Chapter 4

 

 

Toby Johnson was not crazy. He’d never been officially tested, but those tests were rigged anyway. He’d read about it on the internet and in books from the Ivy Mills Library. He’d also read about other things. Things he wasn’t really at liberty to discuss, since they were listening.

The messages in the radio static had been warning about this day for some time now. The messages also assured him that he’d be spared, so he had been ready. His thermos was full of gin, and he’d packed his tackle box with canned beans and soup crackers, in case he got hungry on the way to the mother ship.

He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to eat Martian food until he went through initiation and they injected him with special amoebas. He hoped that they would have special amoebas for Spock too.

Spock was a Persian beauty. The little feline had crawled into the back of his truck one day at the grocery store, and he’d gotten all the way home before finding her. She had a long, smoky coat, and a face that looked like it had been smashed up against a window and frozen there. Her swooshing, Vulcan brows had helped him choose the perfect name.

Spock poked her head out of the backpack and rubbed under Toby’s chin with a meow. She sniffed the musky air inside the RV and sneezed before giving everyone a bored glare and ducking back inside. Toby’d practiced the safety and rescue maneuvers with her every day, so she too would be ready when their escort to the mother ship arrived.

He had been mildly disappointed when the only transport he saw from his front porch was a rundown camper, and his sourness intensified when he spotted Lester Miller through the windshield, sitting next to his hippy of a neighbor.

Toby had watched them from his porch swing, riding out the invisible wave of the first assault. There had to be another sign he was missing. Maybe he had miscalculated the time.

When the earth began to swallow his home, he was quick to decide that he was being tested, and the Millers were part of the grand plan. Now he just had to figure out what phase two of the plan was.

“Can’t you tune that thing to a useful channel?” Lester twisted around in his seat to scowl the scanner. His shoulders bunched up high around his ears as the static broke long enough to screech out a series of nonsensical tones.

“I gots it tuned just where it needs ta be. Mind yerself,” Toby said.

“Then at least turn the damn thing down.”

Lester pushed a few dusty buttons along the dash. A garbled announcement crackled and popped through the RV speakers. He twisted the dial, trying to tune in the station.

There is no official count on how many tornados have touched down across the Mid-West, but experts are predicting that the danger has not passed. In addition to the devastating wave of storms, activity around the New Madrid Fault Line has resulted in a massive earthquake.

Toby snorted. “I’ll tell you what triggered the fault line—”

Lilly held up a hand and hushed him, straining to hear the newswoman through the static.

The quake has compromised the integrity of Truman Dam. Officials are urging citizens on the Lake Ozark side to evacuate for the time being.

“Well, shit fire. Looks like we’re gonna hafta be on the move again soon.” Ricky pulled off the gravel road and parked the RV in front of his garage. He turned the engine off, but left the keys in so they could keep listening to the radio.

Due to considerable damage in Branson, Springfield, and Neosho, authorities are advising evacuees to find safety to the north.

Lilly’s breath rushed out. “Neosho. That’s where we’re goin’. My ma’s down there all by herself.”

Lester looked like he might be sick. “You wanna go over Hurricane Deck when the dam could cut loose any second now? We should be headin’ north.”

Lilly ground her teeth. “We’re goin’ to check on my ma. She brung me into this world, an’ if you think yer gonna keep me from ‘er, I’ll take you right outta it.”

Ricky held a hand up to interrupt their bickering. “We ain’t goin’ nowhere ’til I do a little work on ol’ Betsy here.” He started checking things off on his greasy fingers. “We’re ’bout outta gas. The tires are low on air. The fluids need checkin’. And I need ta blow out the air filter.”

Lester pressed his lips together and sighed. “Fine, but yer gonna need to be fast about it.” He looked back to Lilly. “Take one a Ricky’s tow ropes back to the shelter and have Sissy help you load up all the canned goods.”

Junior’s eyes lit up. “Holler fer Ernie while yer at it. And don’t forget my comics.”

“Or my squirrels,” Lester added.

Lilly’s face scrunched up, but she didn’t say anything. Toby figured she would be giving Lester the silent treatment until she got her way, so he made a logical assumption that the mother ship would be picking him up in Neosho.

Ricky got out and opened up the garage. He pulled the camper in and began jacking it up. Lester came back to rummage around under the table and handed the nurse a banged up first aid kit. Then he left them to go help Ricky.

Callie, who Toby was still skeptical of, moved over to the bench and took a look at Junior’s head. The boy’s eyes blinked stiffly, and the shirt wrapped around his head looked like it was holding what was left of his brains in.

“What the hell happened to ya, boy?” Toby leaned in closer to watch as Callie peeled the shirt away. His hair was matted across his forehead in a sticky smear of blood. A gash began at the inner corner of one eyebrow and cratered open all the way up to his hairline.

