by drones? Their brains stolen by those same drones? I could smell the entire story now, and lots of follow-up reports before the larger networks even got wind of it.

As the coroner drove off, the sheriff called to me. His men were silhouettes on the horizon, combing the area with their flashlights.

“Mr. Kolchak, I’ll need you to hold the story for a bit.”

“How long? This needs to be in the public eye.”

“Just hold it for 48 hours. I don’t want a panic to break out.”

“I can understand, sheriff.”

“And I also don’t want the town crawling with reporters. One is bad enough, no offense.”

“None taken.”

“Good. Just to make myself clear. You are here at my discretion. Gather your story. Take whatever pictures you deem necessary. Let me see everything you do.”

“But I’ll get my story.”

“Play by my rules, and I won’t stop you from exercising your Constitutional Rights.”

“You got a deal, sheriff.” We shook hands. Little did he know I had sent the photos I had to Vincen-zo. Tony had to delay the story, or East Brunswick would expel me. Or I’d be in jail in New Jersey for a while. Calling Tony was the easier choice.

“Hold off on the story,” said Tony, as calm as he could manage. “What the hell does that mean, Carl? Remind me, what is it we do?”

“We report the news.”

“That’s right, Carl. Now, who told you to hold off?”

“Sheriff Jackson. He has a good point, Tony. Something is going on here.”

“And what’s that?”

“This story is just beginning. Maybe it’ll be something big. Let me have 48 hours before deciding on the story.”

“You’re not playing me, are you, Carl?”

“Tony, this time it’s real. It’s tight here, like an old pair of shoes. I want to stay inside while the sher-iff still trusts me. You’ll get everything once I’m finished.”

“You’re sure?”

“My word and the sheriff’s word on it.”

“Well, your word isn’t worth a dime, but I’ll do as you ask for the law’s sake. Just try to keep a lid on it, okay?”

“You got it, Tony.” I hated to stretch the truth for him, but it would be worth it. I looked back to observe the activities of the police and the coroner. That’s when I saw it. I spotted a tiny thing at the field’s edge. Gliding, it moved above the trees from right to left. I was at the proper angle to see it. If I were any closer, the trees would hide it. When I looked around, it was clear no one else saw it. I took out my new digital camera and brought it to my eyes. The zoom on it was better than any camera I’d ever owned. I took several shots of the thing before it disappeared into the trees.

The coroner’s name was Patrick Lee Grimes. He was a small, chunky man with splotchy skin. His hands were small and delicate, as if they’d come from someone else’s body. As I entered the morgue, he stood hunched over one victim like a cat about to spring on a mouse. He looked up at me and smiled. I smiled back.

“Is it Dr. Grimes?” I asked.

“No, not yet,” he replied. “What can I do for you?”

“Carl Kolchak. Boston Scope. I’m here to get the cause of death and anything else you’d care to share about the victims.”

“Does Sheriff Jackson know about this?” He was giving me the creeps.

“Yes. Want me to call him?”

“Do I need to?”

“No, I’m telling you the truth.”

“Fair enough.” He stood there breathing, looking like an old sack of potatoes. “Martha Melville. Age 45. Cause of death is an extreme loss of blood.”

“How extreme?”

“There was almost none in her body.”

“And none at the crime scene.”

“Very observant. Yes, no blood at the scene of death, either.”

“What about the others?”

“Same story. All seven victims have the same injuries. No blood in their bodies or at the scene.”

“How quickly did they die?”

“Death was within a minute. From their positions on the ground, they had perhaps five seconds to react to the fact that they were dying. You’ll recall that they took only several steps before they fell to the ground.”

“I saw that. What could have done that?”

“Hell if I know. I’m only the coroner. I know how they died, not what caused it. One other thing.”

“Yes?”

“The only injury they all received, aside from any scrapes from their falling, were seven small punc-ture wounds at the top of the skull.”

“Is that where the blood drained from?”

He nodded and frowned. “Peculiar. All the wounds were identical. I’ve taken photos of all of them, if that’s of interest.”

I swallowed hard. “Of course. I’m here for the truth.”

“Of course. I’ll have my findings, and all the photos, sent to Sheriff Jackson in a few hours only.”

“Much appreciated. I’ll see myself out.”

“Good luck.” Grimes turned back to his business.

I left and returned to my room. After a decent meal at the local diner, I went back to my room. The sun was just setting. A good stiff drink made me feel better. There was a knock on the door. It was Jack-son.

“Sheriff.”

“Mr. Kolchak. Got a minute?”

“Sure. Come in.”

My room at the Colonial Inn was adequate for my needs. Jackson entered the room and sat on the lone chair. I sat on the bed.

“Grimes just told me how last night’s victims died.”

“I got the details already.”

“What do you make of Grimes, Mr. Kolchak?” If this were a test, I’d better make it good.

“He’s very competent. Very thorough.”

“Not at all creepy,” he said.

“I’ve known creepier. A coroner’s job calls for someone with very special skills. It doesn’t matter to me what he looks like.”

“That’s a good assessment. He’s also my brother-in-law.” Jackson grinned, then laughed. “He’s as creepy as they come, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Not at all.”

“Good. What is your opinion on this matter?”

“Sheriff, I’ve been around a few strange things in my time. Some of them would kill any normal person. This is one of the oddest things I’ve ever seen.”

“I’d like to get it out of my town. I did some research on you, Carl. Can I call you Carl?”

I sensed uncertainty and wondered whether they would exile me or recruit me for a hunt. This could go either way.

“They have thrown you out and fired from more jobs than anyone I know.” I nodded and shrugged. “It might seem that you’re a slacker, but digging deeper tells me different.”

“Okay.”

“It tells me I can trust you to tell the truth. Your methods leave a bit to be desired, but I think that comes from those in charge not trusting your knack for digging up the truth.”

“Yeah, and they make fools of themselves by denying the truth, even when it’s right in front of them.”

“Like Vegas.”

“Especially Vegas. If you knew the actual story, I’d bet you’d be mad as hell.”

“Maybe we can talk about that when this is all finished.”

“Okay, you’re on.” I opened my laptop. “There’s something I have something to show you. I don’t know what it is, but you must see it.” Jackson sat in the chair and said not a word until he saw the images.

“I was standing right there, and I didn’t see a thing,” he said. “Can you zoom in on the thing?”

“Sure.” My awkward skills soon had a full-screen image of the object in front of us.

“It looks like a derby hat,” he said. “No propellers. No wings.”

“And no exterior details.”

“It does look like a classic 1950s flying saucer, doesn’t it?”

“Well, yeah I guess. The question is, what is it?”

“I’m going to go out on a limb here. I think this is our killer.”

“Now you’re pulling my leg. How could this kill anyone?”

“How can it fly without propellers or wings?”

“You know, I’ll humor you. Now what?”

“Come on, sheriff. When you spot a perp on the move, what’s your first action?”

“Track it. Can we look at the photos in order again?”

I somehow made a slideshow of the images and ran it. Jackson watched it twice before he stood. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He left and returned with a spiral-bound map of county maps. The lawman placed a map next to the laptop on the table. “This is where the bodies turned up yesterday.”

I gazed at the map. The field was bigger than I thought it was. Little did I know, a hidden road ran parallel to the line of trees. I traced the trees with my finger until I reached the edge of the map. I turned to the following map.

“It’s headed toward the Greyling Industrial Park,” said Jackson. “I don’t like this.”

“Why?”

“The park’s abandoned. An old toxic dump sits beneath it. All the businesses moved across town.”

“Sheriff, that’s a perfect place for the characters I’ve met to live.”

“Let’s go out there.”

“Now?”

“Sure, why not? Follow me in your car. When you see the enormous warehouses, pull over. We’ll walk from there.”

I gathered my cameras and two flashlights as I left my car. I had two tiny, super-bright lights in my pocket for emergencies, but I don’t use them often. The summer heat still clung to the air, but I still wore my suit coat.

“Ready?” said the sheriff. His flashlight could kill someone, and he had his holster and two impres-sive handguns.

“Yeah, let’s get moving before my common sense kicks me.”

Jackson smiled. “Stick with me. No talking. Wait for the sun to set completely before turning on your light.”

“Gotcha.”

We walked past two large warehouses, one on each side of the road. I felt closed in and trapped. My ears strained to hear something other than our footsteps on the gravel. “How big is this place?”

“128 acres, give or take. We’ll give it about an hour, then we’ll come back in the morning. Deal?”

“I’m with you. Wait.” I held up a finger. We stopped walking as a low humming reached our ears. We turned toward the sunset. “Get into the shadows. Over here.”

We moved into the deep shadows of the warehouse and waited. A moment later, a small disk moved against the fading light. It moved slowly and deliberate along the road. A few seconds later, it passed over and was gone.

“Sheriff, we may be here longer than an hour.”

“Maybe I should call in my deputies.”

“Yeah, having more of us is never a bad idea. Sometimes it makes no difference, but I would feel saf-er.”

“Stay here. I’ll make the call.”

Standing in the dark with no way to defend myself is not something I’ve ever enjoyed. I heard things moving, just out of sight. All too often in my life, these things have come after me. Sweat dripped from under the brim of my hat. I mopped my brow as I heard Jackson come back.

“Goodman and Jones will be here in about twenty minutes,” he said.

“Are we going to wait for them?”

“No.”

“Why did I even ask?” I muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

We drifted into the industrial park, sticking to the shadows. Everything was dark around us, but we stayed next to the buildings. We looked in both directions at every intersection for any signs of move-ment.

“Maybe we should go back to the entrance,” I said.

“Just a few more buildings.” The moon had now risen, giving us some light. That’s how I saw the next flying disk. “Look.”

Jackson looked where I pointed. We froze in place. Sure enough, another of the strange craft passed us. This time, I had a clear view of it. It was only 2 feet wide and silent. A slight humming accompanied it. When it moved past us, we moved after it.

Soon we came to a cinder-block building tucked away near the rear of the park. A sign read “Bir-mingham Scientific.” A light flashed for a second deep inside the building. As we watched, one disk came out of a window on the third floor. It moved off into the darkness.

We came to a door off to the side that was stuck shut. Jackson opened it after much pulling on it. The noise seemed loud, but only because we were near the door. I hoped that no one inside heard us, or we’d just blown the quiet sneaking around we had done the past half hour.

The former business filled the interior with old rusted machines and tables piled high with papers and ledgers. My curiosity led me to the nearest table. I picked up one of the smaller ledgers and held it up to the light. It read “Antares Stellar Drive Components- Vol. V.”

“Psst,” whispered Jackson. I put down the ledger and moved next to him. He pointed to his right. I looked and wished now I hadn’t. Lights showed through what looked like a large window. Tall wooden crates stood, blocking our view. He moved toward the window, with me a little too close behind him.

When we got to the window, we moved off to one side. We looked around it and into the interior. I took out my phone and turned on the video camera. Propping it on a box, I got a complete view of the scene.

I nearly ran when I saw the commotion inside the room. A large platform sat near the room’s center. It came up near chest level. The darkness made it difficult to see, but I saw enough to want to leave.

An enormous head sat on the platform. Its skull sat open, revealing what I could only guess was a brain. One flying disk flew in and hovered above as we watched. There was a click, and it lowered a dark mass from inside the disk. The head, briefly illuminated, unveiled a bulge - a human brain.

The brain came into contact with the brain in the gigantic head. A spark of electricity surrounded the head and brain. My stomach turned as I saw that the human brain fused itself to the larger brain. I turned my head to find a spot to vomit.

I sat on the floor and put my head between my legs. Breath deep, I told myself. The nausea passed, and I could stand. Jackson wasn’t there with me. While looking for him, the room’s lights suddenly came on.

“All right, hold it right there.” It was Sheriff Jackson. I looked closer. He was in the room, pointing his gun at two tall, thin men dressed in black. They stood at a large computer panel. Hands rose as I glanced at the enormous head. Its eyes were now staring at the sheriff. The head was not happy to see him.

“You’re making a mistake,” said one of the tall men. In the light, they looked as if they were mal-nourished and ancient.

“I’m afraid I’ve got to arrest you for the murders of at least seven people.” He looked at the enor-mous head. “All three of you. Keep your hands up. Don’t make any movements that will get you killed.”

The two tall guys nodded. One of them looked over Jackson’s head. I looked in that direction and saw one of the flying disks dropping toward the sheriff’s head.

“Sheriff Jackson! Duck your head!” I shouted through the door crack.

Jackson dropped to one knee just as the disk came toward his head. The disk hovered for a second or two, then dropped lower. Jackson aimed at the thing and fired one shot. The disk exploded in a blossom of sparks and fell away to the ground.

The two tall men dropped their hands to the control panel. Lights flashed in rapid succession, and the gigantic head moaned.

“Get away from the panel,” said Jackson.

The tall guys kept working at the panel. The colossal head slid toward Jackson. Jackson jumped at the sight and backed away. He took aim with his gun and shot the head between the eyes. The colossal head stopped moving, its eyes fluttering closed. Bright red blood poured from the forehead wound.

I looked over at the tall guys and the panel. Both of them were gone. Jackson backed up, joining me by the door. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.” I grabbed my phone and followed the sheriff.

We used our flashlights to find our way out of the building. Both of us broke into a run toward the entrance of the industrial park. My heart was racing as I thought that the tall men would step out of one warehouse and shoot us with a laser gun.

There was a flash of light.

I found myself in the parking lot of a Holiday Inn off I-95, just west of Bridgeport. In Connecticut, of all places. A quick search of my belongings showed I had everything with me. But my phone had none of the photos I had taken. My laptop had no images on it. I had nothing to show that I had ever been to East Brunswick, except my memories.

I had been there. I did not imagine it. My phone still had a record of my calls to Tony Vincenzo, but none of the content. I made a call to the East Brunswick Police. Sheriff Jackson was on an extended leave because of a death in his family. The Colonial Inn had me staying for one night and leaving after breakfast.

I can only hope that Tony still had the photos I sent to him from the first night.

(Dedicated to friend and Kolchak chronicler C. J. Henderson)

The Machine dropped onto Highway 514 at the southern end of Scrumptious Orchards at 2:14 AM. Traffic was light, and the Machine landed with little noise. People in the area still believed it sprouted from the ground because they had heard no engine roars or rockets flare.

N.E.M.O. Team Six will immediately perform cleanup duties. No evacuation plans at this time. Marine Unit Delta will meet you there. The requisition package is on route with the Hopper AXT as requested. Coordinates to follow. General Kirby.”

“Swell,” said Glenn Manning as he approached Jason’s H9 with two trays of coffee cups. Jason Sabatini took one cardboard tray as Akira took the second tray to the other vehicle in the convoy.

“Your coffee is always so much better than at HQ,” said Doctor Hubbard, holding her two cups.

“I hate the stuff in the cafeteria,” said Glenn as he strapped in next to Jason. “I always have Carella make this up special for me whenever we have an assignment.”

“What gives you that privilege?” asked Doctor Hubbard.

“He’s my first cousin,” said Manning. He switched off his comm-mike. “I’ve got a gallon more in the back. Don’t tell Akira or Shelley. They’ll take it all and leave us empty.”

Image by Hans from Pixabay

“We’ll share,” said Jason as he turned onto I-95. “Our target is next to Scrumptious Orchards in Gloucester City, New Jersey.”

“I love their apples,” said Shelley over the intercom. “I’m monitoring all traffic in the area. We’re lucky it’s in the middle of the night. Few people about.”

“How’s the traffic between here and there?” Jason asked.

“They’re clearing the roads for us and Delta group. Delta is coming from east Appalachia while we are coming north.”

“Who will get there first?” Glenn asked. “And who will have the most hicks interfering with our jobs?”

“It looks like Delta will have about 40 minutes to take care of any problems that may come up.”

Jason heard the firefight blocks before he saw the action. Smoke rose from three spots off the highway. The gray of the smoke smudged the inky blackness of the sky. A half-moon broke through the light clouds often enough to make out the perimeter of the orchard.

A dozen cars and trucks forced them off the road at one point, going the other way. A police cruiser was last in line, its lights flashing. The vehicle slowed to a stop, as did Jason. “Good evening, officer. Can I help you?”

The window of the cruiser slid down, and a serious face stared up at Jason. “I’d advise you right now to turn your vehicles around. This is a Federal Emergency, and your presence could cause a distraction to those trying to prevent the deaths of innocent civilians.”

“Thank you, officer Williams,” Jason said, noting the name on the badge. Manning handed him a clipboard. “I appreciate your diligence, and we could use your help.” He handed the officer his N.E.M.O. ID and waited.

Williams’ stoic face softened. “Commander Sabatini. You got here just in time. It’s hell back there. What can I help you with?”

“I need to make sure no unauthorized people or vehicles come down this road after we move on.”

“Consider it done. I’ll call for more units to block off the side roads around here.”

“How many side roads are we talking about?”

“Ohh, 5 or 6. Old farm roads mostly. But the curious and the press buzzards always look for a way to get to a story.”

“I hear you. Listen, we have orders to shoot looters and ravagers. Pass it around, will you? No questions asked.”

“Shoot on site?”

“New orders. As you said, they make my job harder than it needs to be. I will not have any of my team killed protecting some scumbag who needs a photo for their story.”

“Understood,” said Williams. “We’ll try to keep those numbers low.”

“I’d appreciate it, Sergeant. There will be time once everything that doesn’t belong here is dead.”

Williams nodded. “Let me get on the phone so you can get to work .”

“Right. And, Sergeant?”

“Yeah?”

“Take my card. If something unusual happens out here, give me a yell. The Nets are never perfect.”

William swallowed hard and took the card. “I’ll do that.” He looked down the road and saw headlights in the distance. “Gotta get to work. see you.” he drove away and parked his car to block both lanes, lights flashing.

“He didn’t sound like a hick,” Jason said, handing the clipboard back to Glenn.

“No, we’re not far enough South,” said Cynthia North. “The apple orchard might contain a lot hicks.”

“Not this time of night, regardless of whether or not they’re hicks,” said Doctor Hubbard.

“We’ll be lucky not to have to shoot anyone today,” said Shelley.

“I don’t have my looter quota for the year,” Akira called from the vehicle behind them.

“Not funny, Akira,” said Jason. “They can’t help being stupid after all the alerts went out.”

“Now who’s being funny,” said Doctor Hubbard. She shook her head at their childish antics.

“We’re coming up on the action,” said Ahmed, whose eyes never left the satellite feed of the area.

They drove through a delivery gate, taking them into the orchard. 1000 apple trees stood around them, their treasures waiting to be plucked. As they drew near the main buildings, Jason saw a flamethrower ignite a pair of Category 4 Monsters, designated as Mammoth.

These creatures looked nothing like mammoths, except in size. Category four had five different creatures on the list. More creatures joined the list as more Machines landed and spewed out their intergalactic garbage. “Looks like a 4-E,” said Manning, who was an expert in collecting details about anything larger than a Category 3 Monster.

Four tentacles emanated from a spot the N.E.M.O. team designated as a head. In reality, it was a mass of bone with little or no purpose to the creature’s body function. The tentacles were deadly at close quarters, with an average length of 22 feet. Four thick, armored legs smashed anything they encountered. The Monster made no physiological sense but was deadly enough.

At that moment, Delta Unit was working to prevent the creatures from strolling through the barn housing the orchard’s cows. Flames only slowed them down a step. “Anyone with suggestions on how to stop them, speak up now,” said Jason as he pulled up 50 yards from the creatures.

“Hurt them or make them mad enough to turn away from their course of action,” said Doctor Hubbard.

“How about using the RS-11 at its hindquarters?” said Akira.

“It’s worth a try. In the meantime, let’s get a look at the Machine,”

While Akira and Cynthia strapped the RS-11 onto their shoulders, Jason took Doc and Glenn along the sidewalk to get a clear view of Machine 436. Every Machine had the same dimensions. Standing 411 feet tall with a diameter of 52 feet, the exterior was a mixture of rustproof iron, pure aluminum and silver, polished to a highly reflective surface. All three metals were 99.9% pure, something not found in nature or anywhere in the known solar system.

Their tendency to drop onto busy areas or rural, uninhabited areas caused much debate. Some claimed the Machines came down at random. The distribution across the country did not indicate any pattern. Others, exobiologists in particular, point out the randomness as a sign that the aliens are monitoring our responses to each Machine, probing for any sign of weakness.

It was Doctor Hubbard’s view that the same aliens who were sending the Machines were searching for a home for themselves. Whenever Machines found little or no resistance, they reckoned this would be an ideal place to call home. Jason Sabatini had a unique point of view. To these aliens, Earth was just a place to dump their garbage.

“It’s like when you visit a campground,” he began. “Most visitors are neat and take their garbage away to a proper dumpster. Here and there, there are the slobs who leave all their candy wrappers, beer cans at dirty diapers wherever they dropped them. This is precisely what these aliens are doing. Getting rid of their own garbage.”

“Professor Kendall’s theory,” said Doctor Hubbard.

“Kendall makes the most sense of most of you scientists out there studying this thing,” Jason said.

“All right, Jason,” said Doctor Hubbard. “But what about the creatures that are released when a Machine opens?”

“Have you ever had to empty a dumpster filled with a week’s worth of old half eaten food at the back of a restaurant in the summertime?” he asked.

“I can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure.”

“Well I have, Doctor. It stinks like hell, and it’s always filled with critters.”

“What sort of critters?”

“Everything from raccoons to mice. And there’s always at least a hundred yellow jackets or hornets. Sound familiar?”

“Okay, but what about all the other materials found inside the Machines? Electronics, high-tech materials and parts of Machines we’re reverse engineering?”

“That’s just it, doc. Pieces of Machinery. Bits of someone’s broken bicycle. No entire devices. It’s their garbage.”

Doctor Hubbard sighed. “You make a good argument, Jason. I still believe we are benefiting from all this garbage. It’s revolutionized our server motherboards, for instance.”

“So we’ve got better computers to work while we’re getting bitten on the ass by their wild dogs. I don’t call that a good trade.”

“A fair analogy.”

“And another thing. Until recently, every Machine had unique life forms in them. Creatures quite different from what had dropped on us before. How likely is it that every dumpster you encounter will have a critter in it you haven’t seen in a dumpster before?”

“Not likely, considering the fauna is generally the same in this part of the country. We are at a loss to explain it.”

“So am I. Maybe they’re from different worlds.”

“Possible. There’s a Machine outside of Memphis where all the Monsters died after the hatch opened.”

“Some of them even caught fire. Was that the one?”

“Yes. The smoke was very toxic. 87 people perished.”

“Those numbers are much worse than a typical Machine opening.”

Machine 118 was different from the others in the past year. The smell wasn’t pleasant. Initial exposure caused vomiting and intense sweating. Hazmat crews were spraying the area with an aerosol to neutralize the odor. Another crew arrived with a bulldozer and a garbage truck. The garbage was loose and in a near-liquid state, making cleanup almost impossible. Jason and Doctor Hubbard couldn’t get within 100 feet before the stench stopped them.

“What a stink,” Jason said, holding his nose. To his left, he heard the distant hiss of the RS-11 blades. Jason turned to see the hind legs of one of the enormous creatures buckle under it. The creature collar much like an elephant sitting down to rest. The tentacles whipped around in a frenzy, smashing anything within range.

Akira took careful aim and cut away the two main tentacles. Delta unit hit it with some explosive shells, caving in its skull. The tentacles ceased their movement. Akira turned his attention to the second of the Monsters. It saw them cut down by the tiny humans and it wasn’t happy. With a roar, it charged at Akira.

The lethal tentacles stretched out 20 feet in front of the Monster, which was over 100 feet away. There were two small targets for Akira’s blades, so Akira set its sights on the creature’s skull. Team Delta fired armor-piercing shells into the Monster’s side, doubling up on the fire gel. The shells blasted the Monster open as the RS-11 blades made an impact upon the upper skull.

The explosive sent the Monster off course and it was no longer headed at Akira. Blades sliced open the fleshy upper portion of the skull, sending brackish blood behind it in a cloud. Two more shells exploded inside the burning beast. It came to a stop as it reached the orchard’s general store. As the life drained from it, a high-pitched whistle pierced the air. Akira and everyone within a block covered their ears.

Looking around, Akira saw no other Monsters about. He sighed and sat on a nearby bench. Sweat dropped off him, falling onto the RS-11 and sizzling as it evaporated on the hot surface. Delta Commander Hodges stepped up to Jason. Both men exchanged salutes.

“What’s the situation, commander?” Jason asked.

Hodges wiped his brow. “We have three more of the Cat 4 Monsters a quarter mile from here.”

“Do you need any help?”

“Nah. We have an RS-11 crew with them. Should be a piece of cake. There’s one pickle I’d like to draw your attention to.”

“Shoot.”

“We have a dozen of the odd critters roaming the orchard.” He held up a screen. On it, a Monster as tall as the apple trees was shaking a tree and eating the fruit that dropped to the ground. They were sleek, shiny gray with no sign of feathers, scales or any sort of protective covering.

“What’s the problem?”

The orchard owners requested that we not harm the trees or any other part of the orchard. We try to push them out, but no form of persuasion has been effective. And they’re ravenous. The orchard owners want to lose as little of their prized crop as possible.”

“Have you tried giving them a nudge, like with a single bullet or maybe some smoke or electricity?”

Hodges nodded. “Yep, I tried all that. Everything short of explosive ordinance. Force won’t work.”

Jason watched the Monster eat with apparent glee. A second Monster came into view and bent to pick up some apples. The first one shoved the other away and kept eating. He smiled. “I’ve got an idea. I’ll need some help getting some equipment together.”

“I’ve got some of my men standing around scratching there asses. Tell me what you need.”

“Two tons? Yeah, we can move them,” said Sergeant Devereaux. “Just tell me where you need ‘em.”

“We need to fill them with apples, and then you can drop them as close to these newer Monsters.” Jason smiled as he watched six soldiers pouring bushels of apples into an 8-inch hole in the top of a 400-gallon steel drum. Workers attached 2 tons of steel plates to the base of each drum. They attached the drum to a pallet.

“So, what’s the idea behind the apples and the hole again?”

“It’s a bit complicated. In parts of Asia, there are small monkeys that are quick and smart. Local merchants figured out a way to catch them. They put a cookie it would jar and screw it on the lid. The lid had a small hole in the top. When the monkey grabbed the cookie, it wouldn’t let go of it. The merchant could then pick up the jar and then sell the monkey still holding the cookie.”

Sergeant Devereaux person’s lips and nodded. “Okay, I get the concept. But how is it going to work with these Monsters?”

“We had a situation in Virginia back in March of this year. An enormous Monster reached into a barn and took hold of a cow. It couldn’t get the cow now the hole and it wouldn’t let go of it. Akira came up with the idea of the monkey and the cookie jar and it worked.”

“And do you think these Monsters will do the same thing?”

“Their behavior is very similar to the monkeys in question,” said Doctor Hubbard. She looked at Jason and gave him a rare smile. “Your ideas sound, Jason.”

“Let’s just hope it works.”

“And if it works,” said Sergeant Devereaux, “We just pick up the drum and haul it away, Monster and all?”

“That’s the general idea. You can take them down the road and dispose of them somewhere the orchard owners won’t say anything.”

“Got it. Alright, Rafferty, let’s get this drum into place as close as we can to one of these suckers.”

“Sergeant Devereaux, I’d suggest you dump some smashed apples on top of the drum,” said Doctor Hubbard. “The extra scent of open fruit might do the trick.”

“You got it, doctor.”

The steel drum rumbled along the orchard path. Jason and Akira kept pace off to both sides, keeping an eye open for any of the Monsters. At first sight of one, Rafferty was to drop the drum and put the smashed apples on top and get the hell out of there. On cue, the forklift backed away as quickly as possible when the first Monster approached. Rafferty could hear its huge nostrils sniffing the air. It swept the apples into its mouth. When it was done, it sniffed at the hole on top of the drum. With a satisfied whine, it stuck its nostrils into the hole.

“Here we go,” Jason said, standing 20 feet from the steel drum.

“Careful, Sir,” said Akira. “There’s more than one of them around. I can hear them.”

“I can hear them too, Akira.”

As they watched, the Monster reached up and squeezed a hand inside the drum. The Monster then tried to remove its hand, which was full of apples. The hull was too small. The hotel took Jason by surprise. His smile grew big as he watched the Monster struggle to get its hand out while holding on to the apples.

“Alright, Sergeant, it’s time to see it’s this cockamamie idea will work,” said Jason.

As the oversized forklift approached, the Monster growled and pulled at the drum. The Monster could not move the heavy drum as the forks slid into the pallet. The growls turned into whimpers as they tried to get at Rafferty with one of its free arms. Rafferty kept his cool as the Monster could not get past the cage enclosing the soldier.

“Pick it up and get moving,” said Jason. “We don’t know how long we have until it let’s go of the apples.”

“Roger that,” said the sergeant. “Stand back. I’m going to pick this palette up and step on the gas.” The forklift groaned under the extra weight but it held. The Monster hung on, howling and pulling at the apples it could not get to.

Glenn Manning found an open field across the street from the orchard. He directed the forklift to turn around and drive across the highway. 50 feet into the field, the forklift set down the drum. The Monster howled in desperation but refused to let go of the apples. Akira shot through its head with a Max-9 bolt.

“Good choice,” said Jason as the Monsters slid to the ground. Rafferty approached and poked at it. He gave Jason a thumbs-down.

“All right Sergeant, let’s get the rest of these drums into the orchard,” said Hodges.

By dawn, they had disposed of 14 of the gray Monsters. Chaos ensued along Hwy. 514 as local traffic found its way along the road and saw the field decorated with dead Monsters. Doctor Hubbard called in a team of anatomists, biologists and pathologists to measure and examine and create enough specimens to fill an 18-wheel freighter.

“At the rate they’re going, they’ll take all the Monsters with them,” said Shelley. “They give me the creeps. No hair. No scales. Like the surface of a beach ball, you know?”

“That’s how I would describe it,” said Akira.

“The rubber ball Monster,” said Glenn. “I’ll suggest the name to doc.”

“Yeah, you do that,” said Jason. “it’ll go over about as well as the other dozen name ideas you’ve given her.”

“It’s worth a try, man,” said Cynthia. “Got to play the odds.” She grimaced and turned her face away from the image of the Monsters. The sight of them was frightening her. The uninterrupted parade of monstrosities that they had to deal with nibbled away and her nerves. Each new Machine held fresh horrors for her.

Manning smiled and got off the edge of the truck and walked over to where Doctor Hubbard stood. Jason and the others all stood and watched as Doctor Hubbard interrupted her measuring to look at Glenn.

“I think Glenn’s sweet on Doctor Hubbard,” said Shelley.

“Nah, you think so?” Jason asked. Shelley nodded. He looked at Cynthia.

“Now that you think about it, you think Shelley’s right,” said Cynthia.

“I’m not that naive to not have also thought about it,” said Jason as he shook his head. “He’s trying to make small talk with her as she that’s her best to ignore him. Poor Glenn.”

Movement in the trees near Doctor Hubbard made Jason move toward them. A gelatinous mass covered Glenn and Doctor Hubbard before Jason could call out their names, knocking them to the ground. “Get medics here quick,” Jason yelled as the others followed to where Glenn and Doctor Hubbard lay.

Akira still had his RS-11 strapped to him as he tried to light into the trees where the gel had come from. He saw nothing at first but darkness. Then the darkness moved. “What the hell?”

An Obsidian colored mass filtered through the trees toward them. To a cure it looked like solid stone. The side he was looking at was smooth as glass. But it was moving toward them.

Jason reached his hand into the gel and pulled Doctor Hubbard out. The gel clung to her like cold cream of wheat, sticky and unpleasant. He cleared her mouth and nose, and eyes with a cotton cloth from his bag. She coughed and gagged and sat up.

“My skin is burning,” she said. “You need to get this stuff off of us. It’s some sort of digestive fluid. Do it now before we’re in trouble.” She looked over at Glenn. He was standing and scrubbing the gel off his skin.

“This stuff burns like hell,” said Glenn. “What is it and how do I get it off of me?”

Jason and the others moved Glenn and Doctor Manning away from the trees and into the emergency medical vehicle as it pulled up. “For want of a better word, we’ve been spit on,” said Doctor Hubbard. “God, this hurts,” she said as a medical operative sprayed warm water on her.

“There’s a small apartment attached to the general store,“ the operative said as they pulled up. “It has a shower come on and that’s where you’re headed.”

Jason and two nurses took Glenn and Doctor Hubbard into the store and carried them through into the small apartment where the owner often stayed. They dropped Glenn and Hubbard into the old-fashioned tub and turned on the water. They scrubbed the gel off with their hands. Some liquid hand soap finished the job, and soon they were clean.

Doctor Hubbard looked up and saw Jason still standing there. “Don’t you have a Monster to kill?”

“Your safety is more important,” said Jason.

“We’ll be fine,” said Doctor Hubbard. “What’s your name, officer?” Doctor Hubbard asked the medical operative.

“Martin Corday, ma’am,” the operative said.

Doctor Hubbard looked at Jason. “Leave us with Martin. We’ll be fine. Get going. And take pictures.”

Jason grinned at her and left the room. He found Akira and Cynthia standing inside the store, looking out the window. “What’s going on?”

“This new Monster is quite amazing,” said Akira. “It looks like a giant block of Obsidian. A2 year old could outrun it. But it spits at anything moving within 50 feet of it.”

“We need to destroy it somehow,” said Jason. “Have we tried anything yet?”

“Not to my knowledge,” said Cynthia. She shivered as she watched the 20-foot tall block of dark matter move through the trees toward the tourist buildings where they stood. “We’d better do something. It’ll be on us in no time.”

“Let’s get into some strategic spots and try our luck with the RS-11,” said Jason.

“If we circle around to our vehicles, there’s a whole lot of explosives and other guns we can use,” said Akira.

“Now you’re talking. Let’s roll.”

They parked their vehicles 100 feet from the creature. Jason took out the LAW rocket launcher. Cynthia readied the flame ejector. A grim but determined look was on her face. She felt an urge to kill this thing all by herself, and shooting napalm cells into it made her feel better. To keep her mind off her nerves, she set up an infrared camera and a digital camera to record all the action.

“How do we want to do this?” Akira asked.

“Let’s move away from the vehicles come on just in case we have to get out of here quick,” said Jason. “Maybe put the vehicles between us and the stores.”

“Good come on” said Cynthia. “I’m looking forward to going home and getting drunk after this.”

“So let’s make this quick so you can do that,” said Jason.

They took positions at the edge of the trees. The Monster was now in the parking lot, creeping along and taking out the white paint lines of the parking spaces. Akira stepped forward first. He sighted on the dark mass and fired a dozen discs in a flat pattern 15 feet above the ground.

The discs entered the entity with little impact on it. The thin holes made by the discs closed up as if they had entered water. The creature didn’t slow down or register that anything had hit it. Akira shook his head and laughed. “That’s pretty wild. No effect at all.”

“My turn,” said Cynthia. “Step back and see how a pro does it.” She trained the long tube of the firing device on the center of the creature’s mass. With skill unmatched by any of them, she placed two cells into the creature two inches apart. The cells erupted on impact, flushing the creature with the newest version of napalm.

The Monster caught fire easily. Its movement stopped. Thick tendrils shot out from all sides and ejected the flaming substance onto the pavement. The Monster tore pieces of itself from its mass to stop the burning. When it was done, the creature reverted to its original cube shape.

“Well, that hurt it,” said Cynthia. “See what you can do, Jason.”

“What you did will be hard to top,” said Jason to cheer her up. Her frown suggested that nothing he said would help. He shot two rockets into which center mass and waited. Seconds later, they exploded deep within the black cube.

The cube lost its shape, dropping onto the pavement as a massive puddle. It lay there, pulsing and rippling along its edges. Akira took a step toward it, but Jason grabbed his arm. “Whoa, there, Akira. It’s not done yet. Look.”

The edges of the Monster curled up toward its center. Within a minute it had taken on its familiar cube shape. It shimmered and moved toward Jason and the others. “I think we got its attention. Let’s hit it with everything we have and run.”

Seven well-placed discs, 3 napalm cells and two Laws rockets slammed into the cube before Jason and the others ran into the trees. They didn’t stop to see what effect their ordinance had on the creature as it was getting too close. Jason called Commander Hodges as they moved between the trees. “Commander Hodges. Come in. Urgent.”

“Yeah, Jason. What have you got?”

“In the parking lot of the general store, there’s a black cube Monster. Don’t get within 50 feet of it. It spits and acidic goo that hurts like hell. Approach with caution, but it needs to be destroyed right now.”

“Affirmative. Where are you now?”

“We are in the Grove east of the parking lot. I’m taking my people and circling around back to our vehicles.”

“Be careful. We have activity in that area. Unknowns.”

“Can infrared detect it?”

“I think so. You have nothing to lose to try it. We’re moving in on that cube. Be careful. Over and out.”

Jason had Cynthia and Akira turn on their infrared goggles. Four multi-legged Monsters were milling about less than 100 feet from them. Jason ducked down behind a large tree. Cynthia and Akira Kneeled next to him. “Four Monsters 100 feet behind me. I say we avoid them.”

“No argument from me,” said Cynthia. Nervous sweat ran down her chin and onto her weapon.

“How are you holding up, Cyn?”

“Right now, spit’s all that’s holding me together. I need some time off.”

“I’ll get it for you, even if I have to kill Kirby with my hand at bare hands.”

“You don’t have to go that far, but I appreciate it. Let’s get the hell out of here and into our vehicles. Then maybe I can take a breath.”

Jason led them through the trees, bent over and hugging the ground and making as little noise as possible. They heard the whoop and whistle of the creatures behind them. It sounded like communication, but it could have been delight at finding a rich food source. As they saw the edge of the trees, one Monster stepped out onto the trail.

Jason calculated it was a Category 3 Monster at least. Thick and bulky, it had the shape and size of a rhinoceros with six legs. The strap of a rifle hung from one of its thick fangs. A great, gnarled nose flared, nostrils quivering as it picked up their scent. The wolf whistle dropped in tone until it was a growl that made Jason shiver.

“Triad position four,” Jason said as he lifted his weapon and looked through the viewfinder. “Fire at will.”

Akira slammed another disc cartridge into place and fired 2 experimental discs at the creature’s head. The discs shaved off the rough hide near the top of its head. Jason fired a Laws rocket into the eye of the Monster. The explosion dropped the creature to the ground. It moved in shakes, its nerves kicking in.

Jason stepped up to Cynthia. She hadn’t moved since they spotted the Monster. Her shoulders shook with shock. Her eyes never left the Monster.

“Cynthia. Are you Okay?” Jason asked. She didn’t answer him at first. Finally, she sighed and sat on the ground.

“I’m done, Jason. Take me out of here. Now.”

Jason and Akira helped her to her feet, and they moved to their vehicle. In the parking lot, a squad of soldiers trained their flamethrowers on the cube. The fire was reducing it to the size of a compact car. Even with the windows closed, the stench made Jason’s eyes water. He started the H9 and drove off away from the orchard.

“Shelley, where are you?”

“I’m with Glenn and Doctor Hubbard,” said Shelley.

“How are they doing?”

“The skin has some burns, but nothing fatal. They’re itching to get up and back out into the fight.”

“Get Glenn and Doctor Hubbard into one of the other vehicles. Drive north on 514 and meet me at the next town.”

“Why? Did something happen?”

“Cynthia needed some time away from the fight. We’ll meet you there and we’ll talk. Right now, I’m done for the night.”

“We’ll be going in 10 minutes, Jason. We’ll meet you there.”

“Roger that. Over and out.”

Jason’s phone buzz. He looked down and saw the new alert.

“Attention: Devil’s Squadron. New Machine descending over Lafayette lake, XX county, Virginia. Machine seeing disappearing into the center of lake Daniels. Lake Daniels is 227 feet deep. As of 0445, Machine has not opened. Contents still unknown. Leave ASAP.”

“Trouble, Jason?” said Akira.

“I hope you’re all scuba certified.”

Fort Lauderdale- April 16, 2018. 2:18 am

Oscar Whiddon lost some of his brandy as he stepped into a vehicle rut in the sand and fell flat on his face in the sand. Laughing, he pulled himself to his knees.

“Who’s driving out here so far from the airport?” He yelled at the storm rushing at him. “Nothing to see here,” he thought. No moon. The lights of the airport were tiny spots tiny on the horizon.

Image by max_goessler from Pixabay

Oscar had driven out here to get as far from Sylvia as possible. When he left home, she was snoring a full bass symphony at home. Now here he was, bottle of brandy in hand and another bottle already consumed.

He thought he was smart, driving out along North Ocean Drive until the lights of the airport weren’t visible. Here at Dr. Von D. Mizell-Eula Johnson State Park, life was slower, at least at 2 am. Here he could drink in peace.

The storm out in the ocean got closer, and he squinted his eyes. It was bigger now than it had been a minute ago. The sound of rain hitting the sand was now almost as loud as the sound of the waves. His skin tingled.

The storm hit him in the span of a breath. In seconds, he was dripping wet, water filling his shoes. Visibility dropped to nothing. Even the airport lights were dimmer. He laughed and spun around, spreading his arms out. Halfway through the second spin, he spotted something and stopped, staring at the ocean.

Something sat at the edge of the waves. A large, darker mound against the greater darkness.

Oscar swallowed a mouthful of rainwater. He coughed. When he looked up, the shape had moved.

It was closer now.

Oscar turned and ran as far as he could haul his 297 lbs. He was out of breath before he had gone 20 feet. But his fear wouldn’t let him slow down. He got dizzy, and the lights danced up and down before his eyes. His foot dropped into another Jeep track, and he went down hard.

“What the hell, man.”

Something wrapped itself around his left ankle. With a scream, he shook it off. Bits of seaweed hid his face. He spat out a leaf.

Another cold coil of seaweed gripped his ankle again. “Hell,” he muttered as he reached out to pull it off. Only it wasn’t seaweed. It was something as thick as his upper arm, slimy and unyielding. He pulled on it. Another coil wrapped around his lower right leg, dragging him a few inches toward the surf.

“What?”

Oscar turned to crawl away. Something pulled him fast, and he got a mouthful of sand. His hands grabbed at the sand to anchor himself as he slid backward.

The sound of the ocean pounded his ears as his feet went into the water. Frantically, Oscar clawed at the sand. The creature now covered him up to his shoulders.

He was babbling and crying as his head went under the water. Within minutes, the thunderstorm washed away any signs of his struggle.

“I’m the lucky one who gets to fix the things the amateurs get too deep into.”

“So she told me. A very impressive vocation if I may say so.”

“Thank you.”

“So, what brings you here? A new monster sighting?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Oh?”

“A big one. Champ smacked into the Benedict with a full load of passengers.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“No, but they got the scare of their lives. And yes, there were a lot of photos taken.”

“Wow. I may need a bigger room. Do you have anything to show me?”

“I do.” He stepped up to her and handed her his phone with the photos. She studied them with wide-open eyes.

“This is news for the rest of the Board to here. Could you send those to me?” She held out her business card.

“I’ll do it now.”

“Great. Can we meet later to go through anything else you have?”

“You mean, like dinner?”

“Dinner would be perfect, if you’re free.”

“There is the big dinner to kick off the festival tonight. Would that be of interest?”

“As a matter of fact, I’ll be there too. I’m on the Select Committee.”

“Then I’ll see you there. Can I come pick you up?”

“Let me see the card a second.” He returned the card to her. She turned it over and wrote on it. “My address. I’ll be ready by six.”

“I’ll be there.”

Image by Elsemargriet from Pixabay

Sumner Inn. 7 pm

John and Miranda walked toward the table where Hayley, Amos and Allyson sat.

“I hope you don’t embarrass easy.”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“Mother is going to make a big deal of the two of us even knowing each other. Dressed like this and being together, I may not get to speak to you the whole evening.”

“I’ll try not to let that happen.”

“John! You’ve met Miranda.” Hayley stood and kissed them both. “Come. Sit.”

Hayley maneuvered Miranda to the seat next to her. John sat on Miranda’s other side.

“Thank you, Mrs. Pentgram.”

“Call me Hayley.”

“I shouldn’t. I am on the Select Committee.”

“No one will care. I’m sure you’ve been smooth-talked by every winery here.”

“Thank you, Hayley.”

“That’s better. I see you’ve met my son.”

“Yes, I have. Quite by accident.”

“Really? Do tell.”

“He was at the Maritime Museum as I was coming back from a committee meeting. We had a pleasant talk about the new Champ sightings.”

“I haven’t heard.”

“The creature almost ate Amos,” said John with a smile.

“Amos, you didn’t tell me. Spill it.”

Amos shrugged and gave her a smile. “It was nothing. Allyson and I were enjoying the view when something hit the boat from underneath.”

“How hard did it hit?”

“Hard enough to spill everyone’s drinks.”

Miranda sat in disbelief. “John said you may have some video footage.”

Allyson handed Miranda her phone. “This one isn’t bad.”

The footage showed a long tapered object gliding from under the Benedict out into the lake. The footage ended as the tip of the tail disappeared.

“Wow. This appears to be an actual creature,” Miranda said. “No scales. The skin is smooth like a snake. And there’s a distinct tail. This is big.”

“We thought so,” said John.

“I’ll have to get the permission slips for all of this. The Board will be excited. I can’t recall any of this ever happening on the lake.”

“Are you sure?” Hayley looked at her.

“The lake’s history is one of my hobbies. So is Champ. Early in the 18th century, the Abenakis cautioned French explorers not to disturb the waters of the lake, so as not to disturb the serpent from its sleep. “To disturb Long Neck is to risk Your Life.” They thought it could be dangerous.”

“I’m surprised no one has tried to kill it by now.”

People have tried it. In 1982, the state of Vermont passed a House Resolution protecting Champ from any harm. Make whatever you like of that. We take our local monster serious.”

“Well, we can talk about this later. I’m sure my son will have a lot to talk to you about. Right now, I think the dinner is about to begin.”

John felt a stronger attraction to Miranda than to any other woman he knew after Caroline’s death. Both Allyson and his mother enjoyed her company. As the dinner and remaining ceremonies ended, John was reluctant to leave the table.

Miranda impressed everyone at the table. Her father, Senator Tyler Jackson Sheridan, headed the Senate Armed Services Committee in Washington D.C. a powerful figure in the nation’s capital, the turmoil surrounding him kept Miranda at home in Vermont.

They sat in the bar after everyone else had left the ceremony. Amos and Allyson had pulled a reluctant Hayley away after promising her a few rounds of progressive rummy.

“I don’t need the stress of being harassed by the press and lobbyists all day.”

“I don’t enjoy visiting the place. Once a year, I attend the Paranormal Conference at the Watergate Hotel.”

“That sounds more interesting than munitions appropriation meetings.”

“I’d agree hands down it is. This year, the things happening today will be the highlight of the conference.”

“What happened today? I’ve heard conflicting reports. And my sources informed me that something killed a person last night.

“Two people died last night. It’s not something you’d want for the museum.”

“Why?”

“Something living in the lake tore them apart.”

“No wonder Amy was distracted all day today. She’s my archivist, and her husband is a policeman. He must have told her.”

“Trust me. You don’t want to see it. Let’s just say they’re missing their hands and their heads.”

“You don’t have to say any more. I can’t believe Champ would do such a thing.”

“Me either. In all the centuries of reports of sea monsters, I’ve run into one or two involving violence. They attacked the creature in both cases, so its response is understandable.”

“Can we change the subject?”

“Sure. What’s on your mind?”

“What’s it like living in a vineyard?”

Fenris Labs. 1:30 am.

Douglas hauled the trash can to the water’s edge. He was tired and didn’t want to make the trip to Exeter to burn the stuff in the can. “There’s plenty of hungry fish in the lake,” he said as he reached the end of the pier. Sherman’s deck boat sat bobbing in the water. Douglas sneered at it and reached into the garbage can. His hands quickly became covered with fish slime.

Out on the lake, he heard a big splash. Then another one closer.

“What the hell?” He tipped the can over to pour the rest of the dead fish into the water. He heard a low rumbling, like a motorboat cruising by in the distance. But the sound was close, right near Sherman’s boat.

Something was dripping water on the wooden planks. Douglas turned to walk back to the lab and smelled something. It was the stink of bottom rot, and he nearly heaved up his sandwich. Something big and wet slammed into him and he flew off the pier and into the water.

Before the force pulled him under, Douglas had a few seconds of air. What remained of him did not resurface until morning.

Fenris Labs. 7:30 am.

Henry Walther rushed into Sherman’s office.

“What’s wrong?”

Henry bent over, catching his breath.

“Well, come on, man. Out with it. I have things to do.”

“It’s Doug. He’s out at the pier. Torn to pieces.”

Bartlett’s eyebrows shot up. He pulled Henry from his office and locked the door behind him.

