Chapter Five

“The Voleur River,” Brett told his little summer school class, “forms the top of Baronne Parish, then travels down the west side, all the way down to the bottom of Lapeer Parish. It cuts under Lapeer, then heads directly east until it almost joins the Mississippi River. Two miles from the big river, the Voleur abruptly cuts south, eventually running into Bayou Sorelle, which, a few miles farther along, runs into Lake Sanlow. Who can tell me what Voleur means?”

Surprisingly, although most of the kids had lived in Lapeer Parish all their lives, only three hands went into the air. Broussard, Duhon, and Melancon. Brett nodded at Cathy Duhon.

“It means thief, Mr. Travers.”

Brett nodded his head, thinking, I should ask them where it got its name. Should force the non-Cajun kids to learn something about their state. But what the hell? God, this is the most boring class I have ever taught. I will never, ever, teach summer school again.

“You know, Mr. Travers,” a boy said. “I been thinking—”

“That’s a new experience for you,” a voice called from the back of the room.

Brett waited for the laughter to die down. “What have you been thinking, Les?”

“Well, Baronne and Lapeer are pretty good-sized Parishes, but only three bridges link the two with any others. None crosses the Mississippi. One goes to the north, one to the south, and one to the west, at the swamp’s and river’s narrowest points.”

“That’s correct, Les. But where is all this leading?”

“Well, if something bad was to happen, like a war or something, all anybody’d have to do is knock out those bridges, and we’d be stuck.”

“In other words,” said Art Baldwin, the clown prince of Bonne Terre high—and a straight D student—if we were invaded by creatures from the Black Lagoon, we’d all be up the creek tryin’ to find a way out.”

As he waited once more for laughter to fade, Brett suddenly thought of the mutant roach he’d found that morning. He smiled thinly. Odd time to be thinking of that thing.

“Yes,” Brett said, “we would, except for the Mississippi River. That swamp that separates us from the Voleur is, I’m told, virtually impassable.”

“That’s right, Mr. Travers,” a boy. said, “you haven’t been here long. I got lost in that swamp a couple of years ago. If I hadn’t been a Boy Scout, and learned not to panic, I’d have been in real trouble. Nothing in there but ’gators, cottonmouths, rattlers, and quicksand.”

“I have a question,” a girl spoke up. “What’s a creature from the Black Lagoon?”

It’s an old movie,” Brett answered, very much aware of his age. They’re so young, he thought. And though I’m only thirty-five, I feel like an old man around them. Dear God, was I ever this young? He decided that in a way, he had been. But not to this extreme. Other days and other ways, pal, he thought.

Yeah,” a boy said. “I seen that on TV the other night. A double feature. The other was about giant ants takin’ over the country.” He pronounced ants “aints.”

Brett thought briefly of correcting the boy’s pronunciation and grammar, then blew it off. To hell with it—let the English department struggle with it.

“Gross!” a girl said. “Ants? Ugh! What could be worse than that?”

“Giant roaches!” another young lady said.

The dismissal bell was only seconds away. Brett looked at the young lady who had mentioned roaches. “Why did you say that, Cindy?”

“‘Cause who likes roaches? Nasty things. Can you imagine roaches crawlin’ all over you? Blagh!”

Amid various shudders, complaints, and vocal expressions of horror, consisting mostly of “Ughs!” “Blaghs!” and “Grosses!” the bell rang. The second period of the short day was over. Brett’s third period was free. He straightened his desk, then walked to the teachers’ lounge, hoping Kiri would be there. She was, and as usual, the mere sight of her brightened his entire outlook on life.

Brett had had one disastrous marriage, just before he shipped out to Nam, and that one stroll down the aisle had soured him on any type of permanent relationship. Until he met Kiri. Little by little, over a period of two years, she had wormed the story out of him. It was not a new story, did not have any new twists to it. It was just the same old story of two young people falling in love with love and not being able to make the marriage work. They parted bitterly, hating one another. Luckily, there had been no children. His wife, he later learned, had his child aborted while he was in Vietnam.

Kiri smiled at him as he filled a mug with strong coffee from the ever-present urn. “Not too much longer now, Kiri,” he said. “Few more weeks and this mess is over.”

