October 27, 2010
Decidedly, Jack ditched the police cruiser back at the station for his tan and brown 1981 four-by-four Ford Bronco. He had outfitted the Bronco with overhead LED floodlights and running lights. The original 400 V8 engine still sits under the hood with a two BBL carburetor and granny first gear four-speed manual transmission. Jack only drove the Bronco during hunting season, and for the last several days, he had been hunting.
When he pulled off at the junction of Highway 210 and Interstate 35, it was into the parking lot of the Black Bear Casino. The heater was going and the windows rolled up as the seventy-nine-degree weather just the day before rapidly dropped into the low twenties. It was typical weather this far north and during that time of year. If Jack had been monitoring the weather reports instead of Russell’s laptop, he would have known to anticipate the cold front sweeping down from Ontario, Canada, across the southwestern tip of Lake Superior, and into the towns of Duluth and Superior, Wisconsin.
The engine hums softly under the hood as Jack plugs the laptop into the SUV’s cigarette lighter. He stirs in the front seat, drinking a cup of coffee while monitoring the unmoving beacon on the computer. Sarah is asleep in the passenger’s seat and had been for most of the afternoon. Russell is also asleep, sprawled out along the backseat using Jack’s police jacket as a blanket. Jack, staring blankly into the computer screen, takes another drink of coffee from a paper cup.
They had been tracking the creature’s movements over the last two weeks, always staying along the borders of neighboring states. Russell had taken it upon himself to monitor their habits, marking an X on a fold-out travel map he found in Jack’s glove compartment—when they were on the move, when they fed, and when the creatures stopped to rest. By day three, the creatures had made it as far as Knoxville, Tennessee, at the base of the Smokey Mountains where they remained for an entire day and night, as well as all of the next day. By dusk of the second evening, they were on the move again, traveling across eastern portions of Kentucky on into West Virginia. By the morning of the sixth day, they crossed into Pennsylvania where, again, they held up for two days and two nights. Then all through the night, they pushed hard into New York, keeping along Highway 81 until the tracking beacon stopped in Watertown.
It was Sarah’s impression that when the creatures stopped for more than a day, it was to feed. What consisted of their long-term trajectory eluded them. The creatures had stopped to feed twice, one in Knoxville and once in Watertown, and both instances seemed completely random. Strangely enough, during the feeding in Watertown, the beacon began to move during the night.
The creatures head further northeast of the initial feeding sight, to the Fort Drum army base. Thirty minutes later, for unknown reasons, they returned to Watertown at a considerably slower pace than usual. Russell later discovered, while scanning the Internet, that Fort Drum had fallen under attack by unknown assailants. The attack primarily targeted the motor pool and armory, killing fourteen enlisted men and women and three officers.
Over the next week, they followed the beacon back west along the northern states, and still, the creatures moved at a much slower pace. Oddly enough, the beacon also gave off a weaker signal. Sarah and Jack agreed it was time to close the distance before they lost the signal altogether. Only Russell was skeptical of the idea.
The beacon stopped in Northern Minnesota, along the southwest tip of Lake Superior, near the towns of Cloquet and Duluth. It seemed risky pulling into the casino parking lot just a mile north of where the creatures were holding up. However, while monitoring the distance covered before resting and then shortly after feeding, Russell assumed the creature’s next feed site would be either in Cloquet or the Fond du Lac Ojibwa reservation.
It was now four in the afternoon, and the sky, hidden well behind a thick veil of dark clouds, threatens freezing rain. At any rate, if temperatures continued to drop, snowfall would hit as early as later that night. Lightning flashes down from the sky accompanied by a loud crash of thunder, and Jack realizes the beacon is moving again.
“That’s it,” he announces.
Holding his cup of coffee at the steering wheel, Jack presses in the clutch and pops the shifter into the first gear. Sarah wakes, pulling her head away from the passenger door window, and groggily looks over at him. She then rubs her hands over her eyes under her glasses. Jack slides the laptop along the dash, shoving it into her lap, which Sarah manages to catch in time. Releasing the clutch with an even distribution of fuel, the Bronco springs to life, pulling out of the Black Bear Casino parking lot and heads east along Highway 210.
“What time is it?” Sarah, in a fog, stares down at the computer screen and yawns.
“They’re up early.”
Sarah looks at her cell phone, marking the time at 4:03 p.m. She then takes a closer look at the beacon, realizing it was moving. “This isn’t right. The sun doesn’t set for another few hours.”