“Show me.”

Henry shuffled along, Bartlett next to him. They went down the hall past the two main labs and pushed open the door to the dock. Bartlett smelled it right away. The odor of a fish left to rot hung in the air. He left Henry at the door and walked out onto the dock. A bloated leg banged against his boat. At the end of the pier, he spotted the garbage can half submerged ten feet from him. The can had a caved-in side. Douglas’s torso clung to the barrel.

“Fool.” Bartlett turned and motioned to Henry. The lab assistant came out to where Bartlett stood. “I want you to get Carruthers and you two clean this up.”

“Douglas too?”

“Especially Douglas. Get that can out of the water. I want it examined to see what was in it. Put Douglas into the freezer.”

“What about the police?”

“I’ll deal with any legalities. You worry about getting rid of every trace of what happened out here. Do I make myself clear?’

“Yes, sir.”

“And keep this to yourselves. No one else is to know. Do I understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Get moving. Soon, curious people will fill the lake. I don’t want anyone getting any ideas. Move.”

Sumner Inn. 6:45 pm

John Pentgram straightened his tie and looked in the mirror. “It’ll have to do.” He gave the tie one last tug and picked up his suit jacket. His phone chimed.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Pentgram. This is Sheriff Harper.”

“What can I do for you, sheriff.”

“The coroner has completed his autopsies. There’s a few details I thought you’d like to know.”

“I’m listening.”

“Well, the heads and hands were not torn off. There are teeth marks at the wounds, especially at the necks.”

“Were they clean cuts or torn off?”

“Let me see.” The sheriff rifled through his paperwork. “It says here probable bitten in one attempt. Does that mean something to you?”

“Not yet. Is there anything else different?”

“Well, there is one minor detail. It’s a hormone found at the waist of Mr. Evans. It comes from an ocean-going creature because of its salinity content.”

“Any idea what sort of creature?”

“No. The coroner is sending a sample to a lab in Boston. Results should come tomorrow.”

“All right, sheriff. Thanks for the information. If there’s nothing else, I’ve got to meet my mother out on the patio.”

“The opening dinner. Got it. No, there’s nothing else I can see. You can read the report any time you like. I’ve got to get going too. I’m part of the security detail.”

“Then maybe I’ll see you there.”

Sumner Inn. 7 pm

John sat between Hayley and Allyson at table #1, in full view of the Select Committee.

“I recognize Cromwell from the bank and Garrett from the Hillcrest Restaurant, but I don’t know the others.”

“You need to bring your program with you next time.” Hayley fanned herself with her program. “The man with the red bow-tie is Vincent Carrera, owner of the Valcour City Performing Arts Center. I don’t know who the other gentleman is.”

John looked at the small man at the end of the committee table. His thin mustache twitched like he was going to sneeze. Two dark eyes stared at the lake. He seemed to wait to be dismissed. John took the program from his mother and looked at the list. Hayley bumped him and he looked at her.

“The last member of the committee is here. She’s a looker.”

John looked up and saw Miranda Sheridan take her seat between Cromwell and Carrera. She scanned the crowd and gave John a short wave when she saw him. Her smile made John happy.

“You know her already,” said Hayley.

“We met earlier today.”

“Somewhere interesting?”

“The Maritime Museum. She’s the Director.”

“I guess you have to meet somewhere. Is she nice?”

“Very nice.”

“Is she married?”

“It didn’t come up when we talked.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Champ.”

“Champ? Oh, you mean the monster. Why did you waste the girl’s time on that?”

“It happens she’s an authority on Champ. She’s considering expanding their Champ exhibit to include what happened today.”

“What happened today?”

John looked over at Amos, who frowned and shrugged.

“Mrs. Pentgram, we didn’t want to disturb your festival with such a little thing,” said Allyson.

“Why, dear, nothing could disturb me this year. So tell me.”

“We were relaxing on the tour boat, and something hit the boat from underneath it. It was Champ.”

“Are you so certain? It could have been a log.”

“It was moving, Mrs. Pentgram. I saw the tail swish back and forth.”

“That is disturbing. Did you tell your director friend, John?”

“Yes. She has all the photos and two videos shot today. I’m sure she would rather be at the museum than here.”

“And I can see why. I see that look in your eyes, John. You’re mind isn’t on the festival.”

“No, it isn’t. I’ve got a puzzle to solve and two murders.”

“You think they’re tied together?”

“They have to be.”

“And where does Miranda Sheridan fit into this?”

“Mother, when I find out, you’ll be the first to know.”

The ceremony droned on, and John squirmed in his seat. His only highlights were the furtive glances he got of Miranda. Her brief speech ended with a greeting of new friends she had made in the past day. She turned and smiled at John as she finished her remarks.

Finally, to John’s relief, the ceremony ended. Amos and Allyson escorted Hayley back to her room to prepare for the night’s activities. As John watched her go, Miranda stepped up to him.

“Is this seat taken?”

John smiled. “No.” John smiled. “I’ve reserved it for you.”

“Very kind of you, good sir.” She sat and undid the top two buttons of her blouse. “I hate these functions. But it’s the price I must pay to keep the museum in the public eye.”

John noticed the second button opening with a touch of flourish. “How well do you know the committee members?”

“Let’s see. I bank with Cromwell, eat at the Hillcrest and I go to the theater several times a season. I don’t know Jerry Rossi.”

“What does Rossi do?”

“He owns the Fenris Labs at the north end of town.”

“What do they do?”

“They formulate food for fish living in zoos around the country.”

“That’s interesting, and too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence.”

“How do you mean?”

Something killed the Evans north of here. They both worked at Fenris.”

“You don’t think they had anything to do with the Evans deaths? Wasn’t it an accident?”

“You don’t know the details?”

“No. Too gruesome for me. I heard they drowned. Caught in a stray net and strangled while trying to free themselves.”

“Let’s leave it at that for now. My thoughts are running in a different direction.”

“Do you have any reason to be suspicious?”

“Yes, but it’s confidential. If you knew too much, it would get me in trouble with Sheriff Harper.”

“We wouldn’t want to get on Dan’s bad side.”

“You know him?”

“He and my dad worked together to pull this town out of trouble fifteen years ago. Gangs from New York came here to start new chapters. Dad and Dan wouldn’t put up with it.”

“Your dad sounds like my kind of guy.”

“He was mayor back then. The two of them drove the gangs out. They made it uncomfortable to stay here, and they moved on.”

John nodded and drank some coffee. Miranda’s eyes strayed to his hand. She saw the ghost impression of a ring. John looked down and held his hand up to her.

“I was married. Caroline died three years ago.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“If I’ve overstepped, I’ll stop.”

“It’s all right. I noticed your hand is clean, so to speak.”

“Yep. Never married. This job has consumed me for so long that I think my opportunity has passed.”

“Of eligibility?”

She smiled. “Something like that.”

“I’d say you’re very eligible.”

“You mean that?”

“I never lie about those things. A woman’s emotions are not to be poked at or provoked.”

“Wise. I’m going to take a chance. I’d like to get to know you better.”

“And I was thinking the same thing, but I didn’t want to push. I’d kick myself if I moved too fast and scared you off.”

“That’s not likely. Not after tonight.”

“What happened tonight?”

“I’ve already met your mother. She seems to approve of me.”

“She said nothing about meeting you.”

“Earlier, maybe an hour before the festivities began. She met with the committee to discuss the proceedings.”

“She always does that. It helps her to know every detail as planned. For her age, she’s quite busy.”

“I can tell. She was the last person we met with before we all left to get ready. I was unaware of her relation to you, and we spoke for around fifteen minutes.”

“Let me guess. She mentioned me.”

“Several times. She’d make a good matchmaker.”

“Oh, I believe it. I hope she said nothing bad about me.”

“Not a word came out of her mouth that didn’t paint you as a wonderful son.”

“It looks like I’ve got a reputation to live up to.”

“I’d say you’re doing a good job. Otherwise I’d not be sitting here.”

“I’m glad you liked what you heard.”

“Yes, I did. And I’d like to hear more, but I’ve got to close up the museum. How about breakfast?”

“Where?”

“There’s a place called Donovan’s south of here. It’s along the waterfront. You can’t miss it.”

“I’ll find it. When?”

“Eight?”

“Eight it is.” His phone chirped. “That’ll be Mother. A last-minute strategy session back at her room.”

“I’ll let you go. It was very nice to talk to you again.” Miranda stood and walked toward the parking lot. John let his eyes linger on her a moment before his phone chirped again.

Fenris Labs. 1140 am.

“Bartlett has to be up to something here.” Pentgram turned into the parking lot of the lab. “It fits all the pieces.”

“We’ll see.”

A dark sedan came careening around a corner, making a wide turn into the exit lane. Pentgram had to swerve to avoid the car. He stopped the car as the sedan turned onto the main road and sped off.

Jerry Rossi stepped out of his office and walked up to John and Amos. “Can I help you?”

“Yes. We’re helping Sheriff Harper investigate the deaths of Carol and Jim Evans.”

“A tragedy. What do you need from us?”

“Do you know anyone named Bartlett? Lionel Bartlett?”

“The name doesn’t ring a bell. Are you here on an official capacity for Sheriff Harper?”

“He asked us for our help, but we’re not with the police.”

Rossi’s eyes flared for a second. “I’m sorry. We can’t say any more to you unless you have full authorization from the police department. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have some new formulations to discuss with my team.”

Rossi escorted John and Amos out the door. He stood watching them as John drove his Range Rover out of the parking lot.

“He’s hiding something. Your mother would tear him apart with his own words.”

“Yes she would. But she’s busy making new contacts and charming the Select Committee. How much do you want to bet the car that almost hit us was driven by Bartlett?”

“I’d put money on it. When you mentioned Bartlett’s name, he didn’t flinch. Bartlett has to be using an alias.”

“Did you get a look around while we talked?”

“Yep, and I found something. On one wall are photos of the management. The space where the director would go is empty.”

“Bartlett needs to remain anonymous. We’ll just have to wait until we catch him out in the open.”

“One of us could always park a rental car outside of the parking lot and watch for him.”

“We don’t want to invite trouble. We’d stick out and get noticed quick.”

Benedict Tour Vessel. 1159 am.

Jeremy Hardwicke bit into his tuna sandwich. As he washed it down with some sparkling wine, the boat shook. It was a slight bump, just enough to cause ripples in his cup. He heard someone gasp, and he turned to look.

Ten feet off the side, an enormous black hump rose from the water. It glistened in the early morning sun. A thin, bumpy ridge ran along the back. To Jeremy, it looked like an overturned rowboat. The shiny surface gleamed as if algae covered it. The hump grew smaller as the Benedict cruised away from it. Jeremy put his sandwich down and picked up his phone.

He zoomed the camera on the hump as it rose from the water. Jeremy gasped as the hump unfolded and a magnificent head and neck appeared. The thick head resembled a short-snouted alligator. Slowly, the head sank into the calm water.

Sumner Inn. 1235 pm.

“This footage is incredible,” said John as he watched the Facebook post on the laptop. They sat at a table in the lobby.

“I’ve got to interview this guy,” said Allyson. She sent Jeremy a private message.

“Something’s going on. Two excellent sightings in 48 hours. I thought what we experienced on the boat was a fluke.”

John put the shot of the head and neck on still. “Something has disturbed this creature. Its actions are not normal.”

“Next we’ll have people out on the lake with guns like in the movie Jaws. Remember the guys who had the dynamite?”

“Yeah, and the festival would get ruined. There has to be something we can do.”

“Before another person gets killed.” Allyson’s phone beeped. “Jeremy texted me back with his phone number.” She kissed Amos on the cheek and settled into a chair in a corner. John and Amos left her and stepped outside.

The festival was up and running. The noise of the crowd and background music engulfed them. Valcour City’s population doubled overnight. Signs popped up everywhere, giving directions to the various wine pavilions.

“Mother will be busy with her staff promoting the new wines.”

“When are you going to give her a break so she can have her nap?”

“One o’clock. I’ll go relive her now. You can come if you like.”

“No thanks. I’ll tag along with Allyson for the afternoon. We’ll wind up at the festival and go on the rides.”

“Have fun.”

Wine Pavilion #2. 2 pm.

John immersed himself in the promotion of the Pentgram wines. He collected dozens of emails and over 50 surveys. A goldfish bowl held over a hundred contest slips. He smiled as he thought of the single person who would win a bottle of wine every month for a year.

He noted the rose and the white zinfandel were the clear favorites of the people visiting his area. The horse shoe of tables had a steady line of people sampling the various vintages. Lee Moran and her daughter Meredith were busy handing out small cups of wine. He noticed the merlot was gaining more support as the day progressed. John didn’t like merlot, but he had to admit their version was getting better every year.

A young woman stepped up to the table. She wore an oversize t-shirt and shorts. A pair of dark glasses obscured her eyes.

“Are you John Pentgram?”

“Yes.” John suspected she was a spy from one of the other vineyards. Wine-making was as cutthroat as any other business, just less public.

“We need to talk. My name is Perry.”

“About what? Please, have a seat.”

“No. I’m not here for the wine. It’s about the deaths two nights ago.”

“The Evans.”

“Them. It wasn’t an accident.”

“I know.”

“Something killed another person last night.”

“That I didn’t know.”

“I believe my employer is responsible.”

“And who is your employer?”

“Dr. Sherman. Fenris Labs.”

“Oh, really? Can you talk now?”

“No. Meet me at the old oyster processor at the fairgrounds. 9 sharp.”

“Isn’t this a little dramatic? Why can’t we meet in parked cars at the mall?”

She shook her head. “9 o’ clock. I’ll wait ten minutes and then I’m gone.” She glanced to her left and gasped. Turning, she moved into the crowds and disappeared.

John looked to see why the woman panicked. He saw Jerry Rossi moving along the tables. When he to the Pentgram table, he stopped.

“A detective and a winemaker. How many more talents do you have, Mr. Pentgram?”

“That runs the gamut for me. You’re on the Select Committee, right?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I hope my visit to your place this morning won’t upset your opinion of us.”

Rossi took a sip of the merlot. “Not a bit. This is exceptional.”

“Thank you. We’ve worked hard on it for years.”

“It shows. I appreciate your efforts to help the police put those horrible deaths behind us.”

“I used to be a cop. I like to help where I can.”

Rossi nodded and tried some of the rose. “What are you looking into?”

“Oh, we’re trying to tie up some loose ends. Sheriff Harper has his hands full with the festival.”

“And he’s short on personnel. I get it. This rose is quite good also.”

“My mother will appreciate your compliment. Your lab employed the Evans, Mr. Rossi. We wanted to make sure they didn’t die while on the job.”

“So late at night? No, Jim and Carol walked on the beach all the time. A very randy couple, if you get my meaning.”

“Oh, I do. I believe the doctor answered all my questions.”

“That’s all you needed?”

“Just the one question.”

“Well, I’m sorry if I cut you off at the lab. Our new formulas aren’t working out as expected.”

“I understand. Now, as long as you’re here, why not try the white zinfandel also?”

Valcour City Fair. 8:55 pm.

John Pentgram moved away from the crowds. He could see the top of the old oyster processing plant ahead of him. He reached the crumbling delivery road and quickened his pace. No lights shone at the plant, and he was soon walking in the dark. The noises of the fair faded as he picked up his pace.

At the southern end of the plant, Perry Shepherd put out her cigarette. She stood on the beach, near the pier. For a hundred years, the plant has employed a dozen people to shuck oysters for the never-ending demand for the mollusks. Times passed, and newer methods for harvesting them rose. Perry remembered the plant had been abandoned for a long time.

She fanned herself with the thin envelope. Inside, she put photos of the dead sea slugs and Dr. Sherman butchering them. Jim and Carol Evans were also on hand, separating the organs Sherman wanted from the dead mass of flesh.

An enormous wave came in, washing up to her knees. She lost her balance for a second, almost falling over. She took a step forward and the wave knocked her down. Her face hit the sand. She got a mouthful of it and it filled her eyes. The pain sent her reeling. As she tried to get to her hands and knees, something bit her left arm.

John heard the scream up ahead of him. He broke out into a run and ran past the old building. He saw Perry clawing at the sand as she disappeared into the water. Behind her, a huge dark shape grew smaller as it sank beneath the waves.

Helpless, Pentgram watched as the shape and Perry vanished. The lake settled down as people ran up the road toward him. Among them was Sgt. Kelso.

“What happened here?” Kelso asked.

“I don’t know, sergeant. I saw someone go under the water.” An envelope came ashore and came to rest at John’s feet. He picked it up.

“What should I do?”

“Keep everyone away from this area and call the sheriff.”

“Are you sure you saw someone?” Sherman sat at the edge of the fairgrounds with Pentgram.

“Yes. I was going to meet Perry Shepherd at the plant. She said she had some information about the Evans.”

“Is that what’s in the envelope?’

The remains of the envelope lay on the table. Inside were three photos.

“It isn’t anything now. The sea water destroyed them. Sheriff, I saw the creature drag Perry into the water.”

“Go on.”

“I swear. A dozen people heard her scream.”

“But you were the only one who saw Champ.”

“Yes.”

“Well, under the circumstances, it doesn’t sound too crazy from where I’m sitting. Look, why don’t you go back to the inn and get some sleep.”

John nodded. He looked up and saw Amos and Allyson approaching.

“John, are you all right?”

“Yeah, Amos, but I came this close to being on Champ’s menu.”

Police Headquarters. 9 am.

“We found her washed up on shore at four this morning,” said Harper. “I’ll show you. It ain’t pretty.”

“You can give us the details.” Pentgram took the coffee offered by the sheriff. He drank it and closed his eyes.

“Perry Shepherd. Aged 32. Death by causes unknown. Left arm, right leg and hand and head missing.”

“Like the Evans,” said Amos. “Can I see the report?”

“Sure.” Harmon handed the thin report to Amos. “We’ll issue a report to the press that she drowned. It’s for the best.”

“This is sounding more like Jaws all the time,” said Amos as they were leaving. “I was waiting for him to say he didn’t want a panic during the festival.”

“He’s got three murders on his hands, Amos. It’s not a situation to laugh at.”

“I’m not laughing. I’m fascinated by the ways people will use to keep people in the dark.”

“You’d tell everyone their once docile monster is now eating the citizens?”

“No, but there has to be a different way to do it. Maybe it’s just me. I don’t like Allyson being this close to whatever is happening.”

“You wouldn’t be able to keep her away.”

“Yeah, I know it. She can sniff out a story a mile away.”

“Just remember, you’re there to keep her safe. Right?”

“Yeah, true.”

Sumner Inn. Noon.

News of the Shepherd drowning hit the festival hard. The crowds were thin and showed little interest in sampling wine and cheese.

“That poor girl,” said Hayley. She held Meredith’s hand as the young woman wept.

John had other plans than to sit under a tent and hand out drinks. He saw Miranda walking past the Pentgram pavilion.

“How’s the festival going for you so far?”

Miranda looked up at him and smiled. “I’ve had better ones. But never one this, interesting I’d have to say.”

“I agree with you. Have you had lunch yet?”

“No. where do you have in mind?”

“Somewhere that doesn’t serve seafood.”

“I’ve got just the place. Follow me.”

“With pleasure.”

Mackal’s Pub. 1 pm.

Mackal’s did its best to provide an authentic Irish pub experience in a town known for its great seafood. The menu offered everything but fish, except on Fridays. They reserved their special beer-battered Fish and Chips, a big favorite among the inhabitants and visitors alike, for that day.

“So, what do you recommend?”

“The burgers are amazing.”

“Done.”

John ordered the Maui Burger, with a slice of pineapple and extra sharp Vermont Cheddar cheese between two Angus patties. Miranda had the California Burger with the Vermont Cheddar. They ate like they were old friends, engaging in small talk until their dessert arrived.

“What’s Sheriff Harper going to do about the festival?”

John wiped his lips. “I ‘m sure he’ll keep the beaches clear. That’s where the danger has been.”

“That poor girl. She worked at the Fenris Lab, right?”

“Yeah. The sheriff’s going to want to know why their employees are being killed.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Could it be a coincidence?”

“It could but what are the odds?”

“True. So, to change the subject, what’s it like to live at a vineyard?”

Mackal’s Pub. 2:30 pm.

John’s phone buzzed. It was Harper.

“Sheriff Harper. What can I do for you?”

“I have the results of the substance found on the Evans’ clothes. I thought you’d be interested.”

“Very much so.”

“It’s the hormone of a sea slug. A refined steroid. Specifically, the Northern Atlantic Sea Slug.”

“Do you have these creatures here in Lake Champlain?”

“No. Never have. They can’t live in fresh water. And we found the same stuff on Perry Shepherd. A lot of it. She was splattered with it.”

“Another clue. Thank you, sheriff. I’ll come by and read the report later, if that’s okay.”

“It’ll be here.” He hung up.

“Something important?” Miranda held her fork in her fist.

“It may be, or it may be nothing. What do you know about sea slugs?”

“Very little. I’ve seen them in a big display tank at the Boston Aquarium. Why?”

“The Evans and Perry had sea slug hormone on their clothes.”

“Something like that could be very irritating to some creatures.”

“What sort of creatures?”

“The higher life forms in the water. The mammals, mollusks and reptiles especially.”

“Miranda, I could kiss you.”

“I was wondering when you’d ask.” She smiled at him and winked.

Valcour City Police Station. 3 pm.

John walked Miranda back to the festival and drove to the police station. The report didn’t tell him any more than he was told by Harper. The sheriff came into his office and found Pentgram still reading.

“Find anything?”

“No, but I have an idea that might help.”

“Anything at this point would be welcome.”

“Does the coroner still have the clothes from the bodies?”

“I suppose. Why?”

“I’d like to scrape as much of it off and collect it. There’s an experiment I want to do out on the lake.”

“I’ll ask Jim if he can do that.”

“Tell him not to touch the steroid. It’s a skin irritant.”

“I’ll tell him. When do you want it?”

“As soon as he can gather it.”

Benedict Tour Boat. 5 pm.

John, Amos, and Allyson sat at the stern, enjoying the view. They waited until the tour guide finished his speech, now with added material. The crowd drifted into the gallery for food. When the area was clear, John reached into his bag and took out a zipper bag containing half a canary melon.

He took the melon out. Inside the hollow was a small plastic bag filled with a gray oily liquid. He looked at the other passengers. None of them were looking his way.

“Ready?”

“Now’s as good a time as any,” said Allyson. “Are you going to throw that overboard?”

“No, drop it in. after I do this.”

Wearing rubber gloves, he took one of the inn’s pens and drove it through the plastic bag into the melon until the pen tip came out the bottom. With great care John turned and leaned over the side. He dropped it into the water and let the current take it away.

“Now we wait,” he said as he stripped the glove off and put them into the bag where the melon had been.

The Benedict swung around and was returning to the docks when there was a commotion in the water up ahead. Something big was splashing in the water. Everyone gathered around to see what the commotion was. They did not leave disappointed.

The head and neck of Champ rose from the water. The head thrashed back and forth and a great roar issued from the creature. It dove back into the water and disappeared. Two people thought to record it on their phones. The rest were too stunned to move.

John sat back and shook his head. “That was not a good way to prove a theory.”

“Why?” Amos watched Allyson as she interviewed various passengers. He smiled as she moved from couple to couple.

“I know why Champ is acting the way is has been.”

“Really? Tell me, or do you want to wait for Allyson?”

“She’ll hear it soon enough. The bag in the melon had some of the sea slug hormone in it. Champ must have eaten or gotten close enough to the melon for the stuff to affect it.”

“The spot where she came up is where you dropped the melon. I’m sure.”

“We have our link to the lab where Bartlett is working. We’ll go to see Sheriff Harper as soon as we dock. He’ll get a search warrant and we’ll stop whatever they’re doing.”

Fenris Labs. 8 am.

Sheriff Harper entered the front door of the lab. Three of his deputies walked a few paces behind him. He stepped up to the front desk, where an older woman sat behind the Reception Desk. Her name was Barbara Carlson.

“Ms. Carlson, how are you this morning?”

“I’m well. Can I help you and your men?”

Harper reached into his pocket and took out a folded paper. “This is a search warrant issued by Judge Sklar just this hour. It gives me permission to search the entire premises.”

“On what grounds?”

“Your employees have died; three of them in the last three days. We believe you’re doing something here to cause whatever killed them to act violently.”

“I assure you we are not conducting some nefarious operation, sheriff.”

“That remains to be seen.” He turned and motioned to two men standing outside. They entered and came to Harper’s side.

“Thank you, sheriff for inviting us,” said Pentgram.

“My pleasure.” He turned to look at Carlson. “And now, if you’ll be so kind as to call someone in charge.”

She nodded and dialed her phone. A minute later, Jerry Rossi came rushing to the front desk. His face was flushed.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“I’m here to ask you the same question, Mr. Rossi. We believe you have a wanted fugitive on the premises. And we’d like to inspect your labs, of course.”

Rossi read the warrant. His shoulders sagged as if the air had gone out of them.

“And we’d like to talk to Dr. Hank Sherman. I trust he’s here.”

“Why, yes. He is. He’s busy at the moment.”

“I’ll bet,” said John. “C’mon Amos. Maybe we can catch him this time.”

The two men brushed past the protesting Rossi and down the long white corridor toward the labs. They opened each door as they moved, looking for Bartlett. They came to the double doors at the end of the corridor.

“You can’t go int there,” shouted Rossi from the lobby. “it’s restricted.”

“Any radioactivity or dangerous chemicals?” he texted to the sheriff. Harper asked Rossi the questions. When Rossi shook his head, Pentgram shoved the door open.

Inside was a room as wide as the building. Here there were a dozen stations, crammed with equipment, flasks and meters. A burst of sunlight caught John’s eye. In one corner, a door shut.

“That’s Bartlett. Seem what you can find here.”

“Right.” Amos moved to the firsts station, picking up a ring binder filled with charts.

Pentgram slammed against the door and burst into the open air. He put his sunglasses on as he saw a man run down a pier to his left. The man stumbled into a twenty-foot deck boat. He dropped his papers onto the deck as he fished for the keys. John took off running, knowing he’d only get one chance to catch the man before the boat shot away.

Halfway up the pier, the engines coughed to life. The boat hadn’t moved by the time he reached it. As the boat pulled away, John leaped into the air. He landed on the deck, sprawling flat on his chest. When he got up, he saw Bartlett standing there. he held a small caliber pistol.

“Your lab is closed, Bartlett.”

“And you’re to blame. Why did you interfere?”

“You’ve killed three people. Reason enough to stop you.”

“Another day and I’d have stopped the situation. One more day to perfect my work.”

“One more day to irritate the creature. Another day where it could strike at any moment.”

“You don’t understand. The compound was nearly stable. Then you would have seen something amazing.”

“I’ve seen amazing. Champ is an incredible creature, but we shouldn’t disturb it like you’ve done.”

“But don’t you see? My work would have made the creature accessible to everyone. My compound will tame the beast.”

“Your steroids are making the creature act irrational. It’s being driven to kill anyone who touches the hormone.”

“That’s not true.”

“Think of it. The Evans had it on their clothes. So did Perry.”

“And Douglas.” Bartlett shook his head. “No matter. A mistake occurred. Soon I’ll have the compound ready. I’ll come back and we’ll have the sea slugs living here as tame as a domestic dog.”

“Wait. You think Champ is a sea slug?”

“Yes. It’s a prehistoric variant of Aplysia Cedrocensis. This one grows to be thirty feet.”

“You’re wrong. So wrong.”

“Am I? We’ll see.”

“I can’t let you get away.”

“You’re going to stop me?”

“Somehow. Yes. Even if it kills me. You’ll not get to dry land without being tied up.”

“Right now, it looks like you won’t get your chance. I’m headed across the lake. When I get to the other side, I’m going to shoot you.”

The boat tilted to one side as something hit it from beneath. Pentgram leaped toward Bartlett., as he fired the gun. The bullet grazed Pentgram’s left arm. The pain was like a hot poker touched him. John crashed into Bartlett. He hit the steering wheel and spun around. The gun flew off, clattering on the deck. The engine sputtered and shut down.

Pentgram gripped Bartlett’s hands in his.

“You’re wearing my lab gloves.”

Pentgram squeezed the man’s hands in his own. He noticed a glistening on the edges. “Your hormone. Isn’t it?”

Bartlett’s reaction told him all he needed to know. The boat rocked again. Pentgram lost his grip on his prisoner and Bartlett tumbled over the side, tearing the gloves from Pentgram’s hands. Bartlett went under the water. He came up screaming for help.

“Give me your hand.” Pentgram leaned over to help the scientist. A shadow crossed over him. John looked up and retreated from the edge of the boat.

The head was the size of a garbage can. Its open mouth revealed two rows of very sharp teeth. The long neck was smooth. The eyes stared down at Bartlett, its intended prey. For a moment, the plesiosaurus stayed in position. John could see it breathe, its nostrils flaring.

Bartlett tread water, too stunned to get back into the boat. A low roar came from deep within the creature. It opened its mouth and grabbed Bartlett by the head. As Bartlett screamed, the creature sank below the surface. Pentgram sank down onto the deck, his vision getting dark.

Valcour City Hospital. 4:30 pm

Pentgram opened his eyes. He saw he had a drip connected to his left arm. His vision cleared. Hayley, Amos, and Allyson sat around him.

“John. My god you’re okay.” Hayley’s tears smeared her make-up.

“Hello, mother. How’s the festival going?”

“Is that all you’re interested in?”

“I think an awards ceremony is about all the adventure I’m up for.”

“How do you feel?” asked Amos.

“Better than Bartlett.”

“We saw it all from the beach. I thought Champ was going to get you next.”

“Me also. What happened?”

“When the boat’s engine died, the sheriff and I jumped into another boat and sped to you. By the time we got there, it was over.”

“And Champ?”

“It grabbed something in the water and went down as we got within fifty feet.”

“It took Bartlett.”

“Really?”

Pentgram nodded. “How am I?”

“A mild concussion.” Hayley took Pentgram’s hand in hers. “I’m so glad you’re okay. The doctor says not to crowd you. We’ll come to get you when they release you. Right now, you have a special visitor.”

Hayley, Amos and Allyson left the room. Miranda came in and sat down near him. She got up and gave him a kiss.

“Hey. How are you?”

“Much better.”

“You’ve been busy today. I can’t wait to hear about it.”

“It’s a long story.”

“That’s okay. We’ll have many years to talk.”

“Will we?”

She nodded. “I’m not letting you go, mister. I’ve waited all my life for someone like you to come to the village.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

She took his hand in hers. “You don’t need say anything.”

John Pentgram fanned his face with the invitation as he entered the main house of the Pentgram Vineyard. His mother lived here and conducted all business on the first floor. He headed for the hall leading to her office, almost dreading meeting her. When Hayley Pentgram got her own invitation to the festival, she thought of nothing else.

John could not think of a reason not to go to the festival this year. He enjoyed the festivities, but his mind dwelt on all the work he had to catch up on. For Hayley, this was the highlight of her year, and she insisted that her family and closest friends accompany her.

“Good morning, Mr. Pentgram.” John came out of his thoughts and looked at Lee Moran, his mother’s executive secretary. Her smile was infectious, and John found himself at her desk.

“How are you this morning?”

“Ecstatic. Your mother sent me her travel protocol a few minutes ago. I love the festival.”

“Maybe I’ll see you there.”

“You aren’t going this year?” Her face fell.

“I don’t know yet. There is Cyclops activity down in South Carolina, and Lazlo Caroon wants me to go on a ghost treasure hunt down in Florida.”

“Sounds exciting. Well, see what Mrs. Pentgram has to say. Maybe I will see you at the festival.”

“You know mother so well. I’ll talk to you soon. Say hello to Arthur and the kids.”

“I will. Good luck.”

John smiled and headed into the hall. He smiled at the awards and ribbons festooning the walls. One caught his attention,, and he walked up to it. In a frame lit by an overhead light, an award glowed with pride.

“Merlot Of The Year. Pentgram Vineyards.”

“I’ll be taking that one off the wall and replacing it with one from this year’s competition,” said the full-blooded voice of Hayley Pentgram.

John turned his head to look at her. She stood in the doorway of her office, perched like a panther ready to strike. Hayley Pentgram was always selling, always looking for an edge. “This year’s merlot isn’t up to last year’s standards, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“True, but the White Zinfandel is superb. So is the Riesling.”

“Another award winner this year?” John followed her into the office.

Hayley smiled. “I’m counting on it. You are coming, aren’t you?” she said as she walked back to her desk. On the enormous desk sat a 42-inch monitor, filled with small windows. As she sat down in front of the screen, she clicked on an image. It expanded to show the festival being put together as a slideshow.

“I wasn’t planning on it. There has been little of interest for me the past few years.” His eyes scanned the images as they scrolled past. He soon grew tired of the many panel trucks and the spiderweb of scaffolding in various stages of construction.

“You always seem to have a good time, John. Think of all the beautiful women you’ve dined with over the years. Surely that alone is reason to go.”

“Perhaps.” He smiled as an image of the docks came up. The smile dropped from his face as he spotted someone familiar at the S. S. Benedict. “Can you stop the slide show right there, mother?”

“Certainly. Why?”

“I spotted someone I know. You know, mother, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll be coming with you. And I’ll invite Amos and Allyson to come, if that’s all right.”

“Oh, that’s so nice of you, John. They’ve been too busy working. I’m sure they’ll like a brief vacation.”

“I’m sure they will. Can you send that photo to my phone?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, mother.” He stepped up and kissed her on the cheek.

“Can we have lunch later? To discuss the trip.”

“I’ll be here, and on time.” John headed out of the office.

“That will be a surprise.” Hayley smiled as she continued the slideshow.

Once outside, John called Amos McConnell. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he sent his friend the photo.

“Hello?”

“Amos, good morning. I’ve sent you a photo you’ll find distressing.”

“Not interesting?”

“Oh, very interesting.”

“Give me a second to look. What the hell. Is that Lionel Bartlett?”

“It looks like him. Who else could it be?”

“We put him in prison. I still have nightmares about what he did to those three young women. Where is he?”

“Valcour City, Vermont. Mother and I are attending the wine festival. I thought you and Allyson could use a brief vacation.”

“Allyson will like that, but there’s fat chance I’ll get any relaxation in.”

“Mother says you’re welcome to come.”

“I’ll call Allyson right now. What about a hotel room?”

“Mother has rented an entire floor of the Sumner Inn. We’ll have plenty of room for the two of you. We’ll put you at the other end, so you can have some privacy.”

“Thanks, John. Should we meet you there?”

“Sure. We’re leaving on the 18th.”

“Four days from now. That’ll give me plenty of time to get a teacher to cover me. Maybe Allyson can do a puff piece for the Sunday magazine. She’ll like that.”

“Then we’re set. We’ll meet you in the lobby and you and I can plan some strategy. We can’t allow Bartlett to get away.

May 18. Sumner Inn Lobby. 12 noon

In the chaos of getting Hayley Pentgram’s luggage to the elevator, John spotted Bartlett. He walked by on the sidewalk of the inn. As John stepped away, his mother spoke out.

“Aren’t you going to help me unpack, John?”

Pentgram watched as Bartlett disappeared into a crowd watching an enormous sailboat cruise past. He felt conflicted, debating whether to chase Bartlett or haul the luggage. When he turned to look at his mother, she raised an eyebrow and grinned at him.

“I’m coming. I thought I saw someone I knew.”

“It’s bound to happen. You’ve been here so many times. If we hurry, you can come down and greet Amos and Allyson when they arrive. You can meet whoever you saw later.”

Image by matos11 from Pixabay

12:30 pm

John smiled when he saw his two friends walking up the sidewalk. Amos carried a large sports bag over one shoulder while pulling two laden wheeled suitcases behind him. Allyson toted her carry-on and purse. John considered taking a photo as proof that Allyson had Amos wrapped around her little finger, but he rejected it.

“John!” Allyson smiled as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. “Thank you for inviting us.”

“My pleasure, but it’s mother you’ll want to thank.”

“We will.”

“I see you’ve got Amos well-trained.” He stepped over and took the sports bag from his friend.

“Don’t say a word to my colleagues,” Amos said as he let the big bag slide off his shoulder.

“I didn’t see a thing. Let me get one of those.” John took the largest laden suitcase and turned as a valet stepped up.

“Let me get those bags, sir.” From around a corner, a luggage cart came into view. Amos and Allyson were relieved of their bags and climbed the stairs into the inn. Amos gave John a look as Allyson whisked past them. John gave him a nod.

“Is your mother nearby?” Allyson’s eyes darted from the artwork on the walls to the antiques scattered around the lobby.

“Yes, and she’s in the middle of making plans for all of us. By the way, you’re invited to have lunch with Mother. Amos and I are going to have a look around.”

Allyson smiled and clapped her hands with glee. “I haven’t spoken to your mom in weeks. I can’t wait.”

“Come on, then. We have an entire weekend ahead of us.”

1 pm

John and Amos stood on the balcony of Amos’ room. The view of Lake Champlain thrilled Allyson. She took no time in changing into a light, breezy outfit and ran down the hall to meet Hayley Pentgram. The two men had other things on their minds besides the view.

“Bartlett walked past the inn as we were waiting for the elevator.”

“When?”

“About an hour ago.”

“Did he see you?”

“No. he was talking with someone.”

“So he is here. How did he look?”

“Different. He’s lost weight, and his face is clean-shaven. He looks nothing like he used to.”

“I checked the news sites about him and Hamilton Prison. Eight months ago, there was a breakout of seven prisoners. Bartlett was one of them. I recall reading about it, but they must not have mentioned his name.

“Who were the other escapees?”

“There were two embezzlers, a couple of bank robbers and the others were low-level crooks.”

“It’s nice that they called to tell us Bartlett was gone.”

“It’s hard to pin the blame on that on anyone. The former warden had died two days prior to the escape. The place descended into chaos as they chose a new warden.

“A perfect time to pull a breakout. Bartlett may have orchestrated it, and I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“There’s no doubt he did it. I’m thinking of telling Allyson about him and why we’re really here.”

John looked at him. “Is that a good idea?”

“She’s smart and can handle herself. Did I tell you she got her brown belt in ju-jitsu?”

“Really? Good for her.” John watched a sailboat drift by, taken by the wind. “Another pair of eyes won’t hurt. Is she doing a piece for the paper?”

“Her editor jumped at it. Gave her an expense account and money for a hotel.”

“Perfect. She’ll have a camera and an excuse to be taking photos if Bartlett spots her.”

“I think it’s a good idea.”

“I do too. Let’s talk to her as soon as she’s free from Mother’s grasp.”

2:30 pm- Bayside Restaurant- Sumner Inn

“So, are you two going to explain to me why all of this mysterious moving around?”

John smiled at her. Her strawberry-blonde hair was down, tumbling around her shoulders. She dressed again after lunch in a cotton skirt ensemble, complete with her ever-present blue deck shoes.

“Amos and I have a very special favor to ask of you. You may not like it, and you can say no. but I’m betting the reporter in you will want to help.”

“You’re on a case? Here? And you need my help?”

“It’s not a case, at least we hope it won’t turn into one. It’s more of an intervention.”

She looked at Amos, who stirred his coffee and smiled. “You’re after someone? Now I’m intrigued. Go on.”

“This has to be kept between the three of us,” Amos said. “Especially if it gets ugly.”

“How ugly?” She bit into her English muffin after putting a hint of jam onto one corner.

“The man we’re looking for killed four teenage girls.”

Allyson dropped her knife onto her plate. The noise broke the near-silence of the room. A middle- aged man looked up from his newspaper and then lowered his eyes to the news. “Oh.” Allyson closed her eyes and took a few breaths through her mouth. She blew one breath out and looked at John. She nodded. “Go on.”

Seeing Pentgram’s reluctance to proceed, Amos looked at John and nodded. Amos sat up to continue. “His name is Lionel Bartlett.”

“Dr. Lionel Bartlett, as much as it pains me to say it,” said John.

Amos frowned. “Yes, well, “Doctor” Bartlett worked at my university. He’s a geneticist by training, but he taught Biology and Chemistry.”

“He sounds very smart,” said Allyson.

“Brilliant is the best word for his skill set,” Amos continued. “what no one knew was he was conducting research into hormones on the side.”

“What sort of hormones?” Allyson held her muffin in one hand, all thoughts of eating forgotten.

“He had some wild theory of producing a combination that would tell the body to reduce the amount of sugar the body turns into fat.”

“That sounds like a billion-dollar idea,” she said.

“Yes, it could be. But Bartlett hated the peer review and trial periods for products to be put on the market. He must have had intentions to perfect it here and produce it overseas, where standards are not as strict.”

“It happens a lot,” said Allyson.

“He tested his formula on small animals he trapped on school grounds. People brought the mice and squirrels they caught to him. He had a small zoo in his classroom. All part of the deception. Then he stepped it up and tested on humans.” Amos paused, wiping his hand down his face.

“What happened?” Allyson’s eyes were wide with curiosity.

Amos couldn’t speak., but John could. He informed a few select people about a therapy he was working on to flush fat out of a person’s body. His manner is very slick. Four young women took his bait. They were, to be delicate, plus-size women.”

“That would make sense. Amos, are you all right?” She took his hand and squeezed it. “Are you crying?”

Amos blew out a breath and wiped one eye. “Bartlett arranged for the four women, they were still girls for god’s sake, to meet him after their last classes on a Friday before a three day weekend. We didn’t know he took an unused storeroom and converted it to private lab with no one knowing about it. Very intelligent.”

“I see. Then what happened?”

“He sat the in some lounge chairs and injected them with his formula. The formula contained a powerful sedative. The women went into convulsions within minutes but could not walk because of the sedative. They all died within ten minutes of the injection.”

“And Bartlett?”

“He packed all his personal things and his notes and ran. Someone found the girls two weeks later when they smelled something rotting in Bartlett’s classroom.

“My god. What happened?”

“We caught up with Bartlett at the Canadian border, near Niagara Falls. A court tried and convicted him of four counts of first-degree murder. Four consecutive life sentences. The trial ended seven years ago.”

“And now you’re here because of this Bartlett?”

“He’s here in town.”

“My god. Are you sure?”

“100% sure,” said Pentgram. “I could never forget that smug face of his. There was a breakout at the prison he was in. he escaped with six others. Authorities have captured them all, but not Bartlett.

“So, you’re going to capture him? Have him arrested?”

“Yes. Something like that. We’d like to know what he’s up to here before the police turn the place upside down looking for him.”

Amos brought his head closer to Allyson’s. “If he gets away, he’ll just go somewhere else and set up a new lab.”

“A lab? Is that what you think he’s doing here?”

“I’m sure he’s not here for mother’s wine.”

“What can I do to help?”

“That’s my girl, “ said Amos, his spirits picking up. “As you move around town, keep an eye open for him. We’ll send you a few photos of him. He looks different, but you’ll know him by his eyes. They can bore a hole into your soul if you stare at them too long.”

John interrupted. “I you spot him, text one of us, both if you can. Use the code words “Red Wine Spritzer.” We’ll find you with your phone GPS.”

“I hate red wine spritzers.” Allyson frowned.

“We know. A perfect code word, something you’d never drink.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Don’t go out of your way to look for him. We don’t want to tip him off.”

“Okay. Does he know you two are here?”

“No, and we want to keep it that way. It’ll be tough with me always at the elbow of Mother, but let’s do what we can to not stick out.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it. If he knew you know he is he’d kill you.”

“Maybe I should stick to my story.”

“That’s your choice, and we’ll not hold it against you. Amos and I can handle this.”

Allyson studied the faces of the two men. Besides her father, they were the two people she trusted most in the world. If they were after someone who killed people, she could turn them down. “Okay, I’ll help you. But it’ll be as an observer. I won’t play detective with you until I finish my own story.”

“That’s my girl.” Amos kissed her.

She smiled and looked at John. “So, what do we do next?”

7 pm. Sumner Inn. Room 6.

John Pentgram knocked on the door of the room. Amos opened it and gestured for him to come in. “Come in. quick.”

The two men walked across the suite and found Allyson sitting at the desk, her laptop open.

“What’s all the mystery?”

“You’re going to want to see this,” she said.

John sat next to Allyson and looked at the screen. It was a headline for the Seattle Observer dated twenty years ago. “Secret lab yields over 100 dead animals.”

“It seems the good doctor was busy long before he arrived at Monmouth.”

“Give me the short version.”

“He injected dangerous amounts of hormones and monoclonal antibodies into the animals. Two of them were the same ones Bartlett used on those girls. And here’ the owner of the lab.” Allyson clicked on a photo and a familiar face popped up.

“Bartlett. He’s heavier there than he is now.” John got up and paced the floor. “Wow. Okay. Have you found any more about this?”

“Just that the police are searching for Dr. Billings, as Bartlett called himself then. I’ll keep looking.”

“So, the big question is what is Bartlett doing here?”

Amos shrugged. “We’ll have to wait and see. I don’t think he’s here on vacation.”

Valcour City beach. 3:45 am

Bill and Carol Evers walked along the beach, far from the noise and the lights. They walked away from their house and the festival, enjoying the silence.

“It’s so peaceful here, not like back there,” Carol said.

“Enjoy it while you can. Baker wants results by the weekend.”

“I don’t see how. The tests are inconclusive at best. Salinity is way too high.”

“He feels it’s almost ready for testing.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s already tested it and not told us.”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“Dr. Baker is a slime. I’m only doing this for the money. When the trials are done, we’re out of here.”

“No accolades, then? Just the work.”

“That’s all it ever comes down to. We never get the accolades.”

Something splashed onto the beach behind them. Carol and Bill jumped, and then laughed.

“It’s just a sturgeon. They get big in these parts.” Bill smiled at her, not sure if he believed it either.

Much closer, something rose from the water. It lumbered up onto the beach. In the darkness, neither Bill nor Carol could see anything.

“What is that?”

Seconds later, Carol screamed.

Sumner Inn. 7 am

John knocked at the door of Number 6. Moments later, a bleary-eyed Amos cracked the door, toothbrush in hand.

“There’s two dead people on the beach north of here,” said John. “We’d better get moving before the scene gets trampled.”

“I’d love a stroll on the beach. Give me two minutes.”

“I got an alert on my phone of police activity,” said John as they drove along the road running along the lake. “No information aside from the two bodies.”

“It should be real close. Look, the medical wagon is leaving.”

John parked just beyond the police cars. They got out and scanned the area. No other civilian vehicles were there.

“No reporters yet. Take a look at the beach. It looks like a wild party hit it.”

“I’m going to go closer, see if I can talk to the local police. If I do, come on over.”

“Right. I’ll scan the area for anything out of place. Should I call Allyson?”

“No, not yet.”

As John stepped onto the beach, he looked back at Valcour City. The town lay half a mile away, and signs of life were everywhere. He noticed the pine trees separating the road from the beach. A woman stood at the edge of the beach. John looked at her through his small binoculars.

Her brown hair lay in layers around the top of her shoulders. Two light-colored eyes gazed at the police as they kept a few joggers away. His phone beeped with a text.

“See something?”

“Maybe. I’m going to look around.”

Signs of activity marred the smoothness of the beach. To John, it looked like the scene of a raucous party. He saw a senior police officer to one side. He stood taller than John, made of good Vermont stock by his appearance. A fern green necktie peeked out from a fern green police windbreaker. His badge read Harper.

“Excuse me, officer?”

“Yes? Please don’t get any closer to the tape.”

“My name is John Pentgram.”

“The Pentgram wine maker?”

“Yes, that’s my family.”

“I like your White Zinfandel. So does my wife.”

“My mother will be happy to hear that. She’s put a lot of work into it.”

“My pleasure. What can I do for you so far from the festival?”

“Wine making is my mother’s profession. My interests are helping people deal with things out of the ordinary. When I heard two people had died within sight of town, I thought it worth a look.

“I gotta admit, this is a bit out of my experience.”

“I came out here to observe but this beach disturbance has me intrigued.”

“We can’t have just anyone snooping around. Have you got a card?”

John handed Harper his card. Harper read it. “John Pentgram. Anomalist. JPAnomalist.para. 908-555-7379.”

“All right, Mr. Pentgram. Do you mind if I check you out?”

“Go right ahead, officer?”

“Harper. Lt. Daniel Harper.” He shook John’s hand and walked back to his car. He called someone and sat back to hear a report.

John strolled to the south, skirting the police tape. The beach showed deep gouges, as if something big had dragged itself across the sand. He noticed he was close to the woman and looked at her.

“Good morning.”

She jumped, her attention on the scene broken. An uneasy smile appeared on her face. “Oh, hello.” She blushed and returned her gaze to the police activity.

“Pardon me, but have you any idea what happened here last night?”

She shook her head. “No idea. I stopped because I was curious. I was on my way to work and saw the lights.”