“Going to teach summer school next year?” she teased him, knowing how he hated it and just exactly what his curt reply would be.

“Hell, no!”

She scooted over one chair, giving him room to sit beside her. “I sometimes wonder who looks forward to vacation more, the kids or the teachers?”

“I can assure you, dear, both look forward to it with equal anticipation.”

“Speaking of anticipation,” she smiled, rubbing her hand on his thigh.

Luckily, they were alone in the lounge.

“Kiri,” he said, as her hand moved up his thigh to rest lightly on his crotch. “You are absolutely the most brazen female I have ever met.”

She laughed as she squeezed his thickening penis, feeling him harden beneath her hand. “Chicken!” she said.

“It’s not a matter of bravery. If I have to get up suddenly, it’s going to be embarrassing. How would you like it if I reached over and grabbed you by the tit?”

“Don’t be crude, dear,” she teased him.

“Crude’s ass! I swear to God if you don’t stop what you’re doing, I’m going to drag you behind the curtains on the stage and . . . and . . .”

“Go ahead, Chicken.” She kissed him softly on the mouth. “What are you going to do?”

He told her. In very crude language, using four letter words.

“Oohh,” she said. By all means, come to the house an hour earlier this evening. I just don’t believe you can do all those things.”

Laughing, she moved away from him, down one chair, giving him time to compose himself should anyone barge into the lounge.

“You heard the latest?” she asked, her dark blue eyes sparkling at him over the rim of her coffee mug. SEXY was printed on the mug, and she certainly was.

“Other than you constantly trying to put the make on me, no. What news?”

She stuck her tongue out at him and crossed her eyes.

“God,” he laughed, “I wish the superintendent would walk in and see that pose. I repeat: what news?”

“Oh, all sorts of gruesome stuff. The Cole family was found murdered last night. But it’s a big mystery. No one from the sheriff’s office is talking. The FBI’s in town, too. Up in Baronne Parish, Billy Oldroyd was killed, or murdered, or something. He’s dead. Again, a big mystery with no one talking.”

Unexpectedly, a chill touched Brett’s backbone, a sudden grip of fear he could not explain. “Billy Oldroyd? The pest control man?”

“Yes. And Mickey Dubois and Judy Eagles have disappeared. They had a date last evening. The kids say they probably went out parking, as usual.”

“Yes,” Brett said slowly. “And I know where they usually park.”

Oh?”

Out by the Cole farm.”

Their eyes touched, held. “I don’t like the sound of that, Brett.”

“Yes. Well, it’s big doings for two rural Parishes, all right.” He remembered that Billy had sprayed his house last month. “Strange,” he muttered.

“What is?”

Billy told me last month he was doing more spraying than he had in years, but he couldn’t find any small roaches. He said he believed something was feeding on the smaller bugs. But he didn’t know what.”

Kiri shuddered. “I hate roaches!”

Brett had to grin. “They’ve been around for half a billion years, honey—give or take a million or two—and remained virtually unchanged. I read in an article that there are scientists who claim that someday roaches will take over the earth.”

She looked at him to see if he was serious, horror in her eyes. “Are you putting me on?”

“No. They seemed quite serious about it. The article said roaches are practically indestructible. They can be frozen, thawed out, and can walk away from that experience. In many cases, radiation won’t harm them. They’ve found roaches scurrying about after atomic bomb tests. They grow immune to every kind of pesticide and insecticide we spray on them, at them, and around them. The article went on to say that if a form of mutant roach were to crawl out of the earth, as hardy as the little ones are, well, you can guess the rest.”

He fell silent, as his thoughts returned to the misshapen creature he’d found in his home that morning. In the jar, the bug had hissed, emitting a foul odor that had made Brett slightly nauseated and weak for a few seconds. The bug had opened its mouth, exposing teeth that were more like fangs.