“Yeah, well, if the weather persists, they could be on the move day and night now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I assume sleep depends on the sun’s coverage and not the time of day.”
Sarah looks out her window and up at the dark clouds blocking out the sun. “You know, that’s not logical. How could they just reprogram their sleeping habits?”
“I don’t know, Doc.” Jack sighs. “Maybe they’re evolving. At this point, we don’t know what they are capable of.”
“I must admit… these new discoveries are quite a conundrum.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not the half of it. This might sound crazy, but take look at the geography of their patterns. All movement before Watertown, New York, or the assault at Fort Drum, was always along rough terrain next to a major highway, as if they wanted to remain hidden but stayed close to the highway to feed.”
“And—”
“Well, look at the patterns heading west out of New York until now. You don’t notice anything different?”
Sarah studies both patterns carefully. Her eyes suddenly intensify as she realizes the creature’s movements were not alongside the highway but now on the highways. “They’re using the highway…”
“They’re using the highway.”
“That would mean…”
“Given how slowly they’re moving compared to before… yeah, I think so.”
“That’s impossible. Are you implying that they’ve somehow learned to operate vehicles?” Sarah looks as confused as she is mortified.
“Russell said the attack on Fort Drum was isolated to the motor pool and the armory.”
“But why drive? As swift as they are, they could cover more ground on foot.”
“Like I said… maybe they’re evolving—you know, into us or something similar to us.” Jack looks forward out the windshield along the cold asphalt of Highway 210. He knew it seemed farfetched, but there was no other way to explain it. “What if, every time they fed, they somehow changed? What if that was the plan all along—to mimic human mannerisms so that they could disguise themselves?”
“I don’t see how you came to that conclusion.”
“Well, how else do you purpose three seven-foot creatures are able to drive?”
“If these things can disguise their appearance, and are more than likely intelligent enough to mimic our mannerisms as well, then we’ve got one hell of a bloody problem on our hands.” Sarah looked disturbed about the idea. “They could then feed without detection.”
“What I can’t seem to piece together is why—why move from state to state so erratically? Why not just lock down one town and bleed it dry?”
“Maybe they’re looking for something, or maybe they are only attracted to certain prey or familiar territory—something associated with their past. I’m running out of ideas.”
“Wait, damn it. That’s it.” Jack grins, a spark of enlightenment flickers in his dark brown eyes.
“What? What’s it? What are you thinking, Jack?”
“Go to the Internet. Look for anything in the last six months remotely involving Knoxville, Tennessee, Watertown, New York, or the Fond du Lac Reservation. Look for any connection linking the three towns together.”
“That is bloody brilliant.” The sparkle in Sarah’s eyes has her whispering to herself while looking down at the laptop. “Why didn’t you think of that, Dr. Cavanaugh?”
Grinning, Jack looks at her, wondering if she had always believed herself to be omniscient.
Sarah types in Knoxville, Tennessee, into the search engine and then links it to Watertown, New York, and Fond du Lac, Minnesota, adding the plus symbol after every state. She finishes her search with another plus symbol and adds “similar occurrences.” Within seconds, the engine pulls up an obituary and military photos of four United States Marines dressed in dress blues killed during an IED explosion while deployed in Kuwait. Among those listed as MIA were Pvt. John Nukpana of the Fond du Lac Reservation in Minnesota; PFC James Milo Burton from Knoxville, Tennessee; L/Cpl. Patrick Ryan Adlemeyer out of Watertown, New York; and Cpl. William Blake Colden from Derrylin, Kansas.
Sarah skims over the obituary and then reads one section aloud, “Although no bodies were recovered after the explosion, later speculation concluded that the marines may have been thoroughly decimated during the IED explosion or fallen prey to desert predators. Due to the inability to recover the marine’s bodies, Washington denounced the initial supposition, officially classifying all four marines as KIA.”
“That explains the attack on Fort Drum and your familiar territory theory, but why go home? They could feed in any town.”
Sarah continues perusing the obituary while mumbling words like hometown and survived by under her breath. She then looks up from the screen as her eyes quickly change from the strenuous fixation of a thorough thought process to the morbidity of a dark obvious realization. “I know what they are after.”
The computer screen auto-changes back to the grid map as beacon turns north off the highway onto a smaller one-lane road half a mile ahead. As the Bronco approaches the turnoff, Jack wheels the vehicle on to the dirt road and stops. The rocking vehicle, in its quick rough stop, rouses Russell in the backseat. He peers out from under the police jacket, stretching his arms and yawning. A moment later, Russell rises to the middle of the backseat, shaking his head and wiping the sleep from his tired eyes.