“I see. Well, I’ll let you get on with your day. Enjoy the festival.” John turned and walked back toward Harper.

“Miranda,” she said in a louder voice as she turned to walk away.

“John.” He watched her turn and stroll along the shore. Her hips swayed a bit more, he noticed. He smiled and returned to Harper’s car. Amos walked toward them.

“Well, Mr. Pentgram. You checked out. You’ve even made the papers.” Harper looked up at Amos. “You’re a big one. Can I help you?”

“Amos McConnell.” He shook hands with Harper. Amos tried not to squeeze too hard.

“Quite a grip. Remind me not to get you upset.”

“Amos is a professor at Monmouth University. I would not know what to do without Amos.

“How so?”

“Amos is a walking database. I used to be a policeman in a small town in New Jersey. My profession is unraveling anomalies. He’s my crime scene analyst, so to speak.”

“I see. You haven’t taken your eyes from the scene once.”

“There’s a lot to see,” Amos said, looking at Harper. “You have a bit of egg on your lapel.”

“Oh?” Harper looked at his shirt. “Hell.” He scraped it off and ate it. “Let me get you two up to speed. At approximately 4 this morning, Bill and Carol Evers were walking along the beach. Something attacked and killed them.

“By what?” John looked at the sand on both sides of the police tape. “It looks like a lot of struggle. No one heard anything?”

“Nothing. I’m glad you’re here. This one has me treed.” He motioned with one hand for them to step away from the crime scene. “This is to go no further than the three of us. Got it?”

“Of course.” Amos nodded.

“The Evans had their heads and hands torn off.”

John raised his eyebrows. “That I didn’t expect. Some weapon did not cut or chop them?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ll meet you at the morgue later. It’s nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“Are you thinking whatever killed them also disturbed the beach?”

Harper gazed up and down the beach. “That’s another stumper. I can’t say if they’re related or not. We’re finishing up here. Follow me to the police station. We’ll look at the evidence there.”

“You got it. I’ll finish taking some more photos. See you there.” John glanced at the spot where Miranda stood. She was gone.

Valcour City Morgue. 825 am

Outside of the morgue, Amos splashed some water on his face at the fountain. “I shouldn’t have gone in.”

“I can take pictures for you next time.”

“Let’s hope there won’t be a next time.”

“Me too.”

“What do we do next?”

“Did you see the occupations of the two victims?”

“Of course. Bio-Chemists.”

“With emphasis on Genetics and Hormones.”

“Now, that’s interesting.” Amos looked at the ceiling and frowned. “It’s Bartlett. They have to be connected to him. I’d bet money on it.”

“Yeah, I was afraid you’d say the same thing I’m thinking. Let’s get back to the inn where we can talk in private.”

Sumner Inn. Noon.

“Did you have any lunch plans, John?” Hayley asked as they rode the elevator down.

“I hadn’t given it much thought.”

“I’m having lunch with Victoria Martell if you’re interested.”

“The realtor?”

“And Master of Ceremonies.”

“I don’t have much of an appetite.”

“See something that disagreed with you?” Her eyes probed her son’s face.

“Something like that. I might walk around with Amos and Allyson.” The doors opened and Amos and Allyson were waiting.

“Allyson, would you like to have lunch with me?”

“I’d love to, Mrs. Pentgram, but if you don’t mind, I have some photos to show the boys.”

“I don’t mind, dear. Someday, I wish you’d call me Hayley.”

“Soon. Have a wonderful lunch.”

“Thank you, dear.” She gave her son a piercing look. “You’ve got something going not related to the festival.” John held up a hand to explain, buy Hayley struck him down with a wave of her hand. “I know the look, John. Just tell me after the festival.”

“I promise.”

Hayley gave John a wilting smile and strode from the room. When she left, Allyson whistled a brief note. “She’s good.”

They stepped over to one of the small tables off to one side and sat.

“You don’t know how good. I’ve never been able to get away with anything or tell her a lie.”

“Does she know you or is it some intuitive trait?”

“Oh, she intuitive. To the max. it helped her a lot when she went on cases with my dad.”

I saw a picture of your dad in her office. I read my dad’s book about them. It’s excellent.”

“Thank you. He captured my parents in ways the newspapers never could.” John looked around. The lobby was clear. “You heard about the two people who died last night?”

“Yes. The local radio station said they drowned.”

“And the coverup has already started.” Amos shook his head.

“Under the circumstances, the police couldn’t say what they found.”

“They didn’t drown?”

Amos took her hands in his. “Allyson, honey. They were murdered. Killed by some wild animal.”

“Really? Here? Are you sure?”

Amos nodded.

“Don’t tell me any details. I don’t want to spoil my appetite. Maybe after dinner. Was it bad?”

The attackers mauled them. Their heads and hands are missing.”

Allyson closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. “Sorry I asked. I can deal with this. After all, I’m the daughter of a man who stalks Bigfoot. I can take it.”

“I know you can.” Amos smiled at her. “We’re concerned for your safety.”

“You guys don’t fool around when you go on vacation.” She smiled.

“We’d like to make you part of the team, so to speak.” John looked at her, one eyebrow raised in question.”

“Really?”

John nodded. “To keep you safe and to utilize your UWA studies.”

“Oh, my witchcraft.”

“Having second thoughts about the licensing?”

“I’m wondering if I’ll even qualify.”

“You scored a 96% on your initial exam.”

“very few people can even get as high as 50%,” said Amos. “Some of them are even witches now.”

“Really?”

John leaned closer to her. “Yes. And your mother would also score well. You’ll make an excellent witch. And we’ll both be here to help.”

Her lips became two thin lines as she played the possibilities in her mind. “What the hell. Marj Dusay is an outstanding teacher.”

“Yes. She is. Just call me Samantha. Lunch, anyone?”

They all ate in the Sturgeon Grill, one of three restaurants at the Sumner Inn. All talk ceased during their meals. It wasn’t until they waited for dessert that John brought up the witchcraft studies.

“You’ll be happy after you’ve gotten your license,” he began. “There are people who can use your help.”

“That’s why you’re here with John and I and not at lunch with Hayley.”

“I want to help as much as I can.”

“Good. One other thing. You’re trained as a journalist. These new skills should help you in sniffing out stories. After licensing, don’t be surprised if your intuitions and other senses grow stronger.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s becoming aware of your gifts. They blossom, so to speak.”

“Okay. Something to look forward to. What have we got so far?”

John gave her a grin and took out his little notebook. “We suspect Bartlett is involved with the victims.”

“How?”

“Both victims were biochemists.”

“Okay, and they lost their lives at the beach north of here.”

“Murdered by something that came out of the water. Something big enough to trash the sand around them. We need to go back there and have a deeper look at the area.”

“I’ll do it,” said Amos. “If the police and wildlife people haven’t wiped it out.”

“It’s probably too late but check it anyway.”

“Right.”

Allyson was gazing out the windows at the lake. “I can’t think of anything big enough to hurt someone in a pace like this?”

“Have you heard of Champ?”

“No.”

“Champ is a cryptid living in Lake Champlain.”

“You mean like the Loch Ness Monster.”

“Yep. Exactly.”

“Really? There’s a monster right out there?” She pointed to the choppy waters of the lake.

“Over 350 confirmed sightings since at least 1819. The local Iroquois and Abenaki tribes have legends dating back a thousand years. The Abenaki call it “The Great Long Neck.”

“Those are legends, John. I’m a journalist. I need hard evidence, like photos or videos. Have you got those?”

“Yes, both, but we’ll show you those later. Right now I’d like to concentrate on the victims and a creature maybe waiting to strike again.”

Fenris Laboratory. 2 pm

Lionel Bartlett held up the vial to the light. The pearlescent mixture glowed as it swirled around. He smiled.

“Dr. Sherman?”

Bartlett placed the flask back in the refrigerator. He turned to see Perry Shepherd. The research assistant held up a clipboard.

“You have a question, Ms. Shepherd?”

“Yes, sir. The results of the latest tests on specimen #3 are not what we’ve been expecting.”

“I know. Take serum B and change the salinity. Try again.”

“Yes, sir. Um, shall I help Mr. Rossi look into the deaths of Carol and Jim?”

“Why?”

“They were killed. Not drowned like the radio claims. By something not human, I hear.”

“Who told you that last part?”

“Mr. Rossi.”

Bartlett smiled. “Rossi was trying to scare you. He has a nasty streak. Disregard what he says from now on about this. I’ll have talk to him about it. Now, get back to work and keep your questions to yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sumner Inn. Room 6. 3 pm.

Allyson entered the room with her camera and her notebook in hand. She placed everything on the bed and then changed into a cooler set of clothes. She sat at the desk and opened her laptop.

“Notes For Sunday Feature.”

28 photos. Saved to the cloud.

Interviews.

Victoria Martell, Master of Ceremonies.

Ron Grande, owner of Ticonderoga Wines.

Mayor Jayne Sadlier

Capt. Roy “Cuda” Barnes of the Benedict.

Miranda Jackson, Director of the Valcour City Maritime Museum and member of the Select Committee.

Edwin S. Porter, Director of documentary features for the Travel Channel.

She opened a folder marked “Case” and looked through her notes.

Bartlett Search.

“I may have a lead. I discovered the two dead scientists worked at a nearby lab. No location yet but still making subtle inquiries. No sightings of Bartlett.”

Drake Hotel. 6 pm

The opening ceremonies for the Valcour City Wine Festival opened with a typical speech by the mayor welcoming everyone. Among the highlights were recognizing the four winners from last year’s festival. Hayley Pentgram received applause for Best Red Wine. Betty Watkins of the Watkins-Schell Winery received the awards for Best White Wine and Best Overall Wine.

Hayley’s face grew grim as Betty accepted her awards.

“This isn’t like you, mother. Can’t you be happy for Betty?”

“She’s taken the award for three of the last five festivals.”

“And you haven’t won in the last six years.”

Hayley’s nostrils flared at the thought. “We’ve had a few lean years, you know that. The new grapes haven’t had time to integrate with our older vines.”

“Yes, and last year was a sign of great things to come. The Banshee White is exceptional this year, and so is the Kobold Rose. I’ll bet you dinner anywhere we have the top wines this year. We’ll get two of the four prizes, and maybe the top one.”

“You’re on.” She held up her fist and John touched his fist to hers. John looked out over the water.

“Jeremiah would love to be here.”

“Jeremiah doesn’t drink. You know that.”

“No, but he and his three sons would love to be here fishing.”

“You’re right. Oh, here come Amos and Allyson. Don’t they look nice with their matching outfits?”

John smiled as the couple wove their way through the crowds to Hayley’s table. They both wore light yellow polo shirts and white cargo shorts.

“Hello,” they said in unison as they sat down. Allyson gave Hayley a kiss on the cheek and her mood brightened.

“Allyson. Amos. You look ready for the festival. John has yet to get in the mood.”

“We are ready. Amos didn’t say a word when I showed him these outfits.” Allyson looked at Amos, who smiled.

“I’m here to enjoy the festival.” He gave Hayley a bright smile.

“Have you taken many photos yet?”

“Dozens. Valcour City is beautiful. And I have another dozen interviews lined up.”

“Excellent. Count me in. I know this festival’s history and I’ve been coming here since I was a girl.”

“Wow. Thank you. A personal history will go a long way. Maybe I can spin this into a special 12 page insert.”

“You’re very welcome.” Hayley took a sip of coffee. “Any news about these murders from this morning?”

“No, not for a few hours.” Allyson’s eyes went wide. Hayley smiled.

“So that’s what’s been distracting you two.” Hayley looked at her son and Amos, who gave her a weak smile. She looked at Allyson. “Make that all three of you.”

“Allyson is a third set of eyes for us, mother. She knows her job and doesn’t miss a thing.”

Hayley looked at Allyson and took her hand. “Be careful with the boys. Sometimes they step into things without looking first.”

“I will, but I can take care of myself.”

Fenris Laboratory. 6:15 pm.

Jerry Rossi fumed at Dr. Sherman. The man was acting without restraint. The protocols he set up seemed to apply to his staff and not to him. Three days ago, he had to dispose of the remains of two dozen sea slugs in the middle of the night. Sherman insisted he do it rather than trusting an intern. The incinerator asked no questions once a sufficient amount of cash dropped.

An hour ago, another shipment came in the form of two palettes of long boxes. Rossi had been out making plans to attend the wine festival as a member of the Select Committee. The delivery staff placed them in the freezer upon arrival. Rossi opened the freezer door and looked at the palettes. In the dim light he read a label.

“More sea slugs?”

“What sort of creature is Champ?” Allyson asked as they strolled along the boardwalk. Their destination was the Benedict. A sign announced it was boarding for Champ Tours.

“The boat is boarding now,” said Amos. “Let’s get on board and comfortable and we can talk.”

“I don’t know. We’ll miss some of the opening ceremonies.”

Trust me, no one will miss us. I’ve fallen asleep during more than of them. Hayley won’t mind if we’re not there. She has her son at her side, and that’s important for her.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

The Benedict was 127 feet in length. It could carry 46 people in comfort. A full galley provided everything but alcohol. The BYOB policy was in full force, as every other person boarding held a bottle of some sort. Amos spotted two bottle of Pentgram wine.

The air was cozy, with the sky dotted by gentle clouds. The water lay flat as a piece of paper as the boat pulled from the pier. Amos and Allyson found a spot at mid-ships and relaxed. everyone wore the green and gold baseball caps given away by the festival.

“I’m excited,” said Allyson. She squeezed Amos’ hand as the boat pulled away. “Maybe we’ll see something.”

“Anything’s possible. It’s pretty rare.”

“Really?”

“You look disappointed.”

“Well, yeah.”

“We aren’t going on a safari. The tour is to sell rides on the boat. Your father would laugh at us being here. He knows how rare it is to spot something like this.”

“Yeah, he spent six months at Loch Ness and didn’t see a thing.”

“That’s the same thing here. Why don’t we sit back and keep our fingers crossed.”

Twenty minutes later, the boat rocked. The shock was enough to knock the contents of many drinks to the deck. Four people lost their footing and fell down while most passengers grabbed onto something.

Amos came out of his nap with a jolt. He stood up and looked over the side. Alyson did the same.

An enormous dark shape cruised out from under the boat. It glided through the water for several seconds, its tapered end moving away from view. Dozens of people saw it. A dozen people took photos, and at least one person shot video footage. Amos soon lost sight of it as the boat sailed away.

Seconds later, two black humps rose from the water a hundred yards from the boat. They sat unmoving as the Benedict moved farther away from them. Amos zoomed in and took three photos of the humps before they submerged.

Allyson stood looking at the spot where the humps had been. “Wow, Amos. That was incredible.” She held up her camera. “Daddy’s going to be sorry he missed it.”

“Well, you’re here. You can collect all the photos and eye-witness reports for him. It’ll thrill him.”

“And I’ll get a story out of it, too.” She took out her notepad and pen.

Amos stared out at the lake. The boat turned around to return to the docks. “I wonder what caused it to act like that? No reports I know of have Champ hitting any vessel. It’s kind of aggressive.”

“Another mystery for you two.”

“Wait until I text John.”

Wyatt Inn.

John’s phone buzzed at a lull in the ceremonies. He looked at the text. “On Champ Tour. Boat bumped from under by Champ. Pics and video taken. We both saw it.”

John whistled.

“Something?” asked Hayley.

“Amos and Allyson are having a bumpy ride on the tour boat.”

“I wondered where they were. I hope they took photos.”

“Oh, yeah. Lots of them.”

Harrison Pier.

By the time the Benedict docked, reporters were waiting. A dozen people staggered off the boat and into the nearest bar. The rest, shaken and scared, made their way down the gangway and away from the boat. Amos and Allyson waited, enjoying the sun.

“I’m not in any hurry.”

Allyson finished her smoothie. “Me neither. I’m not sure if my legs will work just now.”

“You’ll be okay. Were you scared when you saw it?”

“Excited at first. I became scared only after I knew what we were watching. Daddy’s going to be jealous.”

“You should call him. See how he’s doing.”

“When we get back to the room.”

Sumner Inn. 4 pm

“These are great photos.” Pentgram looked at one photo with the tip of the creature’s tail showing.

“No scales. Smooth skin. See there?” Amos pointed to a spot fifteen from the boat. “Looks like a flipper.”

“It does. Did anyone get video footage of this?”

“Allyson is checking. She’s interviewing as many people as she can. Some people are too shocked to speak. Others refuse to believe what they saw.”

“Can you blame them?”

“No. I’m curious now about the historical data about Champ.”

“There’s a maritime museum a block away.”

“Let’s go.”

Valcour City Maritime Museum. 4:20 pm

A record setting sturgeon hung above their heads as John and Amos entered the museum. The floor to ceiling windows filled the lobby up with bright light. They scanned the map on the wall, highlighting the museum’s features.

“I’ll check the third floor and make my way down.”

“I know you have your eye on seeing the giant squid on the front of the brochure.”

“You know it.”

As Amos took the winding steps two at a time, John studied the wall panel next to the display chart. The panel held the names of the museum’s personnel. One name caught his eye. Miranda Sheridan.

“I wonder. Hmm.” John turned and entered the exhibits, a smile playing on his face as he neared a door marked “Champ. Our Local Monster.”

The spacious exhibit room impressed John. On the walls, large drawings and a few paintings depicted Champ throughout history. Inscriptions told of various encounters overs they years. In the center of the room, prehistoric skeletons of a sturgeon and a zeuglodon drew his attention. A small display case held books and pamphlets dedicated to Champ.

“It’s not much, but that’s all we have.”

John looked up. Before him stood the same woman, he talked to on the beach. He smiled. “Yeah, well, you have had little to exhibit.”

“True. I think I’ve just had a very pleasant conversation with your mother.”

“Hayley Pentgram?”

“That’s her.”

“Guilty as charged. She must have been trying to make an impression with the Select Committee. Otherwise you may have run when you saw me.”

“She painted a delightful picture of you. I’m sorry for the loss of your wife.”

“Thank you. It’s been five years. Mother must have had a motive for telling you the story.”

“She seems to think you’re lonely and could use a new woman in your life.”

“My apologies for my mother. She can be very pushy. I hope you don’t take any offense to her. She’d like me to be happy.”

“Are you happy, John Pentgram?”

“My work keeps me cheerful enough.”

“You see where this leaves us, Landyn?” asked Henrod.

“Yes, Father. You want me to take over your Jubilee arrangement.”

“Precisely. We’ve arranged for everything to take place in Jutline, on the southern coast.”

“I’ve been there.”

“Yes, you went to school there, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Yes, I..”

“Well, since you know the area, you’re to go down there this evening and begin where Philippe left off.”

“And where was he, father?”

“He has the ball room and the ceremony completed. You have to make the food, drink and dancing arrangements.”

“But, Father, those things could take months.”

“Yes, they can. You have two weeks. You’d better get moving.”

Image by Ylanite from Pixabay

“What should I do first, Auguste?” asked the prince. They rode along the streets of Jutline in a royal limo, searching the storefronts for ideas. Landyn had been in the famed village for an hour, and he already couldn’t function. He couldn’t let his father down.

“Well, your highness,” began Auguste, Landyn’s personal valet, driver, and nose wiper. “Your Father expects a lot from you, even if you have no prospect at inheriting the throne. He has his eye on you becoming Prime Minister.”

“Really?”

“Really. You didn’t hear it from me. Right now, I would concentrate on getting the royal cake in order. That is what everyone will be looking at, sir.”

Landyn, not being the brightest son, thought for a moment before the light of an idea went off. Landyn smiled. “How about we find a cake first? That’s very important.”

“Right you are, sir. As usual. I know of a place.”

“Take me there.”

“On my way, sir.”

Callera, owner and manager of the Fenwick Bakehouse Emporium, stood back from her latest display. She knew the king was about to celebrate 50 years on the throne. Callera felt it her duty to promote the event as best she could. Her display, the Battle of Hastoran, showed King Henrod leading his men to victory over the dreaded Hasturi. It was a crowning achievement for the king and the people of Fenwick.

At the same moment Callera was stepping back, Prince Landyn stepped into the bakery. His riding crop hit the edge of Callera’s heavy wooden spoon, sending the spoon flying at the battle scene. King Henrod lost his head, and his entire cavalry corps lost their mounts.

“You jerk,” Callera shouted as she turned around.

“I beg your pardon,” said Landyn. “Do you know who you are talking to?”

“Yeah, the idiot who’s ruined two weeks of work.” Callera fumed, only now noticing the royal garments. She gulped. “Who are you?”

“I am Prince Landyn, son of King Henrod. I need not remind you again.”

“No, I caught it the first time. You are going to pay for the damage to my display, or do I have to take matters into my own hands?”

“And do what, exactly?” asked the prince. Auguste stepped outed from behind Landyn.

“Uncle Auguste! You didn’t tell me you were coming for a visit.”

“I am here on business, Callera.”

“I thought you had an important job in government, wiping the nose of some important personage,” she said, ignoring the prince.

“Well, yes, I do have an important job,” Auguste said, pointing at the prince with his thumb.

Callera’s eyebrows shot up. “Him? Is that the best you can do?”

“I beg your pardon,” said Landyn.

“You be quiet,” said Callera. “I’ll get to you in a minute. How’s Maria?”

“She’s fine,” said Auguste. “At least, she was before I stepped into your store.”

“Auguste, do you know this, person?” asked Landyn.

“Yes, sir. She’s my niece. My sister’s oldest.”

“Your sister raised disrespectful children. Come, we can do better.”

“Now, hold on, Prince whoever. You couldn’t be more wrong. I make the best cakes in the entire kingdom. That could be why the Jubilee is being held in Jutline.”

“You have a lot of confidence in your wares, I will give you that” sniffed Landyn.

“You know it. If you find a better bakery within a hundred miles of this place, I’ll eat your shoes.”

“We’ll see.” Landyn turned and left the store. Auguste hugged Callera and trotted after the prince.

“Really, Auguste, there must be a better place, with someone less loud. More respectful.”

“We can try, sir.” Auguste’s phone beeped. “There’s a text from the king, sir. Shall I read it to you?”

“Very well, if you must.” Landyn found the nearest shade to stand in. It would not do to get burned.

“Dear Auguste, please remind the prince that he is to get the Jubilee cake from the Fenwick Bakehouse Emporium. It’s your Mother’s favorite bakery, and she would be upset if you went anywhere else.”

Landyn was stunned. He turned around and saw Callera standing at the shop entrance, her arms folded and a big smile on her face. “You knew this would happen.” He looked at Callera, who shrugged.

“Your Dad is a prince among men, so to speak,” Callera said. “The king knows how to treat a lady. He’s expecting to see the display you just destroyed when he comes down for the Jubilee. I just sent him photos of the battle display to him this morning. And I sent your Mom some of her favorite cookies.”

“Does everyone know you but me?” asked a confused and hurt Landyn.

“Apparently, yes.” Callera raised one eyebrow at him.

Landyn paused to take a good look at his nemesis. Her dark, curly hair spilled over her shoulders. A sly smile and her mocking eyes gave him fits. She did not try to cover herself; Landyn could see the perfect roundness of every curve. The prince turned back to his aide.

“Auguste, must we endure these tortures by this woman? She shows no respect for my authority.” His throat tightened, his breathing rapid and short.

“Sir, if I may point out that she is a very big admirer of your Father. Perhaps respect is earned, not bestowed like a title.”

“You are impossible at times,” began the prince through his parched throat. “Tell her I will only do business with her if she addresses me as Your Highness.”

“Very well, sir.” Auguste brushed past the prince and stepped up to his niece. He smiled as he saw the mischievous look in her eyes. “I know that look, Callera. I plead with you to make this easy for all of us. We are doing it for the King, remember.”

Callera gazed into her uncle’s eyes. Her face grew blank and serious. “Very well, for the king. Tell his Royal person that I will be on my best behavior.”

“Very good, Callera.” He rolled his eyes and nodded toward the prince. “Thank you,” Auguste mouthed without a sound.

Auguste suppressed a smile as he stepped up to the prince. Prince Landyn had not yet gone off to college, and he had never been a model student as his brothers had been. Often confused and stubborn, the prince remained a good boy even to this day. A self-limited vocabulary and clumsy mannerisms had forced Auguste to be the perfect butler and chauffeur. He had never laughed at Landyn’s many daily gaffes, and the king appreciated it to no end. In Auguste’s eyes, Landyn deserved a place far from the chaos of the Royal Court, a place where the prince could live in peace at his own pace.

Landyn entered the Bakehouse, slipping past the heavy wooden spoon clutched in Callera’s fist. He detected the faint scent of honeysuckle as he moved past her. Landyn’s mother, Jessylee, loved honeysuckle, and Landyn had planted an entire acre of the bush just off the Royal patio. Jessylee loved the little garden the first year. And then the bees found the honeysuckle. Now, no one could go near the flowers without being stung. The Queen didn’t get mad at her youngest son. He had tried his best, and she could still smell the flowers from a safe distance.

The shop impressed the prince at once. More than a simple bakery, he saw an area of tables and chairs behind a wall of glass off to his right. The center of the place held the bakery, lined with shelves of wares for sale. There were pies, cookies, napoleons, cakes, and baking supplies on view. On the left, he saw a flour-covered table holding dozens of sugar figurines. Some figurines had the colors of the Fenwick military uniform painted on them. Others remained unpainted.

Landyn stepped over to the table, bending lower to view the tiny soldiers. The detailing brought a smile to the prince’s face.

“Don’t touch,” said Callera. She stepped up to the table and inserted herself between the prince and her work.

“I’m not going near them,” Landyn said, holding up both hands. “You’re liable to run me through with a sharpened wooden spoon.”

Callera thought about giving him another tongue lashing but thought for a second. “It’s just that they’re not dry yet.”

Auguste smiled at her softer tone. He didn’t need any bloodshed while he was minding the prince.

“The details are incredible,” stated Landyn. Landyn looked at Callera and held out his hand toward the table. “May I?”

Callera nodded a bit and stepped away from the table. “You won’t get a warning if you touch anything.”

“Understood.” Landyn looked at a cavalryman atop his horse, studying the detail of the saddle. “I have one of these battle saddles in my room at the palace. You even have the tiny gold flanges here along the saddle horn,” he said, bringing his finger as close as he dared.

Callera took a deep breath and prayed he wouldn’t touch her horse. When he didn’t, she relaxed. “Well, yes, I used an authentic saddle. I keep it under lock and key and only bring it out at night after I’ve closed the Bakehouse for the night.”

“Where did you get the saddle, if I may ask?”

“It belonged to my Father. He rode this horse into the battle.” She pointed to a beautiful cavalry horse on the table. It was the most detailed of all the horses.

“I see,” said Landyn. “Normally, these saddles belong to the Army.”

“Your Father gave the saddle to me, after my Father passed away.”

Landyn stood and looked into her eyes. “I am sorry for your loss. If there is anything I can do to help you with your project, please don’t hesitate. I have studied this battle my entire life, and my Father will be thrilled to see it.”

“You mustn’t tell him or your Mother about this,” said Callera. “It’s a surprise for the Jubilee.”

“It’s safe with me,” said Landyn. He watched as she softened before him. The lines around her green eyes disappeared, and a warm smile lifted his spirits. An idea crept into his mind. “Tell me, how much time will you need to repair the soldiers I destroyed?”

“I’ll have to work right up until the day of the Jubilee. Why?” Her eyes widened. “The cake for the Jubilee. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Landyn. “Both of my parents insisted on having one of your almond and coconut layer cakes, only a gigantic one.” He held his arms out wide.

Callera sand to the floor, tears raining down her face. “I’ve, no, you’ve ruined everything. Fenwick could banish me for this.” She glared at him, even angrier now.

Landyn held up his two hands, palms facing her. “Wait, I think we can fix this between the two of us, if you’ll give me a moment before you kill me.”

“I’ll give you one minute, and then I may kill you.”

“If my idea doesn’t sound like it will work, I’ll gladly let you kill me in any manner of your choosing.”

Callera smiled, her teeth gleaming in the light. “Uncle Auguste, you sure know how to pick ‘em. All right, prince, start talking.”

Landyn backed up to the center of the room. “Well, you see, I’m quite an artist myself. Father doesn’t approve, but I kept up my studies when he wasn’t around, which is a lot.”

“All right, so you can paint.”

“Ah, but not just painting. I work in lead.”

“Lead?” She looked at her uncle.

“Lead soldiers, Callera. Three inches tall. Exquisite things, if I do say so myself.”

A faint glimmer of hope grew inside Callera’s heart. “I think I see. Go on.”

“If you can trust me, I will repair and paint these figures. Just help me with the reconstruction, and I will see to the exteriors.”

Callera blew a breath between her lips. She looked at her uncle. Auguste shrugged. “You don’t want to be banished, right?”

“Correct,” said Callera. “Help me up,” she said to Landyn. The prince took her hands gently in hers and helped her stand. His hands were soft and tender.

Landyn brushed her off, being careful not to get too bold. Callera picked up a wide tray filled with half-finished figurines. She walked into the room filled with tables and chairs. Landyn stood watching her, admiring her form not covered by the apron. “Shall I come with you?” he asked.

Callera reached the door and stopped. “Of course. This is my teaching studio. We can work in there without being disturbed. There are curtains. You’ll have to get my keys.”

“Where are they?”

“On my belt.” Callera shook her hips, and Landyn saw the small keychain.

“On my way.” Landyn moved like a big cat, moving around the obstacles with grace and speed. He kneeled to get a better look at her keychain. He undid the clasp and stood, his head filled with the aromas of vanilla, cinnamon and rose.

“It’s the silver key,” she said. “Hurry, these things are heavy.”

Landyn opened the door and let Callera in. She stepped up to the first table, with Landyn moving around to take the other side of the tray. As he did, Callera tripped on something. She fell forward. Landyn moved the tray to the table as gently as he could. His left hand reached out and grabbed Callera’s elbow. She continued to fall, dragging Landyn with her.

They landed in a heap. Callera looked over and saw the tray safe on the table. The prince had flour in his hair and down one side of his face. Her grin became a hearty laugh. Landyn shook his head and flour rained down on Callera’s face. He found her spots amusing, and he laughed.

Callera wiped a bit of flour from Landyn’s face. From where she lay, she saw a different person than the one who had barged into her establishment. A good, caring man hid beneath a phony gruff exterior. On an impulse, she pulled his head to hers and kissed him.

Landyn, still a bit stunned from the fall, responded like a trapdoor opening. His hands filled with her auburn hair, and he returned the kiss.

Auguste, smiling bigger than he could ever recall, slipped out of the shop and placed a call. “Good afternoon, Your Highness. I’m calling to inform you that your plan has worked to perfection. It took a bit of maneuvering, but Landyn has finally gotten the hint.”

“I only hope they will have time to finish the cake,” said the King.

Image by lrasonja from Pixabay

The jolt brought Wayne Browbeck back to where he was. He stretched his large frame in the soft folds of the grav-lounge and peered out the tiny port hole. The Hudson Way Station grew smaller as the shuttle Gojira pulled away. He craned his neck and could just see the edge of the Earth, 100,000 miles away.

“What the hell am I doing here?” His eyes were drawn to the comforting blue of the date on the wall. April 6, 2109. His room had all the comforts of a closet, just big enough for him to either sit at a small table or stretch out and go to sleep. He couldn’t do both at the same time. Everything opened up or folded down to accommodate what he needed to do.

He couldn’t see Luna from his seat, but he knew it was directly behind him. He smiled at how easy Luna came into his mind rather then The Moon like he had said while growing up. As his thoughts began to pile up, he took out his notebook and pen. He brought 2 dozen of his favorite pens with him. They wrote at any angle, even in zero-gravity. With a dozen e-notebooks, he’d have the space to write up to 900 pages if he needed it.

He was still not used to the notebook, which transferred anything he wrote to several cloud servers. His publisher, his lawyer and Wayne’s own personal server all backed up his writing. When he got to his room on Luna he’d print it and keep it somewhere safe.

“Luna. Four simple letters with so much history. So much power had been attributed to such a beautiful object. Were the stories true? Ask any lunatic. Stay away from werewolves during a full moon. Always good advice.

Poor Maria Alfonso Cortez. She wins the contest to rename The Moon and dies on her way to Luna. Not really ironic, but deeply tragic. Perhaps it’s fitting that one of the first casualties in this modern day Manifest Destiny is the person responsible for naming the place.

Should I be so lucky, my name could have some impact on lunar history. If I can get this assignment done to Mr. Sweeney’s approval, it’ll be the first novel ever written on another world. My hunch says it will be a big hit, no matter its quality. I better make it awesome. Who knows, maybe I’ll write a non-fiction companion book about my adventures here. It should be an easy thing. “My Lunar Diary.” Maybe a new title.”

Wayne put his pad and pen away and settled back into his lounge chair and positioned his head to enjoy the immerse-vid. The vid continued where he left off, twenty minutes ago. He looked away once more. This cut the vid again as he looked at the brochure he found tucked into his bag after he boarded the shuttle.

Ice Station Zebra: A Documentary Of The Future. Produced by Cavalcade World News. Hosted by Ben Grasso. Copyright 2090.

Wayne turned his head to continue the vid. The clock read 21 minutes, 11 seconds.

“…So, tell me, Dr. Scott, how did the station come to be nicknamed Ice Station Zebra?”

“Well, Ben, my great-grandfather was a production assistant on a vid called Ice Station Zebra. He had me watch it when I was ten, and he pointed out every little thing he did on the film. It’s impossible for me to watch it and not see his handywork.”

“You were inspired by your great-grandfather’s vid. How interesting.”

“It wasn’t his vid. He just helped build the sets and corral the vehicles.”

“But what exactly inspired you about the vid that made you use its name here?”

“The vid takes place at Earth’s North Pole, at a desolate research station where the threat of a world war hangs by a thread. The isolation and potential danger have always stayed with me. When I came here, I got the same feeling of remoteness, along with the constant danger of something going catastrophically wrong so far from Earth. The name just stuck after he used it several times during construction.”

“That’s fascinating, Dr. Scott. Surely things have gotten better since then?”

“Oh, sure. It’s a whole new world than when we broke ground ten years ago. But anything could happen here, and no one would be the wiser. There’s no law here. Not yet. Crimes would not get punished here, not even murder.”

Dr. Scott joins some colleagues and walks away from Grasso. The camera is still recording, and Grasso puts on a big, fake smile. “Well, here you have it, folks. Dr. Arthur Lee Scott, Commander of Ice Station Zebra with some of his childhood memories. He certainly has a great imagination. But from what you can see behind me, Ice Station Zebra is a wonder to behold. Let me take a few moments to get to the spacious lobby, and I’ll show you some things that will send you to the Moon. Well, send you to Luna.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Browbeck?” The intercom on the wall chimed. He opened the door and saw the beautiful face of one of the hostesses on the USS Reynolds shuttle.

“Yes?” Wayne turned his head from the immerse-vid. All sound and motion paused as the picture went out of focus.

“You have a call on Line 2. It’s secure for you only.”

“Okay. Thanks.” He took the phone from the wall and placed it to his ear. The device molded itself to his entire ear. Wayne cringed as the earpiece slid into his ear canal. It was wet and sticky and unpleasant. It also created an instant connection.

“Browbeck?”

“Yeah. I’m here.”

“This is Calvin. We have an update on your accommodations, if you care to hear about them.”

“Oh, yeah. Sleep is good. And I need a place to write and do my research.”

“And take your latest conquest.”

“If we were face to face, I’d hit you right in the nose for that.”

“Do a good job and I’ll let you do it willingly.”

“You’re on. Tell me about the room.”

“You’ve got a suite on the third floor.”

“Third floor? Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“And a suite? Sweet.”

“You’ll be living there for a year, so we owe you some small comfort. Just do me a favor?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep a diary of your progress.”

“Daily?”

“Aim for daily. We’re creating a big campaign for the book. And try to come up with a definitive title soon.”

“You got it. I’ve been kicking around some ideas.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“How about I do a murder mystery set on the moon?”

“A lunar murder mystery? Hold on.” Wayne heard murmuring as Calvin Carruthers III consulted with other talking heads. Wayne stretched in his tiny suite, staring at the white walls. He lifted a corner of the bathroom rules page. Underneath was written “Screw You Kilroy.”

“Browbeck?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re good with a murder mystery. What else could happen up there, right?”

“I could always do a domestic drama against a big landscape setting. Sort of like a big western, but without the cattle rustling.”

“I see your brain is starting to work. Nah, skip the big picture story. Who’d buy it up there? What’s the conflict over the land?”

“Mineral rights. That’s always been good for conflict and family drama.”

“Maybe. Kick it around and get back to me with an idea if it gels into something.”

“Okay.”

“In the meantime, stick with the mystery. It doesn’t have to be murder, at least as the central point. It could be a spy story, like the old James Bond stories. Or it could be a conspiracy, and murder is part of the mix. Got it?”

“Yeah, Calvin. We’re on the same page already. See, it’ll work.”

“It better. So, take a few days to look around. Eat some good food. Shmooze a bit, but don’t be a pest. Get the lay of the land.”

“Yep. You know, when I was a kid, my sister and I went on a lot of cruises with my folks. The two of us always explored the entire ship on the first day. It’ll be fun to do it again.”

“So we’re good.”

“Yeah. I’m filled with excitement.”

“Are you sure it’s not fear?”

“Oh, there’s fear in here too. Lots of fear. Fear of crashing on Luna. Fear of getting a hole in my space suit. Fear of getting sucked into space. The usual.”

“I’m assured by Katerina Von Mueller that you’ll be made right at home.”

“Sounds promising.”

“She’s married to Ambrus Von Mueller.”

“The owner of Tranquility Logistics and Minerals?”

“The same. You go near Katerina with those hands of yours and you’ll find yourself digging your own grave on the dark side of Luna. Got me?”

“Loud and clear, boss. Anything else?”

“Keep your hands to yourself. Stay away from alcohol.”

“That implant you gave me does a good job on that end.”

“Social drinking only. And keep a civil tongue in your mouth. If you make any enemies, there’s not a lot of real estate to hide in.”

“I’ll be a good boy. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Boy Scout. I checked.” Calvin broke the connection. Wayne looked up at the scribbling on the wall.

“The same to you, Calvin.” Wayne gazed out of the portal as the USS Reynolds approached Luna. His journey had not been as comfortable as promised. Frequent Lunist doctor Avery Jacobson explained it in simple terms on a new vid that popped up.

“The Aries shuttles are the most comfortable method for getting to Luna. If you’ve ever ridden on a camel, you’ll have the same idea, except for the smell. A camel smells better. Do plenty of stretching before you enter the shuttle, or else you’ll stand a good chance of cramping up.”

Truer words have never been spoken. Wayne took a Nurgi-Ven tab before take off. He was totally relaxed by the time they reached A-Space. Moments of terror occurred as Wayne had to close his eyes to protect himself from an errant pen that whirled around the cabin like a missile. Its speed was sufficient to draw blood upon impact. 10 minutes before touchdown, the pen found a home in the hair of a fellow passenger. Wayne glanced at the arrival board.

“Touchdown at zebra base- 11:47 AM L-time.”

He spotted a half dozen lunar bases gleaming in the sun. Each one had a different layout. Some were mostly domes with rectangular buildings stuck on one side. One, far to the south, was all polygonal buildings, laid out like some wild puzzle not quite fit together yet. His focus drew him to his target. Ice Station Zebra was an elaborate mix of rectangles and domes. The largest rectangle, at 8 stories, sat in a cluster of domes like a brick covered with mushrooms. Three long corridors shot out from under the building. Each corridor ended in a great tall dome. Wayne smiled as the writing on the building came into view. “Luna Hilton Suites & Hotel” was emblazoned on the side in great silvery letters.

Wayne felt the gravity of Luna kick in. The thrusters slowed their descent to a crawl. He watched the landing pad grow so slow that Wayne found himself grow impatient. “C’mon, hurry. I gotta pee.”

Luna filled his view port. Bright patches of lunar seas merged with even brighter patches of craters. Everything was washed out. Everyone here wore sunglasses, of that Wayne was sure. The stabilizers on the shuttle kept the spin to a bare minimum. Wayne’s heart beat faster as the surface details came into crystal clarity.

Myoki glided toward him with a refuse bin. As she passed him she squeezed his shoulder and slipped a note into his shirt pocket. He waited until she finished before sliding the note out. “I will be off at 2:00 PM. I can show you around. Call me. LU-749.”

He could see the skeleton of the new Luna Hilton Standing 100 yards from the current Hilton location. The new hotel, scheduled to open on July 20th, 2119, for the anniversary of Apollo 11, stood 20 stories tall. Made of lunar steel, it had few worries that plagued earth bound hotels, such as weight or weather. This hotel would stand for eternity. The airlock door opened and Wayne stepped up to the walkway that would take him into the lobby of the Luna visitor center.

There was a knock on the door. Wayne opened it.

“Are you Wayne Browbeck. The author?” It was the same Hostess what interrupted him for the phone call earlier. She was cute. Very cute. Her uniform was just enticing enough to put interesting thoughts in Wayne’s head. It was also cut to not embarrass any other women who found themselves next to her.

“Yes.”

“Would you sign my book for me?” She handed him a hard copy of “In Case You Need Me.”

“My first book. It did sell a lot of copies.”

“I’ve had this ever since I was ten years old,” she said. “My mom gave it to me.”

“It’s pretty racy for a ten year old.”

“I was a very mature ten year old.”

“I’ll bet. What’s your name?”

“Miyoshi. Miyoshi Hoshi.”

Wayne took the book in his hands and turned to the inside cover. He put the date and signed it. Before he handed it to her, he took it back and added a note. “You flew me to the Moon. And I saw the stars so clearly.”

She read the inscription and smiled. “Thank you so much. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I could think of some ways.”

“We haven’t the time before we land. I’ll have six hours before my return trip. We could have dinner.”

“Maybe you could show me around. I haven’t been to Luna yet. You’d know it better than I do.”

“But I haven’t seen it from your room.” She winked and slid back into the corridor, the door snicking closed.

Shuttle touchdown was as gentle and subtle as a passenger jet setting down during a thunderstorm. Wayne’s teeth rattled in his head as the shuttle came to rest. He took a few moments to gather his things. Before he stood up.

Wayne never felt so good to stand up. Every joint in his body popped. All of his organs banged into each other, upsetting his stomach. A few with less equilibrium took the opportunity to vomit at the health station. For Wayne, he got his moon legs within a few steps. He stood in botany Bay 6 as he waited for his paperwork to get processed. Space was at a premium, even after 42 years of lunar occupancy.

The docking bay and entry terminal reminded Wayne of a battleship interior. Gun metal gray girders ran up the lighter gray walls. The lunar cement floors were of a third shade of gray, spattered with stripes of yellow and black tape making the various pathways for passengers.

“Hello,” Wayne said to the woman in the glass booth marked “Civilians.” He gave her his best smile.

“Papers.” She didn’t move a single facial muscle.

“Sure.” He had them ready in his hand.

She scanned his papers and passport like they were infested with fleas. Twice she turned them over, and even held them up in front of a bright lamp.

“You get a lot of illegal immigration happening here?”

“We’ve had a few wanted fugitives try to pass through one of our check points on their way to a neutral section of Earth.”

“It’s a long way to go to bypass a border.”

“You’d be surprised.”

He nodded as she stamped his passport and scanned it under a deep red light. Sweat dripped off his nose, falling on her counter.

“Sorry.” Wayne wiped the moisture away. “It’s hotter here than I expected.”

“Why do you think I’m here in this little booth? It’s 20 degrees cooler in here.”

“That’s good.”

She nodded and passed the passport back to him. “Stay between the yellow lines and follow the green arrows. Someone will meet you at the green dome airlock door.”

“Thank you.”

“Welcome to Luna, Mr. Browbeck.”

Inside the airlock, a young woman in a white one piece jumpsuit used a blower to remove any dust and debris off his clothing and exposed skin. He heard distinct clicks as her elbows flexed. Then it hit him. She’s a Lambot. An artificial person.

He knew they were being used on Luna and were not allowed on Earth yet. Wayne was not up on the ceaseless arguments concerning whether they had any rights or not. He didn’t stare as she brushed his clothing, but he was sure she wasn’t a monster. She looked like she belonged in college. Her name tag read Jane6.

“Okay. You’re done. Go through the two sets of green doors and across the lobby to the main desk.”

“Thank you, er, Jane.”

“Don’t mention it.” Her smile was almost human. Lambots were restricted to the lunar surface, by order of the Luna General Counsel.

If Wayne hadn’t been on Luna, he’d have believed he was at a hotel in the Caribbean. He felt light-headed, and light on his feet. His feet nearly bouncing on the floor came from the 92% Earth gravity. His head, however, was overwhelmed by the visuals around him. Tropical flowers abounded in every corner, and there was even a huge parrot sitting on a perch in a spacious steel cage. Steel drum music wafted through the air, bringing a smile to Wayne’s face. For a moment he forgot everything and tried to enjoy the atmosphere around him. His eyes caught a big sign at the end of the lobby. It read: “Casablanca Lounge” And was already packed with people getting an early start on happy hour.

A family of four were suited up at the Luna Tours station. Two uniformed women stood off to the side, talking to a Space Force officer. At the main desk, six more people stood in line to check in. Then reality hit him when he saw four men come in from outside. They were dressed in standard Luna outfits. A tiny robot followed them, vacuuming up the lunar dust they left behind. The four men trudged over to a service elevator and they disappeared.

Wayne picked up his bag and walked up to the central desk. The hexagonal shaped main desk was a flurry of activity. Two young women and an older man rushed back and forth, filing reports, taking care of guests. As he stepped up, one of the young women paused in her filing and looked up at him.

“Yes, May I help you?”

“Yes, thank you. I have a reservation.”

“May I have your name?”

“Wayne Browbeck. I’m here from Carthage Publications.”

“Oh, yes. We’ve been expecting you. Let me get Katerina for you.”

Wayne nodded and smiled. She appeared to be about 30 years old, with hair just reaching her shoulders. A white streak shot through her dark hair just above her right ear. Wayne was still confused about the Lambot, and he wasn’t sure who was human and who was not human at the moment. The young woman’s name tag read “Camelia.” Her smile was infectious and he found himself smiling every time she looked up at him and did the same.

“Mr. Browbeck?” The voice was strong, and deep.

Wayne turned to find himself face to face with Katerina van Mueller, Base Commander of Ice Station Zebra. Her age was indeterminate to Wayne, but she could have been anywhere from 35 to 55 years old. She was dressed in a Navy Blue skin tight outfit that appear to be made of either silk or nylon. A pale yellow poncho draped over her shoulders. It looked a bit out of place here, but he was sure it was a fashion statement or possibly even part of the uniform.

“Yes, I’m Wayne.”’

“It’s wonderful to have you here. Mr. Carruthers has told me a lot about you.”

“Oh really?”

“Don’t worry, I think I got the sanitized version. But I got enough to tell me that you should be kept on a short leash.”

“Is that right?” Wayne grew nervous. ‘What could Carruthers have said to this woman?’ he thought.

“Not really. I just picked that up between the lines. I could be wrong. Reading people is not my strong suit.”

“What do you see now?”

Katerina stepped back and gave me the once-over. “You look pretty harmless.”

“Like a baby kitten.”

“Is it true you’re here as a punishment?”

“My crimes are hardly worth mentioning.”

“Try me.”

“Well, at a party I called the publisher’s wife a cow.”

“Wow. Is she?”

“A cow? Looking back, I could almost see her brand mark on her right hip when she danced.”

“Ouch. No, really.”

“She is overweight, but a shrew. I was also plastered at the time.”

“And you got sent to Luna as a punishment.”

“I’m thinking it’s better than being fired.”

“We’ll see. Luna can be unforgiving.”

“Wow, I like that for a title.”

“What?”

“Luna Can Be Unforgiving.”

“Can I get credit for it?”

“How about an acknowledgement?”

“That’ll do. We could be here all day, Mr. Browbeck.”

“Call me Wayne.”

“All right, Wayne.” She handed him a stack of papers and two datam cards.

“What’s this?”

“Standard Welcome Pack. And your room keys.”

“Why two keys?”

“One to carry on your person. One for your datam sleeve.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s kind of like the old inoculation shots immigrants used to get 200 years ago, but this one hurts.”

“I don’t know if I like to be hurt. I’m allergic to pain.”

“It’s not bad. Really. Just sore for the first day. We may as well get it over with now so you can enjoy the rest of the tour.”

“Sure, whatever you think is best.” Wayne’s eyes roamed across the lobby. A large group walked past, carrying or pulling on suitcases. Most of them wore uniforms of a sort. He saw Miyoshi walking past. She turned her head and gave him a wink and a smile. He felt better.

“This way, Mr. Browbeck.”