Junior cringed. “Ernie ate all my jerky,” he answered with a frown, like he didn’t know what that had to do with his head injury, but it was all he was sure of at the moment.

“There’s no sutures in this kit,” Callie said, picking through individual packets of antibiotic ointment, alcohol wipes, and an assortment of band aids. She paused on a small bottle of iodine and a booklet of butterfly stitches.

“Am I gonna live?” Junior’s brow wrinkled up, pulling at the edges of the gash.

Callie let out a short laugh. “I think so. We’ll just have to make do with what we have.”

Parker, Callie’s fragile looking son, turned his head away and held a hand up so he wouldn’t be forced to watch as Callie cleaned the wound. He squirmed around in the booth and began to whimper. “I have to use the little boys room,” he said.

Callie glanced back at the bathroom in the rear of the camper. The door was off kilter and cracked open just enough to reveal a busted vanity where a sink must have been at one time. The window above the vanity was cracked and it rattled as a generator fired up outside.

“Maybe Ricky has a bathroom in his garage,” Callie said. “Give me a minute, and we’ll go see.”

Toby raised an eyebrow. In his day, a boy of Parker’s age would have been considered a man. He certainly wouldn’t need a motherly escort to relieve his bladder.

“Why don’t you just hop out and go ’round the side a the garage?”

Parker’s face swelled up like a tomato. His bottom lip stuck out. “What if something gets me?”

“You afraid a mosquiter’s gonna bite yer pecker off?”

Callie gasped. “Aren’t you a little old to be bullying small children?”

Toby glared at her. “I suppose yer to thank for his pansy disposition? And if he’s small, I’m a French whore.”

Callie’s eyes widened until Toby thought her face might split open to reveal her true form. “For a church going man, you certainly are crass.”

Toby snorted. “I just call it like I see it, lady.”

Callie turned her nose up at him and went back to Junior’s head. He gritted his teeth as she pushed his skin together and taped another butterfly stitch over the cut. Parker kept wiggling, but he kept his mouth shut.

About the time Callie finished putting Junior’s head back together, Lilly and Sissy climbed inside the camper with the yapping varmint they mistakenly called a dog. The thing sprang onto the bench and immediately poked its nose into Junior’s crotch.

Sissy smirked. “Still sitting in your own piss, punk?”

Toby noticed the stain on the boy’s cut-off shorts. He had thought he’d smelled something sour when he climbed on board. Spock poked her head out and growled at the dog, but she stayed put, safe in her chariot.

Sissy dumped an armful of comic books in Junior’s lap before slinging a guitar off her back. She tucked it up in the cabinet above the cab, along with a duffle bag and a .22 rifle she’d fetched.

Lilly’s arms were lined with grocery sacks. She piled them up on the small stretch of kitchen counter, letting them spill over into the sink. Then she turned around and cracked open the refrigerator. The smell hit Toby so hard that he had to take a peek down in his backpack to make sure Spock hadn’t shit herself.

Lilly gagged and slammed the door closed. “This ain’t no good.”

Callie looked like she might pass out. She grabbed Parker’s hand and drug the boy toward the door. “We’ll be right back.”

Lilly grumbled under her breath and ripped back the tattered curtain over the sink before pounding on the window. Ricky’s head popped up, sending her back a step, right onto Toby’s foot.

“Just about ta air up the tires, Mrs. Miller,” Ricky said.

“Fill the water tank up while yer at it,” she shouted through the window.

A few minutes later, the sink faucet began to spit and sputter brown water. Once it cleared up, Lilly dug through the kitchen drawers until she found a couple of chewed up dish rags. She wet them under the sink and tossed one to Sissy.

“If we’re gonna be stuck here a while, no need to be wallowing in filth.” She pointed at the cabinets above the sink, directing Sissy where to get started. Then she emptied out a grocery sack of jars before turning back to the refrigerator.

Toby held his breath when she opened the door again. She moved quickly, slopping the rotten contents into the grocery sack first. Ernie caught a whiff and began whimpering for scraps. Before Lilly did anything else, she kicked open the side door and chucked the bag out.

Lilly and Sissy wiped down the kitchen from top to bottom. Then they stashed the canned goods in the cabinets. Lilly let the fridge air out a bit before taking a sack of skinned squirrels and tucking it in the back corner of the bottom shelf. Sissy scooped up the ammo boxes and sacks piled under the table, finding homes for everything so they wouldn’t be tripping every time they turned around.

By the time they were finished, everyone had made their way back to the camper. Ricky stashed a toolbox under the bench seat, while Lester buckled himself in and craned his neck around, squinting to get a good look at Junior’s head. “How’s yer melon?”