Kiri was looking at him strangely, and Brett smiled at her, thinking what a truly gorgeous person she was, and how fortunate he was to be seeing her. In love with her, he corrected, and, thank God, she in love with him. A tall and shapely lady, with shining black hair and deep blue eyes. A magnificent figure, and a brilliant mind. Many men were afraid of her, wary of her biting wit. Kiri spoke her mind, wherever and whenever she felt like it—which was often. Originally from Kansas, she was a graduate of LSU who had elected to remain in Louisiana.

Hey?” She touched his hand. “Come back to me. I’m jealous. Where were you for the last couple of minutes?”

“Thinking about how much I love you,” he said gently.

She told him how much she loved him, then leaned over and whispered in his ear, telling him a few other things she had in mind for that evening.

“Good God, Kiri! I’m not sure that’s possible.”

“Me either. But won’t it be fun trying? Hey, you seem to know a lot about roaches, old buddy of mine. You collect them, maybe? Believe me, before this relationship of ours continues, I’d like to know.”

No,” Brett laughed. Hardly. I just know what I read about them.” He touched her hand. “I gather everything is still on for tonight?”

“We’re supposed to be at the Campbell’s at seven-thirty. But you be at my house at five.” She leered at him.

“All right, kids!” Dick Plano grinned at them from the door of the lounge. “Break it up. I swear you two are as sickening as a couple of teenagers. I wish you’d get married and stop all this mooning about.”

Kiri laughed, her humor fading as she looked at the Mason Jar in Dick’s hands. “Good Lord!” she blurted. “What the hell is that thing?”

Dick placed the jar on the table and pulled himself a mug of coffee. He took a sip. “Ahh, gold ole Louisiana coffee and chicory—can’t beat it. I gather, Brett, you haven’t told your sweetie-pie of your find this morning?”

“No,” Brett said, accustomed to Dick’s making fun of their relationship, knowing he meant nothing by his comments. He looked at Kiri. “You said a moment ago I seemed to know a great deal about roaches. I really don’t, but I did find that thing in my bedroom this morning.” He grinned. “And don’t make anything vulgar out of that.”

“She really has a dirty mind, doesn’t she?” Dick smiled.

“Hell with you both,” Kiri muttered, looking closely at the large bug. She grimaced her disgust. “That’s not like any roach I’ve ever seen. It looks . . . savage.”

“Believe me, it is,” said the science teacher. “And it isn’t really a roach. It’s a mutant, I think. Either that, or we’ve discovered part of the missing link. God help us all.”

Both Kiri and Brett remembered what he’d said a few moments before, about a strain of mutant roaches crawling out of the earth.

Kiri jumped as the mutant hissed and clicked its jaws. “Phew!” she waved her hand. “That smell is nauseating.”

“Yes,” Dick said. “Isn’t it. Most roaches emit a slightly nauseating and paralyzing secretion when they attack. But that thing”—he pointed—takes the cake.”

“Please don’t talk about food,” Kiri said. “And would you be kind enough to remove that disgusting creature from view?”

Dick set the jar on a ledge behind him.

“A little more to the right, please,” Kiri ordered. “That thing is looking at me.”

Dick obliged, muttering under his breath.

“I don’t mean to appear ignorant,” Kiri said. “And no smart remarks from either of you men, but what did you mean by a mutant?”

Dick stirred his coffee for a few seconds. Well, as you may or may not know, the roach is part of the Orthoptera family.”

“I must confess,” Brett said, “I really did not know.”

“Fascinating bit of news,” Kiri said.

“I just knew it would titillate you both. Anyway, Orthoptera means straight wings. The order includes the grasshopper, the praying mantis, the cricket, the katydid, and the walking stick.” He turned around in his chair. “This thing”—he tapped the jar and the creature spun around, glaring at the offending, tapping finger, trying to bite through the thick glass—has characteristics of all five of those. Now, there are hundreds of species. But as for this mutant-and that’s what it isit’s all jumbled up between species. It’s rugged, very strong, very aggressive and it has sharp teeth. Almost fanged.”

Let’s see,” Kiri said. “Ah, I remember from distant classes. That’s an arthropod, right? But I didn’t think they had teeth.”

“Not as we think of teeth, they don’t. But this damn thing sure does.”

“I see,” Kiri said. “That’s why you think it’s a mutant.” She looked at the creature, looking at her.