He turned and followed Katerina, noting how lucky Mr. Von Meuller was to have such a good-looking wife. They walked into a building marked ‘Hospital’ and stepped up to a Lambot named Ted8.

“Teddy, can you set Mr. Browbeck up with a datam patch?”

“Certainly, Ms. Von Meuller. Do you have your datam card?” Ted8 turned his head to look at Wayne.

“Um, sure.” He held one of the cards out to the Lambot.

“Keep it with you as you walk this way.” Ted8 was replaced by Beatrice5 at the front desk. They walked down a short hall and entered a room marked ‘Long Term.’

Wayne sat in a chair as Ted8 prepared the datam patch. “Please bare your left arm,” said Ted8.

Wayne did as he was asked, taking off his dress shirt. Katerina’s eyebrows shot up for a split second before she turned away to look at his papers. Wayne grinned.

Ted8 took the datam card from Wayne and slipped it into a clear sleeve. He placed it against a blue light until Wayne heard a beep. The Lambot took the sleeve and applied it to Wayne’s upper arm.

The burning sensation made him jump. Ted8 held him down with a steel grip. The Lambot was much stronger than he looked. The burning passed and Ted8 put a cold towel against his arm. Wayne’s arm stopped its shooting pains.

“What the hell is that for?”

“It’s your pass to get into and out of the various areas of Zebra, and other places on Luna. It will only allow you to access certain areas. Everything else is off limits and I’ll know about it if you try to bypass the security restrictions.” said Katerina. “The other datam card is now just for your room.”

“What if I lose it?”

“Then your arm-pass will let you in and inform us of the misplaced card. It will also tell us exactly where you are at any moment of the day, in case you get hurt, or worse.”

“Worse?”

“It happens. Luna isn’t Bermuda. One wrong step or go through the wrong door at the wrong second and you’re dead.”

“Sounds lovely. I have a lot of questions.”

“Just about everything is addressed in your datam pack. Anything else can be addressed to Samantha6.”

“Is she a maid or something?”

“Not quite. She’s your Room Assistant. We adjusted her voice to the kind of woman you’d like to spend time with.”

“And you know my type?”

“Of course.”

“What’s my type?”

Katerina looked at his chart and smiled. “Breathing is probably good enough, but we narrowed it down to the lead actress in an old vid you’ve watched three dozen times.”

Wayne’s eyes turned to the ceiling as he thought of the vids he’d watched over the years. He smiled as he came up with the answer. “Samantha Belmont. Played by Catherine Mary Stewart.”

Katerina nodded. “Correct. We thought you’d have no issues communicating with someone whose voice and personality you knew.”

“I could talk to Catherine Mary Stewart all day.”

“And now is your chance. Any more questions?”

“Just one. Why the poncho?”

Katerina looked down at her outfit. “Oh, this. It’s an emergency E-suit. If there’s ever a massive atmospheric event, this turns into a bubble with five hours of oxygen. It just came in last week at Castle Boutique, in the Tahiti wing.”

“Will I need one?”

“It couldn’t hurt. They have men’s styles as well.”

“I’ll check my expense account.”

“If it’s not covered, I’ll have a talk with Uncle Calvin.”

“Your uncle is Calvin Carruthers?”

“No, not really. He and my father went to school together. I’ve known him since I was five years old.”

“Swell. I’m sure you’ll report every misstep I make directly to him.”

“I’m not here to spy on you, Mr. Browbeck. Just be inconspicuous and I’ll never know you’re here. You can do that, right?”

“I’ll be invisible.”

“Good. Let me get you to your room.”

They walked out of the hospital, made a right and walked past the Security and Command entrance. An armed guard stood motionless at the door. She nodded to Katerina as they walked past. A narrow suite of retail offices came next, and Wayne saw they were all occupied.

As they passed the Luna museum, power and lights dimmed for a split second. At the same time, the mag rail pulled into the southeast terminal. He heard the distinct clicking and wine of the grappling mechanism seizing the lead mag-rail car. They passed the mag-line depot to a pair of elevators. Wayne looked to his left and spotted Luna Tours.

“What kind of tours do you offer? There’s not much up here to see.”

“You’d be surprised. There’s tours to the various Apollo sites, various craters, a golf range and batting cage, and even a trip to the dark side of Luna.”

“Dark side. That must be scary.”

“It’s just dark for most of the month. Really dark. Not much to see, literally.”

The elevator door opened. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Browbeck. Try not to come to my attention while you’re here.”

“I’ll be here a whole year.”

“I know. Let’s see how long it’ll take for you to get into trouble.”

“I’ll not be any trouble.”

“Oh, yes you will. Everyone gets into trouble here. It can’t be helped. Try not to make it too serious.”

The door closed and Wayne was whisked away. “What the hell am I doing here?”

A minute after she died, Emily Breck sat up in bed. “What in the hell?” she said out loud, her breathing coming in gulps. The words echoed down the hall. What had just happened? Her last thoughts were the impact of her skull on the dumpster in the alley outside of her window. She reached up and felt her head where it had hit the dumpster. Could it have been a dream? As she probed her skull, she found no cuts, bumps or bloody openings. Just smooth scalp and silky hair.

‘It was so real,’ she thought. ‘I remember every pain, like the one in my hand.’ She looked at her hand. The broken nails and scabs on her knuckles had disappeared, replaced by smooth skin and evidence of a recent manicure. Emily made a fist, and the tendons stretched without pain or cramping. The manatee ring reflected a dull light off the remaining diamond in one eye setting. She flexed her arm and bent it behind her head until she touched her shoulder blade.

“Holy hell. I’ve never been able to do that.” No bruises. No pain. She looked at her arm. Her curiosity building, she ran a hand along her clean skin and turned her arm. No needle tracks. A gentle probe with her tongue found smooth, clean gums where earlier she had canker sores. Emily reached up to touch the back of her neck. Her fingers touched smooth skin, where minutes ago there had been a lumpy burn scar. As she breathed, the fog lifted from her head. The apartment still smelled like no one had bathed in a week. The clock still hung crooked on the wall next to the faded poster of the Ali and the Mudlarks concert poster. One corner drooped, obscuring the smiling face of Ali Gorda.

“This is a dream. It has to be. People don’t fall from windows and wake up in better shape than before they fell. I’m going to wake up any second now and still be in my roach filled cell.” She glanced out of the room. A ratty curtain blew in the breeze at the window from which she fell.

The Curious Journey of Emily Breck

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0G7KX7VBD

None of this made any sense. Emily needed to see where she had fallen to her death in her dream. Her legs swung around and hit the floor without the usual distress. As she stood, she was not dizzy. In fact, she felt great.

The room smelled of stale tobacco, popcorn and vomit. She could breathe without coughing, which surprised her.

She grazed her fingers against her ribs. They were whole and uninjured, with no bruises. An image of Edgar, her pimp, made her wince. He liked to punch her in the ribs, under her arms. Emily pushed the memory down and away.

Her breathing came easily as she made her way to the living room. She passed her cigarettes without giving them a thought. A craving for food rippled through her, but not for anything else. ‘How strange’, she thought as she neared the window. ‘I’m usually ready for a morning snort’. The thought repulsed her.

The window, wide open, let in a gentle breeze. Her skin tingled in the stifling heat of the apartment. Shrugging, Emily looked out the window. Thirteen floors below, in a tangled and shapeless heap, lay the broken body of Emily Breck.

“What am I doing way down there?” she wondered aloud. She sat on the floor, disoriented, as the reality of her world settled into Emily’s mind. Dizziness overwhelmed her as the image of her corpse burned itself into her consciousness. “That’s not me down there. It can’t be.” Yet, Emily knew deep down she had died in a fall and now sat here alive and better than before. Not better, different. “It’s still me, but I’m healthy. I’ll take it.”

Emily took a deep breath and pulled herself up to the windowsill. She leaned out and saw most of Emily Breck still lay in the dumpster.

Without a thought, she pocketed the smooth, round black pebble on the windowsill as she pulled her head back into the room. “What am I doing up here?”

An impulsive thought hit her. All became clear as a rush of information clarified her situation. Get out of this apartment. Get out now as soon as your scrawny legs can carry you. ‘But my legs aren’t bony anymore,’ she thought as she looked down at her feet. Her legs were well-muscled and clean. Whoever these legs belonged to, she needed them to get her moving. She shed her shorts and put on long pants, moving the pebble to her new pocket. A last bit of vanity lured her into looking into the bathroom mirror.

It was her face, but the hair had returned to its original off-blond color. A little pink shot through from her right temple. “Sort of Strawberry Lemonade blond,” she said with a small smile playing on her lips. “I could learn to like it.” A dog’s bark took her out of her daydream, and she got moving.

Emily stuffed a clean carry-on with a few items of clean clothes she could scrounge up from her drawers. Thinking for a moment, she moved through the entire apartment, collecting coins and a few stray bills. Most were singles, but she found a few fives and a ten-dollar bill. It totaled $72.57. She put the cash in a leather pouch inside her carry-on. She scrounged some water bottles from the wheezing refrigerator and stuffed them into her bag.

A last look at the apartment gave her the creeps. “How could anyone live here?” She shuddered and left the apartment. She dashed the idea of using the old elevator as she gave her escape plans some thought.

“I need to leave here and escape without Edgar or Rose spotting me.” Nodding, she headed for the stairs. The empty hallway echoed her footfalls as the exit door shut behind her.

She went down the back stairs. One last look at her lifeless old self gave her the impetus to get moving. She couldn’t be there because Edgar would be home soon. One goal kept her mind off of the body in the alley.

You need to leave Manhattan soon. The cops won’t find you if you’re far away. Survival first, comfort afterward.

Emily found the walk invigorating, despite the smells and the ugliness all around her. The drugs in her system were fading and soon became a vague yearning. How it happened she had no time to dwell on. She found her appetite returning as she waited for a local bus. A new impulse steered her into a tiny shop smelling of incense. She purchased a black marble notebook and a cheap pen.

On the bus, she relaxed, knowing she put her old life behind her. Across from her, an old poster looked down at her. The pleasant face of Les Brown smiled at her. Underneath his picture she read a quote from him. “No matter how bad it is, or how bad it gets, I’m going to make it.”

Emily smiled. “No matter how bad it is, or how bad it gets, I’m going to make it.”

Twelve blocks later, she stepped off the bus near Central Park. A slice of pizza and an orange soda put a smile on her face. The soda didn’t taste the same. She needed coffee. A short walk to a small coffee shop brought her a dark Sumatran brew with cream. Her heart smiled as she walked to the bus stop. The short ride took her into a different world, filled with life and color. She sat on a bench facing a fountain and watched three little kids chase a bright yellow ball on the grass. ‘Life is amazing,’ she thought.

“Lookin’ for a hit?” The kid, about seventeen, sidled up to her. “Cheap.”

“No. No thanks,” said Emily. She felt stronger saying those words. The kid shook his head and slid away to hassle someone else. Emily watched him and shook her head. “I was like him yesterday,” she said out loud. “What about tomorrow?”

Chapter Two

At the bus terminal, the ticket cost all but her last twenty dollars. She waited for an hour, reading a book someone had left in the terminal. At first, she ignored the volume but soon picked it up out of boredom. The title, “Urban Legends To Keep You Up At Night,” intrigued her. She read the back cover and found herself forty pages into it when the bus pulled up. Smiling, she folded a page and took it with her onto the bus.

On the bus, she found a vacant seat near the back. She slid into it and clutched her bag to her chest. Drifting off, she struggled to stay awake. She blinked twice and drifted off.

The bad hit of dope bit into her. It tore her up inside, and her stomach peppered vomit across the dingy space of her apartment. Emily stretched, stiff and achy, as if she had spent the entire night inside of the toilet bowl. “I gotta stink like a toilet,” she said as she lay down next to the sofa, speaking to her stuffed green alien doll. “My barf stinks up the whole place.” The stench came from the carpet, like she left the puke in the carpet and didn’t clean it up. A glance under the sofa revealed a glob of vomit.

“21st Century Vomit,” she laughed to her companions, the rail-thin green alien, the purple octopus, and the pink Bigfoot. Her party guests. Emily chuckled at the idea and almost threw up again.

Edgar, her pimp and pusher, and Rose from across the hall had the honor of being her fellow inmates in this drug induced prison. Emily didn’t invite these uncivilized folks into her life. The two took advantage of her good nature, such as it was. Rose shared Emily with Edgar, but all he cared about was using their bodies for money.

In the past week, Rose hadn’t dropped by to mooch on her drugs or cheap booze like she always did. Rose and Edgar had been fighting like two rival gang members, and Rose bled more than Emily that week. Rose walked the street two nights a week if she was able. With her pain, Emily couldn’t bring herself to cross the hall to comfort her.

Emily had her own troubles, ending with a blow to the ribs from Edgar. Then he punched her in the shoulder.

Emily got a soft poke in her shoulder. She opened her eyes and found the bus in the clutches of twilight. The day, and the trip, had passed her by as she slept.

Above her stood the bus driver. His warm smile made her feel better. He took his cap off and ran a hand across his bald head. His deep blue eyes held her gaze for a moment. A tattoo on his arm read U.S.M.C. His name tag read Ed.

“End of the line, miss,” he said. “I gotta turn the bus around and get back to civilization.” He smiled, showing a gap between his two front teeth.

“Thanks. Where am I, anyway?”

“Just south of Jackson, New Jersey,” he said. She noticed a pink scar where his right earlobe had been. “Your ticket didn’t pay to go this far, but you looked like you needed to get as far from Times Square as possible.”

“You’re right. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ed said as she stood on wobbly legs. “This is just past the end of my usual run. No extra charge.” He held her forearm as her legs buckled for a second.

“Thanks. I’m all right now.”

Ed nodded and gave her the space she needed. He waited at the front of the bus in his seat. She got herself together and moved up to the exit door. “Hold on a moment,” he said.

Emily froze, fear shooting through her like electricity. She set herself to bolt out of the bus if anything were to happen. He fished into his pocket and handed her a business card. A yellow paper clip clasped something to the other side. When Emily took the card, she saw some money attached to it. The card read” “Metro Bus Lines. Ed G.”

“It’s not much, but it’ll buy you some food for a few days,” Ed said.

“Thanks,” she said. She hopped off and looked around. Across the street, a small strip mall held a few cars. In front of her, a motel beckoned.

“Good luck,” said Ed. “If you ever need to go back to New York, call my number. It’s on the card.” He closed the doors, and the bus left in a cloud of dust.

Hungry, she trekked across the street to Burger Haven. A double burger with cheese and a chocolate shake tasted like a gourmet meal. She hadn’t eaten this well as long as she could remember. The owner seemed friendly enough as he watched her while reading his newspaper. She looked like a bum and smelled like one. The scents triggered an old memory in her, but it refused to reveal itself.

The Lancaster Star Motel had two vacant rooms. Mr. Baxter, the owner, gave her a stern look as she entered the office.

“Do you have any rooms?”

“Are you a hooker?” he asked, scratching the stubble on his cheek.

“No.” She almost said not anymore but held her tongue.

“You in trouble? Don’t want no police waking up the others sleeping here.”

“No trouble. Just looking to start over.”

“Hunh. I got two rooms free. Can you pay ahead of time?”

“Sure.” Emily thought of her money, but she needed the cash to eat. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her wallet. Hesitating, she took out her credit card and handed it to Baxter. He ran it through his machine.

“Hunh. It’s good.” He let a crooked smile crack into his face. “Emily Breck,” he muttered as he stared at her card.

Emily used her credit card, surprised it still worked. She chose the cheaper of the two rooms. Minutes later, she found herself in Room Number Six. The room, clean and straightforward, comprised a bed, small table with two chairs, kitchenette, dresser holding the cable television, and a bathroom. “Perfect,” she said.

Emily propped a chair under the doorknob, checked all the window locks, and then dropped onto the bed. Sleep came in less than five minutes.

The stuffed octopus laughed with Rose’s giggle, giving Emily a chill. “He’s tired of your curiosity and your rebellious ways,” the octopus said with Rose’s shrill voice. “He prefers me now.”

“Up yours, Rose.” Emily looked away from the octopus, her eyes settling on Bigfoot. The Bigfoot doll never lowered himself to talk to Emily. He stank of bacon and bourbon, like the building super or her Uncle Billy. The sharp pain in her neck caused her to reach back and touch the burn scar at the top of her spine. A rush of memories ran down to her belly, a bit of bile biting her tongue.

From the age of nine until she ran away at sixteen, Uncle Billy had abused her. He stood behind her, pulling her pigtails and putting his cigarettes out on her neck as he took advantage of her. If ever she cried out, Billy hurt Emily even more. Her father never believed his own brother would do such a thing. Billy served as a greeter at their church, he would say.

Emily didn’t want to remember how long the abuse lasted. She could count on a visit from Uncle Billy at least twice a week. When she ran, she hopped on a bus, taking her out of state. As the bus took her somewhere else, Emily sliced off her pigtails, hoping to cut out the memories. Her knife came close to cutting into her wrists. “I’m going to get through this.” She slipped the knife between the folds of the seat cushions.

In the morning, Emily stretched and took a long, hot shower. The water washed the remaining grit and grime from Manhattan and her old life. She checked herself from head to foot. Her clean skin glistened in the water. No tracks anywhere, not even under her tongue.

“I’ll be a fool,” she said. “This is a gift from somewhere. I will not waste it. I need to find out what is happening.”

Her money would pay for another night in her room and some food, then she’d be broke. She retrieved the notebook and a Lancaster Star Motel pen and sat at the table near her bed.

‘I’m still not sure whether this is all just some wonderful dream I’m having in a hospital in Manhattan somewhere. Maybe I’m in a coma. Why am I still breathing after falling fourteen floors? Who was lying in the alley? It sure looked like me. Too much like me. Do I even know what I’m doing here? Why Wellman, New Jersey? Is it because it’s as far as my money would let me go? My head is spinning. I need to stop writing and get a job. -Curious M.’

Emily looked down at the words Curious M. The name seemed to fit her somehow. ‘Who had called her that? Did she do it for herself? Maybe someday I’ll find out.’ At the front desk, she talked to Baxter.

“Is anyone hiring nearby this time of year?” She asked.

Baxter scratched his chin with a broken fingernail. He looked at the finger and gnawed at it with his darkened teeth. “McGinley’s looking for someone to gather eggs and slop his hogs, if that’s your idea of work,” said Baxter.

“Hogs? Eggs?”

He smiled at reaction. “Slim pickings. Out of season. Pays good, what I hear.”

“Well, it’s something,” she said. “Where is this McGinley at?”

“Down the road a couple of miles, you’ll see the sign.”

“Miles,” she muttered.

“Tell you what. Gimme a hand with laundry around here, and I’ll cut your room rate to ten bucks.”

“I’ll do it to save some money,” said Emily. “When do I start?”

“Anytime you like,” he said. Baxter reached behind and took a long narrow clip board off the desk. “Put your name here and time and date you worked. Bring it to me in a week and I’ll give you another one.”

“That’ll work, Mr. Baxter,” said Emily.

“Just call me Baxter. Don’t care for the Mister part,” he said. He paused a moment. “You look like you could use some clothes.”

Emily looked down at her dirty T-shirt. Embarrassed, she brushed off some of the hair and nodded. “Yeah, I’m not in any hurry.”

Baxter shook his head. “No matter to me. Here, take this key. It’s for the laundry room. There is a small closet filled with clothes left by people. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

“Keep track of the key now. A new one will cost you $20.”

“Okay, how do I get to McGinley’s and back?”

“You could take my bike. I don’t use it no more and it beats walking.”

“Wow, this gets better all the time,” she said. ”What if McGinley doesn’t need help?”

“Don’t you worry about that. No one lasts there long. Not much fun and amusement parks pay a lot more. You’ll last until spring and then you’ll disappear like all the others.”

“How long will I be there? I’m curious.”

“Four months, give or take. Better ‘n starvin.’”

“You’ve got that right.”

Chapter Three

Emily took the rusty Schwinn down the busy road until she saw the sign. It read: “McGinley’s Farm. Egg. Bacon. Fresh Chicken. Milk And Cheese. Come Take A Look.”

“What the hell,” said Emily. She could always say no to Mr. McGinley, considering her limited choices. And she could use the money.

The farmhouse and the stand stood out in the sunlight, warm and inviting. She couldn’t see any sign of trash. The corn and potatoes sat in wooden bins, clean and inviting, and ripened. A large rust-brown cooler held more egg cartons than Emily had ever seen before. The parking lot had not one space open. More than a dozen people milled about, their baskets filling up. A chubby girl with braces stood at an old-style cash register, ringing up purchases as fast as her little fingers could do the job. Another young girl packed the produce into brown paper bags.

“Can I help you?”

Emily looked at the man and smiled. He almost looked like Anthony Hopkins. A warm smile framed her face and Emily took an instant liking to the older man.

“Mr. McGinley?” She asked.

He shrugged. “You got it right the first time.” A young man came walking up a well-worn path, carrying a bushel of red and yellow bell peppers. McGinley gave him a look. “Harry, bring them to Mrs. Mac.”

“Yes, sir,” said Harry, and he left.

McGinley returned his gaze to Emily. “What can I do for you, young lady?”

“The manager at the Lancaster Star Motel said you might need some help,” Emily said. She approached the stand where McGinley stood, taking her bike with her.

“I never have enough help,” said McGinley. “Kids these days. Too busy with their noses in their phones to do any kind of work.”

“It’s a busy place,” said Emily.

“Yep, and I don’t have enough people before it rots. Are you clean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t give me that Sir. You’re not talking to my father. Call me Mac if you’re gonna be workin’ here.”

“Okay, Mac. What do you need help with?”

“Just like that, you’re hired? Well, I like someone not afraid of jumping in. Park your bike over by the main house and come back while I think of something for you to do.”

“Okay.” She paused and looked at him. “How much are you paying?”

Mac smiled and nodded his head. “A bold one,” he said. “Thirteen bucks an hour. Cash. There’s a ledger over by Kate at the register. Sign in every single day. Put when you came in and when you leave next to yer name. Take a half hour lunch break.”

“Sounds easy enough. How do I know you’ll pay me for every hour?”

“Ask around,” said Mac, a little annoyed at Emily’s questions. “I’m not in the business of fighting over a few minutes here or there. I got a business to run. Don’t take advantage of me, and I’ll make sure you get every penny coming to you. Fair enough?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now get rid of that bike and I’ll show you how to pick strawberries.”

Hours later, Emily put her twentieth little basket of berries onto her cart. Picking and packing the red food proved to be a simple task for her. Mac gave her a new McGinley baseball cap to protect her eyes from the sun. Her back and knees hurt. Every thirty minutes, she had to stand and walk a few paces between the rows of strawberries. Jim, also picking strawberries, took a break and a drink of water.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “It’s been a while since I’ve done work like this before. It’ll take a bit of getting used to.” The lie slipped out with ease, like second nature.

“Don’t take too long,” said Jim. “Mac isn’t paying us for standing around. Just some friendly advice.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I’m ready to go.” Jim hadn’t caught her lie, and she smiled.

Jim had already gone back to berries. The work had a rhythm to it. Emily made good progress. By the time she felt hungry, her row had no berries in it. Everyone she had picked set piled in dozens of small baskets a hundred feet from where she stood.

She had brought nothing to eat for lunch. Mac offered her a choice of strawberry yogurt or cottage cheese with blueberries. They made both fresh at the farm. The yogurt, rich and delicious, went down with a glass of fresh, cold, well water.

That night, Emily dropped onto her motel bed after setting the alarm for 7 AM. Sleep engulfed her in moments. The nightmare swooped in on her without mercy.

Emily wiped her nose on her sleeve, rubbed her watery eyes, and looked for something to take the jitters away. Her last score, over fifteen hours ago, didn’t satisfy her. Edgar smacked her across the face when she failed to seal the deal with a high roller at the Python Club. Some pimp he turned out to be. He always hit her so bruises wouldn’t show, and the agony lasted for days.

The heroin last night had hit her like a Roman candle. She vomited all over Edgar’s shoes and pants, ending with him delivering a punch to her ribs. Her bruised ribs, she recalled, shooting pain coming with each breath. Edgar, in frustration, made her go home to sleep it off.

Emily looked around the apartment. It looked like it had weathered a storm. Her stomach turned again, and she knew what she needed. More heroin, or the stash of coke she hid by the window. Yeah, the little bag she stole from Edgar would do. He had been too high to miss one small bag. She forgot about it until now. A little bit of the hair of the bulldog who bit her. That would do nice.

Her attempt to stand failed as her knees refused to work, and her head threatened to spin off her shoulders. She fought nausea and took a tentative step. When she didn’t fall on her face, Emily smiled. “I can do this.” Edgar would be here in another hour. “Plenty of time,” she realized.

The sunlight pierced her eyes and gave her stomach a fit. A few deep breaths calmed her down. She wrestled with the window, shoving it until the wood smacked into the top of the frame. The air, hot and fetid, mixed with the odors already in these living quarters she shared with her pimp. The manatee ring on her right hand grew warm, something it never did before. The heat grew intense and uncomfortable as Emily leaned out the window.

The alarm ringing gave Emily a start. She swung out of bed, eager to start her day. Amazed at her energy Emily dressed for the day and crossed the highway to the diner. “What’ll you have?” asked the waitress.

“Everything looks so good,” said Emily as she read the menu. “How about a cheese omelet with mushrooms and tomatoes?”

“Good choice,” said the waitress. “Toast?”

“Whole-wheat please.”

“Something to drink?”

“Ooh, coffee with milk on the side, please. And a small orange juice.”

“Okay, you got it.” The waitress left before Emily could thank her.

Emily took the time to savor the eggs and toast. Even the coffee tasted rich with her new tastebuds. From her bag, she dragged out the marble notebook and the pen she stole from Baxter’s desk. She still needed to make sense of it all, but she wanted to get it all down on paper while her thoughts were still scrambled.

“Where to begin? I guess I’ll start with the obvious. This isn’t a dream. With all of the pokes and prodding and skinned knees I’ve gotten today, this has to be real life.”

She left the diner with no money but with a full stomach.

At the farm, Mac gave her a look but said nothing. He nodded after a bit and talked to some customers. Emily overslept, and she promised herself she’d get to the farm earlier from now on.

During the next two weeks, Emily developed a new outlook on life. Alone for most of the day, her thoughts circled back to the circumstances that put her here. Why had she not stayed dead after falling from the window? Why did no one ask me questions as I got the hell out of my neighborhood?

May 7

On Sunday, Jaick stayed close to home. He emailed his agent with his progress, then he put the edited final manuscript into the mail. After lunch, he sat down with all the menus and business cards he had accumulated at his corner office space.

Jaick made labels for his hanging folders. There were ones for food trucks, American cuisine, European, Asian, South America. He put each menu card into its proper folder. The hanging folders all fit neat into a grey plastic file box fit right on this bookshelf closest to the first bedroom.

His office comprised one corner of his condo living room. It occupied the same wall as his front door. An elaborate corner computer desk was wedged into the space by the window in one corner. The desk came from IKEA and had a half a dozen shelves on either side of his computer workspace. Against the wall behind his keyboard was a shelf used for books.

He had room for two printers, one inkjet and one laser, and a small fax machine. On the left side of the desk sat a 6-foot-wide bookcase running parallel with the outer wall.

This created a cubicle of sorts for Jaick to work in. Its top almost reached the ceiling.

His reference materials, printer paper, reading material, and a small leather dish for pens were stored here. A shorter bookcase ran under the window between the front door and his desk. An old seashell he found in the waves held his keys and whatever else was in his pockets when he got home each day.

Jaick had been eating mixed nuts while he had been working. The canister had only a few handfuls left. Jaick went to the kitchen and grabbed a zipper bag and stuck it into his pocket. He’d fill the bag with nuts to carry with him. When he sat at his office chair and looked to his right, he could see out of the window between his desk and the front door. The view inspired him unlike anything he had ever seen in New Jersey. A stretch of open beach in front of him ended at a grove of sea grapes. To his left he could see part of the resort seawall and one corner of the resort itself. Stacks of beach chairs lined the sea wall. On his right, the beach stretched to the ocean. Jaick kept the window to the ocean open all the time to hear the ocean. It always soothed him to sleep.

Image Infoby kordi_vahle from Pixabay

A distant rumbling sent a chill down his spine. Taking a chance, he stepped outside for some fresh air. The storm was coming from the South, and it was hastening fast.

A few big sailboats and yachts were heading into deeper water near Miami. Their lights in the deepening dusk were like fireflies, blinking red and blue.

People began packing up and leaving the beach. They moved at a leisurely pace, climbing up the seawall or the stairs at the end of the resort perimeter.

Jaick saw Simon and two other resort workers standing by a large group of sea grape bushes. Simon looked grim and glanced a few times at the sky. Jaick saw nothing unusual in the sky, save for the moving clouds as he washed his feet off at a small beach shower station near the sea grapes.

“Mr. Jenkins!” shouted Simon at the large man with his feet still in the churning tidal water. Mr. Jenkins, in his green and maroon shorts, turned to look at Simon. Casting a glance to the South, he confidently marched into the ocean, waving at Simon as he went.

“He’ll get himself killed,” said the larger man with Simon. He caught sight of Jaick watching him. Simon’s eyes went wide for a second, then he turned away. Simon glanced back at Jaick with little subtlety, and he headed back into the resort. The two men with him followed.

Mr. Jenkins was still frolicking in the waves when the first hard rain fell. Jaick let the drops fall upon his face until he saw the first hints of lightning on the horizon. He made his way to his room. The rain fell in light drops as it grew darker outside. The clear skies of the late afternoon gave way to dark clouds ushering in the night. A storm was coming, and Jaick felt the anxiety grow.

It started as a tiny seed in his belly, growing as the storm built up.

The area darkened quick as the clouds did away with whatever was left of the sunset. By the time the storm arrived, Jaick couldn’t take it anymore.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. 7:54 PM. Was it too late to call Doctor Atwell? A clap of thunder made him jump. Seconds later, he dialed her number on his phone.

“Hello, Jaick,” said Doctor Atwell.

“Hi, Doc. Is it too late to call?”

“Do you have an emergency?”

“There’s a big storm right on top of me. Lightning and thunder. No moon, though. It’s hard to see anything outside.”

“Okay. I’m going to help you. Are you sitting down?”

“Yes. I moved my chair to the window, just like we did in Keever. And the lights are off.”

“Good. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, God. Anxious. Nervous. A little scared.”

“All acceptable reactions. Are they extreme in any way?”

“Not like a year ago. I can manage them right now. They’re not making me run from the room and hide.”

“That’s good. Describe to me what you can see.”

“Well, there’s not much,” Jaick began. “There is a new moon and lots of black clouds. There’s some faint light from the streetlamp and the lightning.”

“What does that lamp reveal?”

“It’s about 100 feet away. Just enough light to make out two piles of beach chairs, maybe six chairs in each stack. I can just about see them. I can see part of the seawall. But that’s about it.”

Jaick heard a muffled cry. At the edge of the light, he saw Mr. Jenkins from two hours ago.

“Well, there’s a fat guy outside. He’s leaning on the beach chairs. Wait a second.”

Jaick sat mute as a mass of darkness moved in front of Jenkins. The man’s stark whiteness vanished like a curtain was being drawn in front of him.

“The guy just disappeared.”

“What do you mean disappeared?”

“I can hear him moving the chairs around, but I can’t see him. Now it’s gone quiet.”

Jaick stared at the chairs. The veil of darkness drifted away and the chairs came into view.

He saw what looked like a white star hanging a few feet in the air for about two seconds. Then it was gone. The chairs were no longer stacked but tipped over onto the sand.

“The storm hasn’t let up, but I’m feeling great. And a little scared.”

“Wow, something as traumatic as the storm must have knocked your fears out.”

“Yeah, You could say that.”

“Tell me,” said Atwell, excitement building in her voice.

“Hold on. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Don’t do anything foolish,” she said.

“Too late for that.”

Jaick put the phone down and stood up. He took a deep breath and opened the door. He grabbed a flashlight hanging from the wall near the door.

Jaick moved down the steps onto the beach. “This is so foolish,” he said. The rain fell in a light mist. At the chairs, he turned the light on.

Two of the chairs had broken legs, snapped off at the seat. Something had disturbed the sand in the center, between the piles of chairs. It looked like a couple of kids had been wrestling. Jaick’s light played along the edges of the chairs. It appeared that someone had dropped a thick rope in the sand, leaving impressions behind. His flashlight caught a pink flip flop about ten feet from where he stood. The ground showed two thick lines in the sand, heading toward the ocean, as if an object had been dragged across it.

He brought his light closer to his feet and saw the faint impression of something like bald tire tracks. A spot of color caught his eye on the ground. The sand was red. Jaick kneeled next to it to look. The first thought that came to him was blood. He looked back at the sand. A small spot of red was visible on one edge.

Jaick took the zipper bag from his shirt pocket. He scooped up the red sand and filled the bag halfway. As he scooped up another handful of sand, he felt something like a piece of a pretzel rod come up with the sand. Jaick shoved the sand and the object into the bag. He stood and scanned the beach. He could make out the unbroken line of the water’s edge.

A noise distracted him as he zipped the bag closed. A light went on in the resort office. Jaick heard two people speaking in loud voices. One of them was Simon. Someone turned on the light outside the office. The light grew brighter as it moved toward the back door.

Jaick dashed back to his condo and closed the door just as the office door opened. The rain fell harder. Jaick sat down in his easy chair as he saw two flashlights shine on the seawall. In the darkness of his room, Jaick saw Simon and Mack Burnell move to the end of the patio. They stepped off the wall and jumped onto the beach.

“Hello, Jaick?” said Doctor Atwell on the phone.

Jaick picked up the phone. “I’m here,” he whispered.

“Is everything alright?”

Jaick moved away from the window. He put the zipper bag into the freezer and washed his hands. “It’s gotten crazy here.”

“Is it you or something else? How are you feeling?”

“I’m doing better than I thought I would be. In the excitement, my fears took a hike.”

“That’s good. It’s a good sign. What’s going on?”

“Hold on a minute.”

Jaick moved to the window and peered out with just his right eye at the edge of the window. He positioned himself by the door to stay hidden from the outside. Simon was straightening a stack of chairs. He kicked at the sand where Jaick had seen the red stain. Mack held the two broken chairs. Simon finished what he was doing. He shone the flashlight in a circle around him.

Jaick ducked out of the way as the light moved to his condo and beyond.

“Just get this stuff cleaned up before someone finds something,” said Simon. The heavy rain had washed away Jaick’s footprints already, but Simon still gave Jaick’s door a long stare. Mack took the broken chairs, kicked and smoothed the sand and moved away into the darkness.

In the dark, Jaick glared out of the window with the curtain parted about two inches. Lightning flashed, and Jaick could see the two men standing the chairs back up into stacks of six. Simon used his feet to obscure the two deep lines running toward the ocean.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the entire tapestry of the beach for an instant. Simon and Mack were the sole living things on the sand. The rest appeared in the contrasting starkness of the beach chairs and the silhouettes of the palm and grape trees. Darkness enveloped everything again.

A moment later, Simon and Mack appeared at the office in the light of a single light bulb. Their movements were sluggish. Mack joined Simon as he opened the door to let them into the office. The two men entered and the office went dark.

When Simon and Mack moved away, Jaick moved to his chair and sat down. He picked up his phone.

“Hello Jaick,” she said. “Are you alright?”

“Physically, yes. Mentally, that will take a few minutes.”

“I sense there’s something else besides the storm bothering you. Am I right?”

“The manager here and his buddy have cleaned up a mess outside. Everything is clean now,” he said. Jaick gave her all the details, including the red sand. He felt his blood rushing through his veins. As his narrative unfolded, he had boiled some water and made some Sleepytime tea with honey and milk.

“That must have been quite traumatic for you, Jaick,” said Atwell. “Did you need to go outside in the storm?”

“Yeah. It was distressing, yeah,” Jaick said as he settled down into his lounge chair. “Some of it was thrilling and exciting.”

“Which parts are those?”

“Sneaking out into the darkness,” Jaick began. “Finding the red stuff in the sand. Almost getting caught by Simon.”

“What would it have mattered if Simon and his goons had found you?”

“Nothing, I hope, but they were acting very suspicious. Simon looked at my door like I was going to open it and surprise them. He and Mac were cleaning and straightening everything up.”

“So, they put everything back as it was?”

“Yes.”

“Including re-stacking the chairs and wiping out the marks where something was dragged away?”

“Yes, at least they looked like drag marks.”

“How long were these impressions in the sand?”

“Let me try to picture it,” Jaick said, taking a long drink of tea. “Call me crazy, but they were just like heel marks. As if someone were being dragged away toward the ocean.”

“What about this overweight man that you saw?”

“He wasn’t overweight,” said Jaick. “He was obese. A big fat guy.”

“Alright, obese. What happened to him?”

“You know, that’s the weirdest part of this whole mess. He disappeared right in front of my eyes.”

“That black curtain you told me about.”

“Yes.”

“Could he have just walked out of your line of sight in the dark?”

“I guess he could have, but he wasn’t there when I went outside. And there’s signs of a struggle with the broken chairs. And there’s Simon cleaning up the chairs and wiping away the marks.” Jaick finished his tea and put the cup in the sink.

“He is the resort manager. It’s his job to make sure everything looks nice.”

“Maybe he’s making sure that nothing happens that will raise questions.”

“Have you taken to writing fiction now?”

“Um, no. It’s a peculiar thing, with that black veil and the weird rope marks in the sand.” Jaick recalled the sand in the freezer. “I’ve got something else. Hold on.” He put the phone down on the table in its stand and turned the camera on. The beautiful face of Dr. Atwell popped up. She wore a towel on her head.

The edge of two curlers stuck out at her temples. She still looked like a movie star to Jaick despite her towel and bathrobe.

“What are you doing now, Jaick?” she asked.

Jaick returned to the table carrying the zipper bag. He brushed off some frosty crystals and sat down. He placed a small white dessert plate in front of the camera.

“Remember I told you about the red sand?”

“Yes.”

“I put some in this little bag and popped it in my freezer. When I dug into the sand, I must have picked up a piece of wood with it.” Jaick probed the side of the bag with his fingertip.

“That sand is very real,” said Atwell. “I’ve got a funny feeling about it. The shape seems too familiar.”

“Let’s see.” Jaick opened the bag and poured the contents onto the plate. The finger bounced once and came to a stop. “Holy hell.”

“What is it?”

“Let me get another bag.” Jaick ran and grabbed another zipper bag. He ran some water into it and returned to the table. He dropped the object into the warm water and sealed it. The ice melted away, revealing the bloody stump of a finger. A gold ring reflected the lights from the ceiling.

“Is that a finger?” she asked. “With a ring on it?”

A Surela of Valtoor Tale

Surela ducked under the drunken arm of Kellen, pushing him into the smaller of the jail cells.

“You can’t hold me here,” he said.

Surela grinned. “You’re lucky it was I who was passing the inn. King Koma’s guards are at the end of their time here. They’re itching to get back to Kelsh.”

“How does that make me lucky?”

“Matril is Seargeant At Arms with this group. He’d have killed you without a thought in your condition. It would be his right to do so.”

“Oh.” Kellen nodded.

“They leave tonight, at sundown. Atters is due with a new squad of royal soldiers then. Tomorrow, you won’t get killed for the same actions, but you’ll still wind up here.”

“What for?”

“Drinking to excess. Disorderly conduct. Acting like an idiot in public.”

“The last one isn’t a law.”

“No, but it’s one of my laws.”

“It’s what I do sometimes.”

“As long as nobody gets hurt or anything gets broken, I’m fine with that.”

“Yeah, well.”

“When you broke the chair over Essyl’s back, you went too far.”

“How much longer will I stay?”

“Go to sleep. When you get up, we’ll see how decent you can be.”

“Fair enough, my lady. Will you stay with me?”

“Hah. You’re a bold one. No. I have my Champion duties to keep me busy.”

“What if I get hungry?”

“Karyne is here. He’ll take care of your needs.”

“Swell. He hates me.”

“No, he doesn’t. he hates when you get drunk and throw him into the river.”

“Do I do that?”

“Every time you drink too much. You missed him this time.”

“When I looked for him, he wasn’t at the inn.”

“He was helping Sibro carve a large block of wood for the Moons Harvest Festival next month.”

“One of my favorite times of the year.”

“When the Vrillor wine is ready. I’m going to assign one of Koma’s guards to accompany you during the festival.”

“Very kind of you, I’m sure.”

“It’s not kindness. It’s preventing you from having too good a time.”

“So, that’s how it will be?”

“Yes. It’s going to be a regular reaction from me until and unless you stop drinking.”

“I could move back to Ipston.”

“Like they’d ever have you back.”

“No need to be mean about it.” He sat down.

“Get some sleep.”

As Surela stepped outside for some air, a young woman rode up on a brown horse.

“Are you Surela, Champion of Valtoor?”

“Just Surela will do. What can I do for you?”

“I’m from Denaca, to the south of here.”

“The place is familiar to me. I almost got hanged.”

“Mayor Kaswyn wanted to express forgiveness for the treatment you received in the past.”

“Do you need something stolen? I don’t do that anymore. That’s how I ended up in trouble with the previous mayor.”

“No. here, please read this.” She handed Surela a roll of parchment sealed with the mayor’s ring in blue wax.

To Surela, Champion of Valtoor, we know you are the Dragon Mistress, via your God-Shard. Several merchants in town have vouched for your skills in handling wayward dragons.

A Soil Dragon has landed on the roof of our Babrieck temple. This was two days ago. The roof gave way, and the dragon fell to the stone floor. The creature suffered significant injuries and cannot move. It allows no one to approach it or help, despite its obvious pain.

We ask that you come to our village to see if you can help this poor creature. We request you to visit our village to assess if you can help this poor creature. We assure you that our people are willing and committed to doing whatever it takes to support you. We guarantee you will receive full compensation with a fee of your choosing.

Surela looked up at the woman. “What’s your name?”

“Lanny.”

“Thank you, Lanny, for bringing this to me. Tell Kaswyn I will follow you in less than an hour. Did you come alone?”

“Yes.”

“That was foolish. I’ll have an escort ride with you to Danaca. Don’t ride in these parts alone ever again.”

“I won’t.”

Surela smiled. “All right. Go to the main gate. Ask for Willan. Tell him Surela requests he travel with you to Danaca. If he resists, tell him he’ll have to stay here for another hitch after his squad leaves today.”

“I’ll tell him. And thank you.”

“Get going. I need to pack.”

An hour later, Surela sat upon Khelt, her steadfast horse. He’d been waiting at her door when she arrived at her black ice house to pack.

The journey to Danaca would have her arrive two hours before dusk. It was not ideal to meet an injured dragon at night. She had confidence in her God-Shard and its innate ability to work in peace with the dragon.

“Now what have you gotten yourself into?” said Lim as he blinked to her shoulder. He yawned and then belched.

“You’ve been eating rotten fish again,” said Surela.

“My favorite. Din’een started leaving them in the fallow corn field for the vermin so they won’t eat I the new corn.”

“You mean the other vermin, right?”

“Your insults need to be written by someone with wit,” he snickered. “What kind of trouble are we heading into now?”

“We?”

“Well, yeah. We’re partners, even if you’ve got this fancy new job.”

“This job puts a roof over our head. No more bounty hunters. No more running. No more hiding.”

“When you put it that way, it sounds nice.”

“It is.”

“Okay, I’m sold. How much money are we being paid?”

“Why does everything revolve around money for you?”

“Everything is about money to me. It’s how I determine the value of doing anything.”

“I see.”

“Where are we heading, anyway?”

Surela gave him all the details. He groaned at the mention of their destination.

“Isn’t Danaca where we used to live? Where Morbius lives so close you can see his chimney smoke?”

“Yes.”

“And you want to go back?”

“They invited me.”

“The same people who told you to leave, or they’d hang you?”

“They need my help. They have forgiven me for what I did.”

“Forgiven? How interesting.”

As Surela entered Danaca, there were two hours left of sun. A delegation waited for her on the village outskirts. The mayor was obvious in his new clothes and ceremonial staff. Surela moved past them to a water trough. She dismounted and let Khelt have a drink.

“Welcome, Surela,” said Kaswyn as the crowd all turned to face her.

“Mayor Kaswyn. You look well. Last time we met, you were a storekeeper.”

“Time passed, things improved since you were last here.”

“I hope you haven’t lured me down here to arrest me.”

Kaswyn laughed. “No, no. If it weren’t for the dragon in our temple, we never would have given you another thought.”

“I appreciate your honesty, mayor. I’m not the person you knew back then.”

“You’re a Champion now. A Shadow Sheet does not change its nature.”

“I’m no longer a thief. You know it, or I’d not be here.”

“Danaca merchants have reported Valtoor is among the safest villages they visit. I’ll attribute this to you.”

“I don’t allow trouble to start. May we go to the temple? The dragon is in need.”

“Before you go, I’d like you to swear that you’ll not try to steal anything while you are within Danaca.” The speaker was someone Surela didn’t recognize.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Malin. I keep the peace here in Danaca.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’d hope this time the circumstances were better.”

“Well, yes, we’ve heard the stories about you. We can’t afford a Champion, so I volunteered to help keep the peace.”

“You’d still be under my command if the king ordered an army to be assembled.”

Malin squirmed at the reality of his position. “Do you swear to help us without regard to your needs or greed?”

Surela took a moment, locking eyes with Malin. “I swear to devote my time to help this dragon in the temple. Once I deal with the dragon, I’ll return to Valtoor. Satisfied?”

“All right,” said Malin. “We can proceed to the temple.”

Surela moved toward the center of the village before Malin finished speaking. She hadn’t the time to waste talking to a volunteer law keeper. Khelt would stay where he was. He’d join her as soon as the dragon was gone. He didn’t like dragons and stayed away from them.

The temple stood on a small hill east of town, as Babrieck lore dictated. A crowd of two dozen people stood in silence near the entrance. Surela noticed the roof damage. One chimney sat tilted toward the center, while the top of the second chimney was missing.

“She’s here,” someone muttered. The crowd murmured. A few said Dragon Mistress. Others said Tariel, the goddess and the owner of Rmal, the God-Shard in Surela’s possession.

Surela raised her hands as she came to the crowd. The noise dwindled to a few low voices. Then they grew quiet.

“Who can tell me what happened?”

“She can,” someone muttered. The crowd parted as an older woman came forward. She wore a robe decorated with artistic flourishes of green, red, and silver. The fabric depicted faces, plants, skylines, musical instruments, and mountains. She was the temple’s high priestess.

“Do you need to speak to me in private?” Surela asked. Babrieck priestesses and acolytes were averse to speaking aloud to strangers. They never spoke outside.

The priestess nodded. Surela looked around and spotted a blacksmith’s shop. The owner stood out front, watching the crowd. “This way.”

Surela and the priestess moved to the shop. Nodding to the priestess, the blacksmith gazed at Surela. “Are you the one who’s come to slay the dragon?”

“Killing the dragon is not the priority.”

“What else can you do with it?”

“I must know everything that occurred here. Then I will decide.”

“As long as we’re rid of it.”

“You will be, but it will be in the best interest of everyone, including the dragon.”

The smith nodded.

“May we talk in private inside your shop?”

“Go right ahead. I’ll get something to eat.”

“Thank you.” Surela turned, and the priestess nodded and followed her inside.

Once inside, the priestess let down her hood. She was devoid of hair save for a ring around her crown and a long ponytail.

“My name is Zarid. I am high priestess of Babrieck.”

“Surela of Valtoor.”

“You own Rmal, the Dragon God-Shard.”

“Only a few call it that, but yes, it is Rmal.”

“You are the Dragon Mistress. Perhaps we will then all survive this. You are our best chance to avoid the worst of outcomes.”

“They say it’s a Soil Dragon.”

“Yes.”

“A Sun Dragon. We’re lucky. Soil dragons are not dangerous. Can you tell me what happened?”

“As the dragon flew over the edge of town, I paused in my prayers to admire its beauty. Dragons are such amazing creatures. Few others bothered to look at it.”

“Dragons are magnificent, most of them.”

“You must own one yourself, am I right?”

“Yes.”

“What sort, if I may ask?”

“A Marsh dragon.”

Zarid nodded and smiled. “One of the larger ones.”

“Oh, I know. He’s only a year old, and he’s bigger than my house.”

“I should like to see him one day.”

“You are welcome to visit me at any time. I have plenty of room.”

“I thank you. To continue. The dragon neared the center of town when a great flaming stone fell from the clouds. It struck the dragon between the wings, near the neck.”

“It came from the clouds, you say?”

“Yes. I’m certain.”

“What happened to this stone?”

“It bounced off the dragon and landed in the river downstream.”

“What happened then?”