“What’s happening?” Russell leans into the front seat, yawning yet a second time, and then hears the words escape Sarah’s mouth—words that quickly registers in his head and terrifies Russell.
“I believe they’re feeding on the surviving members of their families.”
Jack takes the keys from the ignition and steps out of the vehicle. Walking behind the Bronco with a hardened look of determination twitching his face, he opens the back hatch. Under a blanket, he retrieves an AR-15 assault rifle. With the butt of the weapon resting in the soft bend of his elbow, Jack slaps the bottom of the magazine filled with hollow point rounds and soldiers it across his back. He then stuffs two extra magazines into his back pockets and retrieves his service shotgun as the .357 is already at his side.
Sarah steps from the SUV as Jack trudges back around front. She knew Jack was determined to engage the creatures and immediately steps in front of him, barring passage. Russell rolls down the window when he sees Jack armed to the teeth. He pops his head out. “Does someone want to tell me what is happening?”
“What exactly is it you think you’re going to accomplish, Jack?” Sarah rushes up against Jack, taking note of the assault weapon hanging off his back and the shotgun down at his side.
“What does it look like, Doc?” Jack pulls back the charging bolt on the automatic shotgun. “It’s time to end this.”
“We don’t even know how to kill them.”
“I’ll do whatever I have to—”
“Best-case scenario is you go up there and get yourself killed. Worst-case scenario is we all die and no one learns of their existence,” Sarah reasons her position. “There is no way you can handle three of them on your own, let alone one.”
“I can try.” Jack slides the charging handle forward, loading the shell into the firing chamber.
“And you’ll die. Damn it, listen to reason.” Sarah grows increasingly frantic, knowing Jack was about to throw himself into a suicidal situation. “This is bigger than the both of us, Jack.” She studies his stern expression a moment longer and then offers a desperate solution. “I think it is time we alerted the military. Let them clean up their own mess.”
Russell steps from the backseat, looking at Jack and Sarah with confused concern. “Will someone please explain to me what the hell is happening?”
Sarah turns to Russell, who seems completely puzzled by the commotion. She brings her hand up to rub the worry from her forehead and then looks directly into Jack’s eyes. “We discovered evidence that suggests the creatures were once U.S. Marines. They were reported KIA after an explosion in Kuwait.” Sarah maintains a steady bead on Jack’s gritty expression, continuing her explanation. “And we are not quite clear on the details, but somehow the assumption is that these things are now devouring their families as some sort of rite of passage. That is why it seemed like they were feeding so randomly. Each feeding sight involves one of the marine’s hometowns.”
“Tell him the rest, Doc.” Jack’s eyes intensify. “Tell him the good part.”
Sarah huffs out in one breath, “Jack seems to think they’re evolving into humans or at least two of them thus far.”
“The third asshole is up the road right now, about to do the same thing.”
“And you want to go up there?” Russell looks completely appalled by the idea. “Jack, you know that is suicide, right? I mean… won’t that make them even more dangerous than ever before?”
“Distracted—” Jack clarifies. “We agreed to track the creatures until we understood exactly how to kill them. It’s been five days, and we’re no closer to that scenario, but those bastards, those assholes, they’re about done with their little mission.”
“Jack. Please. Listen to reason.”
“What would you have me do—allow it to happen? You really expect me to stand down and allow innocent people to become human happy meals for those assholes? I’m a cop, Sarah! I can’t do that—not with a clear conscience.”
Jack pauses, clearly looking at Sarah and then Russell, waiting for them to come to their senses. He grits his teeth out of frustration. Sarah looks away, avoiding condemnation. Russell simply shrugs, as if there was no other logical outcome.
“Well… yeah,” Russell then admits. “Jack. Look. I know it feels all wrong, but we’re simply not equipped to handle this situation. You need to realize that before you get yourself and the rest of us killed.”
“Well, at least I’m willing to try.” He barges past Sarah. “Play with your damn computers. I’m going up there.”
“JACK! WAIT!” Sarah roars. “Just wait a second! PLEASE! Let me think!”
“Come on, Jack. Think about it. Back at the farm, you unloaded round after round into that thing, and it just kept coming. You might as well been pelting it with Tic Tacs,” Russell points out the shotgun’s ineffectiveness. “The explosion at the barn blew those bastards to pieces, and still, they came back. Whatever it takes to kill these things, we don’t possess it—at least not yet.”