“Yes,” Dick replied. “Among other things.”

“How big is it?” Brett asked.

“Near as I can tell without running the risk of being bitten, about six and three quarter inches. I haven’t found a like jar to weigh it. But that thing is hostile—savage. Very aggressive, and, in that sense, very unlike its cousin, the common, everyday roach.”

“Isn’t the praying mantis aggressive?” Brett asked. “I used to hear all sorts of wild tales about the mantis. That thing kind of looks like a praying mantis.”

“Most of those old tales about the praying mantis are pure crap,” Dick said. “But the mantis is cannibalistic and voracious. And yes, our bug does resemble—in its front parts—the praying mantis. But it also has the characteristics of at least five species of roaches. Another reason why I called it a mutant.”

Kiri shuddered. “I wonder if there are any more of them around?”

Dick laughed. “Oh, I doubt it. Fluke of nature, that’s all. But I’ll have to leave this thing at school. My wife is terrified of roaches.”

Dick left them sitting in the lounge and went back to his classroom. There, he placed the jar on his desk, on top of a pile of papers, and turned around to find a bigger container for the bug. The jar slipped from the papers and crashed to the floor, the mutant freed from its unwelcome home.

“Damn!” Dick said, then without thinking, reached down to capture the bug. The roach bit him on the finger, then leaped on his wrist and bit him savagely there, several times, drawing blood. “Goddamnit!” Dick flung the bug from him, sending it sailing out an open window.

The bug forgotten, Dick washed his bites and put mercurochrome on the wounds. About ten minutes later he began to feel ill. An hour later, he went home, sick to his stomach, wondering what in the world had he eaten to make him this sick.

 

 

“LP two to base.” Slick spoke softly, but there was fear in his voice.

“Go ahead, two.”

“We found the kids. What was left of them, that is.”

“Did you get pictures?” Vic asked.

“In living color. And Chuck lost his breakfast,” Slick added.

“That’s better than what Al lost last night,” Sheriff Ransonet replied.

Al said, “Sheriff, you really don’t have to rub it in, you know?”

“Sheriff!” Vic yelled into his mic. “Hang on for just a minute.”

“What’s going on out there?” Sheriff Ransonet shouted.

But there was no reply from LP two.

“Slick? Chuck? Answer me! What’s happened? What’s going on?”

But only silence greeted the personnel in the dispatch room in Bonne Terre.

“Sheriff!” Chuck’s voice was filled with dread. “It’s Captain Jack LaFever. We’re bringing him in. He’s . . . oh, hell! Something has chewed out one of his eyes. He’s yellin’ about giant bugs and roaches.”

“No more of this on the air!” Vic ordered. “Nothing! Go to emergency tach if you absolutely have to. Get in here fast. I’ll meet you at Dr. Long’s office—back door.”

“Sheriff?” one of the office personnel said. Her face was pale; she had heard the conversation concerning Captain Jack. “The phones are out of order.”

Al Little glanced at Vic. “Now, what the hell?”

Yeah,” Vic said. “Hell is right, I think. And it’s just started smoking for us.”

Upstairs, in the cell area above the offices, a prisoner began screaming. “Lemme out of here!” he wailed. Goddamn it, get it off me. Help me!” the voice was terror-filled.

 

 

The lights flickered in Brett’s classroom, died, then came back on. The second time they went out, they stayed out, casting shadows around the classroom.

“Oh, well,” a student joked in the gloom, what the heck. The Vikings didn’t have electric lights, either, and just look what they accomplished.”

After the laughter subsided, Brett sat on a corner of his desk and said, “All right, let’s pursue that. What did the Vikings accomplish?”

“They conquered half the known world,” a boy said.

“Discovered America a long time before Columbus did, didn’t like it, and went back home.”

“They were savages,” a girl said. “They were robbers, looters, and rapists.” She spoke primly—or tried to sound prim. Somehow it didn’t quite come off. She was a pretty girl, in a blonde, pouty way.

Yeah, you’d like that last thing, wouldn’t you, Carla?” a boy called out. He was hidden in the darkness of the back of the classroom.

Knock that off!” Brett hid a slight smile. He knew who the boy was.