“The dragon fell from the sky. It landed on the temple roof.”

“I see remnants of fresh soil around the temple. It’s pouring from those side windows. The dragon must have been here for some time.”

“Within an hour, the roof collapsed. The dragon dropped into the temple. It’s been two days.”

“And the soil?”

“it’s been pouring from the broken windows for two days. The dragon is up against the windows. The farmers took it. I saw no harm in it. The dragon growled but did nothing hostile.”

“Was anyone present at the temple when the stone struck the dragon?”

“No. We were between services.”

“Has anyone entered the temple since the dragon fell?”

“I entered soon after the dragon landed. Its limbs were thrashing so much I dared not move beyond the doorway.”

“May I have your permission to enter the temple?”

“You are Tariel’s avatar. We are both aligned with the Sun. I know you will respect the sanctity of our temple. May I request to accompany you?”

“I welcome the company. Please don’t approach the dragon unless I tell you it’s safe.”

“I will bow to your expertise. My concern is with the damage done to the interior. There is concern we may have lost our sacred drum and our holy tomes.”

“Let’s exclude the townspeople from the temple. For safety’s sake, and for all of us.”

“I will have the acolytes stand guard at the entrance. Give me a short while to collect an ample amount.”

“Please hurry. The dragon is in great pain.”

“Yes, I will.”

The priestess left, ducking her head to pull the hood over her eyes. Surela stepped forward to see three acolytes meet her at the anvil. Zarid motioned with both hands, speaking softly. The acolytes nodded and moved out of sight.

As Surela approached the temple, a deep moaning came from within. It shook the walls and made the nearby villagers back away. Two large Babrieck acolytes stood at the temple entrance. Zarid joined her.

“I know you have taken an oath of silence outside the temple. Can you nod, correct?” Surela asked.

The acolytes nodded.

“Can you keep anyone other than us from entering? More people will arrive soon to assist you.”

The acolytes smiled and nodded. Surela and Zarid brushed past them and stepped to the door. As she grasped the handle, a large young man in a black robe stepped forward. The robe had gold piping running along its edges. He reached out with one long arm and placed it on the door. Surela spotted the dragon claw tattoo on the back of his hand. The acolytes cowered at his presence but didn’t move.

“Before you enter, I seek an answer from you.”

Surela glanced at the big man. He towered a head taller than she. “It depends. Who are you?”

“My name is Myrunn, a priest of Zaala.”

“Oh, I see.” Surela stiffened. “What’s your question?”

“Why must you alone decide the fate of this dragon?”

“Do you have any experience dealing with dragons?” she asked.

“Dragons are vile creatures,” said Myrunn. “I lead a party who cornered and killed a dragon destroying some land near a village I often visit.”

“What do you mean destroy?” Surela’s anger rose, reddening her face.

“It was digging a big hole in the ground, filling it with unpleasant smelling water.”

Surela fought the urge to kill the man. “You killed a Marsh Dragon?”

“Yes. It had no respect for the land near the village.”

“Were you using the land for any purpose?”

“No. It was scrub brush and rocks. No use to anyone.”

“Do you have any idea what a Marsh Dragon does?”

“No. My knowledge of dragons is meager.”

“Obvious. Before I decide about the temple dragon, you should know of your deeds. Among dragons, the Marsh Dragon is the most harmless. The one you killed was preparing the ground to start a home for its family.”

“Family?”

“Yes, you ignorant dolt. Marsh Dragons create marshland and small lakes, which fill up with fish and game birds. They chose your village to protect.”

“Why?”

“Marsh dragons like people. It chose your village because it sensed you are good people. It would have protected the entire area with its family.”

“How do they protect a village?”

“When a Marsh Dragon, either by itself or with a family, claims an area, it will protect any people within two leagues of its home. They are very strong and fearless. They dislike thieves or renegade soldiers.”

“We do not know of such things,” said Myrunn, lowering his gaze. He could not look at Surela anymore.

“You lost a good friend and a protector. Your village would have been safe from bandits and other criminals for many generations.”

“How do you come by such knowledge?”

“It is her business to know such things,” said Zarid. “She owns Rmal, the God-Shard of Tariel.”

“Goddess of dragons,” muttered Myrunn. He looked at her. “You are the Dragon Mistress.”

Surela nodded and stepped back, gripping a tooth from her belt. “Do you see these?”

“Dragon’s teeth,” said Myrunn. “You have slain two dragons.”

“Not by choice, but yes.”

Myrunn bowed to her. “My apologies to you. I traveled for an entire day upon hearing of the dragon who fell from the sky.”

“Can you tell me about a stone falling from the clouds and striking the dragon?”

Myrunn paused. He averted his eyes. “I know not of such things.”

“Whoever sent the stone to slay the dragon will have a brief life once I uncover their identity. Should I find out you’re here for this person, nowhere in Vareima will offer you refuge. I will find you, and I will kill you.”

“I didn’t make the stone fall.”

“Do you know who did?”

Myrunn shook his head too quickly. “I do not know of this.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“Why don’t you answer the question?”

Myrunn backed away from Surela. “I must return to my village.” He walked away and disappeared into the crowd. Surela watched him leave, shaking her head.

“He’s hiding something,” Surela said. “I wish I could follow him. Maybe we’d find who sent him here.”

“I can send an acolyte to follow him,” said Zarid.

“No. it’s not worth it. You can have your village keep an eye out for anyone with a dragon claw tattoo entering the area.”

“We will.” Zarid looked at the temple door. “We must finish this matter before sundown.” Her words were soft, and only Surela could hear them.

“Of course. You may accompany me, if you like. This is your temple.”

Zarid nodded. Her gaze fell upon the two acolytes stationed at the door. They nodded to her as she opened the door. She entered first, performing a small ritual to protect visitors. Surela stepped into the temple.

“There may be manuscripts to be saved,” said Zarid. “I will be quiet.”

“Most appreciated,” said Surela.

Surela heard the labored breathing of the dragon in the darkened temple. She let her eyes adjust to the dim light, spotting the dragon against the far wall. It lay on its back. The dragon lay on its back with both wings folded underneath at unnatural angles. The dragon’s wings were broken. A layer of dark soil piled up in a ring around the dragon. More soil seeped from between the scales as she approached.

The dragon’s breathing rasped like a stick played along the pickets of a fence. The dragon had something broken inside. Dark blood pooled in a dozen spots along its enormous body. The great digging claws hung at its side, useless.

Rmal, on the pommel of Surela’s sword, glowed with a sharp heat. The God-Shard pulsed twice, and the dragon opened its eyes.

“Dragon Mistress,” he said.

“My name is Surela. Who are you?”

“Ky’Alir of the Yellow Rocks. Thank you for asking.”

“You are due the respect of any intelligent being.”

“Thank you. I prayed someone such as you might come to help me. I prayed it would be you.”

“Why?”

“You understand my predicament more than any other.”

“I do. I grieve for you.”

“Thank you. Happy it is you who will kill me.”

“Has your condition gone so far? Is there any hope you can recover?”

“Consider me a cynic, but my answer is no. I broke my neck and one wing. None of my limbs will move.” Blood dripped from between his sharp teeth. “I landed upon some sharp object. It has pierced a lung.”

“I’m sorry. May I ask a question?”

“Yes.”

“The priestess of this temple says a large flaming stone dropped from the clouds and struck you.”

”Is that what happened? I believed he had forgotten about me.”

“Who?”

“Baron Etryan. Northern Vrillor..” He paused. His words slurred, and his breathing grew more ragged. “A great flood washed away his land. He wanted me to provide new soil for the local farms.”

“It seems like a reasonable proposition. Things didn’t work out, did they?”

“It did at first.” The dragon coughed. An enormous clot of blood sloughed from his mouth onto the floor. “As I flew over the area, I saw another soil dragon. Chained to an enormous stone pillar.”

“Enslaved.”

“Yes. I flew away as soon as I saw her. This broke my contract. The army shot at me. Singed my wings. A dark mage lived in the duchy, rumor had it. Shot a fireball at me.”

“So, this mage may have been the one who hit you with the stone?”

“Yes.” He paused. A shudder ran through him. “I have no more time. My thoughts are unclear. Do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“You may take my upper right fang for services rendered.”

“My faith forbids me from taking a tooth not gained by combat.”

“I’m a threat to the stability of these people. Killing me fulfills the obligation to Tariel. Does it not?”

Surela nodded. “Yes, it will, I’m afraid.”

“Then it’s done. The favor now.”

“Go on.”

“Do not let others pillage my remains.”

“I’ll follow your instructions, but there’s only one sure method.”

“Fire.” Ky’Alir nodded.

“Yes.”

“I realized I’m in a sacred place. It is an enormous imposition to allow a sacred place to be destroyed.” Ky’Alir’s breathing whistled. Tears streamed down his face.

“We can leave the decision to the Zarid, the high priestess of this temple.”

“This is a Babrieck temple. The priests will be nearby, as tradition dictates.”

“I am here.” Zarid stepped into the light. She removed her hood and moved next to Surela. Her silver eyes shone in the fading light.

“Forgive my intrusion, high priestess,” said Ky’Alir.

“Some things cannot be avoided,” Zarid said. “You wish to die with as much dignity as circumstances warrant.”

“A small request, one I can pay for. I have a cache of gold two days’ travel from this temple. If it can help rebuild, you are welcome to it.”

“We are grateful for your offer. Tell me.”

In choking, blood-filled words, Ky’Alir gave Zarid and Surela the gold’s location.

“Thank you,” said Zarid. “I know where the place is.”

“It is but a small obligation on my part. This is a wondrous temple. Such a loss.”

“Another temple can, and will be, built. If that is your last wish, I will grant it.”

“Thank you,” said Ky’Alir. “A thought. I may not have been the sole target of the stone.”

“I don’t understand,” said Zarid.

“Your temple may have been the primary target,” said Surela. “There has always been feuding between Moon and Sun temples, especially with Zaala.”

“Was not the issue settled two generations ago?” asked Zarid.

Ky’Alir noted forgiving certain long-standing grudges can take time.

“It’s worth looking into,” said Surela.

“If you investigate this matter, I will help you.” Zarid smiled.

Surela nodded. “I will find the answers, I swear to it.” She looked at Ky’Alir. “And I will free the enslaved dragon for you.”

“This will give me some peace. I cannot thank you enough.”

“It’ll be my pleasure.”

Ky’Alir wheezed a sigh. “And now to business. Priestess, I would ask if you could stand back at the entrance. I would not like to see your robes covered with blood.”

“We will forever remember your thoughtfulness in our prayers.”

“Thank you.” A shudder ran through Ky’Alir’s frame. “It is time.”

Zarid nodded and moved to the far end of the temple. She stepped behind a column and peered at the dragon and Surela.

Surela drew Blue Bone from its sheath. The deep blue blade vibrated in her grasp.

“Slip the blade between the fifth and sixth scales below my ear,” said Ky’Alir.

“This will hurt. I’m sorry.”

“Not as much as I am already hurt. Thank you once more.”

Surela placed one foot on the dragon’s neck. The sword thrust in with ease. The dragon stiffened in pain despite the broken neck. Dark blood poured from the wound. Blue Bone drank its fill and more. Rmal lit up like the sun. Its light filled the interior.

With a deep groan, Ky’Alir died. The scales flattened as the remaining soil was squeezed out. Surela stepped down, careful not to slide in the pool of blood. She stepped up to the dragon’s head. His mouth hung open. With practiced care, she cut out one of the upper fangs.

Zarid stepped up with a small canvas bag. Surela placed the tooth into the bag. Tooth matched her hand’s length.

“One more thing to do,” said Zarid.

“Do you need help?”

“No. Thank you. When you are ready to help the other Soil Dragon, I’ll be here to help you.”

“I need time to prepare. Vrillor has tight visitor regulations. I’ll get two travel permits through a friend in Kelsh.”

“How long?”

“A month or two.”

When Khelt settled down, Surela climbed into the saddle. The fang hung loose from the saddle horn, bouncing on her right shin. A smaller leather pouch hung closer to her, filled with gold coins paid by a generous Kaswyn.

“Ludwig Frankenstein’s daughter must have lied to you before she died,” Otto DuPont said as they strolled the streets. “The notebooks are not in this backward town.”

“Patience, brother,” said Heidi DuPont, her eyes scanning the rooftops. “She said that I could find it in the building with the cross and the crescent moon above the door.”

“We’ve been through this entire village,” said Otto. “There is no building such as that.”

“There!” Heidi ran ahead of her frail little brother. He limped after her, knowing that she would wait for him wherever she stopped.

Heidi DuPont climbed the small hillside to the old storehouse. Near the roof, two wooden shutters creaked in the breeze. A cross balanced on a crescent moon was carved into each one. She smiled at it as Otto caught up to her side.

“I told you that Elsa wasn’t crazy,” said Heidi. “Let’s go inside before we attract attention.”

They ducked inside of the old building as a pair of Nazi soldiers walked by on patrol. They saw nothing. Otto and Heidi slid the heavy bolt into place, dragged a heavy crate, and propped it against the door. Enough light leaked through the boarded-up windows to see the disorder inside.

“Where do we even start?” asked Otto.

“Give me a minute,” she said. Her eyes scanned the walls, looking for any sign of a trapdoor. She smiled as a length of a knotted cord revealed itself with her flashlight. “Help me,” she said, shifting heavy furniture piles.

Otto, a sizeable and robust fellow, had little trouble moving the dresser and tables away from the wall. As he grabbed a heavy chair, she touched his arm.

“Leave that,” she said. “Help me stand up on this chair, will you?”

“Of course,” said Otto. He held her hand with a gentle touch as she stepped up onto the seat. The solid construction of the chair barely moved.

Heidi DuPont grabbed the musty, cobweb-covered rope and pulled. It creaked, letting a cloud of dust-free. Coughing, she pulled harder. The sound of heavy wooden stairs trundled along the other side of the hatch.

“Be careful and catch the stairs when they come down,” she said.

“All right. I’m ready.”

The hatch opened with a rush, almost sending Heidi off her perch. She held onto the hatchway and righted herself as the stairs rolled down without pause. Otto caught the end and let it to the floor without a sound. Heidi stepped off the chair and dusted herself off. Her skirt had a tear at the hem, and a spot of grease needed attention.

“Be careful as we go up the stairs,” she said. “There’s no telling what we may find.”

“What are we looking for again?”

“The journals of Henry Frankenstein. They belong to me, as the last heir of the Frankensteins. We must protect them from the Nazis.”

“Why?” Otto had not been intelligent, not during any part of his life. His father assigned him to the mill, carrying heavy grain sacks up the long stairs to the millstone. But he knew the difference between Good and Evil.

“If Hitler gets his hands on these journals, there’s no telling what he’ll be able to do. The Allied Powers couldn’t stand up to an army of monsters like the one Henry created.”

“How terrible that would be,” said Otto.

Image by LPArt from Pixabay

At the top of the stairs, her light fell upon a small, secluded room. A bed, a small writing table, and a bookcase half-covered by a tarpaulin. Heidi stripped the tarp away in shreds, waving away the dust. In the darkened shadows, she saw the name Frankenstein embossed upon two thick volumes.

“They are here, as my uncle told me,” said Heidi. “We must get them away from here now.”

A noise came from behind a small door they had not seen before. Heidi opened it and found a dark narrow stairway leading down. A slight sound came from far below, like a scuffling foot.

“Come,” she said, “someone may be hurt.” The stairs creaked with age, threatening to snap under their weight. Heidi cautioned her brother to wait a moment before following her. The wooden stairs protested less as they made their way down.

They passed the first floor and kept going down. Spiders and rats made their nests everywhere Heidi looked. Her hair had a netting of spider webs that made her skin crawl. A dank, moldy odor rose to assault their nostrils. She heard a muffled growl come from less than ten feet from her. Going back up the stairs was no longer an option. “Be careful.”

They came out into an expansive old cellar. Wine casks lined one wall, dripping into puddles of wine sludge. A wine press, fallen into disrepair, occupied a corner opposite them. Heidi turned her head and saw an enormous bed and an end table. A candle sat sputtering on the table, throwing light upon a figure out of Heidi’s childhood nightmares.

The Creature stood to its full height, the top of the head brushing the ceiling. Heidi noticed the burns on the Creature’s hands and face from being engulfed in flames. The dull gray eyes peered at her with some sense of understanding. The clothes were ill-fitting but clean. On the floor next to it lay a recently killed and stripped chicken. A pile of vegetables lay strewn around the dead bird.

As the Monster stepped toward Heidi, she stood stiff and unafraid. She hadn’t expected to find the Monster still alive. The last sighting of it was in the castle home of Dr. Franz Edelmann. According to the printed account of Lawrence Talbot, a raging fire trapped the Monster under the collapsing roof of the castle.

The Monster gazed into Heidi’s eyes, tilting his head to one side. Recognition flashed into its eyes for a few seconds. “Frankenstein,” it muttered.

“I won’t hurt you,” she said. She had few options at the moment. She made the best of it. “Are you hurt?”

The Monster shook its head in a slow movement. “Bad men. Shot at me. Hid here.”
Heidi nodded, feeling sorry for him. She thought for a moment. “Would you like some help to get away from here?”

The Monster stared at her for a moment. The dust drifted by them, disturbed by their walking. His dull eyes looked right at her. “Friend?” he asked, half pleading. He looked at Otto. Otto’s eyes went wide, and he stepped back.

Heidi nodded. “Yes, friends. We have a boat waiting nearby. If we leave now, we’ll be long gone by dawn.”

The Monster took all of this in, weighing his options. He growled, unsure whether to trust these intruders or kill them and throw their bodies into the river. “We go. Now,” he said.

Otto produced a Luger pistol from the folds of his cloak. “We aren’t going anywhere.”

“Otto, what are you doing?” Heidi stepped toward him. Otto pointed the gun at her.

“Those journals are precious. I shall give them, and this creature, to the Fuhrer. I will have a seat next to the Fuhrer himself when he learns I have given him immortality.”

“How could you do something like this, Otto?” she asked.

“My allegiance is with the Fatherland. This will make me immortal as well.”

The Monster moved toward Otto. Otto shot the Monster three times in the chest. The Monster, unfazed by the bullets, grabbed the pistol. He crushed the gun, breaking every bone in Otto’s hand. Otto screamed as the Monster wrapped his thick arms around his body.

The Monster squeezed in anger. Otto’s spine snapped, and his head lolled to one side. The Monster dropped Otto to the floor and turned to face Heidi.

“I did not know he would do this,” she said. “I will still help you.”

“No trust,” said the Monster. “Trust hurts me.”

“You can trust me.,” said Heidi.

The Monster stood staring at her. A dim memory surfaced from deep within him. “Frankenstein, was good, once.”

“None of them understood you. I can help you. Will you come with me? I won’t let the Nazis get you. I know full well what they are capable of. Is there a way for us to escape?”

“Yes. I hold journals.”

“Of course.” Heidi slipped the notebooks into a leather pouch and handed them to the Monster.

“Come with me if you want to live.” He opened a trap door just as the door upstairs bursts open. The bustle of soldiers’ boots creates a disturbance above their heads.

“We have little time,” said Heidi.

“Follow me.” Heidi and the Monster plunged down into the darkness. At the bottom of the stairs, she lit her Zippo lighter.

The Monster backed away in fear, growling.

“I won’t hurt you,” she says. “It’s for the torch.” She lit the torch and pulled it off the wall. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Yes.” The Monster stayed back a few feet from Heidi.

“Good. We have to get moving.”

“Wait. Here.”

He moved to a panel on the wall. Tearing the door off, he grasped one of the thick handles. Pulling it, he nodded. “Yes,” he exclaimed as the stairs leading into the basement crumble into a pile of rocks.

The Monster nodded. “Good.” He pulled the second handle. Above them, a table filled with wooden crates and instruments tips over. The debris covered the trap door they had just come through.

“An escape route, planned by someone who knew there might be trouble here someday,” said Heidi.

The Monster nodded to her. “Safe. Now go to boat.”

Image by kerttu from Pixabay

“Follow me, and be careful of the torch,” said Heidi DuPont. The sewer led them several blocks away. They emerged by the Danube’s edge. Her boat sat docked nearby. With great care, Heidi moved the boat along the river bank until she saw the shadowy figure of the Monster. Gracelessly, the Monster dropped onto the ship. He sat down and took the sack from Heidi’s hands.

“Thank you,” said the Monster.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “With any luck, we can get you somewhere safe. Maybe we can even get you to America. Countless living options, years without seeing anyone.

“America,” said the Monster as the little boat drifted away from Visaria and the Nazis.

“To what do I have the pleasure of your presence, Princess Allmara?” he asked in his smooth, soothing voice. His words echoed in the cavernous chamber he called home.

Image by lisaleo from Pixabay

Princess Allmara stiffened. Out of two dozen worthy candidates from the Ocean Kingdoms, they selected her. The only individuals considered suitable for negotiating with Bolthur the Mountain Dragon were princesses. The Princess Allmara became the Chosen One after going through a lengthy process.

To become The Chosen was an honor, albeit often a short one. Bolthur all too often killed anyone who came within sight of his domain. On rare occasions, individuals could enter the Chamber of Bones to face Bolthur and return unharmed. Bolthur’s actions were beyond comprehension, as who could fathom a dragon’s thoughts?

“I am here to negotiate for the water rights to the Walnyak Valley,” she said, her voice gaining strength as she spoke.

“The Walnyak Valley provides most of the fresh water to the Ocean Kingdoms,” said Bolthur. “I know of your needs, princess.”

“As you may also know,” Allmara stated, “The Orsonn River cuts through the valley, except for the northern end of the Tover Mountains. That, Great Bolthur, is within your domain.”

“Of course,” said Bolthur. “The survival of your people depends upon that water.”

“At this time, you have blocked the flow of the river in question.” The princess now looked into the eyes of the dragon with no anxiety. “My father, King Kullayne of Berhesyl, seeks to have the water flow once again. He wants to guarantee it never gets blocked again. You may state your terms.”

The dragon smiled, although to Allmara it looked like he was snarling. “I’ve grown bored with eating sheep. What other sustenance have you available for me?”

“We have targolls, large flightless birds, each one twice my size.”

“Sounds promising. Anything else?”

“Cattle?”

“Those big clumsy horned creatures? They are mighty tasty. What else?”

“Alligators?” she was getting desperate.

Bolthur scrunched his nose. “Do I appear to be a cannibal?”

Allmara’s eyes went wide. “No, Great One,” she said.

“I thought not. Besides that, they cause me to experience gas. The horned creatures will do. What are your terms?”

“Let the water flow free forever. You can have the choice to pick a place where you can leave two cows every ten days.”

“Can you make it three cows?”

“The offer already set before the Oceans Assembly is for three cows. If you accepted the offer of two cows, I would have to return to them in person.”

“You were very smart to think of offering less to start.”

“Thank you.” Allmara’s courage rose as she stood before the enormous beast.

“And if you don’t meet with the Assembly?”

“The Assembly will consider the matter set, as long as the water flows freely.”

“I will take care of that as soon as we are done. Any additional matters for discussion?”

“No. I consider our negotiations to be finished,” said the princess with a big smile.

“Yes.” Bolthur devoured her in one bite, leaving nothing behind. No mess. No fuss.

 They had spent the rest of the summer in the Gully, a wooded area winding through the town of Harper for miles. A small creek ran through the Gully. Ruins of some old buildings protruding from the steeper sides of the area. Kids used them as the Alamo or post-apocalyptic ruins used these in their never-ending adventures. Two tunnels under roads were entrances to ancient tombs filled with mummies or Indians, or even zombies.

 One evening, just ten days before school was to start, the meteor passed over. It was a big one, drifting across the sky and passing the bright half-moon located just off the horizon. Apart from this object, the sky was clear.

 “Wow,” said Alex as they watched the blazing ball in the early evening sky. It was a mix of red, orange, and blue.

 “What the hell is that?” asked Larry. Fear popped into his eyes, his knees growing weak.

 “Language,” said Fred, the youngest of the bunch. Fred could join them because of Alex, the leader, as no one else volunteered.

 “Shut up, squirt.”

 “No, you shut up.” Fred stepped up to him and stepped on the tips of Larry’s sneakers. Larry backed off.

 “Let’s follow it down the street,” said Alex.

 They ran off down East Cliff Road, doing their best to follow the meteor as it passed over their heads. As they watched, blue chunks flecked off and burned away. But one big dark blue chunk broke off and did not go dark. It landed in the trees near them.

Image by Terranaut from Pixabay

 “It fell down in the Gully,” said Gail the Nerd. Gail thought she knew everything about everything. In truth, she perceived as much as the rest of them. Still, it was enough for her to earn her nickname.

 “Yeah, you’re right,” said Alex. “Let’s go see where it dropped.”

 “Um, I don’t think we should,” said Larry. “We should tell someone.”

 “What are you, a wimp?” asked Fred. They glanced at one another, then at Larry.

 “Yeah, he’s a wimp,” they all said in unison. They all high-fived each other, including Larry. They ran down the street to where the road dipped into the trees. This was the end of Maryknoll Street. It was the path cutting through the Gully and leading up to Meadow Road and School #2 and 16 a half-mile away.

 They all moved as a herd onto the well-worn path half the town used to get through the Gully. The miasma of rotting vegetation and the thick marsh humidity grew stronger as they walked. An old wooden bridge crossed the creek. Its red and green paint had long ago gone to the elements. Alex and the group arrived at the bridge and halted. On this side of the creek, a path ran parallel to the water’s edge in both directions.

 “See anything?” asked Larry. He took up the rear position in the group. For their protection, he always said when in sticky situations. Chicken, the others said.

 “Not yet,” said Gail. She adjusted her glasses with her dusty hands.

 “There!” said Alex. Off to their left, deep in the Gully, was a glow that wasn’t there the night before. Alex held a finger to his lips, and they moved down the path as quietly as they could. The noise of crickets and frogs drowned out the conversation. Everyone knew the rules for Monster Movies. While approaching the Monster to investigate, you stayed quiet until it spotted you. You had to stay until you saw it.

 “Are you sure the Rules apply at a time like this?” asked Larry.

 “Of course,” said Gail. “Name one movie where the heroes ran off before they knew what they were facing?”

 “How about The Creeping Terror?”

 “That crappy thing?” Gail shook her head. “Not a good example, real bad.”

“I like it,” said Alex. Gail frowned and shook her head.

 The glowing grew in size as they got closer. They could hear a crackling sound like big popcorn kernels bursting. The houses at the top edge of the Gully were visible from where they stood. All of them were dark.

 Alex held up his hand, and they all stopped. “The crickets and frogs aren’t chirping,” he said.

 “Yeah,” said Fred.

 “Let’s go now while we’re still not eaten,” said Gail.

 “Like those scientists in ‘X- The Unknown’,” Phil said. “Remember?”

 “Yeah, I remember,” said Alex. “So let’s get out of here real quiet like.”

 Without a sound, the gang moved backward. They knew the path so well that none of them stepped off it as they moved. When they passed the old double tree stump, they knew they were at the bridge.

 It was then they saw the lights. In the middle of the fiery orange glow, two red spots appeared. A low, moaning roar reached the ears of the four children.

 “Now would be the time to run,” said Larry.

 They all turned and ran up the hill. They heard splashing in the creek behind them. Something big.

 “It sounds like the Id Monster,” said Phil. “Remember when it killed those guys with the guns?”

 “Yeah,” Alex said as they reached the top of the rise and spilled out onto the street. Now dark, only a few remained after the meteor shower.

 “Look,” said Fred, pointing down the hill.

 They turned and looked. The bridge had lights at each end to make nighttime navigation easier . “I can’t see the lights on the bridge.”

 “Neither can I,” said Gail. “I’m going home to…” The roar caught them off guard. They ran down the street as something scrambled up the rise. As it reached the street, the gang tore into Alex’s front yard.

 “Where do we go?” asked Larry.

 “Under the house,” said Alex. He moved toward the side of his house. They didn’t have a basement, but they had a crawlspace for repairmen to work in when things broke down.

 “With all the spiders and things?” said Gail.

 “Or you could get eaten out here,” said Phil.

Gail punched him in the arm. “Boony!” she said. Everyone else chimed in. “Boony,” they all whispered. The ritual erupted whenever one of them uttered something obvious.

 “Geez, is now the time for that?” asked Phil. “My arm is sore as hell.”

 Alex took off the wooden cover to the crawl space. He let the others move in before he got in himself. He placed the cover and joined the others against the far wall.

 “Thanks for the lovely time,” whispered Gail.

 “Shh,” said Fred in a whisper. “Maybe it won’t know we’re here.”

 They waited in silence among the cobwebs and dead bug carcasses. Nothing happened for several minutes. Alex’s parents were right above his head. He could hear them washing dishes and talking.

 Something came through the hedges from the driveway next door. The creature found its bearings, its red eyes swaying before Alex’s gaze. Gail squeezed Alex’s hand. Fred could feel Larry’s warm urine running down his pant legs into his shoes. None of them dared to move. One sneeze and they were all dead.

Then, it moved away, no longer visible.

 “Is it still out there?” asked Larry.

 “I think so. Let me check.”

 “Don’t you dare, Alex,” said Gail. “You wanna get killed?”

 “No.”

 “Then stay here.”

 “But it might be down the street by now.”

 “No, don’t go yet,” said Gail.

 “All right.”

 They all sat in the corner for a few minutes. No one wanted to leave their safe spot. Frustrated, Alex moved away from them. Gail held onto his hand and wouldn’t let go. “Be right back,” he said. She let his fingers slip away from hers.

 Alex crept along the floor on his belly, just like Sergeant Saunders did every week on Combat. He paused every few seconds and listened. When he reached the cover, the creature’s roar was distant. There were also the sounds of gunfire. Someone was yelling into a bullhorn.

 “Everybody get back,” the voice said.

 “Come on, someone’s shooting at it,” said Alex.

 “Ooh, let’s go,” said Fred. He scrambled across the dirty floor and pushed past his older brother. He climbed outside with caution. Listening, he heard some shouts and a siren approaching from St. George Avenue, not far away. He looked all around him.

 “Well, how does it look?”

 “Good, good. C’mon, Alex, we’re going to miss it.”

 “All right, all right.” he turned to the others. “It’s too creepy down here.”

 “Do we have to go to see the police and their guns?” asked Gail as she brushed herself off. She picked some bits of fuzz off Alex’s back and legs.

 “Stop it, I can do it myself,” said Alex. He tried to step away from her, but she smiled and kept cleaning him off. Alex stepped over to the bush and spotted something in the bushes.

 “Hey Alex, you coming or what?”

 When they had all gotten out of the crawlspace and brushed off, they walked down Mr. Jackson’s driveway to the street. Three blocks down, the lights of police cars were flashing. The roaring of an enormous engine made them stop in their tracks. A big fire engine roared by, filled with firemen. Larry smiled and ran after the truck.

 “Larry!” Phil shouted and followed him. The others followed without a thought. A police car pulled onto the street from Mason Hill Road. They all stopped and went to stand behind the big oak tree at the Kolchak house.

 “The cops didn’t see us. Let’s go,” said Alex.

 “I’m staying here,” said Gail. “I’ll wait for you. Right here.”

 “Are you chicken?” barked Larry. Alex punched him in the shoulder.

 “Leave her alone, jerk,” said Alex. “We’ll be back soon. Come on.”

 They used the small bushes and hedges to sneak up on the scene. A big Buick gave them a splendid view of the intersection. Fifty feet away, the creature squatted in the street under the bright lights of the fire trucks. It was being sprayed with water from one truck. A deep moaning let loose from it. One tentacle reached out, as if it were asking for help.

Image by Jackdrafahl from Pixabay

 “I can’t see it too well,” said Phil. “What is it?”

 “It looks like a big snail, with lots of tentacles,” said Alex. He looked closer at the road. Three police officers and two others lay on the ground. They were bleeding and twisted at odd angles. One of them was Phil’s dad. Alex sat down hard.

 “What is it?” asked Larry. He lost his glasses in the crawlspace and didn’t retrieve them. They all kneeled down as Alex wept. He sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

 “We’d better get out of here,” Alex said. “We’ll be in big trouble if we get caught.”

 A bright light hit them. It blinded them as they heard someone walk up to them. “I want you out of here now, boys. Get to your homes and say nothing about this to anyone.”

 “Yes, sir,” said Alex. They crawled out from behind the car and walked away. Alex hoped they could walk without getting into any more trouble. The police officer stood watching them, not moving. In a minute, the light switched off, and he disappeared into the darkness. Alex and the others ran off to his house.

 “What’ll we do?” asked Phil. He was still staring down the street. It had gone quiet.

 “We do as the man said,” said Fred. “He’s a police officer. He knows what’s best for us. Right?”

 Larry looked at him as if he were crazy but said nothing. He’d go along with what the others did, as usual.

 “We should go home. We’ll read about it in the paper tomorrow.” Alex was serious.

 “Really?” asked Phil. “What about the monster?”

 “We’re lucky to have seen what we did.” Gail came back to them. “They know we were out there watching. It’s better we go home.”

 “I hope we don’t get reported or anything,” said Larry. “I don’t wanna get kicked out of school.”

 “That won’t happen,” said Alex.

 “How do you know, hunh?” said Larry, his face growing redder.

 “It won’t, not if we don’t talk about this to anyone,” said Phil. “How about it? We swear not to tell anyone, ever.”

 They all spat and smacked their hands into a pile in the center of them. In a circle, they locked eyes until Fred couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “I’m just nine years old, guys,” he said. “I will not keep quiet until I’m 99, just so you know.”

 The next morning, Alex ran to the porch and got the Star Ledger from the porch. Across the front page was the headline “Meteor Streaks Across Tri-State Area.” He read the entire article before giving the paper to his dad. The crash in Gully went unmentioned. No mention of the creature the police and firemen had surrounded at the corner of Maryknoll and East Cliff Roads. At the bottom of the page was an obituary for Phil’s dad. It said a drunk driver on Maryknoll had killed him.

 When the school year began, the five of them kept the story to themselves. Meteor, big story. Newspaper article on every bulletin board, every classroom. Dr. Sanderson of Rutgers University published a long article in Saga magazine suggesting the meteor was not a meteor, but a damaged spaceship which crashed in the Pocono Mountains. This drew snickers among those who didn’t know.

 All of them knew the actual story was being covered up. Within a year, they all came to believe the official story themselves. All but Alex. He knew the truth. In his private lockbox, which he kept under his bed was a small plastic bag sealed with duct tape. Once a year, he retrieved and examined the box.

 Back all those years ago, he had seen something in the bush before they ran off to see the creature on the road. It was a handful of hair that had caught on one branch. There was a bit of rough hide stuck to it. He had plucked it off the branch and stuck it in his pocket.

 Something happened that summer, something they could never take away from him or the others. None of the others remembered it or would talk about it. Despite his questions, none of his friends could help him. No matter. Soon, he would understand what had happened. He had a piece of the Creature. A tiny piece of it sat in his pocket as Alex made his way to see a forensic geneticist at his university. Perhaps now he could find out what had hunted them down one late summer evening so long ago.

Doctor Morgan Hubbard stared at the containment vessel as the alarm sounded. Minutes before, the baseball-sized chunk of gray plasma sat in the center of the vessel. Now, it filled the entire space.

“You are healthy specimen, aren’t you?” She said as she jotted down notes from the monitors. The weight grew from two pounds to 211 pounds in three minutes. No trace of the deer carcass remained. “Fascinating.”

“What’s going on here?” Jason Sabatini stepped into the containment lab. “What is that?” He said, pointing at the containment vessel.

Hubbard smiled and looked at Sabatini. “This is a piece of something I picked up after the explosions at the Elk Hill Pennsylvania site.”

“This? With what pitchfork?”

Hubbard smiled again. “No. It weighed several ounces when I bagged it.”

“I see.” Jason read the monitors. One of them, marked Internal Pressure, had eased into the red. The dial on the marker hit the limit. “Come on,” he said, pulling her by the arm out of the lab.

“What are you doing? Take your hand off me.”

Simon ignored her as he closed the door and hit the emergency seal button.

“I must get back in there to read the monitors,” she said.

“I can’t let you do that. It’s too dangerous.”

“Really? So now you’re an expert on containment vessels?”

“No. That’s your department.”

“Yes. I am an expert. There was no...”

The six-inch glass walls of the containment vessel splintered, spraying minute shards of glass everywhere inside the lab. Jason flipped the panel on the board running along the observation window of the lab. He punched the red button.

Doctor Hubbard stood mute as jets of flame engulfed the containment vessel. The bright fire hurt Jason’s eyes. He put his hand up and turned away. Doctor Hubbard squinted as she stared at the vessel when she had lost her puppy.

“You had no right to destroy the specimen.” Cheek glared at him. “There was no danger.”

Cynthia North burst into the room, her gun drawn and held near her ear. “What the Hell’s happening in here? I was in the middle of an excellent rack of lamb.” She looked into the lab. “What’s with the BBQ?”

“Containment breach,” said Jason. “Something doctor Hubbard brought back with her from Elk Hill.”

“It broke out?”

“No,” said Doctor Hubbard.

“Don’t listen to her,” said Jason. “The unbreakable glass of the containment vessel shattered. Whatever it was it was about to get out.”

“No kidding.” North walked up to the window. “How long should we broil it?” She said as she looked at the flames.

“I fail to see any humor in this, Colonel North.” Doctor Hubbard didn’t take her eyes off the containment lab interior. Her eyes studied every inch of the lab that she could see through the flames.

“To each his own, doc,” said Cynthia. She looked at Hubbard. “Here’s one. Were there any other pieces of this thing on the ground in Elk Hill?”

“Several. Why?” Hubbard wasn’t thinking of anything except her lost specimen.

“I’ll get the team and Kaiju squad ready.” Colonel North left.

“Doctor Hubert, do you think this creature in there is dead?”

“In that inferno? Unquestionably.”

Jason turned off the fire jets. In the smoke, he couldn’t see much. As the vents pulled the smoke away, he saw the charred remains of the creature.

“It’s not moving,” said Sabatini. “I need to make sure it’s dead.”

“I can do that,” said Hubbard. “You go check Elk Hill.”

“Are you sure you’ll be Okay here?”

“I’m on your side, Jason. Don’t worry. I’ll join you later if there’s any emergency.”

Jason stared into the lab at the containment vessel. Nothing moved. He nodded and left.

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Elk Hill, Pennsylvania. 2:45 PM

Major Lyle Esteban stepped from his Hummer and walked up to the abandoned office building. The building sat at one end of an industrial park. The wide expanse of rail yard and a golf course stretched out beyond his sight. Half a mile away, the outskirts of Elk Hill began. Beyond that, 2 miles away, sat the burned-out remains of one of the Machines.

He saluted a soldier guarding the rear door. After passing through an ID process, he made his way to the roof. Jason Sabatini stood at the edge, binoculars held to his eyes. He put them down to face Esteban.

“Major. You made good time.” Jason shook his hand.

“We try to be ready to go at all times,” said Esteban. “What have you got?”

“Take a look.” Jason pointed past the golf course to the block of office buildings to his right.

Esteban looked through the binoculars. He scanned the office buildings and saw nothing moving. His eyes caught a door opening. Four people stepped out. A man, a woman, and two teenage children moved toward the golf course.

Two thick pseudopods snaked out of the window next door. The family kept running, but their efforts were futile. The octopus-like tendrils ensnared both adults. The teens sought refuge in the doorway of a dentist’s office. Seconds later, multiple pseudopods engulfed them and dragged them inside.

Image by PixelLabs from Pixabay

“Madre Dios,” said Esteban. “What did I just see?”

“Whatever it is, it’s from that machine that we cleaned out four days ago.”

“Did we miss something?”

“Apparently. We wouldn’t have known about it if it’s weren’t for Doctor Hubbard. She picked up a piece of whatever is in these buildings and took it back to the lab.”

“Not too smart.”

“The piece she picked up was inert at the time. It was only the size of a baseball.”

“Hmm. Doesn’t sound dangerous.”

“When we killed it, the thing had grown toward the size of a cow.”

“She had it in a containment vessel, right?”

“Ohh, yeah. She’s not that stupid. Although sometimes I wonder about her. She’s too close to these things sometimes.”

“Beautiful woman, though,” said Esteban.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Jason, you’ve gone blind in the 12 years that you’ve been married.”

“Keeps the wife happy.”

“I hear ya.” Esteban watched as all signs of the pseudopods disappeared into the windows and doors. The buildings looked deserted, harmless. “What are we going to do with whatever those things are?”

“Kill them.” Jason took a bite of beef jerky.

“And any and all civilians?”

“We don’t know how many there are, or if there are any. If there are any survivors, they’ll be difficult to extract safely.

“Our jobs are entangled again,” said Esteban. “Another joint operation.”

“My team and I will follow your lead, major. You take the lead on this one.”

“You’re sure?”

“There’s no time here for egos.” Jason scanned the area. “You have some tech we can use.”

“Okay. I’m listening.”

“You have those new lidar drones. They’ll be able to penetrate these buildings and give us some real survivor numbers.”

“I’ll order them here and set them up.”

“Thanks. We’ll send out some Q drones also. We might get lucky.”

“I take it you’ve got it command center setup.”

“Two floors down. It’s closest to the action. The golf course gives us some open buffer in case something decides to come over here.”

“Done. I’ll meet you at the loading docks in an hour.”

Evans Vanguard Building. Loading dock. 3:45 PM

The first 3 lidar drones began their grid search of the area beyond the golf course. Their flight paths traced a grid to cover the most acreage in the most efficient manner. Sabatini and Esteban and a crew of four scant 1/2 a dozen monitors leaked to the drones.

As they watched, images popped up on drone number two. They were people. Dozens of people.

“Get this on a map,” said Esteban.

Sargeant Tompkins pulled up a map on a 48-inch monitor screen. The southern edge of Elk Hill popped up with infrared readings from drone number two. The map established the people in two adjacent buildings a block from the entrance of the golf course.

“What are these buildings?” said Esteban.

“Kelton Realty and Hoskins Investments.”

“Okay come on we have survivors,” said Sabatini. He put on a headset and went to Shelley McIntyre, his communications officer. Her red hair was in pigtails that reached her waist. “Patch me in, Mac.”

“Yes, Sir.” McIntyre clicked on her screen. “They should be able to hear you now.”

Sabatini smiled at Shelley. “Attention anyone in the Kelton Realty and Hoskins Investments buildings. This is Jason Sabatini of the National Evacuation And Monster Operations. Were you here to rescue you. If anyone has an operational cell phone, call 8110 now. In the meantime, stay safe. We will get to you.”

Jason looked at Shelley. Her screen beeped. “I’ve got a call, Sir.”

“Patch me in please.”

“Hello?” Your voice was very quiet.

“This is Jason Sabatini. Who is this?”

“My name is Tanner. Mary Tanner. My God, we need your help. The things got most of the people on the lower floors.” She stopped, out of breath.

“Are you safe?”

“At the moment.”

“How many of you are there?”

“14. Two people suffered injuries.

“Okay. Are you in a room that has any windows?”

“No, but we can get to one.”

“What floor are you on?”

“6th floor. In the rear of the building.”

“That’s on the west side of the building. Is there a loading dock?”

“Yes. It’s small, for a single truck.”

“Where are you in relationship to this loading dock?”

“It’s right below us. Down a staircase.”

“Are any of those things that attacked you nearby?”

“I, I don’t know. We haven’t heard anything downstairs since yesterday. That’s all I know.”

“All right. Stay put. We’ll get you out soon.”

“Hurry, please. We haven’t eaten in 2 days.”

“Alright, Mary. Do you know anyone working next door in the Hoskins building?”

“I know most of the people working there. Why?”

“There are other survivors there. I’ll need a few names to help us contact them. I’ll give you over to Sergeant McIntyre. She’ll stay on the line with you. You can give her any names you can come up with.”

“I’ll do what I can. Thank you.”

Jason took off his headset. “Shelley, take down any names Mary gives you. We’ll start setting up the rescue.”

“Okay.” Her screen buzzed again. “Another call. I’ll put it through.”

“This is Jason Sabatini,” he said, putting on his headset.

“Yeah, this is Kent Davis. I’m in the Hoskins building.

“Where the hell are you guys? Who the hell are you?”

“My name is Jason Sabatini. I’m with the Federal Monster Bureau.”

“You’re a bit too late pal. We’ve already got monsters.”

“Mr. Davis, I know you’re scared, but we’re here to get you out of there.”

“Scared? What the hell do you know about scared? That thing took my wife right in front of me. My boss and his boss were with her.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Davis. Believe me, I know. We deal with monsters every day, Mr. Davis. Let’s get to rescuing you.”

Dave sighed. “Okay. Sorry. I’m a little on edge, you know?”

“Perfectly understandable. How many of you are there?”

“Um, 12 I think. Harriet, do a head count for me, will ya?”

“Where were you located, Mr. Davis?”

“In the office conference room. We opened the wall between the two rooms for more comfort.”

“What side of the building are you on?”

“Side? How the hell would I know?”

“Is there a window you can look out of?”

“Yeah.”

“Take a look outside and tell me where the shadows are pointing.”

“Really? That’s gonna to help us get out of here?”

“Just do it.”

Jason heard Davis mutter about shadows as he walked away from the phone. Someone picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Yes?”

“My name is Harriet. Harriet Hayes. He wanted to know how many of us are here.”

“Yes.”

“There were sixteen of us. Mr. Patel has a broken leg and his secretary hasn’t woken up in 2 days.”

“What happened to her?”

“As she ran into the room here, a pipe coming out of the ceiling hit her.”

“Is she breathing all right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. We’re going to get you out of there.”

“Thank you. Here’s Kent.”

“Hello, Sabatini?”

“I’m here, Mr. Davis.”

“The shadows point to the right.”

“That puts you on the east side of the building. We are coming in from the east. It’ll make things easier. Get ready to move in 30 minutes.”

“Make it quick. The thing is making a lot of noise and getting closer to where we are.”

“Hang on. We’re about to start. Have everyone stay away from the windows. Get covered behind something if you can.”

“You got it.” There was a pause. “And thank you.” The line went dead.

“Shelley, call Harriet back and tell her what I just told Mr. Davis.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Jason spotted Doctor Hubbard coming into the room. She came over to him.

“What have you got, doctor?”

“Well, fire is only partially effective,” began Hubbard. “And minute quantity of the creature the size of a dime survived the fire and began to grow again.”

“I see.”

“It’s fascinating. It fed on the burned remains of itself.”

“That means it’ll eat anything. Did you find a way to kill it on a permanent basis?”

“Yes. I hit it with everything I could. That’s why I’m so late. By the time I killed it, it was the size of a basketball.”

“Okay. Don’t keep me in suspense. What killed it?”

“Hydrogen peroxide.”

“Really? An answer that’s finally cheap and effective and won’t take years to develop.”

Hubbard nodded. “Peroxide sucked all the oxygen from the Organism. Like most organisms, it can’t survive without oxygen.”

“You did good work. Did you happen to bring any with you?”

“Yes. I have two strap on tanks filled with it. And I commandeered another 200 gallons of it and stuck it in the trunk of my car. Be careful with it. It’s much stronger than the stuff you’d buy at the store.”

“The stuff that burns on contact with the skin. Yeah I’ve known this stuff. That’s excellent work, doctor. I’ll get two men to put on the sprayers.”

“Glad I could help. I’ve ordered 10,000 more gallons of peroxide to be brought here in a containment truck.”

Five minutes later, another dozen drones took flight. They flew a bit slower than the other models and were larger.

“What model are these drones?” said Jason.

Esteban smiled. “These I’ve had stored for a long time, waiting to use them. They’re the Aries Z6. Still essentially in test runs. No better time to test ‘em than now.”

The drones followed a land drone into town. The carcass of a road-kill deer lay on top of the crawling mini-tank. The deer had been dead for only a few hours.

As the carcass reached the Hoskins building, the monster inside reached out to take the deer. Six powerful jets of peroxide sprayed onto the pseudopod as it neared the mobile drone.

The reaction was immediate. Fire erupted on the skin where the peroxide touched. The pseudopod withdrew before it reached the deer carcass. Jason watched as the building shook.

“We’re getting activity at the western side of the building,” said Hubbard in Jason’s ear. “The monster is pouring out from every window. It’s fascinating in a repellent way. Like the building is vomiting.”

“Thanks for the visual on that,” said Jason. “Kylie, send the drones to the West and hit the monster again.”

“Right. Sending in the mobile sprayers.”

They added more drones to the attack. They sent these drones into the open windows of the two buildings containing people. Berman and Hodges each drove a drone with what looked like elaborate video game controllers and headsets.

The reaction came quickly as the infrared cameras on the drones found their targets. Fire erupted in the close quarters, obscuring the camera’s view. The monsters reacted, evacuating the building in a hurry.