“Wait. Wait. Wait. The explosion, that’s it.” Sarah realizes her obvious oversight.
“The barn explosion… I don’t follow—what about it?”
“No. The IED explosion, the obituary said there were four marines who had presumably died in the explosion.”
“Yeah,” Russell says, failing to see the relevance.
Sarah hustles back around the Bronco and slides into the passenger’s seat, picking up the laptop. Once in hand, she steps out of the vehicle and places the computer on the hood. She then searches through the Internet browser history, bringing up the obituary.
“You’re not making any sense, Doc. There were only three of them.”
“Wait a second.” Sarah peruses the article. “Watertown… Knoxville… Fond du Lac, here it is. Cpl. William Blake Colden, KIA—his remains also unrecovered.”
“And—”
“Wait. My god,” She pauses for dramatic effect, giving Jack a long hard stare. “Corporal Colden hailed from Derrylin, Kansas.”
“Isn’t that—” Russell stops short.
“Yeah, Derrylin… not far from where the fire occurred. In fact, it’s less than a hundred miles due south.
“Now I get it.” Russell briefly appears amused.
“What?” Jack looks annoyed.
“Cold Bill—”
Jack shrugs.
Russell sighs, shaking his head. “It’s like Clark Kent wearing eyeglasses to conceal his true identity as Superman. It was like it was there the whole time, and you knew it, but you disregard it because it just blends in.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Cold Bill, um, William Blake Colden.” Again, Russell sighs. “Oh, come on, you don’t get it? When those things came back to life, we all heard them in our heads. They screamed out Cold Bill a.k.a. Bill Colden, short for William.”
“Jesus… there is a fourth creature out there somewhere.”
“Yes,” Russell clarifies.
“So where is this Corporal Colden now, and why is he not with the others?”
“Maybe he died in the explosion,” Jack points out the irrelevancy.
“No. You heard them, they were pissed at this Cold Bill. I’m just spitballing here, but maybe Corporal Colden was the one who started the barn fire in the first place.” Russell rubs over the newly formed stubble on his chin.
“Why the hell would he do that, and what makes him any different than the others? There were no reports on the police scanner pertaining to any situations arising in Derrylin.”
“And there wouldn’t be either, at least not at that point,” Sarah quickly interjects. “Maybe he is different. I find it strange the barn exploded so close to William’s hometown. They could have held him against his will, possibly even the victim of Stockholm syndrome. More than likely, William may have felt a strong emotional attachment to his former squad members, at least until he realized the full extent of their intentions. It makes perfect sense.” Sarah further adds, “Whatever the case may be, if he is still alive, it is absolutely imperative that we find this William Colden. He likely holds the answers to these creatures’ existence and how we destroy them.”
Jack walks over to the Sarah staring into the computer screen, grimacing at the photo of Private Nukpana. Under his picture, a caption reads that the young marine was survived by his mother, father, and grandfather. “If we leave now, another innocent family dies.”
“And if we get too far from signal, we’ll lose track of them completely,” Russell adds.
“We are the only ones who have a chance of stopping them. You are right though. You are a good cop, Jack, and a good cop gathers all the facts first. It’s your call.”
Jack takes a long look down the dirt road, gripping the shotgun tight along the stock until his knuckles go white. He understood his chances of ending this now were almost zero. Russell had been correct about the shotgun’s ineffectiveness. Jack also understood that if he drove off now and headed back to Kansas, he would be sending more victims to their graves. However, Sarah made good sense of the dilemma; Corporal Colden held the key, and they needed to find him.
Jack walks past Sarah. Without looking up, he removes the rifle around his chest. A moment later, Sarah delicately places her hand on Jack’s shoulder, capturing his attention. “There will come a time when you will need those.” She refers to the small cache of weapons Jack now unloads. “You’re making a hard choice, Jack, but it is the right one.”
He looks back to Sarah after covering the weapons with the blanket. He studies her face, searching for a sign of uncertainty that might lead him to believe he was making a big mistake. However, genuinely bothered by Jack’s difficult decision, Sarah suffers with him. He nods, and Sarah faintly smiles. Admiring his bravado, she leans into him, caressing his shoulders before surrendering to a deep affectionate hug. When Sarah smiled, it was rare. Jack liked it when she smiled. However, for now, he could not concern himself with that. Jack’s eyes drift past Sarah’s shoulder, staring down the dirt road that vanishes before a thick overgrowth of trees. Nothing other than deep regret graces Jack’s face. “I hope you’re right, Doc.”