Carla was one of the prettiest girls in school, but, Brett knew from listening to the kids talk, she was a notorious tease. The boys all said she liked to give a boy the come-on, get him all worked up, and then pull away, leaving the boy with a bad case of the stone-aches.

One of these days, Brett thought, looking at the girl, you’ll do that to the wrong boy in the wrong frame of mind and find yourself in trouble.

Carla met his eyes and smiled at him. She met his gaze boldly, holding his eyes to hers, neither smile nor gaze wavering.

My God! Brett realized with a start. She’s flirting with me!

A girl’s voice shattered the staring of student at teacher. “Did you all hear the news about Mickey and Judy?”

Brett allowed his class to talk.

“What news?”

“They’ve been found.”

“Where? In Alabama? Are they married or just shacked up in a motel?” a boy called.

Maybe my old psychology professor was right, Brett thought as he looked out over his class. Maybe kids are only one step away from being savages. Sometimes I think that’s true. And once again he regretted his decision not to go into psychology, or at least take more hours in that field.

The girl’s one word reply shocked and silenced the classroom. “Dead.”

Ten seconds ticked past before anyone spoke.

“Aw, come on, Lisa! That’s not funny.”

“It’s true! I heard the principal talking to the cops. The deputies found them in Mickey’s Bronco, just down the road from the Cole farm.”

“I’ll never park there again,” a boy said.

“Wow! What happened to them?”

“I don’t know. I had to get to class and didn’t get to hear that part.”

Brett let his class buzz with conversation. It was no more disruptive than the damn lights flickering off and on. Just down the road from the Cole farm, Lisa said. And Kiri had told him the Cole family had been murdered. Far too much was happening too quickly in this Parish.

The bell rang and the classroom emptied in a gushing blue-jean clad babbling. Kiri walked in, or rather, glided in gracefully.

You heard about Mickey and Judy?” she asked, walking to his desk.

“Yes. And why did the bell ring so early?”

“Mr. Buck’s dismissing school for today because of the problem with the lights.”

Brett grunted. “He finally made a decision worth a damn. Wonder how long he agonized over that?”

She grinned at him. “You still don’t like Mr. Buck, do you, Brett?”

“No, I don’t—probably never will. I don’t think he has any business being in the principal’s office. He’s the nearest thing to a cretin I’ve ever seen this close to the top of the administration. How the hell did he ever get through college?”

Her grin changed to laughter. “He majored in football. It might interest you to know that in the past forty years no one has sat in the principal’s or superintendent’s office who did not start out as a coach.”

“But this man can’t even speak proper English! What the hell kind of example is that for young people?”

“Keep talking like that, Brett, and you’ll never make tenure here.”

His eyes were serious. “If it weren’t for you, Kiri, I would have pulled out last year.”

“Why didn’t you? I would have gone with you. All you had to do was ask.”

They smiled at each other and walked out the door.

“Is this what you both saw last night?” Al Little asked Jimmy and Sheriff Ransonet.

A dead bug lay on the desk; a horribly misshapen, very ugly mutant. A full seven inches long, the bug and a few of his friends had taken some deep bites into one of the prisoners. The prisoner was in a mild state of shock. His bites were painful, but did not appear to be serious. But had not the jailer and others reached him when they did, the man might well have lost an eye—or worse.

“That’s it,” Vic and Jimmy said.

“And there were thousands of them?”

“At least, Al,” Vic said. “I’d say hundreds of thousands. The ground on either side of the house was moving with them.”

“When I saw them,” Jimmy spoke, “the whole house was covered with them. It was black with them, as was the yard.”

Al was reflective for a moment. “How many head of cattle were eaten up in Baronne?”

“Fifty. In one field.”

“That we know of,” Jimmy added.

Yeah,” Vic said. “There is that to consider.”

“Have you spoken about this to your Parish agent?”

“Tried. He’s on vacation.”

“What about the agent in Baronne. What’s his name? Tommy Sabatier?”

Sheriff Ransonet shook his head. “No, I haven’t. But Mike did. Let’s see if we can get him. If the phones are back in working order.”