“I’m out to Kelton building,” said Jason. “Keep me apprised of the Monster’s location.”

“Jason, I’m coming over to where you are,” said Doctor Hubbard.

“Why? It’s a bit dangerous out here right now.”

“I’ve got some information for your ears alone.”

“Be careful.”

4:30 PM

Jason stood in the shadows, watching his men evacuate 4 people from a second-story window in an office building still occupied by the monster. He turned to see Doctor Hubbard moving towards him. She walked in the sun, avoiding the shadows.

“What’s on your mind, doc?”

“You’re in a serious mood. Usually you ask me What’s Up, doc?”

“Well, something could kill us at any second. Levity will have to wait.”

“I’ve been analyzing the behavior of this monster. It’s afraid of sunlight.”

“Really?” Jason stepped out into the sun, putting on a baseball cap. “Good to know. Is that what was so important only I could hear it?”

“No.” She looked around as if anyone could be around listening. “I think this thing has gotten into the sewer system. We need to move if we’re going to prevent disaster.”

“Are you sure?”

“Reasonably sure, but no. I would be surprised if it didn’t travel through the building’s pipes and reach a safe place beneath our feet.

“So, how do we find out?”

“We have to go into that building and find out.”

“Hell, I knew you were going to say that.” Jason picked up his phone. “Major Esteban are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“We may have a bigger problem than the monsters in the buildings.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“We’ve rescued just about everyone here, but we’re going to need to pull back ASAP.”

“Why?”

“This monster is probably in the sewer lines under the whole area. That makes this area a contamination zone.”

“Madre Dios, are you sure?”

“I’ve got Doctor Hubbard here. She gave me her reports and I’ll stand by it. If I’m wrong, at least we’ll be safe.”

“Gotcha. And if we have to go back in, so be it. I’ll start pulling personnel back. Maybe 1/2 mile. I’ll get 1,000,000 gallons of peroxide flown in to flush into the sewer system.”

“Great. Let me get finished here and we’ll join you.”

As Jason and Hubbard helped clean the last building out, they encountered little of the monster. The people on the upper floors stated they hadn’t seen or heard the monster for over an hour.

Doctor Hubbard tapped Jason on his shoulder. When he looked at her, she beckoned him and followed her. They left the rescue operation and stepped into the hall.

“What’s up, doc?”

“Funny. I want you to come with me down to the basement.”

“Why?”

“I want to test my sewer theory. From the looks of things I think we’ll be safe.”

“You do, huh?”

“Yes, I do. I go down there by myself, but it won’t hurt to have someone armed with peroxide with me just in case.” She gave him the hint of a smile.

“I’ve got a full tank.”

“I like that. Let’s go.”

“Right behind you.”

Jason called to ask if someone could turn on the building’s lights. Shelley did her magic and hacked into the building’s electrical system. A minute later, the area glowed with light.

“Much better,” said Hubbard. “Now with the lights could simulate sunlight, we’d be even safer.”

“We’re lucky to have lights don’t push your luck.”

“My, aren’t we grumpy.”

“It’s not the time to make small talk. We could die any moment, so let’s concentrate on finding out if your theory is right.”

“Gotcha. You first, my brave warrior.”

Image by Tama66 from Pixabay

The stairwell was littered with a dozen carcasses of people who were caught trying to escape. The monster left behind the skeletons still dressed in their suits and ties.

They saw no sign of any living creature as they descended. The echoes of their boots drowned out any sign of life. On the first floor, Jason paused at the door.

“Ready?”

“No, but we’ve got to go in there anyway.”

“You’re more valuable than me,” said Jason. “Let me go down there and look around. I’ll call you when it’s safe.”

“Sure. I don’t take foolish risks.”

“Since when? Anyway, no argument about who’s more valuable to the team?”

“It’s obviously me. So no.”

Jason smiled. “At least I know where I stand on your food chain.”

Hubbard laughed. “An odd way to put it, but true.”

Jason tamped down any argument he was forming in his mind. He had work to do. “Okay. Wait for my signal.”

“With bated breath. Don’t get killed.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Jason pushed the door open. The old door Creek on rusty hinges. The odor of rat droppings in mildew made him pause. He listened for a moment. Somewhere, water dripped and made a ringing echo. He began to sweat as the heat from the boilers reached him.

Before him were the heating and air-conditioning units. They were silent. Various pipes ran in all directions, coming and going into the units. Three of them ran into the ground.

After seeing no sign of the monster, Jason let Doctor Hubbard into the basement. She inspected the area, pulling on her gloves. A dozen bits of something went into specimen bags and were sealed. Here the lights were sparse. Dark recesses closed in on them.

“Lights,” said Jason, pointing to the lights they wore. He turned his helmet light on. Doctor Hubbard followed his lead. They stopped a half dozen times for the doctor to collect specimens.

“What are you collecting?”

“The monster has been here,” said Hubbard. “These are signs it left in a hurry. These bits will add to our knowledge banks.”

“I’m sure they will.” He held up his hand and put one finger to his lips. Hubbard nodded.

20 feet from where they stood, a sewer grate jostled and clanked. “It may have left in a hurry, but I think it’s still here. I’m going to infrared. Go to infrared also.”

In the red and darkness, Jason crept forward. He hoped it was just rats knowing at the grating to get access to this part of the cellar. To no surprise, he saw the repulsive gray brown of the monster passing through the sewer like so much feces.

Jason brought Doctor Hubbard to where he was standing. Silently, they retreated back to the stairs going up. By the time they got there, Jason had an idea brewing in his mind.

“I need a two or three gallon container. Look around, help me find one.”

“What do you have in mind?” She said as she approached a closet.

“I’m gonna give this thing a good hot foot.”

She disappeared into the closet and came back with a janitors bucket. “Don’t get yourself killed playing a prank, Jason.”

“Ohh, I won’t.” He emptied his tank into the bucket, as Hubbard sat and examined her specimens.

“Okay. Be ready to move when I come running.”

“Why don’t I leave now? This way we won’t trip over ourselves going upstairs.”

“I’ve seen those movies too. Meet me at the landing of the first floor. You move out when you see me coming.”

“That’ll work for me.” She smiled and shook her head as Jason clipped a tiny grenade to a nylon zip cord. He used a second cord to put the grenade on a 10 inch line.

“I’d love to be there when it blows,” she said. “Hold on.” She dug into her pocket on her vest. “Here, use this.”

She handed him a tiny camera attached to a powerful magnet. With the flip of a switch with her thumb she let Jason take it. “It’s live now. Put it within view of the grating.”

“I’ll put this about 10 feet from the grate.”

“Excellent. See you upstairs. “Hubbard ran upstairs and disappeared.

With the camera in place, Jason placed the bucket on the grate. He turned on the three-minute timer on the grenade and dropped it in the bucket. Then he ran to the stairs.

When he reached Doctor Hubbard, he looked at his timer. “45 seconds to go. Let’s roll.”

Hubbard was already halfway across the lobby. Jason caught up with her as they hit the exit door of the Realty company building.

“Don’t stop,” said Jason. “I’ve got a feeling all Hell’s gonna break loose. And soon.”

As he spoke, the boom reached their ears. It sounded like a heavy branch falling deep in the forest. Seconds later, fiery tendrils vomited out of every opening on the 1st floor.

Jason pulled Doctor Hubbard into an open doorway in over an office desk. They landed in a heap on top of a collection of half-filled mail buckets.

Seconds later, a blazing tendril as thick as a telephone pole shot through the doorway. It smashed in the door and continued into the building. Everything in the room caught fire, including Jason and Doctor Hubbard.

“Let’s get out of here,” screamed Jason over the noise. He stood and patted himself down, to douse the flames.

“How? We are trapped in here.” Hubbard put the fire in her hair out.

“Follow me and jump when I say so.”

Jason grabbed an office chair and swung it at the office window. Already cracked, the chair sailed through and took the entire frame with it.

“Go!”

Jason moved quickly, stepping on the couch and then launching himself outside. Doctor Hubbard dove through the window, coming to her feet again after doing a somersault. She ran over and helped the prostrate Jason to his feet.

“How did you land on your feet like that?” Said Jason.

“I do more than look through a microscope, Jason. Mixed martial arts. Three times a week.”

“Lucky me. Come on.”

They ran around the corner as the monster burned. The building’s facade crumbled in the fury of the monsters rage. Six Z squadron members stepped forward with their peroxide sprayers and destroyed any remnants of the monster. Soon nothing was left.

A dozen more survivors were found. No more monsters inhabited any of the buildings. Jason and Doctor Hubbard reached headquarters and were soon furnished with water and sandwiches. Major Esteban joined them as they washed up.

“The 1,000,000 gallons of peroxide should be here any minute. It will be coming in from a half a dozen directions. They’ll flood the sewer and water pipes a couple of miles out.”

“What do you think doc?” Said Jason.

“I can’t relate the rate of expansion has less than a mile at this point. That is assuming the rate of speed we saw in the grate times two hours.”

“So we’ll get rid of it?” said Esteban.

“That’s what I just said.”

“That’s as close as a yes that you’ll get from her, major.” Jason drank the rest of his water. He stood up and stretched. “Call me if there are any complications. I’m going to find a nearest hotel room from here. Then I’m going to pass out until tomorrow.”

“Is he always like this?” asked Amos, fidgeting in his chair. He ran a finger under his tight collar.

“What, wordy?” said John Pentgram. “Always, and long before he became governor. But we’re not here for him.”

“I know,” replied Amos, sipping at his wine.

“Mother invited you, and no one says no to her.” John smiled and looked around. He also had the pleasure of playing at the Boca Raton Beach Resort as a child.

His parents vacationed here every year. John knew all the furniture, rooms, and dark corners for hiding.

“No, you’re right,” said Amos. “Even Dean Lange didn’t hesitate to give me the time off when he heard that she was getting an award from the Governor of Florida.”

“It’ll be over soon. Then you can get back to that jigsaw puzzle in the lobby.”

“Do I look that bored?” Amos whispered.

“Just a little, although Mother hasn’t seen it.”

“Thank God. I wouldn’t want to upset Hayley on her big night.”

“She’d appreciate that. Ah, I think we’re getting to the award.” John and Amos turned their attention back to Governor Hartmann.

“I’ve known Hayley Pentgram and her late husband Marcus since we were both in our 20s. We were all struggling then, but we were much younger and less experienced than now.” John smiled and looked over at his Mother.

Her new dress complimented her every inch, as did anything she wore. He noticed her desire to return home to the vineyard, surrounded by books and horses, rather than being here.

Such an honor cannot be ignored or refused. The Vineyard of the Year Award meant little to her, but the vineyard would benefit from it enormously. That his mother also appreciated.

“Without further ado, let’s bring up Mrs. Hayley Pentgram.”

Later, at dinner, Governor Hartmann found the time to eat an entire meal with the Pentgrams and Amos. His security detail made every effort to be discrete. Hartmann had grown up in boardrooms in every major city in the USA. The men who protected him didn’t bother him at all.

“Don’t you have a meeting to attend to, Michael?” asked Hayley.

“Trying to get rid of me?”

“No, and I know you won’t go until you’re good and ready,” she said.

“You know me so well,” said Hartmann. “But you’re right. The Australians and Japanese have made a long journey. They’re looking at retail investments on the West coast. Not being there for them would be rude.”

Hartmann stood, kissing Hayley on the back of her hand. He shook John’s hand and turned to Amos. “We haven’t met before.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Governor.,” said Amos.

“I hear you’re a Professor of Analytical Architecture. I know something about architecture, but that branch escapes me.”

“I study the historical standards of building methods, building materials, and how people interact with them.”

“Like who built the massive walls at Machu Picchu and how they did it,” said Hartmann.

“One of my favorite structures,” said Amos.

“I’ve been there with my folks,” said Hartmann. “Let me know if you find the answer.”

“You’ll be one of the first ones I call,” said Amos.

“Good. Well, I’ve got to go.”

Amos stood motionless as he watched Governor Hartmann walk away with a half a dozen men dressed in dark suits surrounding him. As usual, he ignored the reporters as he left the room.

“He’s quite impressive in person,” said Amos.

Hayley confirmed, “That he is. And he always has been. I’m going to my room. We’re leaving at 9 tomorrow?”

“Yes,” said John.

“I’ll have my bags packed and ready.”

“Good night, Mother.”

“Good night, Mrs. Pentgram,” said Amos.

“Have a pleasant evening with your jigsaw puzzle,” she said with a smile. Amos blanched.

The Mercedes SUV held all of their bags and provided comfort for all of them. Amos consulted his maps as they settled in. “Finding Route 75 is straightforward,” he mentioned, exiting the parking lot. His detailed AAA map sat next to him, turned to the first page.

“You don’t trust the GPS in this beautiful vehicle,” said Hayley.

“I have it on, see?” He pointed to the dashboard, where the screen sat silent. “Maps never take you down one-way streets or onto roads with no exits.”

“I see,” she said, satisfied. “I have to agree with you. I’m still not sold on this new technology.”

John smiled as he acknowledged her fondness for this new technology.

Hayley shrugged. “Guilty.”

“And you would never give up the drones monitoring the health of the vineyard.”

“No, never,” said Hayley. “That’s saved us so much money. We would have lost three acres of Italian white grape crop had we not seen the temperature change from the drone. We would have lost an entire year of Banshee production.”

“So you can trust some technology,” said Amos.

“You’ve got me,” said Hayley. A sly smile crept onto her face. “Speaking of getting, how are you getting on with Allyson?”

Amos turned red and swallowed. “She’s an amazing woman.”

“That’s a good start,” she said. “I’ve known her since she was born. She’s a bit flighty, like her mother, but grounded enough from Nicholas.”

“Flighty?” asked Amos, laughing. “That’s a mild way of saying she’s crazy, Mrs. Pentgram.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “We’ve spent a lot of time together. I was her babysitter. It’s about time you noticed her.”

“She has a lot of respect for you,” said Amos. “We’ll see how it goes.”

“Between you and me, Amos, I think it’s already gone far enough for you to know.”

By the time the sun began to set, they had reached the southern tip of West Virginia. Noticing their yawns, John sought a place to halt for the night.

“The next town is called Priory Ridge,” said Pentgram as he looked back at his mother. “They have a five-star hotel with three rooms available.”

“Do they have a suite?” she asked.

“Yes, that’s the first thing I checked.”

“It sounds lovely, John.” Her voice had little enthusiasm.

“They have a local winery nearby.”

“Oh?” She sat up in her seat.

“The Wiley Jackman Vineyard. Famous for their Chardonnay and White Zin.”

“Now you’re speaking my language. I wouldn’t mind staying there overnight. I love visiting local vineyards.”

“How well I know, Mrs. Pentgram,” said Amos. “I’ve visited more vineyards in the past three years than I knew existed.”

“Allyson loves to tour vineyards just so you know,” she said. “What’s the name of the hotel?”

“The Brandon Arms. Sauna, hot tub, heated saltwater pool, spa, gym, and wine bar. Everything you like.”

“Maybe we’ll stay two days,” said Hayley.

Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay

At 7 pm, the Mercedes pulled up in front of the Brandon Arms. The sun still cast a warm light upon everything. A light breeze greeted John and his group as they exited the car. A stocky man appeared in a white uniform and approached the SUV. He stopped on the passenger side.

“Can I help you?” he drawled.

“We have a reservation for three,” said John. “Under the name Pentgram.”

“All right,” said the doorman. The man’s attitude appeared indifferent and laid back.

John stepped over to help his mother from the car. She shook off his hand. “I’m not feeble, John,” she said. “I’m fully capable of getting out of the car.”

“All right,” said John. Knowing she had a tiring day, he recognized her need for rest.

“And I can get my own luggage, too,” she added. Amos and John watched as she hefted her two bags and wheeled them into the hotel. They shrugged and let the doorman take their bags. They followed the doorman into the hotel.

The lobby sported a Country Music motif. Several glass cabinets displayed clothing and musical instruments on loan from Nashville. Two Grammy awards sat against the wall at the front desk for Darryl Orville, a native of Priory Ridge. An original Frederick Remington painting hung behind the man at the desk.

The man at the front desk sat, rocking on the chair’s back legs. His eyes unfocused, his attention centered on nothing in particular. John rang the bell on the desk. No response. John rang the bell six more times.

“John. What are you doing?” asked Hayley.

“Waking the zombie,” John said.

The clerk blinked several times. He halted his rocking motion and directed his gaze towards John. “Yes.” he seemed to be half asleep.

“We have reservations,” said John.

“Oh?”

“Yes. In the name of Pentgram.”

For a moment, the clerk stared at him. Opening an old ledger, he searched until reaching the final page. “Here you are.” He swiveled the register around and pointed. “Kindly put your signature here.” Three envelopes sat in three connecting spaces. He retrieved them and turned to face John. “Here you go.”

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No, we’ll find our rooms.”

“All right. Good evening.” The clerk went back to swinging back and forth.

As they walked away, Hayley laughed a bit. “What is wrong with that guy?”

“I don’t know,” said John.

“You’re an investigator. Don’t you think he’s acting a bit strange?”

“Yes, I do. Maybe the guy is bored.”

They entered the elevator and rode it to the top floor. The door rumbled open, and the weary trio moved out.

“Good night, John,” said Hayley. “Good night, Amos.”

“Good night, mother,”

“Good night, Mrs. Pentgram,” said Amos.

At breakfast, they were served the most delicious French Toast and fried oatmeal. Fresh strawberries, blueberries, cantaloupe, and sliced apples complimented the honey butter maple syrup. The music motif dominated the room, with guitars, sheet music, and harmonicas in great numbers on the walls.

“This certainly makes up for that rude man at the front desk,” said Hayley. “Although our waiter isn’t very talkative.”

“I noticed that,” said Amos. “But they do a first-rate breakfast.”

“I’ll second that,” said John, hoisting his coffee cup in a toast. They all clinked cups. “Great coffee too. How did you sleep, mother?”

“Like I was at home sleeping in my own bed,” she said.

“My bed is better than the one I have at home,” said Amos. “My alarm went off four times.”

“You must have been very comfortable,” said Hayley. “Dreaming of Allyson?”

Amos went pink on his cheeks. He nodded.

John smiled and looked out of the large window. The view overlooked the main square. From the breakfast room on the second floor, he could see the entire court.

A few clouds passed overhead, and it would be a nice day. Two bicycles powered by children glided along the wide sidewalk. A scattering of picnic blankets dotted the expansive green park around the square.

John noticed something as he watched. Each person moved cautiously, as though anticipating a surprise attack from behind. Their movements betrayed fear, but of what John could not see. Some of them paused on occasion to look over their shoulders. Strollers glanced at others approaching. John saw a subtle but definite shake of their heads as they passed each other.

“Amos, take a look outside and tell me what you see,” said John.

“All right,” said Amos, putting down his fork and wiping his mouth. He turned in his chair and gazed out of the big window. His sharp eye for detail caught something in less than a minute. “Everyone is moving as if afraid of something.”

“Go on,” said John.

“They seem to be going about their daily activities, but it’s as if something were about to pop out of the ground. Look, even the children are affected.”

John acknowledged. “I couldn’t have said it any better. That might explain the attitude of the desk clerk and the waiter.”

Hayley, engrossed in her eggs, speculated that they might simply be rude. “Have you thought of that?”

“That was my feeling,” said John. “Now I’m not so sure. They’re all spooked by something.”

“It could be anything,” said his mother. “They may have all killed someone, and they’re all feeling guilty about it. Maybe they killed a whole family.”

“Really?” asked John. “That’s where your thoughts go?”

“Given our experiences, it’s astonishing you didn’t suggest they’re hiding from a monster.”

John smiled and returned to his omelet. He poured himself another cup of coffee and had refreshed his mother’s cup when Amos tapped him on the forearm.

John looked up. Amos put a finger to his lips and tilted his head toward the window. The smile dropped from John’s face when he looked.

The figure, dressed in ragged, blackened clothes, shuffled into view at a slow pace. The darkly clad figure paused in front of a young couple on a bench and stared down at them. The couple remained seated, their gaze fixed on the ground. The dark man moved on. His gait seemed to be painful.

Tears were visible on the faces of two older women as the man stopped at their bench. The tears glinted in the sunlight, dripping into their laps. One tried to look up, but the other held her back. The dark man’s hand rested on the woman’s right shoulder. She shuddered and began to sob.

John and Amos watched as the figure moved along the sidewalk, periodically stopping before someone and staring at them. When the dusky individual moved out of sight, John stood up.

“What’s wrong?” asked Hayley.

John looked down at his mother. He smiled and sat down. “Nothing that won’t wait until after breakfast.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yes.” He thought for a moment. “There was something I needed from my room.”

“I’m sure that can wait,” she said. “What would you like to do today? We are booked until tomorrow.”

“Perhaps we could play some cards in your suite until lunchtime,” said Amos. “Then we could go to the winery.”

“What about you, John?”

“I have some business to attend to,” John said.

“Vineyard business or other business?” she asked with a knowing smile.

“Other business, I’m afraid. I’d appreciate it if you’d stay in your room until I’ve finished.”

Hayley nodded. “I’ll ensure the talismans are placed. Will you be needing Amos?”

“Let’s wait until I understand the situation in this town better.”

“I see. Well, I’m in the mood for some Spite and Malice. Amos?”

Amos closed one eye tight and tried to smile. “The game I never win. I’m game. One day I’ll win a game.”

“Don’t count on it,” said Hayley.

After breakfast, John and Amos took Mrs. Pentgram to her suite, and they secured the room. Two dozen different talismans hung from every window and corner, protecting every square inch of the rooms. Salt lined every window sill. Garlic satchels hung from every entryway.

John left a reluctant but good-natured Amos, shuffling two decks of cards as Mrs. Pentgram made some hot tea. Amos gave John his best smile and nodded as John left the room.

When Pentgram left the hotel, everything seemed normal again. No one looked over their shoulders. Smiles had returned to their faces. Two elderly women fed pigeons, one moved slowly after interaction with a dark man. Everyone spoke with great animation, as if nothing unusual had happened.

John crossed the street and entered Harris Memorial Square. He approached the young couple who he had first seen that morning.

“Excuse me,” asked John. The couple looked up from their school books and smiled. “The man I saw a few minutes ago, dressed in old clothing. Who was he?”

The youth averted his gaze and shook his head. She gazed into John’s eyes. “It was.” The boy poked her with his elbow. “It was no one. I didn’t see anyone.” She looked back at her book.

“Thank you,” said Pentgram. He moved on into the square and approached the elderly women feeding the pigeons. They gave him the cold shoulder, not acknowledging his presence. One of them just shook her head.

Frustrated, John walked along the sidewalk in the direction the dark man had gone. The sidewalk led him away from the park. He passed a bakery, a coffee shop, and an office building as he neared the town’s edge. Soon he found himself at the beginning of a forest. The sidewalk had now become an asphalt path. John moved out onto the pathway and soon had lost sight of the town.

A hiker came in his direction. The young man moved without any excitement in his eyes. He looked down at the ground as he walked.

“Excuse me,” said Pentgram as he drew closer to the hiker.

The hiker slowed to a stop. He said “yes” without any inflection or interest.

“Have you seen the man who came this way?”

“No. No one.”

“He’s tall and thin, with dark clothes. He had to have come this way.”

“No, sorry.” The hiker moved on.

John looked up and down the trail. Unless he went into the woods, he had to have gone this way. “Excuse me again,” he said, turning to face the hiker.

The hiker slowed to a stop. He paused briefly, then glanced back at Pentgram. “Yes?”

“What’s on this trail? Anything of interest besides trees?”

“Nothing. Just the old Jackman Mine. Abandoned a hundred years ago.” The man turned and walked away.

Image by dkatana from Pixabay

“Thank you,” John muttered. He smelled something burning in the air as he focused his senses. A faint smell, like that found on someone’s clothes. There came the smell of burning hair. The scent wafted away as a breeze cooled his skin.

Pentgram turned and began to walk back to Priory Ridge. Upon exiting the trees, a police jeep arrived and halted in front of him. A large man got out of the car, his light green uniform clean and pressed. John walked up to him, his hands clasped together.

“Good morning, officer,” said Pentgram.

“Good morning. I’m Sheriff Donald Reyhoe. What’s the nature of your business here?” A toothpick moved with every word.

“We’re just passing through on our way home,” said John. “I’m going to visit the winery with my Mother.”

“Not that business, sir,” said Reyhoe. “What were you doing in the forest?”

“I just felt like stretching my legs. I saw a man in dark clothing staggering into the trees. I thought he might need some help.”

“A man dressed in black?” asked the sheriff.

“Yes. I observed a man walking in the park. He approached a few people, but they ignored him.”

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Pentgram. John Pentgram.”

“I see. Well, Mr. Pentgram. Please refrain from bothering the citizens of this community. We’re a quiet town, and we don’t appreciate people coming in here and disturbing the peace.”

“I had no intention to...”

Reyhoe held up his hand. John closed his mouth.

“Do I make myself clear?” Reyhoe stared at Pentgram, not smiling.

Pentgram nodded. “Yes, sheriff.”

“Good. Now, take yourself back to your hotel and enjoy your stay. I take it you’re leaving Priory Ridge tomorrow?”

It wasn’t a question. It came across as a demand.

“Yes, sheriff. That’s our plan.”

“Okay,” said the sheriff.

“Now, move along.” Reyhoe got into his vehicle and drove off out of sight. John moved along the trail until he reached the cement sidewalk. He looked across the street. He saw a used book store by the name of Pages and Print. Its owner stood in the doorway, looking both ways down the road. Seeing no one approaching, he signaled for Pentgram to join him.

Pentgram looked both ways as he crossed the street. Several current best sellers greeted him from the window. Making sure no police cars were visible, he entered the store. Inside, he felt at home at once. The smells of old paper and glue always gave him comfort. Shelves piled high with books surrounding him. A circular central space opened up in front, with three old comfortable chairs sitting at the edges of this circle, piles of books on their arms.

“Welcome, sir. Enter,” echoed the owner’s deep voice within the store.

Turning, John saw a tall, wiry man appear from behind a shelf. He had to have been three inches taller than John’s six feet, but there the resemblance ended.

An ample belly betrayed too many late-night snacks and not enough exercise. He approached Pentgram with an open hand.

“Angus Monaghan, at your service.”

“John Pentgram,” said John, shaking the man’s hand. The grip firm, he held onto John’s hand for a firm shake. “It’s quite a place you have here.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you John Pentgram, the Anomalist?” asked Angus.

“Yes.”

Monaghan quickly vanished into the store’s back area. He returned moments later with a familiar book in his hands. Angus held it up. “This is yours, right?”

“Adventures in Ghost Hunting and Beyond,” said Pentgram. “Yep, that’s mine. I see you’ve covered it in Mylar.”

“Like the library,” Angus said. “A first edition. From my personal collection. Something I’d never part with.”

“Well, let me make it even more irreplaceable,” said John, taking out his pen.

“Really? You’d sign it for me?”

“With pleasure.” As John signed the book, he became aware of another person in the store. He observed a woman with a load of books pass by.

“My daughter Jessica. I don’t know what I’d do without her help. She’s irreplaceable too.”

“Not true,” came Jessica’s voice from the deep book stacks.

“I saw your run-in with Sheriff Reyhoe,” said Angus.

“His words have me really stumped.”

“Oh, like what?” asked Angus.

“He said I had better stop harassing the good citizens of Priory Ridge. That there’s nothing to see here.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty typical of him when anyone asks questions. You’re lucky he doesn’t know who you really are.”

“Well, he might. I gave him my name.”

“Jeez, we don’t have much time. Come with me.” Pentgram followed Angus into the back. They bypassed a big storeroom and entered a spacious office.

Angus put John’s book in a glass case next to a Hans Holzer volume and closed the door to protect them.

He pressed a button on his desk. “Jess, could you keep an eye on the store for a while? Let me know if anyone comes in, especially the sheriff.”

Jessica replied a moment later. “Sure thing, Dad. Two buzzes will mean it’s the sheriff.”

“Thanks.” Angus looked up at Pentgram. “Reyhoe knows that you’ve seen the ghost of Slim Gavin.”

“Who’s that?”

“You saw a man dressed in black clothes walking in the town square. Someone no one would look at.”

“Yes,” said John. “How did you know?”

“It’s the only reason that Reyhoe would have spoken to you out of the blue.”

“Who is this Slim Gavin?”

“It’s a long story,” said Angus. “Please sit. Would you like a soda or water?”

“Water would be fine. Gavin is a ghost, then. A Daylight ghost. It’s rare to see one that solid looking.”

“Well, I also call it a ghost. I have no idea what it is. I guess that would be your department. Literally.” He handed John a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” said Pentgram, taking a drink. “Tell me what you know.”

“Okay.” Angus sat down. He blew out a breath. “I’ll give you the digest version. I can get the full details to you later when you’re safe in your room.”

“That’s fine,” said John.

“Okay. I’ve studied this for decades, ever since I learned about Slim Gavin. The Jackman Mine had been in operation for close to a hundred years by 1873. It made this town the richest in this part of the state. The mine earned about two million dollars monthly, a significant sum even in current times. I have a good photo of the mine here.” He handed it to Pentgram.

“This is dated October 17th, 1872,” said Pentgram. “When did the mine close after this photo was taken?”

“About a year,” said Angus. “See, that’s Gavin in the second row, at the end.”

John looked closer at the photo. He spotted Gavin right away. “That’s who I saw this morning.”

“Yes. His appearance hasn’t changed. His clothes have grown black over the years, but that’s the only change.”

“What happened to Gavin?”

“One afternoon, near the end of the shift, Gavin was alone at the bottom of the newest shaft. Gavin was trapped in a collapse. The entire town turned out to help with the rescue effort. Moving the dangerous rubble risked collapsing the entire shaft on Gavin. They managed to provide him food, but it was useless.”

“Okay. Then what?”

“As the men above cleared a narrow opening for Gavin, another collapse happened. Gavin was cut off from everything but some water. Despite the storm passing, many efforts were made to prevent him from drowning. After ten days, he began to go mad from hunger. His rants reached the mine entrance. Everyone heard him.”

“Shortly after, he started ranting and screaming about seeking revenge on those who deserted him. Attempts to console him were futile as his rage remained unaffected. He had gone too far for anyone’s voices to get through to him. Two days later, his shouts stopped. He died soon after that.”

“A terrible way to die. Why is he being seen today?”

“Over the years, he’s been dubbed the Mine Demon, but not openly. I’ve assembled his appearances over the past 140 years into a database and a spreadsheet.”

“I’d like to hear about it.”

“Basically, when he walks through town, he moves from the house he used to live in all the way to the mine, dressed in the last clothes he wore.”

“That makes sense so far.”

“Wait, that’s just for starters. Gavin walks during the weeks he died and on the birthdays of those men who he’s blamed by name for killing him. Today is the birthday of Johnathan Brambley, the mine supervisor. Did you see him step forward and approach anyone today?”

“Yes, a couple of elderly women.”

“Hunh. I’ll bet one of the women is Sophia Brambley, great great granddaughter of Johnathan. She’s in trouble if she meets Slim twice in one day.”

“Why?”

“Gavin has a pattern with his movements. He’ll walk the square early in the morning. He has a certain person or persons in mind, I guess. My guess is that he’s looking for a descendant of the families he’s cursed. He’ll stand in front of that person, hoping for them to look at him. The potential victim feels compelled to remain until touched on the shoulder.

“That happened just an hour ago.”

“Did it?”

John nodded.

“What happens if he touches someone?”

Angus took a long drink. “The person can’t move. If he comes back to them, he touches them on the shoulder a second time. The person will die within an hour.”

“And no one tries to stop him?”

“No. they’re all scared. Over the years, he’s killed numerous people.”

“How many?”

“I’m not sure. The newspapers began to clean up the deaths, calling them all sorts of natural causes. I had to estimate from the birthdays of the original mine workers. My guess is at least a hundred. Maybe more.”

“Have all the victims been older?”

“No. They’ve all been related to the two dozen families of the mineworkers.”

“That’s interesting,” said Pentgram. “And no one has tried to do anything about it?”

“I don’t know,” Angus replied. “The people in this town are in denial about this whole thing. When Slim approaches, it’s advised to not look away from the ground. As you saw, that’s what they do.”

“But the deaths haven’t stopped.”

“No. Not one bit.” The buzzer rang twice. “That’ll be the sheriff. Come, I’ll lead you through the back exit. I’ll send you all the information. Let me get your email address.”

John gave him one of his business cards. Angus smiled as he held it. “Wow.” They moved to the delivery entrance of the store. Angus opened the door and peeked out. “It’s clear. C’mon.”

They stepped into an alley wide enough for a truck to drive through. Angus pointed in the direction of the hotel. “Follow this path until you reach Cabot St. Cross the street and the hotel will be just a block away.”

“Thanks again.” They shook hands, and Pentgram moved off.

As John entered the rear of the hotel, he spotted a police officer in the front lobby. The officer’s eyes focused on the front door. John slipped into the washroom and washed his hands. With a deep breath, he stepped out and walked to the lobby.

“Mr. Pentgram?” asked the officer. Pentgram saw that his name badge read Riley.

“Yes, I am Officer Riley. What can I do for you?”

“Where were you just ten minutes ago?”

“Why? Has the bank been robbed or something?”

“Just answer the question.” The officer was thin and wiry. He looked like the type who liked to arrest people and assert his power.

“I’ve been to the gift shop. My Mother likes antiques and the ambiance of small towns. You like ambiance, don’t you, Officer Riley?”

Riley looked uncomfortable with the word ambiance. “How long were you in there?”

“Oh, I don’t know—maybe fifteen minutes. There’s lots of ambiance. And they have a nice book about county history. I read the first few chapters and decided to buy it with whatever I purchase for my Mother. You want to see it?”

The officer gave him a stern look. Riley didn’t believe him, shaking his head. “Please avoid disturbing the citizens.” Riley walked away without a word.

“Thank you, officer,” said John to the empty lobby. He smiled and shook his head and climbed the stairs to his room. The phone on the table flashed with a message.

“Hello, John. This is your Mother,” said the firm, strong voice. “Come see me when you’re back. It’s about Agatha.” John’s smile dropped from his face. They used “Agatha” as a code word for confidential conversations.

John exited his room and gently knocked twice on the suite’s door. Sometimes he felt like he was in a spy thriller with the cautions his mother insisted they use.

The door opened, and Hayley Pentgram stood before him. “Come in.” John entered the room as Hayley went back to her card game with Amos. Amos had a smile on his face. He turned two cards and sat back.

“I finally won this blasted game,” said Amos. He looked over at Hayley, expecting her to be mad.

Hayley smiled. “Now, I finally have an opponent who can give me a good game. We’ll play again later.” The smile fell from Amos’ face.

“Has something happened?” asked John.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Pentgram. “A cop stopped by while you were away.”

“Officer Riley?” asked John.

“Sgt. Isiah Riley,” she said. “Nice boy. Too tense. He asked about our purposes here.”

“And you told him we were just passing through.”

“John, who taught you how to be deceptive and convincing? He didn’t seem to be too convinced with my explanation. I sensed that something else is distracting him that he can’t talk about.”

“Your intuition is working well, as usual,” said John as he sat down at the table. Amos stopped shuffling the cards and put them to the side.

John told them everything that had happened. Amos took the pad and made detailed notes as he always did.

“And then I ran into Officer Riley, down in the lobby.

“He must have asked you about your whereabouts,” said Hayley.

John nodded and told them about the gift shop.

“Did he believe your story?” she asked.

“We can all sell it to the police now that we know.”

“You must visit the gift shop and buy something for me,” Hayley said. “When you get the chance, of course.”

“Thank you, Mother. That will be a big help.” John’s phone rang. He answered it.

“John, it’s Angus. You busy?” His voice had an edge of mystery.

“I’ve got all day. Shoot.”

“Well, Sheriff Reyhoe just left. He almost arrested me for disturbing the peace.”

“Did he see me?”

“No, but he’s sure you were here. As I reentered the store, he was by the back door. I told him I was throwing some trash away.”

“That was close.”

“You’re not kidding. Reyhoe was curious about your presence. I told him I had no idea who you were. If he had searched me, he would have found your card in my shirt pocket.”

“What did he do?”

“He warned me not to associate with you in any way. He assured me he would keep an eye on my place.”

“Hardly in keeping with the 1st Amendment. Let’s not get the sheriff upset. I’ll give your place a wide berth from now on.”

“I appreciate that. I’ll have the data for you in a few minutes. Have you got a laptop with you?”

“Yes. I’ll set it up and wait for your email.”

“You got it. Bye.”

“Who was that?” asked Amos.

“That is Angus Monaghan, owner of the used book store down the block. He’s the only sane person in this town. He gave me all the information about the mine and the Mine Demon.”

John went to his room. A few minutes later, he returned with his laptop. He set it up on the table, now free of cards.

“Why is he sending you an email?” asked Hayley.

“I need maximum information prior to making decisions.”

“Do we need to take action?” asked Hayley. “Think about it. It’s a local problem. It doesn’t affect anyone or anything not in this town. Can’t we just leave it for the police to handle?”

“Really?” asked John. “After all that you and Father went through? What about the countless Pentgrams in the past who were unable to turn their gaze from similar situations?”

“But, John,” began Hayley. John held up a hand.

“What would Father have done?”

“Well, he would have gotten arrested trying to get to the bottom of the problem.”

“Exactly, and with a little more information than he may have had, we might be able to solve this problem.”

Hayley said nothing. Her face took on a grim countenance. She shook her head, making eye contact with both of them. “Your father would have been right beside you two. I was only thinking of your safety.”

“And I appreciate that. But I can’t leave here until I know whether we can help. If you like, Amos can take you home.”

“Certainly not,” said Hayley. “As long as I’m here, I may as well help. I’m not dead or senile yet.”

“Your help would be welcome,” said Amos. “We just don’t want you to be too worried about us.”

“Oh, posh,” she said. “I’m not worried about you two.”

John confirmed, “That’s settled. We stay until we do all we can to help these people.” The laptop beeped. John opened his email and found three emails from Angus. “He’s sent me a dozen files. It might take some time,” he mentioned, creating a folder named Angus Files.

Amos stood. “I’ll be right back. I’ll knock twice, then three times.” He left the suite as John opened the first file and began to read. Hayley moved her chair next to his.

“It might take until tomorrow to read this, especially if we keep clashing over the screen.”

“We don’t have much choice,” said John. “Why don’t you let me read them to you. Take notes, if you like.”

“I’ll get a new pad and join you.”

Thirty minutes later, Amos knocked on the door with the code. John opened it to find his friend holding a printer box and a vinyl bag from the local Staples.

“We can hook this up to your laptop and print out everything,” said Amos. “I got two reams of paper, some markers, a stapler, extra ink, and this.” He set the box down and took a large office envelope from the bag. “A young woman named Jessica gave this to me. She said it will help.”

“You’re a genius,” said John. “Let’s get this set up on the table.”

“I guess that means no more cards,” said Hayley, winking at John.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Pentgram,” said Amos. “I promise to play a marathon on Saturday after we get home.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said with a sly smile. “Now, let’s get this printer running. What’s in the envelope?”

“Let’s see.” John opened it and extracted several photos. “These look like actual photos of Slim Gavin’s ghost walking through the park.”

“He used a telephoto lens,” said Amos. “Probably from his store or one floor up.”

“Put them back in the envelope,” said Hayley. “They give me the creeps.”

Within ten minutes, the printer began to spit out the pages sent by Angus Monaghan. “These appear to be mostly newspaper archives,” Amos noted.

“Organize these as best we can,” John said. “Make a pile concerned with the mine, and another about the accident.”

“Maybe a third pile for reports of deaths since the mine closed,” said Hayley.

“Yes, that’s good, Mother,” said John. “Could you also staple longer reports together for us?”

“Of course.”

“What would we do without you,” said John with a smile.

“Keep printing,” Hayley said. “And make sure you do three copies of each so we can all read them at the same time.”

“Of course,” said Amos. He picked up the package of markers. “Pink, right?”

Half an hour later, they each had three distinct piles of printouts. “That’s all we’ve got, except for these in the envelope.”

“Why nor scan and print those also,” said Amos. “It has a flatbed scanner too.”

“Great idea. Why not start reading and I’ll catch up.”

“Okay,” said Amos. “I’ll start with the mine accident. It’ll save us some time. The little I’ve seen has a lot of technical details that neither of you will understand.”

“I’m not interested in architectural specs,” said Hayley. “I know grape trellises, but anything more than that, and you’ll lose me.”

“I don’t know anything about grape trellises,” said Amos.

“Knowledge trumps experience,” she said. “We have both.”

John smiled to himself. “Which pile do you want to begin with?”

“I’ll read about the history of the mine. Murders and ghosts are your specialties. My only desire is to complete this and return to Pentgram Hall and my vines.”

“I agree,” said Amos. He began to scan the headlines of the local paper.

Priory Ridge Herald. October 19th, 1873.

“Jackman Mine Collapses. 16 hurt. 1 missing.”

“Residents of Priory Ridge awakened to the sound of terror from deep within the earth as the Jackman Mine suffered a collapse today. The mine, a major source of income for the county, had been certified as safe just one year ago.”

“By the grace of God, almost all of us got clear of the mine before the ceiling came down,” said Johnathan Brambley, Supervisor of the Jackman Mine. “We are doing all we can to rescue Slim Gavin, foreman of the mine.”

Priory Ridge Herald. October 25th, 1873.

“Mine Rescue Efforts Yield Little Results.”

“The efforts to rescue mine foreman Slim Gavin have not proven to have achieved any positive results. Digging into the shaft where Slim Gavin is located has not gotten diggers any closer to him. Loose rubble may now be preventing any further digging.”

“Slim Gavin, still trapped 125 feet under the earth, appears to be in good spirits.

He has reported that his food and water have run out. He now must await rescue. His hopes run high.”

Priory Ridge Herald. October 28th, 1873.

“Slim Gavin’s Cries Grow Weak As Rescue Efforts Fail.”

“Rescuers now admit that the efforts to rescue Slim Gavin have come up empty. Gavin’s crying persisted from yesterday until this morning. Now his pleas for help have grown too weak to hear. Tomorrow morning, the owners of the mine will meet to decide whether to continue their present rescue course or to close the mine.

Priory Ridge Herald. October 29th, 1873.

“Slim Gavin’s Cries Cease. Jackman Mine To Be Closed.”

“With heavy hearts, the owners of the Jackman Mine have decided to close mining operations. It was determined that any further mining would endanger any miners attempting to make any additional extractions.”

“This decision comes as the lone man trapped in the mine, Slim Gavin, has ceased to return calls to him by other miners.

It is now assumed that Gavin is deceased.”

“Services for Slim Gavin will be held on Sunday, November 1st, at the St. Francis Baptist Church.”

“That poor man,” said Hayley. “Trapped down in that hole with no one to help him.”

“Did they try to rescue him?” asked John.

“Yes,” said Amos. “They tried for almost ten days. It finally got too dangerous for him and the rescuers to continue.”

“Such a shame,” said Hayley.

“Look at this,” said John. He held up another article from the Priory Ridge Herald. “This is from 1947, the disaster’s 50th anniversary. Jerome Wiseman, one of the last surviving mine workers, retold his story of the rescue activity. According to him, Gavin got hysterical during the last two days before he died. He pleaded with them for help. Wiseman is sure that he went insane from hunger and thirst.”

“Why?”

“He began to threaten the rescuers by name. He swore he would get his revenge on the very people who were doing their best to help him.”

“But he wasn’t abandoned,” said Hayley.

“Exactly. Slim Gavin is taking his revenge on the very people who were helping him. He’s acting out on erroneous information.”

“What can we do with that?” asked Hayley. “How does that help these people?”

“I don’t know, Mother, but I’m going to find out.”

“Well, we won’t be able to do anything until tomorrow morning,” said Amos. “I’ve made a list of Gavin’s appearances over the years. He only walks the square between 8 am and noon.”

“So we missed him,” said John.

“9 am,” said Hayley. “That’s when we were eating this morning.”

“Yes, and that’s when we’ll be eating tomorrow,” said John. He looked at Amos. “I have an idea.”

At 7:50 the next morning, John and Amos stood in the lobby. Hayley Pentgram sat upstairs, getting ready for breakfast. Every meal was vital for her, breakfast being the most important when she was away.

“Do you really want to go ahead with this?” asked Amos.

John shook his head. “We need to do something for these people. He’s killed at least 70 people, is that right?”

“At least,” said Amos. “The newspapers stopped reporting Gavin’s appearances about 45 years ago.”

“And I’ll bet those he killed became accidents or natural causes.”

“Yes, although there may have been some real accidents,” said Amos. “I’m thinking people with a death sentence on their heads might act out of sorts and get killed.”

“Thank God for a Free Press,” said Pentgram. “Keeping disturbing news away from a gullible public. So, you know the plan?”

“Yeah, and I can’t say I like it.”

“Don’t worry. Just keep Mother’s back to the window outside. When I see Gavin, I’ll slip away from the table. I’ll join you as soon as it’s over.”

“If you’re still breathing.”

“Cheer up,” John said. “I’ve got great reflexes.”

The elevator dinged. “There she is now. Ready?”

“No, but what choice do we have?”

John and Amos went to the elevator. The doors opened, and Mrs. Pentgram stepped out, all decked out for breakfast.

“Good morning, boys.”

John ordered his usual omelet. Swiss cheese, shrimp, sweet onions. He had coffee with an added espresso.

“By noon, I’d like to start our journey,” Hayley stated. “That can give us plenty of time to visit that winery.” She sat with her back to the front window, as planned.

“That suits me,” said John. He ate some eggs and drank more coffee, his eyes looking out behind his mother. He looked down at her. “Could you have them refresh my coffee? There’s something I need to attend to at the gift shop.”

“All right, John,” she said. “Don’t be long.”

“I shouldn’t be.”

John had spotted Gavin moving along the sidewalk. The dark-clad figure shuffled along, in no hurry, it seemed. He touched the folded papers in his light jacket as he crossed the street and entered the park.

At the entrance to the square, Pentgram hesitated. He felt the sun on his cheeks, and a light breeze cooled the sweat building upon his brow. He watched Slim Gavin trudge along, circulating among the citizens. Their eyes were all turned downward.

“Here goes nothing,” he said to himself. He walked across the main square and then onto the sidewalk. His eyes spotted Sophia Brambley sitting on a bench, fifty feet from him. Pentgram took a deep breath and moved until he stood in front of Sophia. He turned to face Gavin.

“Mister, you had better get moving,” said the man sitting next to Mrs. Brambley. Looking down, John realized he was facing a Korean War veteran. John shook his hand. The vet’s Silver Star shimmered in the morning sunlight.

“Thank you for your service, sir,” said John. “And thank you for the advice. But you may want to avert your eyes.”

“Oh, God,” said the man as he glanced past John. He covered his eyes and looked away from Sophia.

John looked up, his attention focused on Slim Gavin. Birds chirped in a tree next to him. A dog barked.

All park bench people stared as Gavin passed them. Their eyes filled with dread. They could not look away.

Slim Gavin stalked across the vast square and slowed as he saw Pentgram standing in his way. The dark figure stepped up to Pentgram until he stood in front of him. Gavin stopped and looked at Pentgram.

“Move or Die,” said Gavin. The black orbs of his eyes bore into John Pentgram.

Pentgram had never known such fear in his life. The very presence of the dead man made every muscle in his body shake. His heart beat faster than he could ever recall. He had to act quickly, or he would drop to the ground.

“Look at this, Slim Gavin,” said Pentgram, holding up the paper as he unfolded it. He held it up just below his chin. “This is the newspaper headline from the day you died.”

Slim Gavin’s eyes shifted from Pentgram to the paper. The black eyes moved across the headline held in John’s outstretched hands. His lips moved as he read the first paragraphs about the failed rescue effort by the men of Priory Ridge. The name of Brambley stood out as the person who led the digging.

“This is true?” asked Gavin, his eyes returning to look at Pentgram.

“Every word,” said Pentgram. “These people did everything within their abilities to get to you. The shaft became too unstable due to excessive rubble. They couldn’t remove rubble without risking your life. You would have been killed.”

Motionless, Gavin stared down at the newspaper headline. The gentle breeze began to blow harder, blowing John’s hair into his eyes for a moment. Pentgram shook his head to get the hair away.

“I. Have. Been. Wrong,” said Slim Gavin. “Forgive. Me.”

As John Pentgram and several dozen others watched, Slim Gavin began to fall apart. The wind tore away his hair and his skin. His clothing dissolved like snow dropped into a pail of hot water. Fragments were caught by the wind and flew towards the mine. Within a few minutes, Slim Gavin had gone back to his final resting place. This time he would not return.