Junior ran his fingers over the doctored cut. “Feels like my brain’s tryin’ ta escape.”

Sissy snorted. “Pretty sure it did that a long time ago.”

Junior slugged her in the stomach, and she caught him in the ribs with an elbow.

Callie raised her voice over their squabbling. “He should really be taking it easy for a few days to be sure the swelling in his head doesn’t get worse.”

Sissy swatted him away. “Ya hear that, fathead? Take it easy.”

“Children,” Lilly snapped. She stood and made Junior slide up toward the back of the driver’s seat so she could sit in between them.

Ricky fired up the RV and revved it a few times, listening to the engine. He checked over the gauges on the dash, and then turned to Lester. “Where to, boss?”

Lester’s eyes migrated back to Lilly. She lifted her chin and raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to cross her. He finally huffed out an angry sigh and threw his hands up.

“I guess we’re on a suicide mission. Head over to 135. We’ll take it to 5, and then on down to Sunrise Beach.”

Ricky swallowed. “We really gonna give Hurricane Deck a go?”

“You heard the man,” Lilly barked. “Get a move on.”

Toby unscrewed the cap of his thermos and took a sip of gin before they pulled back out onto Turkey Trail. The gravel road took them north, past the Millers’ property. They got one last mournful look in as they flew by.

The camper swayed and dipped along the hilly lake roads that tunneled through overgrown woods. Occasionally the trees thinned, and Toby saw quick flashes of a trailer or barn through the blur of tawny trunks. It was like watching a scratchy old film, but in color. He wondered if there might be a message in the pattern and started counting the seconds between the flashes and the number of trailers in between the barns.

When the gravel roads spit them out onto 135, they headed south, cruising past a wave of cars evacuating the lake area. The further they drove down the highway, the more congested traffic became. The southbound lane didn’t slow them down, but the cars heading north were beginning to unnerve everyone.

A mile from Laurie, where they were to get onto 5 Highway, the cars had backed up bumper to bumper alongside them. A Corvette with Kansas plates pulled out of the northbound lane and into their path. Ricky slammed on the brakes, and the car zipped around them on the shoulder, peppering the side of the RV with gravel.

Ricky stuck his head out the window and waved his fist in the air. “Goddamn Johnson County pricks!”

“Language,” Lilly scolded him.

Ricky looked like he had swallowed something sour, but he glanced over his shoulder and nodded. “Sorry, Mrs. Miller.”

Things got worse when they pulled onto 5, and Lilly stopped scolding him after the third car. They slowed as they passed through Laurie. Trees and rubble piled up along the side of the road, like a bulldozer had stopped by just long enough to make a path through the remains of the town. An officer in an orange vest waved a light stick at them, signaling down a side street, probably so they could turn around to evacuate.

Ricky kneaded the steering wheel like he was preparing to mow the guy down, until Lester nudged him.

“Just loop around. Keep goin’ south,” he said. “No sense in drawin’ attention. I doubt the tags on this thing are any good. Not to mention all the stolen guns.”

Ricky nodded and turned off onto Dogwood Lane. The officer looked like he wanted to come up to the window and interrogate them, but a group of people on foot caught his attention and he turned away. They slipped on by.

When they made it back onto 5, the southbound lane was still clear. Toby was glad they weren’t following the herd. Whatever the Martians had planned for him, he didn’t want to be late. His good mood didn’t last long.

Just as soon as they passed through Sunrise Beach, the southbound lane slowed to a crawl. A mile of cars stretched out in front of them, and then filed in behind them too, pinning the RV in the middle of the mess. Horns blasted through the air in a symphony of chaos.

“Keep bumpin’ along,” Lester said. “We’re only about two miles from the bridge, and then we can get onto 7. Maybe it won’t be as bad.”

Toby’s watch beeped. He rocked himself up out of the booth and hobbled back to the bathroom. The toilet wasn’t pretty, but it would do for Spock. He had dropped fifty bucks on one of those fancy cat toilet training kits advertised on television. His old knees were no good for hunching over a litter box every day, fishing out turds. Besides, the infomercial had said he’d spend more than fifty bucks on litter in a year’s time anyway.

Spock was a smart kitty, and Toby was sure that toilet training her wouldn’t just spare his old bones, but it would also endear her to the Martians. How could they turn away such a well-mannered beauty?

Toby unzipped the backpack and Spock poked her head out. Her big yellow eyes took in the grimy bathroom, and she let out a haughty meow.

“It’s okay, girlie. Just temporary.” Toby pulled her out of the bag and gently sat her on the toilet, turning his back to give her some privacy. The bathroom was so tiny that he could barely squeeze himself between the door and the vanity.