Sabatier’s office said they had not seen him since late the day before. He had not called in. Vic shared that news with Al.

“I don’t like that,” the FBI man said. “Let’s get on the horn to Sheriff Grant, ask him about Tommy.”

But Sheriff Grant had not seen the agent since the day before. In the middle of Barnes’ cow pasture. Surrounded by the bare bones of cattle. Mike sounded tired.

You all right, Mike?” Vic inquired.

“Yeah. Hell, no! Are you?” he snapped at Sheriff Ransonet. “Sorry, Vic,” he said.

“More people missing, Mike?”

“About a dozen today. Housewives and their husbands, mostly. All of them living out in the country. I can’t call the FBI in on this. No signs of foul play, no signs of kidnapping, no ransom notes, no sign of anyone traveling across state lines to commit a crime. These people are all adults. They can take off if they want to. I’m gettin’ shook about this thing. I mean, I’m gettin’ shaky.”

So am I, Mike. But let’s not let this problem get the best of us, huh? Have you told your Chief in Barnwell?”

“No, not yet. It’s all happening out in the Parish, so far. Jesus, what could I tell him? To be on the lookout for giant bugs?”

“Highway Patrol?”

“Yeah, they’re in on it—all two of them. So we sit on it till . . . when?”

“You know Al Little? Right. He’s here and helping us on this—on his own time. He’s driving over to Alex shortly, taking some hard evidence. We’ll sit on it till we hear from him.”

“Let’s keep in touch say every two-three hours until this thing clears up or we know which way we’re going.”

“Good. We’ll do that.”

After Vic hung up, he reflected for a moment. He was as worried as Mike, but he would not—could not—let the others see that worry. He thought of his wife. He would send her to visit her sister down in Thibodaux. Whether she liked it or not. If she kicked up too much fuss about it, he’d hogtie her and put her in a patrol car and have a deputy drive her down. He’d see she left this very afternoon. Just as soon as Al left.

Vic?” Al said. Your repeater communications system working?”

“No.” Vic shook his head. “Ran out of money—government did. They’re spending too much to help the poor unfortunate criminals to worry about us lawmen having decent equipment. Don’t get me started, Al.”

“Then no one up here has that hookup?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Okay,” the FBI man said. “I’ll take these dead bugs.” He looked at the box of mutants on the desk. I’ll need the pictures of the victims and both coroner’s reports. I’ll head out for Alex. I’ll try to be back by noon tomorrow.” He met the sheriff’s eyes. “This could be very, very serious, you know? If the people in the Parishes find out.”

Yeah,” Vic sighed. “I know only too well. Panic!”

 

 

Vic,” his wife said, “now, you tell me what is going on around here.”

Her husband shook his head. “I can’t, Carol. I just can’t tell you. You’ll have to trust me on this one.”

“Well, then.” She got her back up, anger on her face. I won’t be going to visit my sister.”

Vic looked at her with a light in his eyes she had never before seen. “Yeah, Carol,” he spoke softly, the softness tinged with steel. Yeah, you’ll be going.”

She came to him and put her arms around his waist. Vic, we’ve been married twenty-seven years. We got married just three days after you got back from Korea. Remember?”

He put his face against her soft hair. “Yes,” he murmured, his hands around her slim waist, “I remember.”

“We stayed together during the bad flood of ’57, when you were still a rookie deputy. Fifteen years ago, when that punk shot you, I was right by your side in the hospital. We stayed together and cried together when we heard that Vic, Jr. had been killed in Vietnam. Are you forgetting all that?”

He pushed her away, gently. “No, Carol, I’m not forgetting. But this is different. Very different. And I want you to go. For my sake. Please?”

She glanced up at him, her dark eyes boring into his equally dark eyes. It’s dangerous, isn’t it, Vic?”

“I won’t lie to you, Carol. Yes, it could be.”

She suddenly grinned mischievously. “All right, Vic. But I’m thinking. Before you make me go . . .”

Vic chuckled. “You are a wicked woman. What do you have in mind?”

She whispered in his ear.

“In the daylight? Shocking! The priest might stop by for a visit.”

“If he does, he’ll sure see something that’ll make his day.”