Pentgram looked down at the dark smudge where Gavin had stood. A fist-size object lay in the center. John kneeled down and found a skull, shrunken many times its natural size. He pocketed it and breathed a sigh of relief. He saw the smiling faces of Priory Ridge’s people.

“Is he gone?” asked the veteran, removing his hat and placing it to his chest.

“Is he gone for good?” asked the young woman with her dog.

“Yes, he’s gone,” said Pentgram. “I don’t believe he will ever bother anyone else in this town again. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m going back to finish my breakfast before Sheriff Reyhoe pays me a visit.”

“I hope you haven’t led us here to catch the Harwich Strangler, Lestrade,” said Holmes.

“But that is why I asked you to come,” said Lestrade. “Are you telling me you have no interest in catching this fiend?”

“On the contrary, Inspector. I’ve already read the file you sent to me in London,” began Holmes. “While on the train, I had time to read through it. Your villain is a certain Willy Craner.”

“The banker?” said Murray. “But he was the one who found the first body.”

“Yes, his wife,” said Holmes. “You were so taken by his grief and his story that you failed to notice that he was in fact your Strangler.”

“But how can that be?” asked Murray. “I’m sorry, Mr. Holmes, but I’ve known Craner for his entire life. He’s a very respectable citizen. I can hardly just take your word for it.”

“And you shan’t have to, my good constable,” said Holmes. “Check the recent activities of Mrs. Craner, Molly Stacklin and Jack Hawkins. You’ll find they colluded to defraud Willy of his fortune. They have it in their means to take every pound from the good Mr. Craner. Tell me, were there any guns near the bodies?”

“Why, yes. Both victims had guns in their hands.”

“Were they fired?”

“Yes. Why is that important?”

“While struggling with the Strangler, two people fired their weapons at least once. Did you find any blood on the scenes?”

“I’m not aware of any blood found.”

“Before the murders scenes get trampled by inquisitive people, I’d send someone to look.”

“I’ll see to it right away.

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The intrepid Inspector Murray returned in less than an hour. His grim face told us all we needed to know. “There is blood on the floor where the bodies lay,” he said. “A large amount, by the look of it.”

“I see,” said Holmes. “Tell me. Where is all the money that Hawkins and Stacklin had stolen?”

“We found it on their person,” said Murray. “The police accounted for every shilling.”

“And why is that, I wonder?”

“It’s a mystery to me, Mr. Holmes,” said the Inspector.

“Now all the pieces are on the table, except for one. I’ll come to that. We have two people stealing money from a third, who discovers their crime. Craner plans on going to them to get the money back but goes into hiding when the Strangler kills the two of them.”

“But how did you deduce this from your place in London?” asked Lestrade.

“I’m not without my sources, Lestrade. I find moving significant quantities of cash between bank accounts within a short period of time suspicious. You would do yourself a great service if you would find Mr. Craner before the Strangler does.”

Holmes and I made ourselves at home at the Winchester, a fabulous hotel with a view of the Channel. We dined on a most excellent dinner of mutton and Irish potatoes in a gravy that had me sopping it up with my bread. “Really, Watson,” said Holmes. “You act as if you’ve never had gravy before.”

“I have made a mess,” I said, wiping the brown liquid from my lips.

Holmes smiled as he set down his napkin. “Think nothing of it, Watson. The gravy was quite good.”

“Holmes, is there more going on here than this Strangler?”

“Your perceptions are as sharp as ever, my friend. There is an undercurrent of something, yet unknown to me. It will be the nexus of this case. Ah, here comes Lestrade now.”

“Mr. Holmes, I don’t know how you do it,” said Lestrade as he came blustering up to us. Holmes said nothing, waiting with the faintest of smiles on his lips. Lestrade fanned himself with his cap.

“What have you found?” I asked. “Come on, out with it. Did you catch the Strangler or not?”

“No. There has been a fresh development. One you’ll not like.”

Holmes put down his napkin. “Out with it, man. What has happened?”

“We found Willy Craner. Strangled. And there is this you requested.” He handed Holmes a sheaf of papers. Holmes sat up and read with intense interest.

“The autopsy reports, Watson.” He read with a determination that only he could muster. A grim look set on his face as he finished flipping through the last pages. “We need to see the bodies, Lestrade. As quick as you can manage.”

Lestrade scratched his head. “Does that mean you were wrong, Holmes?”

“I have not had all the information, Lestrade. My assessment was correct, with what I had to work with. Someone else has been lurking in this whole matter, just beyond my detection. A look at the bodies will tell me what I need to know to pursue this to its end.”

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Holmes inspected the four bodies lying in the local morgue. I followed him, taking in the visual details and comparing them to the reports. What I saw made me shudder. I looked up at Holmes. “You’ve seen the size of the strangulation marks,” Holmes said.

“I have indeed.”

“They do, if I’m not mistaken, look like the hands of an enormous man. Wouldn’t you agree, Watson?’

“I would, unless the killer wore thick gloves.”

“There were no gloves, Watson. The impressions from the fingers are very clear.”

“So, what are we to make of these deaths?” asked Lestrade.

“There’s more to this situation than a simple embezzlement,” said Holmes.

“These people did not merely get strangled. Someone with inhuman strength crushed their necks. Wouldn’t you agree, Watson?”

“That would be my assessment, yes.” An awful feeling crept into my bones at the thought of a fiend who could kill a woman in such a manner.

“Have you looked into the backgrounds of the victims, Inspector?” Holmes left the morgue and made his way to the street. Inspector Murray and I followed.

“For what purpose?”

“These are not simple victims of an enraged husband,” began Holmes. “That much is certain. They are all connected to something so awful that it resulted in their deaths.”

“I’ll have someone look into it,” said Murray.

“For our purposes, Inspector, do the job yourself. We must keep this among the four of us.”

“Why?”

“Someone is out there, walking these very streets, who can crush a man’s neck as easily as you might crush a bunch of grapes.”

A thick fog rolled in as the sun retreated into the horizon. Holmes and I set out to inspect the home of Mr. and Mrs. Craner. Inspector Murray had set an officer at the front door to prevent the prying eyes of his neighbors. The officer recognized us and allowed us to enter the home. Somewhere in the night, a dog barked in short bursts. Holmes stood at the entrance, taking in all the details. From my vantage point, I could make out a scene of carnage. Furniture lay strewn about after someone tossed it. A savage struggle had occurred.

“Murray neglected to mention this destruction, Holmes,” I said. “There was quite a fight in here, by the looks of it.”

“Yes, and it went none too well for Mr. Craner. Look here.” He pointed to a small pool of blood on the floor. A bloody knife lay under a linen napkin.

“Someone used this knife, by the look of it,” I said. “There’s more blood in the kitchen,” I said, indicating a trail of blood running away from where we stood.

Holmes followed the blood into the tight kitchen. The table stood in one corner, shorn of its legs. Pots, pans, and utensils littered the floor. More blood dotted the floor. Holmes touched my shoulder.

“Look here.”

My eyes took in the sight before me—a footprint in blood by the door. The sheer size stunned me.

“Watson, your feet have more width than mine. Place your foot next to the one on the floor.” My foot could fit inside the print on the floor. I saw that as my foot came to rest next to the track.

“An enormous shoe,” I said.

“Let me inspect it, will you?”

I moved away from him as he kneeled with his magnifying glass. He noted that the leather was very worn. “There’s not much here to assess. Let’s check out back.” He stood and moved out into the backyard before I could reply. When I joined him, I found him standing in the yard. He had his head tilted to the left and held up a hand to stop me from getting any closer.

“He’s here,” Holmes whispered.

“Who is?” I asked.

“The Strangler. I can feel it in my bones. Look.” He pointed down to a spot in front of him. Another of the mammoth footprints pressed into the soft earth.

“Is that an old print?” I asked.

He shook his head, bringing a finger to his lips. I stood absolutely still as Holmes scanned the fence. The dog ceased its howling mid-howl. “Now, Watson!” he shouted as he ran to the gate. He put his shoulder into the rickety passageway, and it burst open. He turned and ran to his right.

I pursued my friend as I heard him climb and jump over objects in his pursuit. I saw him leave the alley between the houses and disappear into the fog. My progress lacked the gusto that had propelled Holmes over the damaged boxes and old lobster traps strewn along the alleyway.

At last, I stopped to catch my breath. A branch snapped behind me. I turned and strained my eyes to see anything. The fog lifted for a moment, and I saw a shape standing not ten paces from me. A moment passed, and then I realized the person was a foot taller and as wide as my spread arms. “Hello? Who’s there? Is that you?”

The shape took a step toward me, its size gluing my feet to the spot. My breathing sounded hollow in my ears. Another footstep forward and the fog closed in on both of us. I took a step back. From behind me, someone tossed a lobster trap aside.

“Watson. Where are you?”

I turned my head toward Holmes. “Over here. Hurry.”

Holmes reached my side, and I turned to look at the form. It had disappeared.

“He’s gone,” I said.

“Who’s gone?”

“I believe I saw the Strangler.”

“What did he look like?”

“I couldn’t make out any details in the mist. It was him, all right. He looked to be a good foot taller than even yourself.”

Holmes left my side and moved to the end of the alley. In the light from a nearby streetlamp, he gazed down. He motioned me over to his side. There on the sidewalk, I saw a footprint that sent chills down my spine. “We must be cautious,” said Holmes. “Let’s get back to the hotel. We’ve no more to learn tonight.”

In the morning, Lestrade dropped into one chair. “Well, sir. We verified the information you gave us about the money that was leaving the bank without Craner noticing. It seems our Mrs. Craner was taking the money out and giving it to her accomplices.”

“Molly Stacklin and Jack Hawkins,” I said.

“Correct. From there it was easy to trace the money back to Willy. He had the money stashed in his house, under some floorboards.”

“Help me understand,” I said. “Craner was stealing the money from his own bank with help from his wife and her two friends. But the three of them were stealing from Willy.”

“Correct,” said Lestrade. “When he found out, he was fit to be tied. Instead of coming to the police, he took matters into his own hands. Or at least he tried to. There is another thing. We found opium in two of Craner’s safety deposit boxes.”

“Opium?” I said.

“Yes, it’s been coming into England through Calais,” said Holmes. “I have yet to discover its point of entry.”

“Perhaps you have,” said Lestrade. “Let me know if this turns up anything.”

We had just settled into our beds when a blaring disturbance rocked the hotel. The sound brought back terrible memories of Afghanistan. The thunderous guns that inhabit my memories even to this day. I got to my feet and knocked on Holmes’ door. “Holmes, are you all right?”

He opened the door, ushered me in, and led me to the window, where I saw the source of the explosion. A great ship sat in the bay, burning so bright it lit up the water. As we watched, another detonation sent the vessel to one side. After a few precious moments, the tip of the highest flag tilted and dipped into the water. Smoke filled the air. The watertight bridge gurgled before dropping and disappearing from sight.

“Most disturbing,” he said. “I believe we will discover the identity of the ship in the morning.”

“How so, Holmes?”

“Debris from the ship will litter the shoreline. It will be an excellent exercise for us to learn the name of our distressed vessel. Unless, of course, the papers beat us to the punch. Come along. Let’s take a look for ourselves.”

Holmes and I put on our coats and ventured outside. The smell of burning wood permeated the air. Ash littered the beach as we walked. Others joined us at the beach’s edge. The ship had long disappeared below the water.

“Not much to see,” I said.

“No. We’ll know more by the morning. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

He headed off to bed. I settled in for a restless night of dreams of falling into the cold sea.

After a hot breakfast, we dressed in our heavy coats to guard against the early morning winds. The London Times reported the disaster, but few details were available. The ship remained as of this morning unnamed and unclaimed. The shoreline looked as if a war had come in the night. Bits and pieces of a vessel lay strewn along the sandy shoreline. Next to a bed of seaweed, there lay an oar. An anchor that sat half-leaning on the sandbar was the size of a carriage. The jars, silverware, and even coins were small enough for us to pick up. I pocketed a dozen crowns as we spread out.

Holmes set about right away, scouring over the debris. He picked up a bit of wood, bringing it to his eyes. With a flourish, he discarded it and pounced upon a sizable wooden section of planking half-buried in the sand. “Hallo, what have we here? Watson, come help me uncover this.”

We pulled on the significant piece of timber. I dropped to my knees and dug at the edge of the sand. Soon, it gave way, and we pulled it onto the nearby dunes. Holmes kneeled and pulled away some seaweed obscuring the nameplate. He stood, and we gazed down upon the remains of the HMS Carelton.

A low moan caught our ears. We turned and spotted a dark form lying in the waves 40 yards from where we stood. Holmes took off as if shot from a cannon, leaving me to get my protesting legs moving. My friend reached him and kneeled. He checked the man’s neck for a pulse.

“Watson, come quick. He’s still alive.”

The man who stood before me dwarfed the two of us. The edges of his clothes showed signs of burning. I saw some cuts and bruises on his dark skin. “Help me get him away from the water,” I said. Holmes slipped his arms under the man’s arms, and he hefted the form in a remarkable display of strength. He moved him up onto a dune and dropped to the ground.

“My studies of martial arts have taught me things I hadn’t thought I’d ever use,” said Holmes. “There is a concept of using an opponent’s weight against them in an attack. I used the same principle, like a fulcrum. It worked long enough to get this fellow out of danger from drowning.”

“We can’t leave him here,” I said. “Let’s get him to our rooms. I can examine him there and keep him from contracting pneumonia.”

“Very well.”

Holmes and I used a makeshift carryall from a blanket he found half-buried in the sand. The few guests we passed turned their heads, not wanting to see the drunken man we carried. After a bit of a struggle with the elevator, we got the enormous man into Holmes’ sitting room. Holmes went through his pockets, extracting an oilskin pouch with a passport and various papers inside. He settled into an oversized chair and perused the collection.

“Franklin Adams of Quebec, Canada. His travels tell a great deal about the man. His recent travels have taken him to Calais, Lisbon, Nice, Athens, Beirut, Karachi, Calcutta, Singapore, Saigon and Shanghai. There is paper money from each of those places, and a lock pick kit. Quite a fellow, wouldn’t you say?”

“He’ll not be going anywhere if I don’t get rid of these wet clothes and get him warm. Help me by bringing the fire up good and hot.”

My job became obvious. As Holmes added wood and poked the fire, I stripped away his clothing bit by bit. His jacket and trousers came out in bits and strips. As his arms came into view, I paused in shock. “Holmes. Come here. Quick.” Those were the only words I could manage.

“What is it?” Holmes said, putting the papers aside on the table. When I didn’t and couldn’t respond, he got up and stood by my side. “Are you ill?”

I shook my head. It cleared, and my thoughts coalesced enough for me to speak. “What do you make of his hands?”

Holmes shot me a quizzical look, then bent lower to examine our guest’s hands. The frown on my friend’s face dropped away as he gripped both massive hands in his own. Holmes traced his fingers along the faint scars on each of the man’s wrists. Holmes stood and led me to the other side of the room.

“His hands don’t match. Different fingernails. His right hand is at least a size larger than the left. I’d hazard a guess that one hand is that of a laborer, while the other is more suited to a banker, or an accountant. Most odd.” He moved back to the figure on the chair and looked over the legs. More scars were evident at one ankle and above the knee on the opposite leg. Holmes pulled the collar from the neck, and his eyebrows shot up.

“What is it, Holmes?” I asked as he returned to where I stood.

“A thought has entered my mind. It’s got me rattled, but the evidence reveals the truth of the matter.”

“What truth is that?” I muttered.

“All in good time, old fellow. I see our guest is stirring. Have your pistol ready. Don’t stand between him and the door.”

“The door?” I followed Holmes over to the man as he opened his eyes.

With a growl, the man sat up. He looked around, running a hand through the shock of long, black hair.

“Where am I?” he asked in a deep, sonorous voice.

“Safe,” said Holmes.

“That’s not an answer.” The man stared out the window, unblinking.

“The Winchester Lodge in Harwich. How are you feeling?”

“My injuries will heal soon enough. How did I get here?”

“We brought you here, Mr. Adams.”

Adams put his hand into his jacket. “My papers.”

“Here. Safe and dry. You’ve had quite a year of travel, Franklin Adams, is it?”

Adams nodded. “I, I’ve been in pursuit of a group of opium smugglers. They picked up their goods in Shanghai. I had caught up with them in Athens. They stowed a shipment of the stuff on the Carelton. I got hired at the last moment as part of the crew as it set off for London. At Calais, I left the ship and came here to wait for them.”

“Was that wise?” asked Holmes.

“My client, who will go unnamed, didn’t want the opium to arrive in Great Britain. He paid a handsome sum to have it destroyed.”

“Based on the events of the previous evening, we achieved the objective.” Holmes sat staring at the figure in the chair. He stuffed his pipe with slow, deliberate movements. When he struck a match, Adams flinched and looked away. Holmes nodded to himself.

“After my encounters with the opium dealers here, I took a boat across the bay to the ship after I left you,” said Adams. “I slipped aboard the Carelton and attempted to sink it.”

“Was that explosion your intended goal?” I asked.

Adams returned his gaze to the window. “No. It nonetheless completed my task.”

“Now we have the simple matter identifying of our guest, Watson,” said Holmes. He saw Adams stiffen in his chair as if to bolt for the door. “There’s no need for alarm, my good fellow. We have no interest in revealing your relationship with one Henry Frankenstein.”

Adams sat up; his eyes were wide. He attempted to rise to his feet, but his legs grew weak, and he collapsed into the chair. “It has been a long time since I have heard that name.”

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“So, you are the figure that Dr. Henry Frankenstein referred to as “Adam?”

Adams nodded. “What will you do with this information? It has been a hundred years since those awful events. I am a different person, a much different person.”

“Holmes, do you mean to sit there and tell me that this person is over one hundred years old?” I asked, doubt coloring my words. “It does your reputation no good to pull my leg like this.”

“On the contrary, my good fellow,” said Holmes. “Unless I am mistaken, may I introduce to you the Frankenstein Monster.”

I stepped away from Adam’s side as if touched by a hot poker. A significant swelling arose in my chest, one of fear and loathing. “Is this true?” I asked Adams.

Adams looked at me with eyes that I now saw had brief life in them. Dull gray, the gaze held me with no small intellect. “You have me at a great disadvantage, gentlemen. Before I admit to anything, may I inquire about your identities? You mentioned the name Holmes.”

Holmes looked at me and shook his head. “How foolish of me. Forgive me. I was caught up in the astounding revelation of your identity. Rudeness overtook me. This fine gentleman is Dr. John Watson. I am Sherlock Holmes.”

“Of Baker Street?” asked Adams.

“Yes,” said Holmes.

Adams sat up straighter in his chair. “My luck seems to hold on this business. Of all the people who could have found me in England, I am most fortunate that it is yourself that has discovered me. Anyone else would have killed me by now.”

“Nonsense,” said Holmes. “We Englishmen are a fair lot, but not high in intelligence. I believe you’d have stood a fair chance with a random person.”

Adams shrugged. “Still, it is most fortunate we have crossed paths.”

“Oh, how so?”

“Had the Carelton docked here, I would have had to run the criminals to ground. I spent my time here trying to catch up with and do away with the murderous gang at this end of the opium business.”

“Do away with?” I asked. “Did you mean to murder them?” I nearly jumped out of my skin as Adams turned to look at me.

“Nothing so obvious or primitive,” said Adams. “A police captain in Shanghai gave me your name. He said there is no one better at tracking down criminals in all of Europe. You would have been my first stop had I not been successful in finding the criminals involved.”

“That’s very flattering,” said Holmes.

“I mean to catch this gang running this particular shipment of opium. I’m sure if I survived the explosion, then others very well could have. Those living here I have tracked down.”

Holmes looked into my eyes and nodded. “You’re the Harwich Strangler.”

“What? Holmes, are you sure?” My blood ran cold.

“Quite sure. I had been certain that Craner was the killer. The idea vanished when he turned up dead. Strangled by a man with enormous hands. Hands like yours, Mr. Adams. Isn’t that, right?” He looked at Adams with the steely gaze of a man sighting a target through a rifle.

Adams gazed down at his hands. “These give me away every time. I assure you I acted in self-defense. When I came to bring them to the police, each of them panicked and attacked me.”

My heart leaped into my throat. “You were the figure in the fog last night?”

“Yes. I departed once I understood your lack of connection to Craner and the others.

“It’s a good fright you gave me,” I said. “What are you up to next?”

“I will need your help with the ringleaders in London.”

“Are you sure that you will be fit enough to catch anyone soon?” I asked. “Your injuries are severe enough to keep you in bed for a week.”

“I will be fit enough in 36 hours, perhaps less. See?” He held up his right hand to me. To my surprise, the gash on the back of the hand had healed. It was now little more than a bright red line.

“Astounding,” I said.

“I’ll ask you to keep that to yourself, Doctor,” said Adams. “I don’t need a team of surgeons probing and cutting into me to discover how I heal so fast. I don’t know, and it matters little to me. One day, perhaps, when Science has advanced enough to take advantage of my gift, I’ll share it. Until then, my work comes first.”

“And what work would that be?” asked Holmes.

Adams smiled, showing a set of large, perfect teeth. “Much like you, I seek to rid the world of evil. I have my methods. They can be brutal, but my clients often need something done as quick as possible. Very few people know my identity, and they pay very well for things to go away.”

“I see,” said Holmes. He sat for a few moments, his pipe churning smoke like a steam engine. With a glance at the papers in his hand, he nodded. “I’ll make a deal with you.”

“I’m listening,” said Adams.

“Give me the names of those here in England who are dealing in opium. I’ll make sure they’re punished to the full extent of the law.”

“And my part?”

“You finish healing here in Harwich. Then, I want you to leave Great Britain and never return for as long as I live.”

“That is a bit harsh.”

“Your activities and methods border on the criminal. That I have no trouble with. What I would regret is having to run you down in this country for practicing your profession. You can understand my dilemma.”

“Of course,” said Adams. “No exceptions?”

“I don’t foresee any circumstances where there could be,” said Holmes.

“I suppose a telegram would have to suffice if a situation were to reach here from the Continent.”

“Precisely,” uttered Holmes. “Are we agreed?”

The massive head of Adams nodded, reluctant. “I will abide by your terms.” He reached out his thick hand and held it out. Holmes shook it without hesitation.

That handshake came about four years ago. To my knowledge, Franklin Adams has kept his part of the bargain.Holmes has pointed out events in Europe and the Middle East that he claimed were the work of Adams. I have no evidence to prove him wrong. One encounter with the Frankenstein Monster is enough for one lifetime.

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He stood a head taller than she was. The top of her head came to his heart. He wore the traditional outfit of a Stone Elf priest even though he had not set foot in his place of worship for many seasons. The gray and brown material remained untattered on him. His cap covered his entire head save for the face.

She marveled at how much Lumarin looked like both her mother and her father, Lumarin’s brother. The gray-green eyes had the same piercing fierceness as her father’s. It was his mouth and the small nose that reminded her of her mother. The face comforted her, knowing both parents were still inside this one special person.

“Getting tired?” Lumarin spoke as he advanced on her.

“No. Come on and try that move again.” She studied his eyes, and as they moved off her, she stepped aside. Lumarin’s momentum carried him past her. She swept her staff, tapping him on the ribs.

He reached out to slow himself down. His feet went out from under him, dragging him down. She gripped his hand to steady him and fell on top of him. They landed in a heap, and it knocked their breath from them.

Surela tried to get to her feet and slipped onto her backside. Lumarin moved with great slowness, rising to his full height when his feet betrayed him and shot out from under him.

“We can stay here and wait for everything to melt.” Surela smiled.

Lumarin smiled at her remark and looked around. He rolled onto a thicker area of new snow. Here, he found it easy to stand. “When you’re on adverse ground, find a new place to find your footing.”

“It’s getting dark. And the roast will be done.”

“I am getting hungry. Perhaps when Nyall has risen, we can duel in the moonlight.”

“I’ll be in bed by then. You are welcome to practice by moonlight. Be careful, there are bandits about.”

“I will.”

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Earlier that day, the boar proved to be a challenge for them to catch. Surela and Lumarin came upon it while returning from the market. Near death, its foot broken and raw inside the trap it dragged behind it.

Lumarin circled it with caution as the pig snapped and snarled at him. “I’ll let you sneak up on it first.” Surela nodded.

She crept up close to draw its attention while her uncle jabbed at it with a stick. The creature’s strength ebbed away as the blood loss took its toll. As it bit into Lumarin’s pole, Surela stepped in and sliced its throat. It kicked at her and knocked her to the ground. When it turned to attack her, Lumarin leaped onto its back.

He held the struggling beast until its life ended. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I’m a little angry to get by surprised by its feet.”

He helped her to her feet. “Don’t waste anger on what you can’t avoid. Now you know to stay away from its hind legs.”

Dragging the boar back to the cabin exhausted them. They tossed the trap and infected leg into the trees behind the root cellar. The circling vultures squawked as the hide and entrails landed on the trap. Two black bears crossed the road and moved through the woods to feast.

Lumarin got his knives and butchered the pig near the rock outcropping. He handed Surela pieces of meat, and she went to place them in the root cellar. When she came out, three wolves stepped out of the trees near her uncle. She drew Blue Bone and chased them off. A red fox stood its ground, unafraid of her sword. It moved its head from the sword to the boar, licking its chops.

Lumarin removed the hindquarters and ribs as the bears emerged from the trees. He wrapped the pieces in burlap and stepped away from the carcass. Surela made sure he was in the root cellar before joining him.

“Very brave of you, and foolish.”

“I couldn’t let them hurt you.”

Lumarin smiled as he salted the meat and placed it in a wooden barrel. “I was in no danger. The bears knew I’d leave enough for them. And the fox is a coward.”

“How do you know this?”

“Many years hunting with the king. I observed the behavior of every animal, before and after they made a kill.”

“Did you kill anything?”

“Some. I allowed the king to enjoy his sport and later took part in the feast.” He took the meat to the cabin. A large pot of water soon held the meat and assorted vegetables. It simmered all day while Surela and her uncle trained. Soon, the aroma of fresh stew filled the cabin. Fresh herbs and some new Ice Over carrots joined the boiling boar.

As she trained, the hours dragged on. Surela grew hungry and restless. The scavengers had gone, taking with them every trace of the carcass. Something even ate the blood-soaked snow. Fresh snow covered the ground, adding to the road mud.

The combat practice cut short Surela’s questions about her past. It was rare for Lumarin to speak of his life or her parents. He rarely felt nostalgic, and he only opened up when the time was right. Combat training kept her too busy to ask questions. They fought for over two hours. Lumarin never gave an inch to his student.

“You’ve come a long way since we left the palace.” Lumarin swung the pot from the fire. His knife and long fork held and sliced off a chunk of meat. He dropped it on the plate Surela held. He speared two potatoes and then some vegetables. The long-slotted spoon dug up more bits of carrot and onion.

The plate sat in the center of the table. Lumarin and Surela bowed their heads as he thanked Essh for their feast. Surela lowered her head to respect her uncle, her eyes never leaving the steaming meat.

“Always be grateful for your food, Surela. You can never be sure when your next meal will be.”

“Or where it comes from.” She ate a chunk of the pig and savored it.

He smiled. “Correct. Finding the boar when it came out was very lucky. A minute either way and we’d have missed it.”

“The bears would have had a bigger meal.”

“Or the wolves. These carrots are sweet. Have we any more in the cellar?”

“Another dozen. And an entire basket of potatoes.”

“How many of the purple ones?”

“A handful. I put them aside for you.”

“Thank you.”

“I know they’re your favorite. The others are for me.”

“Thank you for your thoughtfulness. We can split the sweet potatoes.”

“Deal.”

Voices from outside made them pause their meal. The speakers were loud and rowdy. “Visitors.” Lumarin smiled. “Take my knife and separate the ribs into smaller pieces. Maybe they’re just hungry.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Now go. I’ll see what they want. They may have lost their way.

“Still, be careful.”

Surela lowered the cellar door and trod down the earthen steps. A lantern turned low gave her the light she needed. The ribs were in a box, shut tight to prevent mice from getting to them.

Above her, the outer door opened with a loud bang, slamming against the wall. Three sweet onions fell off the shelf at her feet. As Surela kneeled to pick them up, the strange voices grew loud.

“You don’t have no money, old man?”

“I live according to Essh’s teachings. I only have enough to feed and clothe me.”

Surela dimmed the lantern to a tiny speck. She moved up the stairs and pushed the door open a crack. She propped the door open with a small rock. Three men dressed in shabby, torn animal skins stood around her uncle. Each was twice his size. Lumarin stood with his back to the wall by the hearth.

“I see you can give us a good cut of meat.” He moved and spoke like their leader. The other two waited for him to talk before they reacted. The largest one was the leader.

“Where’d you buy this from?” asked the smallest. His slicked-back red hair glistened with animal grease.

“I found it on the road as I returned from the village. It was in a trap and near death. I put it out of its misery and took the hind quarters.”

“What about the rest? A boar has enough meat to feed six people.” The leader held Lumarin against the wall with a single, meaty hand. The middle finger was missing.

“It was all I could get before the wolves showed up. I was alone and couldn’t hold them off and cut away more meat.”

“Not smart, leavin’ good meat to wolves. They don’t deserve to eat as well as us.”

“If I stayed any longer, they would have eaten me and the boar.”

“Bah, you’re a coward.” The smallest trespasser reached into the pot and took out a chunk of meat. He bit into it, the juice running down his chin and down his throat.

“He’s a priest.” The leader scanned the room.

“Same thing. Take what’s worth taking and let’s go.”

The leader saw little worth stealing. A few books, an ornamental dagger, an ethalium goblet. Distracted, the leader moved his hand away from Lumarin’s chest.

Lumarin twisted the leader’s arm behind his back until the big man shouted in pain. With a swift movement, he ducked under the arm and kicked the leader’s leg behind his knee. The big man toppled over, smashing a chair to pieces.

Surela’s uncle vaulted over the leader and grabbed his staff. Lumarin tore the wooden pole from his grip. Lumarin turned and reached for the rod. The leader snarled as he jabbed Lumarin in the gut. The priest clutched his stomach and fell to the floor.

Surela’s eyes widened in shock. She placed her hands on the door and was about to shove it open. Her eyes met his as he winced in pain. He smiled and gave his head a quick shake as the men surrounded him.

Three long knives plunged into Lumarin’s body over and over. The leader kicked him in the temple. Surela heard the skull crack. The redhead poured the boiling pot on Lumarin. Potatoes and carrots bounced across the floor.

Surela’s eyes filled with tears as she slid down the stairs into the dark cellar. She fell back and lay on the floor, unable to move. As the tears fell, she gathered up a pair of boots and an old quilt and headed outside. The old outer door creaked as she pushed it, but it lost the sound in the wind.

Closing the door behind her, she was careful not to drop it, as she often did. The rocks behind the cabin provided enough shelter to keep her out of the storm’s winds. Here she huddled and collected her thoughts.

“I can kill one of them if I go in right now. But then the others would kill me.” Blue Bone gave her a single Time Lash a day. She would waste it unless she could kill all three of them at once.

The cabin door opened, and they spilled out. The leader gestured with his hands, and his companions walked around the cabin. When the redhead found the root cellar, he called for the others. The leader grabbed the door and tore it open. The door came free of its hinges, and they threw it to one side. It slid in the snow and came to rest at Surela’s feet.

The men moved down the stairs. She heard them sweep things off the shelves as the ceramic jars crashed to the floor. Minutes later, they emerged. One of them carried the boar ribs and the sack of new potatoes. The other person held the side of beef that Lumarin had been slicing for a week.

“No liquor. Nort even a small keg of ale.”

The leader nodded at their bounty. “We’ll eat it at the camp. C’mon.”

They stumbled down the hill with their prizes. When the potato sack split and half of them rolled down into the muddy road, Surela almost laughed. Amusement replaced her grief for a few moments as the two underlings chased the vegetables in every direction.

Then her tears began again. Rage swelled within her as they vanished down the road.

“They’ll all perish, even if it’s my last act.”

Surela replaced the root cellar door and secured it with a heavy rock. She entered the cabin and cleaned up around her uncle’s body. After straightening what she could, she gathered enough clothes to dress in layers. She stuffed her small pack with dried beef strips and a cotton bag filled with dried fruit. The fire was low, and she threw a thick log onto it to keep it going for a few more days.

Before she left, she threw a rug over Lumarin’s body and sprinkled pepper on the rug. For a few days, she hoped the spice would repel predators. With her thoughts on her task ahead, she secured the cabin. The heavy oak table rested on the root cellar door. She grabbed her training staff before leaving and walking down the hill.

Catching up with the miners was easy. They were in no hurry as she caught sight of the campfire. Their camp sat at the top of a small ridge cut from the hills. Lean-tos occupied the perimeter, enclosing an open space, with a fire and seating on three tree stumps. Their mining equipment lay under two old tarps off to one side.

The camp was distant from the road, ensuring Surela remained unseen with the smoky fire. She crept close enough to watch them without being seen. Within an hour of her arrival, they were all asleep. Surela crossed the road to reach the trail.

There was a sizable alcove on the side that she entered. Soon she settled into a restless sleep. Her nightmares replayed the death of her uncle until they shook her awake.

The sun broke through the clouds, and soon the skies were clear. Surela ate some beef and a handful of fruit. Her options occupied her thoughts. She could pack up and go to the cabin to continue her life. She’d bury Lumarin and find a new place to live. Surela pushed the thought away. To run away would insult her uncle’s memory.

A thought struck her. Lumarin was all the family she had. A year ago, they slipped from the royal castle in Rho’Jhidaar after the Royal Guard killed her parents in the aftermath of a coup. Their escape from the royal guards took them deep into southeastern Dh’yrevoshar. They transformed the abandoned cabin into a comfortable home.

Her path was clear. Lumarin’s death had to be avenged. She had no one else to trust. No one else to give her guidance. His advice would no longer comfort her. Revenge was not a wise choice. Whether right or wrong, she would proceed this way.

As she readied herself for the day, she heard one miner walking onto the road. She put her pack on the mat of leaves in the alcove and grabbed her staff. As she moved on the trail, she kept her training in mind. She soon reached the bushes near the road, where she crouched behind a bush out of sight.

The miner with red hair carried a wooden bucket. His sluggish movements betrayed the effects of the cheap ale they had drunk the night before. He tripped on the edge of the road and fell to his knees. The bucket skidded away, stopping at the bush where Surela sat.

She held her breath as the redhead walked over and picked the bucket up. ‘He does not know I’m here.’ The small man moved past her onto the trail. He set off for the river that flowed through the hills. She and Lumarin fished on the water often. With all the noise he made, Surela had little trouble walking behind him. She practiced her stealthy skills, moving within arm’s reach of him several times. Lumarin trained as a thief during his youth, and he passed those skills on to Surela. They were as natural to her as breathing now.

The miner reached the river, where a short pier jutted into the water. The water ran crisp and clear; people used it all along the river’s length. Surela waited until the miner dipped his bucket into the rushing water. When he bent low to pick up the bucket, Surela stepped up behind him.

The redhead heard her and laughed. “Can’t you wait for me to bring the water back before getting another bucket? He looked at her just before the staff hit his temple.

The man fell into the water, the bucket slipping into the water. It bobbed along as it rushed away downstream. The miner splashed onto his back, shaking his head. Surela smacked him on top of the head as he tried to stand. With a roar, he backed up, knocking her to the ground. Blood ran into his eyes from under his scalp.

“You’re a robber? I got no money. You’re gonna die for pickin’ on the wrong guy.”

He lunged for her, and she rolled away from him. As she got to her feet, he grabbed the end of her staff. Grinning, he pulled the staff toward him. “What’re you gonna do now, little miss thief?”

Surela would not show panic to this person. She tightened her grip on the staff and took a step back. The miner pulled her back with the pole. She knew he’d keep pulling on the pole. With a step, he shoved the pole into his gut.

“Oof.” He dropped to one knee, the breath knocked out of him. Surela whirled the staff from his grip and smacked him on the temple. He fell back into the water and didn’t move. His head sank below the water, and he lay with his heels clinging to the pier’s edge.

Surela left him bobbing in the water. She made her way back to the cabin after retrieving her pack. She noticed something securing the door upon entering. Surela ensured she disturbed nothing. Grief overwhelmed her, and she sat down next to Lumarin. She cried until no more tears came. Sleep came, and she lay down next to her uncle.

The next day, she buried Lumarin at the top of the hill, above the cabin. The spot she chose had a view of the river.

Her uncle loved to stand here and watch the birds swim on the surface and an occasional boat drift by on the current. The frozen ground yielded nothing but rocks.

After she dug down to her shins, she placed the body in the hole. She dressed her uncle in his finest robe and sandals. In his hands, she placed his prayer scroll. Soon, a pile of stones covered the entire body several layers deep. She rolled three small boulders on top of the grave to discourage predators.

Over a meal of dried meat and raw vegetables, she set out for the camp. She was certain the killers had found their friend. They would be unsure of what occurred and vigilant towards unfamiliar individuals.

“What should I do, uncle?” She placed a stalk of mountain bluebells on his grave. “I cannot let the other killers go without punishment.” As she stared at the blue and yellow flowers, a winter mantis moved its head. Its perfect camouflage made it impossible to see. The insect remained motionless. Surela smiled.

Her rage took shape in her mind. She set out on the road with her pack. A leather sack of coins went into her pocket. When she reached the miners’ camp, she found it deserted. Their fire still burned, and she knew they were still close.

On the road, she veered right, away from the cabin. They went this way. She would have seen them or their tracks in the mud if they had walked past her cabin. The only option was to head towards Ilghan, a larger village along the river. A new snowstorm dropped large flakes on every surface. It helped hide her movements.

Soon, Surela saw them. They dragged their dead companion on a bearskin tarpaulin. They made little progress on the muddy road. She had no trouble keeping them in her sight. At the town’s edge, the leader proceeded forward. He knocked on the door of a building adorned with animal skulls.

Holly wreath hung on the door, showing the gravedigger’s independence from deities. He would bury anyone, anywhere, for a fee. The leader talked with the gravedigger. A few moments later, a few coins changed hands. They dragged the dead body into the alley behind the building. The leader came out and joined his companion as they went into town.

Surela moved along the street, keeping her eyes on her prey. At an intersection, the leader spoke to his co-worker and moved down a side street. She followed the sidekick rather than the leader. His enormous frame stood out among the smaller villagers. Most moved aside, but a few lagged. The leader pushed them aside.

Surela saw he headed for an inn in the center of town. A lantern swung in the breeze. The man entered by ducking under the light. The chance of her getting past the entrance was minimal.

She palmed a dragloon and pulled her hood down over her head as she headed for the entrance.

“Where you headed?” The burly bouncer blocked the entrance. His scarred face showed no emotion.

Surela stepped up to him. “Thirsty.”

“You ain’t old enough.”

“Still thirsty.” She held up the coin. His eyes widened as a meaty paw extended toward her hand. She dropped the coin in, and the hand disappeared into his pocket.

“Don’t make trouble or you’ll regret it.”

“No worries.”

He stepped aside as Surela slipped inside. The stink of sweat and smoke turned her stomach. She jostled around several tables, allowing a few dirty hands to touch her. Her eyes never left the second killer of her uncle. Seeing him digging into a steak and tankard of ale infuriated her.

“Drink, honey?”

Surela turned to face a gruff, wrinkled woman with a thick neck. Half of her nose and one eye were missing.

“Yes. Ambermalt.”

“Hah. Look at this one with her fancy drink. The choice is between ale and rum.”

“I’ll take the ale.”

“Yes, you will.”

The ale was bitter and tasted rancid. She left it in front of her as she watched her prey. His boisterous behavior drove his tablemates to seek less obnoxious company. Surela saw an opportunity. A spot opened next to the miner. No one made any move to sit, despite the dozen people standing.

She switched her tankard with an empty one when the old man next to her turned to talk with someone opposite her. His smile at finding a full tankard made Surela happy. She moved without a care and slid into the space next to the miner.

He smelled of sheep dung and moldy oats. She slammed her tankard on the pitted table. This got his attention.

“A new morsel.” His breath made her stomach ache.

“Can I sit here?” Surela turned her voice up a notch.

“No. You look like you’re down to your last darmol.”

“Do I?”

“You don’t have a place to sleep tonight, except an alley. I’m right, yes?”

Surela forced herself to blush, thinking of an embarrassing moment when she was ten years old. “I don’t know what to do. I entered this place to get warm.”

“There’s a spot where you can stay cozy all night long.”

“Oh, that would be nice.”

“And I’ll give you some money in the morning just for sleeping.”

“I’ve never heard of anyone being so giving.”

“Oh, I give. I give it until it hurts. Are you tired?”

“A little.”

“We can go get warm right now. My room is upstairs.”

“Is there somewhere I can sleep?”

“Sure. What do you say?”

As Surela walked down the hall toward his room, her mind was racing. She required solitude to unsheathe her sword.

“Where can I wash up?”

“Down the end of the hall.” His hands touched her, and she held her breath. Revolted, she scooted out of his reach.

“I’ll be a few moments.”

“And I’ll be ready for you.” The look in his eyes gave her second thoughts, but she smiled and imagined what would happen soon.

In the cramped washroom, Surela shed her coat and leather top. She had a cotton shift tied with a ribbon at the wrists. The bottom edge came to her knees. “It’ll have to do.” The scabbard straps showed at her shoulders, but Blue Bone was out of sight on her back.

Taking a deep breath, Surela exited the room. She heard the killer humming as she stood before the door.

Standing in the lantern’s light, she opened the door. He lay on the bed. A heavy quilt covered his legs and hips.

“Well, come in. you look freezing standing out there.”

“It is cold.” She gave him her best innocent smile.

“Come here. I’ll warm you up.”

She walked forward and stood at the foot of the bed. He took a swig from the rum bottle and wiped his lips with his hand.

“Take off your top. You’ll be warmer faster under the quilt.”

“Would you unbutton it for me?” Her smile never wavered.

“With pleasure.”

He sat up and reached for her. Surela’s hands played with her braids. As his fingers touched her, her Time Lash kicked in. She took a step back, bringing her sword over her head. The blade cleaved the skull to his chin.

Blue Bone drank its fill of the blood while Surela washed her face, hands, and forearms. She used an old towel to soak up the blood on her shift. The sword absorbed most of the gore, and very little reached her clothes. She found some in her hair but smoothed it back with water.

Surela covered the body with the quilt. Putting her sword away, she heard heavy footsteps approaching. A big someone. Unseen, Surela left the room and entered the washroom. She watched the hall with the door open a crack.

“Utoar, I found more ore. We’ll eat well for a few days before going back to the mine.” The leader knocked and entered. Seconds later, he screamed in pain and rage. He smashed the furniture.

Surela looked down the hall. The stairs were at the other end. She’d never make it down. If he had followed her, there would have been many witnesses.

She looked at the window. It had a simple latch holding it closed. She stepped to the window and pulled on the latch. The rust had kept it shut. Her knife handle knocked it loose, taking too much time she didn’t have.

She shoved it open and listened. The moaning in the room continued. Surela slid out onto the narrow ledge and pushed the window shut.

She moved from the window and glanced down the hall. A sliver of light from the lantern told her that her prey was leaving. She ducked out of sight so he wouldn’t see her.

The icy ledge wouldn’t hold her for very long. She scanned the ground. A pile of leaves covered with snow offered her the best chance of getting to the ground without breaking anything.

No one had seen her yet. She stood near the rear of the building. The pile was far from the street. She took a deep breath and took a tentative step on the icy ledge. The old brick work gave her slim handholds. The ice gave under her feet and turned to powder. Two more steps and she was above the pile. She leaped.

To her disgusted surprise, the pile comprised fresh dung mixed with straw, leaves and vegetable peelings. “Ugh.” She spit out bits of something and rolled off the pile. It coated her coat and leggings with muck. As she got to her feet, she came up with two choices of direction. Step onto the street and depart from town. She shook her head.

“They’d know I was up to no good as soon as they smelled me,” she muttered to herself. Her second choice was to skirt behind the inn and stables and duck into the mill. Luckily, no one was working behind the stables. The mill churned as she reached it. She heard voices coming up the alley. One of them was the lead miner. He had friends with him.

“Whoever’s done it is back here. Search the stables. I want him, and he better be alive when you catch him. My hands need to get revenge for Chotal.”

Surela ducked under the mill wheel and climbed the inner wall up to the floor covered with bags of oats waiting to be ground. Looking down, she saw two men circling behind the mill. They stopped at the water’s edge, clubs resting on their shoulders. They moved back to the entrance and pushed past the mill’s owner.

In the loft’s dust, she had to cough. She covered her mouth with her sleeve and hacked as she searched the area for a place to hide. Her options were to flee or to hide. Running would have them on her in a minute. She squeezed between two rows of barrels and grabbed a pile of the coarse canvas bags. Settling against the wall, she made a pillow. She closed her eyes and relaxed.

Two sets of heavy boots climbed the wooden ladder into the loft. Surela pulled the hood over her eyes.

“There’s no one here, Moxir. Let’s go.”

“Someone was here. Look.”

“Footprints. He’s here then.”

Moxir and his companion moved to examine the piles of sacks filled with grain. Satisfied, they moved to the barrels and made their way toward her in the corner. They moved, shoving barrels aside and not caring if one tipped over.

“I see a boot.” The hired thug pushed the barrels aside. He looked down at Surela sleeping.

“It’s a kid.” The other one hit the first one’s shoulder. He kicked Surela’s boot to raise her. Surela played her part, groaning and pulling her hood further down. Undaunted, the man bent over and shoved her shoulder.

Surela, pretending to panic, sat up and slid back into the corner, seeking refuge behind a barrel. “No, I don’t want to go back.” Her eyes grew wide and her deep breaths made her dizzy.

“Ah, she’s a runaway. Let her be. We got better things to do.”

“Maybe she can be our bonus for finding who killed Chotal.”

“I don’t think Lonarr will see it like that. C’mon.”

They left her and descended the ladder. Surela waited a moment and sat up. She crawled to the edge of the loft and peered down. The noise hid her movements, and she watched the owner try to get the men to leave. The hired thugs stood at the doorway, talking with someone she couldn’t see. One of them pointed in her direction with his thumb. Surela slid away from the edge and moved to the mill stone. She climbed down, avoiding the wheel trying to push her back up.

Surela leaped the last few feet, landing in a rolling stand. She brushed off the dried dung and bits of vegetables from her clothes. They smelled no worse than anyone else in town. She smiled and walked down the alley into the street.

A few coins jingled in her pocket. She splurged on a hot skewer of meat. Her belly stopped its mumbling. An overflowing rain barrel quenched her thirst. With a full stomach, she gathered her thoughts. The target sought her, unaware of her identity. She considered this her best advantage. She stood in the shadows of the alley as Lonarr came into view.

He said a few words to his cohorts and sent them away. His eyes scanned the crowd, and he shook his head. Surela could have walked past him and not known her, but she didn’t risk it. Lonarr turned and walked back toward his camp.

This was her chance. She risked everything by killing someone in the village. Once they knew who killed the man at the inn, she’d never be able to set foot back here. They would realize she entered but never departed, and a murder had occurred.

Lonarr’s movements betrayed the alcohol he consumed while in the village. The situation would be perfect for Blue Bone to strike, but here heart sank as she remembered she had used her Time Lash for the day.

“It’s still an excellent sword.” Surela smiled in the knowledge of swordplay. Lumarin was an expert in combat, both armed and unarmed.

He spent the past year training Surela in every situation he could think of. Unfortunately, seeking revenge for a cold-blooded murder wasn’t among the skills she learned.

Her first impulse since her uncle’s murder was to kill those who committed the deed. Time and the inability to catch them alone gave her time to think. She had no future beyond her revenge. Time meant nothing. She had no where to go. Now she could plan what she wanted to do. Her prey wasn’t going anywhere fast, and she knew an opportunity would present itself to her.

When Lonarr reached the camp, he tore the lean-tos apart. He piled up any valuables his dead companions possessed. Lonarr tucked away the tools and clothing and utensils in his lean-to.

Surela stood on the road at the trail’s start. It lead to the camp, just out of sight. A plan formed in her mind. She turned and ran down the trail leading to the river. Looking around, she chose a tree as wide as she was. She removed Blue Bone and positioned it behind the tree, away from the trail. Content, she placed the scabbard by the sword and headed back to the road.

As she climbed the trail to the camp, she undid her coat and let it hang open. The cold bit into her, but the heat of her rage kept her warm. Lonarr stood with his back to her as she reached the camp. Lonarr burned unnecessary items and cleared the messy place. The fire burned high and hot, warming her even at twenty feet away.

“Excuse me? Can you help me?” Her treble voice hurt her throat, but it had the desired effect on the big miner.