The back window was nasty, but he could still see through the windshield of the Prius that was rubbing bumpers with the camper. The driver leaned forward to glare at him, rolling his eyes up to Toby’s hat. Toby turned his nose up at the man and flared his nostrils. He was used to the looks by now, but he’d be damned if he was going to act apologetic for everyone else’s ignorance.

The foil hat protected him from the government’s mind readers. The elusive they who hunted down the chosen ones and sought out the Martians so they could do experiments on them and thwart their grand plan to save the worthy humans before destroying the corrupt planet.

Some of the Martians had arrived early, infiltrating Earth in human disguise to scope out candidates for salvation. Toby had never met a Martian—or at least, he’d never met a Martian who had revealed their true form to him. He had his suspicions. There were a few people he kept his eye on: a mute check-out lady at G2M, the retired vet who stood guard at Lakeshore Bank, and the new preacher at Ozark Methodist Church. He’d almost suspected the nurse and her son, until the boy made a fuss about taking a leak in the woods.

The RV had rolled onto Hurricane Deck by the time Spock finished her business. Toby tucked her in the backpack and gave the Prius driver a farewell snort before making his way back to the booth.

Lake of the Ozarks stretched out beneath them under the bridge. It ate away at the muddy beaches, pulling down waterlogged trees along the shoreline. The camper windows gave a wide view of the lake on either side of the bridge. It was a glorious sight, if not a bit haunting. Toby had never seen the water so high. It frothed and rushed under them like a river.

“Tune in the radio, Les,” Lilly said, twisting around on the bench to press her face against the window.

Lester fiddled with the dials until he found a lake station. The DJs had been booted off the air, and a robotic message filled in the gaps between grating emergency tones.

Severe flood warning and mandatory evacuation for the following counties: Benton, Camden, Miller, and Morgan. Emergency personnel have begun evacuation procedures. Your cooperation is appreciated.

After the message repeated itself a few times, Lester clicked the radio off and shouted back to Toby. “Think you could tune into the police station long enough for us to hear what’s really goin’ on?”

Toby huffed, but he went ahead and adjusted the scanner settings. With chaos breaking out, they would be more likely to screw up and leak messages that he might be able to pass on to the Martians.

The police codes were annoying, but Toby had listened in enough to decipher the messages they passed back and forth. Today would be easier, he thought, since there probably weren’t any standard codes for an alien invasions.

21 to 12, just got word that Truman is wide open.

12 copies. We’re getting ready to close off the bridge and redirected traffic.

This gets worse. Bagnell’s been damaged as well. Flood gates won’t open. Close the bridge now.

10-4.

They were hardly halfway across the bridge when the water lapped up over the deck. The line of cars in the northbound lane tapered off, signaling the end of the caravan. The bridge was closed. The Prius behind them began honking out an SOS.

Sissy hopped up on the bench and folded her legs under, like she thought the water might come right up through the floor of the RV. “Get us outta here, Ricky,” she squealed.

Ricky ducked his head outside and looked down. His breath hissed out and he stomped on the gas, plowing the camper into a BMW in front of them. The driver climbed out and took a couple steps in their direction, waving his fist like someone’s face was going to pay for dinging up his fancy car. Then he stopped short, noticing the water creeping up over his ankles. He turned and took off down the bridge.

“Screw this.” Ricky pulled the RV around the abandoned BMW and inched in closer to a Dodge pickup. Traffic was moving faster now. People were panicking. The sound of crunching bumpers joined the chorus of horns, and flashing emergency lights marked the end of the bridge up ahead.

Water gushed up over tires, and several cars slid sideways. Toby had left the bathroom door open. He watched through the back window as a log soared up and rammed into the side of the Prius. The car tipped over, and then it was gone, right off the side of the bridge like a piece of shiny driftwood.

Sissy screamed, but Lilly quickly hushed her with a wrathful glare. “Keep yer head on straight, unless you’d like me to knock it clean off.”

Parker began hyperventilating, which launched the Millers’ mutt into a state of psychosis. The thing jumped up on the table and began yapping in the boy’s face.

Callie wrapped her arms around Parker and pulled him back. “Would someone get this dog under control?”

“Ernie!” Junior snatched the mutt off the table and tucked him under his arm like a football.

Callie pulled an inhaler out of her pocket and gave it a shake before plugging it in Parker’s mouth. He snatched the thing from her and took another hit before handing it back.

A minivan crept in behind the camper, replacing the Prius and nudging them along as the water continued to rise, roaring out over the sound of car horns. When they reached the end, the bridge groaned. They passed two patrol cars. A pair of officers in life vests and wading boots waved them on. The minivan was halfway off the bridge when the thing whined out a grating farewell and broke loose into the rushing deluge, taking the van with it.

Sissy screamed again, and this time Lilly joined her.