His head lifted, and he paused his toss of a coat onto the fire. When he turned, his lust-filled eyes set upon her like a snake watching a mouse. “What?”

“My uncle. He’s hurt. The boat capsized, and he hit his head.”

“Where?”

“On the trail back toward the river.” She half-turned and pointed. “That way.”

He nodded his head and walked toward her.

She backed up. “Don’t you need some bandages or something? He’s hurt bad.”

“Not for what I’m going to do.” He advanced on her.

Surela backed away. “No, please. My uncle.”

“I’ll pick through his things after I’ve finished with you.”

Lonarr reached for Surela, and she turned and ran. He lumbered after her, shouting at her to stop. His drunken feet thumped on the ground, each step bringing him closer to falling down the hill. She outpaced him with ease, but her goal was to get him into position. They crossed the road and ran up the river trail.

Soon he was out of breath. His movements grew sluggish, but lust drove him on. She reached the tree where her sword stood. Pretending to be tired, she leaned against the tree and watched him approach. Her hand slipped around the pommel of her sword. The weapon’s warmth comforted her.

“Please don’t hurt me.”

He smiled. “Now you’ll come to me or I’ll hurt you.”

Surela shook her head. Loran moved to grab her. Surela’s eyes widened, and she ducked around the tree. She found herself at Lorann’s back. Blue Bone slashed through his coat and inner garment. A line of red appeared under his shoulder blades. Blood dripped from the edges of his heavy coat. He groaned in pain.

“You little slut. I’m going to break every bone in your body for that.” Pools of red formed where he stood. He took a slow step toward her. Surela gazed into his eyes.

“My uncle isn’t here. You killed him in a cabin close to here.”

His eyes bunched up between his eyes. “The priest?”

“Yes.”

“The cabin was empty.”

“I was in the root cellar. I watched you butcher him.”

Surela kept talking. It distracted Lorann as his life drained away. Talking kept him angry and too distracted to come after her.

“He wasn’t worth the trouble. There wasn’t enough money to buy a tankard of ale.” He took two more steps toward her. His back was to the river.

“Did that make him worth killing?”

“Yes.” He looked up at her, his eyes wide. “Wait. My two friends. You killed them?”

“I did.”

“With who else?”

“Just me.”

“Prove it.”

“The first one died right here, at the water’s edge. He had a water bucket. I cracked his skull with my staff. The second one died upstairs at an inn. The village is called Ilghan. This split his skull open.” She held up her sword.

“You’re a girl. Just a little girl. That sword should belong to someone like… me.” He snarled and lunged for her. She dove to one side as he grabbed air and fell. He lay still for two breaths.

Surela approached, careful not to get near his arms. He rose to his hands and knees. She drew back and chopped off his head.

A weary Surela crossed the road, holding the enormous head away from her. His greasy hair made holding it difficult. She entered the camp and found a thick pole they had not used. With much effort, she drove the stake into the ground in front of Lonarr’s lean-to. His head slid onto the end. She’d now return to the cabin and relax.

She heard voices coming up the trail. As she turned to look, the two hired thugs reached the camp. In shock, they stopped and gazed at the head.

“You killed Lonarr.”

Surela ran into the trees, ignoring the trail. Branches whipped at her face as she leaped over fallen logs and around thick bushes. The brutes pursued her. Upon reaching the road, she headed towards the village. Behind her, one of them fell over. The other paused long enough to help him. She put enough distance between her and them for them to lose sight of her.

The road, clogged with mud, made running difficult. Remembering her training, she kept to the grass along the road’s edge. This allowed her to increase her speed and put the men far behind her.

They hadn’t given up on finding her. Their shouts rang through the trees. Anger edged with disbelief kept her moving. They would recognize her no matter where she went. She sought to escape from their pursuit, resuming her anonymous existence.

Movement caught her eyes as she neared the village. A sailboat cruised down the river, followed by a busy fishing boat. They slipped by the trees without a care. She smiled as an idea came to her.

Surela moved along the main street, slipping around groups huddled around the vegetable and cooked meats vendors. Behind her, she could hear her pursuers getting closer to the village. They wouldn’t stop until they caught her. Of that she knew for sure.

A man carrying a tub of fresh fish made her smile. She moved where he came from and found herself at the docks. Men and women hustled and hauled their catches onto the shore. They ignored her as she strolled along. At the end of the docks were six small row boats. They seemed to be empty and unattended.

She walked in that direction. The workers were all soon behind her. She stepped into the boat unnoticed at the far end of the docks. Acting quick, she untied the boat and used an oar to shove herself from the pier. The current caught the boat as she lay down flat out of sight. She heard shouts about a boat floating away, but a peek showed no one paying attention.

Surela spotted the two men chasing her, scanning the docks before returning to the village. The water rocked the boat and relaxed her. Her mind drifted off, and she slipped into sleep.

The boat drifted past several villages, hugging to the swift current out of reach. Had she been awake, she would have seen the Wall of Altez looming in the distance. Within an hour, the Wall was on top of her as the rapids pulled the boat toward it.

A few people paused, observing the boat disappear into the water vortex flowing towards the Wall’s base. None of them saw the figure of the young girl as the boat dropped from sight.

A short time later, a weary Surela opened her eyes. An enormous shadow passed over her as she sat up. She cast her eyes for the first time at the Great Ohrme, its top lost in the clouds high above.

At first, she thought it was a mountain,. As it came into focus, she saw it was a gleaming triangular tower composed of the same material as the Wall of Altez. Clouds obscured its top. So immense was this structure that it split the Kylin River into two powerful rivers.

Her boat drifted to the left channel, taking her into the Eastern Kingdoms two days later.

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“Still a man of few words,” said The Bride as she gazed upon the man of her nightmares. Why she stayed with him still mystified her. For a century, she did everything in her power to get rid of him. A dozen times she set him on fire. Twice he woke up at the base of a cliff hundreds of feet high. She even shoved him from a low-flying biplane in 1909 while over the Black Forest.

The big lug possessed an immune system far beyond her abilities to destroy it. Bullet wounds healed into pimple-sized scars. Sword cuts repaired themselves until a thin line remained where once his guts had protruded.

No, she no longer cared to destroy him. In fact, she had grown rather fond of the Monster. In the winter of 1910, in a dismal, odorous theater in Berlin, they sat together to watch Frankenstein, a film made by the Edison Company.

At first, the distortion of the life of the person sitting next to her appalled her. Near the end, she heard a sound from him he had never made in their 123 years together.

He laughed.

Not a deep belly laugh. Just a chuckle, but it made her feel so good inside. The film ended, and for the first time, she let him take her hand in one of his enormous paws. He turned to look at her, uttering a single word.

“Good.”

She smiled. Never before had he experienced such happiness as when he saw her perfect teeth in the dark. With a grunt, they settled in to view the rest of the program. It had been a glorious night.

They walked down the street, arm in arm. Their presence no longer caused people to run in fear, as long as they moved about at night and kept to the shadows. Daytime travel was still too risky. Another century would pass before she was sure they wouldn’t be hunted down and subjected to another attempt to annihilate them.

After waking in the ruins of Castle Frankenstein in 1797, the reborn Bride created a new life for herself. Her travels took her across Europe, bouncing from one troubled area to another.

The impact of the explosion ignited her brain into functioning as it did before her new birth. Her former life as a midwife enabled her to make herself useful in various arenas of war. Austerlitz in 1803. Rugen In 1807. Moscow in 1812. Macedonia in 1821. Madrid in 1847. Sevastopol in 1855. Macedonia in 1897. Sarajevo in 1914. London 1939.

Her presence was welcome, despite her grievous personal wounds and scars. No one questioned her uncanny strength, or her immunity from the most heinous diseases triggered in the aftermath of war. While thousands around her died of dysentery and typhoid, the Bride never so much as broke out in a sweat.

The Bride seemed to be drawn to these areas where battle and carnage broke out. Whether it was because of some preternatural ability to be in places where she could do the most good or serendipity, she didn’t know. All she knew was that wherever a clash of arms occurred somewhere in Europe, she would be there to ease the suffering.

With no formal training early on, generals and doctors alike turned her away. She helped along the edges of the horrors. Years later, those she had helped rose in rank and influence. They remembered her talents and willingness to help in the direst of situations. Things became easier from that point.

The monster was always present wherever she went. He remained off stage for weeks or even months while she visited herself in carnage. But she always knew he was out there, watching and waiting. Once, in 1940, he didn’t make his presence known until the London Blitz was near its end. She thought he had died in the bombings. Their on-again, off-again relationship was four years from being permanent. Not until Dante disappeared did she allow herself to stay with the monster longer than a few days.

She never knew Dante’s true origin. He claimed to be an earlier creation of Victor Frankenstein, on a smaller scale. Dante stood scant inches less than two feet tall. Quick and athletic, he evaded the Bride’s attempts to kill him with everything from a knife to a shotgun.

Her research into Frankenstein’s past pointed to a colleague’s work with homunculi five years before the two doctors met. She grew tired of the deep pit of Frankenstein’s work period Dante was a homunculus, and this allowed her to move on and not dwell on who or what he was.

Dante disappeared after one of the last raids by Nazi bombers over London in 1941. As the plane engines rumbled overhead, Dante tormented her with tales of the monsters rampaging across France on their way to visit the Bride once more. By 1939, the Bride no longer believed the monster to be the rampaging killing machine Dante claimed him to be. The monster had a kind heart and a trusting soul. He did what Dante told him to do. Without Dante, the monster would never swat at a fly. This the Bride knew deep inside her.

The monster never hurt her or anyone else while in her presence after Dante disappeared. Not even Dante’s unceasing pestering could change the monster from his lumbering, clumsy goofball self. When Dante disappeared on April 9th, 1941, the monster became a docile, harmless giant. That was the day her feeling shifted from tolerance for him to inevitable acceptance.

The chimes of Big Ben made her smile. A movement off to one side caught her eye. A small boat on the Thames triggered a memory that made her feel cold. In Venice, almost a hundred years ago, the Bride believed the mobs had finally found a way to keep The Monster from coming back to her. At midnight, he left their domicile for a routine foraging excursion into downtown Venice. The city, rich in restaurants, provided a wonderful variety of foods and drink for the pair and their assistants.

Yes, in every city and burg they traveled to, there were always those street leeches who did not look upon the pair with fear or disgust. Instead, these people sympathized with the couple, as if they knew of the beggars and street people that the Bride and her mate were constructed of. The Bride always showed her gratitude for these people while she moved across Europe on her own.

These filthy paupers could aid the two mysterious people in various ways once they proved their loyalty. They provided additional eyes, hands, and security. Foraging for food became a team event, with The Monster protecting the refuse raiders. All had gone well until the night Giovanni crawled into the lair of the Bride and her mate.

“My queen,” muttered Giovanni. Blood poured from several unseen wounds.

“What happened?” she hissed. As she approached him, the odors of stale cheese and rotted onions made her nose wrinkle. She brushed all of that aside as she kneeled by his side.

“No need to worry,” he began. “I gave them the slip to come here and tell you.”

“Tell me what?” She picked him up as if he were a pillow and brought the broken man to one of their makeshift beds.

“They, they got him. We returned to the restaurant that makes the gnocchi the Master loves.”

“The fool. He knows not to go back to a place he’s visited for at least two months.”

“He knew he was there a few weeks ago. But he smelled them as we passed, and he is hard to dissuade once he sets his mind to do something.”

“No need to remind me,” she said, shaking her head. The great mass of uncombed hair didn’t move. The white streak above her right eye swayed for an instant. “What happened?”

“Instead of keeping watch, he emptied the can onto the ground. Got down on hands and knees. He ate more than he put in his sack.”

The Bride exhaled with a hiss. “The big, stupid fool.”

“Then a dog wandered by and spotted him. It howled long and loud. He panicked and chased the dog. Two men came by with lanterns. They ran off and soon a mob chased us. We ran for a block or more before a stone hit me. I fell and crawled into an alley. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Giovanni.” She stood, torn between leaving the Monster where he was and rescuing him. Ten years before that moment, she’d have left Venice without him. Now, things had changed. “Where is he?”

“At the bottom of the canal. Wrapped in chains.”

A small smile crossed her lips. “That’s a new one. Where?” Giovanni moved to sit up. The Bride pushed him back. “Stay here and rest. Just the location. I’ll find him.”

Giovanni gave her specific directions and passed out. The Bride gathered a few dry clothes, a heavy tool belt, and a pair of wire clippers and placed them in a sack. She checked all the exits, making sure no one was near before she set out. Her journey took her along the back alleys. The two bridges she crossed were empty. Soon, she stood at the edge of the canal and stared down at the choppy water.

“Fool,” she hissed as she shed her outer garments. The faded scars stood out in the moonlight as she stashed the clothes in the open doorway with her sack. The tool belt in place, she grabbed the wire clippers and slid into the cold water.

The Bride sank to the bottom. She could hold her breath for an hour if need be. As her feet settled on the canal floor, she scanned the murky water for any sign of her mate. A movement caught her eye. He sat against the far wall. She moved forward and found him sitting mute, as if waiting for a trolley car. In his hands, he held a tangle of the locks and chains holding him underwater. The Bride strode over to him. He looked up at her, his face pleading to her in silence.

The wire cutters sliced through the lock. The chains fell away, and the Monster stood. The Bride turned and made her way back to the other side. A stone staircase nearby enabled them to leave the water. Soon the couple stood dripping on the ancient stone walkway.

“Fool,” she said to him. “Let’s get out of here before we’re both sitting on the bottom of the canal.”

The Bride shook her head, a smile crossing her face. The incident took place a few years after the Great War. Italy’s post-war troubles helped keep them safe, as people had their own problems surviving. She took the Monster out of Venice a week later, when the mobs began a house to house search for them. They had not been back since. How many times had she moved since the night in 1797 when she awoke in the rubble? She had lost count, and it was pointless to ask Him.

She gazed out of the apartment window. Big Ben stood just blocks away, its presence making her smile each day. In 1837, London was a lethal place, filthy and uncivilized. An unwelcome place for such beings as herself and, weeks later, the Monster. Law, such as it was, lay in the hands of a primitive police force and courts run by the powerful who had no sympathy for the poor and destitute.

Even for The Bride, the streets of London in 1837 were too much for them. After two years of hiding like rats in a sewer, she dragged the Monster out of town into a small vessel headed for the coast of Spain. In the Pyrenees, they lived well enough on local produce and goats provided by a family cast off by the local farmers.

In London in 2020, the Bride and her Mate experienced the best two years of their existence. The masks everyone wore helped make her mate less obvious, even in the daytime. Their scars, now only faint lines, no longer attracted attention. Now, being odd and different was everywhere they looked.

“We’re all Monsters now,” she muttered.

“What?” asked the Monster.

“It’s nothing. Hurry and finish packing. Colin and Dwight will be here soon.”

“Unnnh,” he moaned. In a hundred years, she had not broken him of that awful utterance. As far as she knew, he used it for as long as he lived, such as it was.

Colin O’Toole knew who they were the second they stepped off the ferryboat from Calais. His heart pounded in his chest as he watched them make their way to Regent’s Park. They sat down under a shady tree tucked off the main path. Without hesitation, he approached the couple and handed them a sheaf of papers, identifying him as a descendant of Victor Frankenstein.

The Bride saved Colin’s life moments later, as the Monster comprehended who the young man was. She held her mate’s hand as she read the papers in the folder. Her intellect, honed by two centuries of reading and recalling an entire library’s worth of books, allowed her to realize that her life and his had just changed forever.

Victor Frankenstein and his wife Elizabeth renounced his two godless creations until the day he died. Victor knew the Bride and the Monster survived the explosion. The explosion destroyed Castle Frankenstein. In private, Victor and Elizabeth established a network of like-minded scientists who would study and eventually protect the Bride and her Mate, if they could ever be found.

For two centuries and more, the Frankenstein Group searched every major city. By 1807, the group knew both creations still lived. Their whereabouts remained unknown to the group until 2018, when Colette Dubois of the Frankenstein Group gave the couple shelter on the outskirts of Paris. Despite their effort to remain covered and anonymous, Colette knew it was the Monster and his Bride.

Colin, Treasurer of the Frankenstein Group, received word of the couple and their purchase of ferry tickets to London. After 24 years, Colin’s personal efforts to find a more suitable home for them were about to bear fruit.

The Frankenstein Group, through a third party, purchased the old Dundee Estate, twelve miles southeast of Inverness in Scotland. The property needed a lot of work, and street minions from across Europe arrived to help. Many owed their lives to help they received from either the Bride or the Monster. Colin and his partners screened all of them, and soon several dozen people of all ages returned the manor house to its former glory. Gardens, goats, horses, and fields of cotton soon produced sufficient products to feed and clothe the Bride and the Monster when, and if, they took up residence.

Twenty-two acres of forest and field ensured privacy for the couple. The Manor comprised 42 rooms, plenty big enough for the couple and several dozen servants. Dundee Castle, now in ruins, provided a place for them to roam should they ever get nostalgic for the place of their birth.

The Bride could not believe their good fortune at first. Colin stayed with them for five days, relating the history of Victor and Elizabeth Frankenstein and the Frankenstein Group. The Monster would not drop his guard, even with the Bride holding his hand. She realized they were now well off, and if Colin were telling them the truth, they now had a home.

Within a week, she had convinced the Monster to look at the photos of Dundee Manor and its grounds. He liked what he saw. He got it into his head that Colin was a friend. They all celebrated with brandy and cigars in Colin’s hotel room as they plotted their journey to Scotland. Soon, the Monster’s companions hammered all the details into his skull, and he understood enough to trust Colin and the Bride to get him safely to the estate.

“I ready,” he said with a rough smile on his face. He stood by the bags sitting by the front door, dressed in a suit still too small for him.

“Good boy,” she said with a snicker and a bit of his that made him groan. “Listen up. We’re going to walk three blocks to the underground. We will get on the north bound train. Stay next to me no matter what happens.”

“Yes, stay with you.”

“Good. You’re not to make any unnecessary noises or movements. No one will look at you twice, especially today.”

“Unnnh?”

“It’s October 31^st. Do you know what that means?”

“Yes, I know,” he droned. “Halloween.”

“Yes, especially here in London. Remember. Do not react to any of the people dressed like you. They are not mocking you. It’s all in fun. You get it?”

He smiled, and it looked like his face would crack from the effort. “All in fun.”

“Good.” A series of knocks made him jump. She listened as the pattern repeated itself. Only Colin had the pattern. The Monster stepped to the door. Th Bride took his arm, her touch gentle.

“Ah, ah, ah. Stop.” The Bride stepped up to the door and peered out the security peephole. She smiled as she saw the wiry frame of Colin O’Toole standing in the hall, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Are you guys ready?” he said as he stepped into the apartment. The Monster still eyed him with little trust, but he settled down when the Bride embraced him at the shoulders.

“More than ready,” she said. “And tired. So tired of running.”

“It’ll be over soon,” Colin said as he picked up the two small bags. He waited until the Monster picked up the two trunks before he left the room. Both men left the room, and the Bride took one last look at the apartment. Plaster and some large paintings covered the holes from the Monster’s infrequent rage outbreaks. A few cracks ran from behind the landscapes, but they matched the age cracks already in the walls.

The Bride smiled and closed the door. She strolled down the hall without hurry. The elevator doors slid open, and they all entered. A new life awaited them. One of peace and quiet, where they could walk outside in the open air without being disturbed or shot at.

“Your inheritance from Victor Frankenstein will keep you two comfortable forever,” Colin said as the doors closed.

“Forever here we come,” the Bride said as the elevator dropped toward the street.

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Image by annvsh08 from Pixabay, garten-gg from Pixabay, SimonN90 from Pixabay

Dogs are fiercely loyal to their families and their homes. Cats are at best indifferent towards you, even if they appreciate having a roof over their heads. There’s an old saying. Dogs have owners. Cats have servants.

Dogs always greet you with great joy when you enter a room, even if you’ve only been gone for five seconds. Cats are unconcerned at best. You could train them to be lap cats, but I suspect this is mostly because you’re so warm.

People can train dogs to listen to simple commands. Sit. Stay. Get busy. One can train cats to follow a laser pointer, or on occasion teach them to fetch little balls.

Dogs are passionate protectors of their house and their family, even attacking intruders. Cats will catch an occasional mouse if you’re lucky. Most cats do not know what to do with prey. They’ll play with it until they kill it and then ignore it or carry it around.

Dogs crave companionship, social interaction, and the occasional belly rub. Cats are independent to the point of indifference. While dogs appreciate a good bath, cats clean themselves.

Dogs are higher maintenance, requiring daily walks and bathroom breaks. Cats are almost as low-maintenance as a houseplant. As long as they have a litter box, you might as well not be there.

Dogs are like having another sibling in the house. They love to be part of your life, sometimes whether or not you want them to be. Cats are like having a roommate. They sleep all day and only come around when you shake their treat jar to feed them.

Cats can bring out eccentricities in people that don’t show up in dog owners. When I say the words “Crazy Cat Lady” everyone can picture one. Every neighborhood has one. Are there “Crazy Dog People?” No, there aren’t as far as I’ve been able to tell. Maybe because they are so low-maintenance that it’s easy to accumulate them by the dozen.

A personal story. We got Jaick from my daughter’s 4th birthday. She named the dog with a different spelling because he was very special to her. Jake soon became the center of our lives, providing us with much joy and happiness and exercise. He was very intelligent and knew exactly what we meant by various commands.

Jaick didn’t live to see his 8th birthday. The day he died, you could have washed our car with our tears. We’ve never gotten over it. And will never get another dog, because it’s impossible to replace Jaick.

From the time we picked up Jaick at the breeder until today, we’ve had a dozen cats. While they’ve all been special, none of them could hold a candle to what Jaick did for us. They don’t create the same soul-clenching grip on us the way this lovable Golden Retriever did to us. His memories still bring a tear to my eyes, even now as I type.

So, in short, I’ll always prefer a dog over a cat. Dogs have a way of getting into your soul and putting a permanent stamp there. I’ve not meant to offend cat lovers in any way. I love Thor, Loki, and Gypsy in their own way. They just aren’t dogs.

It would be custom-fit to her needs, much like the outfit she now wore. She had plenty of gold in her sack now, much to her growing regret about its source. Greed had decided it for her. She came to Bakir’s Helm, seeking the gold from the village’s central well.

Legends spoke of a fortune found in a well in Bakir’s Helm, an ancient town located across the Sea of Ages. The gold was obtainable, but only by those willing to pay its actual price.

That was what the legends said. The price seemed simple when Surela had first inquired about the treasure. The fortune hunter had to leave town with the gold.

“Not so simple,” she said to herself as she watched the sun turn blood-red on the horizon.

She turned and looked into a dirty piece of mirror still attached to the wall. Wiping it with her hand, she caught her reflection. Her black hair shone in the candlelight, giving her green eyes a glow they had in certain light. Her dark hair hung past her shapely, muscular shoulders. The ethalium mesh armor clung to her sumptuous form, highlighting a small but perfect bosom.

Men considered her beautiful, and she used this to full advantage a few times in her brief life. Her long, dark hair and soft eyes turned many heads in her direction. A life on the run and in frequent battles toned her body to top condition.

Someday she would settle down. She would gain what she needed from this world. She turned away and returned to her current problem.

Bakir’s Helm lay on the border between the Sea of Ages and the Red Lands. The Red Lands is a vast area inhabited solely by the Hraks. Their ruthlessness knows no bounds as they roam, displaying unmatched power and a skill that has become infamous.

It is rare to see them, and encounters with them never end well. Hraks never left the Red Lands, according to the stories.

The oldest story she knew proclaimed that they needed to stay in the Red Lands for their vitality. It is the very essence of their strength. To leave the Red Lands, Hraks would die right away.

The Locks lie between the Red Lands and the Sea of Ages. Impassable mountains span the border, connecting two lands and two seas. Ages ago, there was a single opening in the Locks. In this space sits Bakir’s Helm. Built by a race with no identity, no clan claimed ownership.

No kingdom put it on its map. It had been in ruins for generations by the time Surela strode its cobbled streets. The inhabitants had long gone. They left the town empty except for the old buildings. The icy wind ruffled the hair peeking out from under her headgear.

Bakir’s Helm is visible 40 leagues away in the Sea of Ages, a land of scrub desert and small pockets of thick, tough trees.

These trees provided little shelter from the merciless sun. Surela stayed away from these small oases. She headed for a town known as The Edge, found midway on her journey across the desert.

Her trek across the desert passed without peril. She got warnings about Bakir’s Helm from several people. She had told no one about her destination. It seemed as if it was a standard warning to all visitors. Surela heard the dead walked into the town, waiting to feed on the living. Her companion, Lim, did not like hearing about that. A good tap on his box took care of his protests.

She slipped out of The Edge at the peak of darkness. No one saw her leave. Her horse, Khelt, knew her ways and met her at the edge of town. Khelt made no noise as she approached. Surela praised Zett, the merchant who had sold Khelt to her so long ago.

The price took a substantial chunk out of her available funds, but she had reassurances that Khelt was one of a kind. His words had been distinct until now, and she still remembered them.

“Now you remember, Surela my lovely, that Khelt is not any horse.”

“Oh? What more can it be? I see only a beautiful black horse.”

“Ah, you see, yet you do not comprehend what you see. Khelt is a Snow Mare from Inderma. They are far more intelligent than most animals you’ve ever encountered. He’s even smarter than many people you’ve met. Why, he even knows now that you are his owner now. He will be yours as long as you live.”

“And then?”

“Then it will not matter.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Why, he will return here. His mother lives with my brother Jekk. We own several like Khelt. He will be your guardian, watchdog, and mute negotiator.”

“You must be jesting, Zett. How can such an animal be? I know it looks like he is intelligent, but it’s some kind of trick.”

“Hah! Wait until Khelt hears that. Understand this, youngster. You cannot hide your feelings from him. You are impossible to sneak up on. Nor can anyone get you to buy bad goods as long as he is in your presence.”

“Entalics,” she said with a small smile. Certain animals had Entalic ability, but they were rare. Certain dragons, Inderman oxen, and Spiral Island hounds were the best known. Not quite psychic. They knew what a person intended.

“Yes. But don’t let that spread. Many kingdoms won’t let them into their lands.”

“I have heard of Telepathic beasts yet never thought I would ever encounter one. Where is he?”

“He is coming now. You have passed his test.”

“Test? Must I pass his judgment to own him? I’d sooner have a mule.”

“Not after you have seen Khelt. His judgment is for your benefit and yours alone. He’ll refuse to travel with anyone with any evil intent. He sensed your good nature as we spoke. I must get back to my store. Treat Khelt well, Surela. You’ll never find a better travel companion.”

Zett’s words proved correct, for Khelt was all that the claims promised… and more. They avoided many situations that would have meant altercations with various unfavorable individuals.

They were companions for over three years. Surela would not have any other. Khelt did not even mind Lim. Lim said he was too small to attract Khelt’s attention.

The desert was icy cold as they made their way toward Bakir’s Helm. Cruel gusts of wind whipped through Surela’s covering. Sand made its way into her hair and eyes. Her teeth ground on the tough granules as they pressed on. By morning, they saw the entrance to Bakir’s Helm.

Image by DavidPogue from Pixabay

The gates of the town lay wide open as she rode through them. Nothing moved, save for some debris in the street.

Surela entered without hesitation. She gazed at the huge rusted iron and dark wood gates. The dirt and sand at their bases suggested their presence for centuries. Their size prevented the wind from moving them.

Tall, wide stone buildings made up most of Bakir’s Helm’s architecture.

Despite the wind’s relentless blasting, they remained unmarked by age or wear. This bitter wind came from the mountains, bringing with it the tang of ice. The freezing temperatures made the walls and streets icy, intensifying the town’s gloomy atmosphere.

As the buildings went past her, Surela recalled the only information that she had about the Hraks. “Beware the Eyes of Fire.”

They were the only words Zett had for her when he learned of her plans. Zett lives in Oellmon on the coast of the Sea of Storms in Eastern Brenwal. Keeping her plans hidden, the merchants still gazed at her with concern, as if they knew her plans.

Fatigued, she drew up to the first inn she came to. A sign hung, showing a crescent moon balancing a tankard of ale on the lower cusp. Someone long ago carved the inscription “Claret Moon” at the base of the sign. A chain secured the door. Surela could still try to find food or drink elsewhere, but she was too tired to try.

A tap on the box at the back of her saddle showed their arrival to Lim. She pushed against the doors and found them unyielding.

She backed up into the street to hit them with her shoulder. A glance at Khelt told her better.

The horse sensed her need and waited for her to ask for help by looking at her. He shook his head back and forth and trotted up to the heavy wooden obstacle.

With unmatched grace, he turned and kicked the doors open. The great hooves smashed open the door, leaving it intact on its hinges. The sliding bolt had snapped and allowed them to enter.

Surela took a small sack of grain and her provisions rucksack from her saddlebag, then entered the building. Khelt followed.

The interior was a mixture of decadent motifs. There were depictions of the vilest rites and practices. It resembled a temple, not an inn.

The bar counter, stretching across two walls, holds the remnants of a massive mirror. Blood stained the floor where she stood. A dozen tables lay scattered around the room with a handful of chairs accompanying them.

A skeleton, moldy with age, sat in a chair next to the doorway. She dropped her pack into the skeleton’s lap and moved to the center of the room with some bread and cheese.

A gilded chandelier hung askew at the bar’s far end. On a table she sliced open the grain and left it for Khelt. A pump behind the remains of the bar provided them with clean mountain water to drink. The water, crisp and cold, was delicious, and Surela took a moment to savor its much-needed taste.

Surela smiled at her reflection, and she went over to retrieve her pack. Lim pulled the straps inside. She took it over to the bar and opened it.

Her meal would have to wait while she looked at the crude map given to her by Zett, who claimed to have been to Bakir’s Helm as a young man. He never got the treasure out, but claimed the crude chart pinpointed the location.

According to the old man, the treasure was in an old well at the center of town that had long ago gone dry.

Descend a short distance and discover a small ledge. Simple. There the chest sat, ready for the taking. Escape with the chest?

“Never,” said the old man. The Hraks consistently returned the treasure to the well, and nobody ever saw the hunter again. She lit a thick, red candle.

“So, when are you going after the treasure? Soon I hope,” came the small, annoying voice at the bar next to her. Turning, she locked eyes with the tiny green and gray creature nestled in an empty glass on the bar.

It picked its feet with an old toothpick it had found in the glass.

“Lim, I don’t need any of your snide remarks right now.”

“I know. Right now, you could use an army.” The glass tipped over, spilling Lim over the edge. Clouds of dust rose from the darkness.

“Serves you right.”

The tiny reptilian figure climbed back up onto the bar. Strings of cobwebs circled his ears and drooped into his face. Coughing, he sat on the bar, cleaning himself. He frowned at Surela’s laughing.

“If I had wings, I’d show you who was funny,” Lim quipped, shaking off the last bit of dusty cobweb. He coughed again.

“If you had wings, you would have been like others of your kind. I saved your little green skin from the hungry ice dragon. If you had wings, the dragon would have eaten you along with the rest of them.”

“I must admit, you’re correct. I apologize. Can we go out and get rich now?”

“That’s all you ever think about. Gold, gold, gold. What good would it do you? You couldn’t spend it.”

“True, but I can keep it and roll around in it. I could be the guardian of your money while you were out finding more.”

“Hah. Rats can’t spend gold either.”

This caused a droop in the small wing-stubs on Lim’s back. He dropped his head to his chest and sniffed. Surela smiled at him.

“All right, you can be the guardian of my gold. Happy now?”

Lim perked up. “You know it.”

“Good. Let’s try finding the well. We’ll take Khelt with us.

“Where is it supposed to be?”

“It’s at the center of Bakir’s Helm. Some sort of crossroads.”

Lim looked around. “I don’t like it here.”

“You could have stayed home with G’wid.”

“That little tadpole?”

“That tadpole is a Swamp Dragon, and he’ll soon be as big as a palace. It’d be wise to befriend him.”

“Never. I’d sooner eat him.”

“I wouldn’t say that too loud in front of G’wid. He understands what you say.”

“Ooooh. Yeah. I forgot about that.” He smiled up at her as she checked her armor and sword. With a quick clench of his fists and his eyes closed tight, he blinked himself over to the seat of Surela’s saddle.

There he waited with patience while she wrapped her meal up and put it in her pack. She then folded the map and walked over to Khelt.

“You’ll get squashed up there one of these days if you don’t stop blinking at the top of my saddle.” Surela’s tone was one of casual admonishment.

She put a foot in one stirrup and bounced on one foot several times as Lim scampered out of her way. He slipped into the small leather box on the saddle just in time to avoid being sat on. In Lim’s box were two small pillows and a blanket, allowing him to travel in luxury.

Surela led the black horse outside before they set off at a trot toward the center of town. The empty streets made the place seem more oppressive to her.

She passed through no major intersections, only small, dark alleyways. High Sun had risen and would remain above for an hour. Her ride took her through a junction, but it contained no well.

She paused, glancing down the streets on either side. Nothing moved save for some straw blowing in small circles. As she turned to continue, she caught some movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning back to look, she saw nothing. Her hand reached behind her and knocked on the leather container behind her. A small cry issued from inside.

“What now? I was sleeping.” Lim squinted up at the high sun.

“Hiding is more like it. I want you to sit on my shoulder and keep an eye open.”

“Did you see something? Hraks!” He ducked back into his little home. Surela reached in with two fingers and let him climb onto her hand. She raised him to her eyes.

“I won’t let them get you. I’m sure it was some leaves or a roof shingle that came loose.”

“Oh, well, if that’s all.” Lim blinked onto her lap.

She picked him up and placed him on her right shoulder. Here, he grasped the small leather thongs woven into her hair for such occasions.

They rode in silence for another half hour. The street curved a bit and brought them almost in a semicircle around to the Claret Moon. Surela could see the inn from where she sat. A downward glance confirmed Lim was aware of it as well.

“Hunh. Look at that. We could have walked here in ten minutes.”

“It could be this way on purpose. Look.” She pointed down the street. Lim turned to look. He stood up and danced. Three blocks away, the well sat at an intersection.

“We’re rich! Rich, rich, rich! That’s what I am. Ho-ho, what a day.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be here at all.”

“Who me? Nah. I recommended this place to you. Remember?”

Surela shook her head in submission. There was no use in arguing with him. They rode on toward the well.

It seemed to grow out of the road itself. Oxcarts could not pass through here.

The structure comprised white granite, which was uncommon for these parts. An iron trellis provided a cover, with ample openings in it for people to collect water. Despite its age, no rust marred the metal’s surface.

Khelt became more cautious when they drew within ten feet of it. Surela knew him well enough to know that he sensed something was wrong.

Surela dismounted and left him there. Making himself ready for a fast getaway, Khelt turned around and stood fast.

Surela placed Lim on the lip of the well, and they both peered into it. She could see nothing beyond the few feet of white stone lit up by the sun overhead. This puzzled her.

She reflected sunlight into the well using a small mirror. The light only went a few feet. The darkness seemed to eat up the sun’s rays. Lim moved away from the opening and held onto the intricate grillwork of the trellis.

Satisfied, Surela took a rope from her saddlebag and tied one end to the saddle horn. The rest she threw down into the darkness. Khelt pulled the rope tight as she tied the other end into a foothold. Khelt watched as she inched over to the edge. Lim looked at her as if she were going to die soon.

“I’ll feed and take care of G’wid if you don’t come back up.”

“Thanks for wishing me luck.”

“Anytime.” Lim smiled.

Surela raised her hand to swat him but changed her mind. Instead, she gave him a little tickle and then slipped off the edge. Lim watched as the black air seemed to swallow her whole.

“Not even any snacks while I wait. A shame.” Lim pondered the darkness, picking his teeth with the stub of the toothpick. Bored, he ate the toothpick and walked along the rope toward Khelt. Khelt pulled the rope taught, sending Lim flying into a puddle near the well.

“Thanks a lot,” Lim muttered as he shook the water off himself. Khelt commented with a whinny sounding much like a laugh.

Surela found her footing soon after the darkness closed in around her. She dropped pebbles from a small ledge near her shoulder, listening for any sign on the shelf. No sound reached her ears. Frustrated, she continued after the stones ran out.

She was about to give up when her foot planted itself square on an outcropping of stone. She moved over and found a wider shelf. The rope went slack a bit and gave Surela room to maneuver. Kneeling down, she reached out a mail-covered hand along the moist stone. Her fingers touched the corner of a small chest. It fit into her hand as it wrapped around the wooden container.

A small animal hissed as her hand disturbed its sleep. Surela tensed as she listened for its location. She knew what it was. In one deft motion, she grabbed the creature and flung it over her shoulder. She heard the growl echo through the darkness.

“Endru,” she said, shuddering at the thought of what might have transpired. The bite would paralyze her, bringing the other endrus back to eat her alive. Not a happy death. She dismissed her dread as mere coincidence and tugged the rope to ascend.

Lim was ecstatic as he saw Surela climb over the edge of the well with the wood and iron box in her hand. He did backflips onto Khelt and back to the stones of the street. His frantic movements did not stop until he heard the horse move down the street.

“Hey! Don’t leave me here!” He blinked onto the top of the moldy box after Surela secured it to the saddle horn.

“Yuck.” Lim slid off the slimy box and cleaned himself with the end of the horse’s mane. Khelt turned and bared his teeth at the little creature.

“Keep those teeth in your mouth or I’ll show you a hard time.”

Khelt whinnied and ignored him. They soon reached the Claret Moon Inn. She discovered a shorter route by retracing their steps through side streets, saving quite a few blocks. As they reached the inn, the sun hung low in the sky.

“You’re not going back there, are you?” Lim inquired. His eyes pleaded with her to keep going.

“I’m hungry, Lim. Let me eat. Then we’ll leave.”

“Awwww, all right. I’m nervous sticking around here.”

“Me, too. I won’t be over twenty minutes. Deal?”

“Sure. Don’t entertain thoughts of sleeping here.”

Surela smiled as she rode Khelt into the dilapidated inn. The candle still burned. Its light was meager at best; it would be enough to eat by. Khelt ate some more grain and stood near the entrance.

Lim ran down Surela’s arm and refilled her pack. She let him set everything up for their meager meal. When he had finished, she gave him a small biscuit.

“Thank you. You are an excellent servant.”

“Servant?” he barked in his small voice, spraying crumbs. “Servant? I’ll have you know that my kind served no one. Ever. We are a proud race of warriors.”

Surela almost choked on the piece of salted beef she was chewing. “Who do you fight? Irate cats? Deadly sparrows?”

“Oooh, if I had my wings.” Lim turned and walked the length of the bar. He talked to himself and sprayed crumbs in his wake. While he ranted, she finished her food. Half-chewed, she washed down her last morsel. She wished to escape Bakir’s Helm at once.

“Lim? Where are you?” She glanced along the bar, searching for any sign of him, but he was nowhere to be found.

“Down here, silly,” came a small voice. Surela looked over and saw Lim curled up in her stein, washing himself with the cool water. She closed the lid on him.

Khelt stepped over to her, and she climbed on. Lim climbed to the top and gazed at Surela. She smiled at him and moved out of the inn. Lim appeared at her ear and stood dripping onto her armor.

“That wasn’t nice.”

“I know.”

“I hope your armor gets rusty.” Lim crossed his arms and sat down on her shoulder. “Hmph,” was his last word as they moved up the street.

As they approached the exit gates, they knew something was different about them. They were now closed.

“Hellak’s Blood!” Lim shouted, making her right ear ring. Surela dismounted and ran over to the gate. Her powerful hands grasped the wooden slide and tried to move it out of the way. The bar stayed snug where it was. She could not open them no matter what she tried.

Blue Bone, her sword, made a few marks on the wood as several blows rained upon it. She turned and looked at Khelt. The horse walked up to the gate and placed one hoof against it.

The hoof dropped to the ground, and the horse shook its head. Surela sighed and climbed back up onto Khelt with reluctance.

She gazed at the top of the gate. It would have proven no challenge for her to climb over. That she could not do. It would mean leaving Khelt. Turning back, she went into the town.

“What are you doing?” cried Lim. He glanced back at the gate.

“We must return to the inn. For now, we can find safety there. We need to open the gate.”

“We should have left while we had the chance.” He cried once more.

“Hush now. We’ll be all right. We must hurry. The sun is setting.”

With haste, they moved to the Claret Moon and entered again. Khelt stood at the entrance until Surela shut the doors.

She approached the grimy window and gazed at the sun. Her thoughts mixed. She felt fear and anger.

“If we put the chest back, we might leave.” Surela turned to face Lim.

“Over my dead body,” Lim exclaimed. He threw his arms around one corner of the chest and held on tight. “We worked so hard on it. How can we let it go now?”

“We?”

“Well, yeah. I aided as much as Khelt did.” Khelt glanced at Lim like he was a small apple.

Lim shrugged and unlocked the chest. The chest contained enough gold to keep her in finer things for years.

She looked at Lim. “If we are quiet, we may pass the night here with no trouble.”

A window broke as something smashed through it. Surela turned and stared at the remains of the smashed rain barrel and the shattered window. Water splashed around them, spraying Khelt and Surela in a fine mist.

“You spoke too soon,” Lim observed as he locked the chest. His ear tips drooped.

“Come out, Surela.” The deep voice filled the interior of the bar.

Lim slipped into his box. The voice did not surprise Surela. Flipping her helmet closed, she walked over to the door and pushed it open.

In the dimming light of the late afternoon, three tall figures stood facing her. They wore thick, etched armor. No openings or weaknesses in the armor were visible from her position. Thick, sharp spikes stood out at every angle on them. Broad-shouldered and thick of muscle, they looked formidable and deadly.

Ornate broadswords hung at their sides. Their fingers bunched together into fists and relaxed as she watched them. Though clad from head to toe in armor, she wondered why she didn’t hear them coming up the street. All stood a head taller than her.

“We have come for you.” The leader looked up at her, eyes blazing red. His suit was blue-gray.

The eyes did not blink. The hair near the lips remained motionless. All the companions dressed in similar style armor. The one on his right wore a green-gray outfit, while the one to the left sported red-gray. They neither moved nor spoke as the leader stepped forward.

“Thou hast the treasure in your possession. Thou must now pay the price.”

“And what price is that?”

“Defeat us in battle. Then thee may leave. That is the covenant thou have taken up once thou touched the chest.”

“There are only three of you. Suppose I had brought an army?” she inquired, stepping from the doorway to the edge of the street.

“An army would then have met thee.”

Surela knew she had one edge. By birthright, she held Rmal, God-Shard of Tariel, Goddess of the Winds of Time. The God-Shard sat in her blue sword, named Blue Bone. Rmal gives those who possessed it a single action a split second before Time moved. She could move in the blink of an eye. Only if no one knew about the God-Shard, it worked. Historically, it’s known as Timelash.

“So be it.” Her sword flashed with a speed unlike any in the vast land of Vareima. The green-gray warrior parried, deflecting the blue sword off to the right. Timelash was in effect.

She stepped aside and decapitated the green-gray combatant before it could move. Blue vapor belched from the neck of the headless warrior as it went to its knees. The head rolled down the street as if pushed by a powerful wind. Surela couldn’t watch as the leader stepped back.

The red-gray companion moved forward, a sword seeming to grow out of his clenched fist. The eyes did not move as the weapon rose above her head. Surela did not flinch. The green-gray warrior had brought her to peak strength and agility as it died. Blue Bone drew small amounts of an opponent’s energy into her own body, keeping her fresh.

The warrior rushed at her in a rush, armor-clad feet ringing on the cobblestones. The steel armor glinted in the clear starlight. Surela waited with patience for the armored giant to reach her.

They met in the middle of the street. Each blade rang metal on metal and sparks danced to the ground. Surela parried with all her skill, sensing that the only advantage the warrior had was his armor. It covered everything except for two slits, one for the eyes and one for the mouth.

Surela’s covering was more practical. It protected her and increased her agility well beyond the norm. Thick mail covered the shoulders and a thin area at the top of the thighs.

Banded mail covering the rest of her. This made for superior defense, except for her head. Here she wore a helmet that covered every bit of the skull except for the face above the nose to her hairline.

The red warrior moved slow. She had ample time to parry his hacking thrusts and take periodic glances at the leader. He stood mute, not moving, as the pair fought. The red-gray fiend fought without pause. It did not seem fatigued at all.

“I see your plan, leader. You will not have me worn down by this one and then attack me. That is a coward’s victory.” She hoped her bluff worked and they would not find out why she also was not weary.

The red-gray warrior slowed his fighting at the uttering of her last word. Surela took her cue and sliced off its head with one swift swing.

Blue vapor poured out as the armored head hit the ground and whirled down the street. She heard it rolling on the ancient stones in the dark.

The armor flanges hanging below the ears slapped against the cold street, ringing back to her. Her sword had taken many small wounds, but they would heal in seconds. The blue color would also return on full regeneration.

“Now, ugly one. I am ready for you. My strength has not diminished.”

The last of the warriors produced his weapon and advanced. His eyes glowed with fierce brightness, like a wind-raked coal. Bent a bit at the knees and back, she stood planted in her spot, waiting for its first strike. The blow came as he drew within two strides of her. She dodged the blade, gripping his knee and retreating as she stood.

The leader crashed flat on the street. His impact made enough noise to awaken anyone living in the town. Had there been anyone. Surela backed away, taking a deep breath. The blue-clad being rose to its feet, shaking. A deep growl racked her ears coming from the being’s direction.

Surela sidestepped a thrust, parrying as she went. The blow from her sword bit into the blue-gray armor, drawing blood near the abdomen. This enraged her opponent.

He came back at her with a series of swift strikes that had her reeling backward several steps. She sat hard upon the street. Her sword left her grip, falling into a rut between two rows of stone.

The armored warrior rushed at her as Surela got to her knees. Her fingers dug between the stones to extract her sword. She would not leave the spot without it.

She braced to throw herself headlong into the chest of the warrior. As she rose on one knee, the warrior stopped. It was not ten feet from her. His sword point hit the street, snapping at the tip. He raised his left hand to his face. His knees bent as he cried out in pain.

The opportunity presented itself to her, and she took it. She came to her feet and rushed at the leader. With a leap, she hit him square in the breastplate with both feet. He went staggering back, the tip of his damaged sword imbedded between the stones.

His landing brought him down on his shoulder blades, flipping him over. He then came down hard on his abdomen.

Surela grinned, thanking the goddess Tariel for the pause by her opponent.

His movements were slower as he regained his feet. She now had her sword in hand by the time he approached her. Red-yellow ichor stained the front of his helmet on the left side. She had not hit him there.

With a ferocious howl, the warrior rushed at her, right eye flaming. She countered his strikes with a quickness that equaled his ferocity. Neither landed a blow on the other for several moments.

All they could show for their efforts were showers of blue sparks flying into the darkness. He fought hard, ignoring the fact that his sword had broken.

The blue-gray leader fought like a madman. He screamed at his inability to slay an opponent much smaller than himself.

A blow came toward Surela’s head, allowing her to duck and punch him in the wounded eye. A demon-scream pierced her ears, leaving them ringing. Her feet took her out of the way of the staggering giant. With swiftness few possessed, she brought the sword up and through the neck of her opponent.

Vapor again poured in silence from the remains of the leader as his headless form crashed to the ground. A distant wailing surrounded her. She had heard nothing like it before. It sounded like a cry of pain. She sheathed her sword and re-entered the inn.

“Lim? Where are you?”

“On the bar,” came the squeaky reply. She walked across the room, weary but unscratched.

On the bar sat Lim, chewing on a small piece of salted beef. Lying next to him was a tiny dagger, smeared with reddish-yellow blood.

“So it was you, you little kelic. Why?”

“I couldn’t let him kill you, could I?”

“He wouldn’t have.”

“True, but I had to do what I could to insure your victory. And watch whom you call a kelic. They are much fatter than my kind.”

“I’m sorry. Thank you for the help.”

“Don’t mention it. Shouldn’t we get out of here?”

“We can’t until morning.”

“Remember what he said out there. You can leave once you defeated them. For my money, I’d say you did. I’m for getting out of here as quick as my little legs can carry me.”

“I agree with you. You forgot the locked gates.”

“Or not.”

“Let’s find out.”

Surela climbed onto her horse and the three companions moved out of the building. Khelt stopped to let Surela look down on the remains of the Hrak warriors. Their armor had folded up into itself, as if the bodies had dissolved.

As they watched, the armor lost its rigidity. It began to flatten and bend as it melted into the grooves between the stones. Soon all that remained were three oily stains on the street. Khelt moved on, sensing that his mistress wanted to leave.

As Surela approached the gates, they found them open. Lim squealed in delight as they rode through the open gates and into the Sea of Ages.

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