The cameraman waited, and then held his breath, straining to hear for several more seconds. No, that better be you… please be you, his mind begged. He shivered, and then heard a small whimper — his own.
“Yeah, okay, fuck this. I’m outta here.” He’d run, fast. Even if it was the wrong direction, sooner or later he’d hit the crater-basin wall, and then he’d only have to follow it back to where they came in. He’d wait for them there.
Renner turned, and then almost blacked out from the shock — there was something there, right there, and so close it loomed up over him. It was close to eight feet tall, and had a lumped head, and eyes so black they seemed like bottomless pits, and would have been more at home in the ugly, bulging face of a spider.
Renner gulped looking down to the stump on the end of one of its arms. “I didn’t cut off your hand,” he babbled. “It was Captain Hunter who did that.”
He saw that from the stump, branching filaments extruded as if it was already regenerating the limb.
“I’m not your enemy.” He started to back up, holding his hands up before him. “I’m just visiting here.”
Its arm rose almost lovingly to alight on his shoulder. But where the stubby fingers touched, it soon turned white hot as talons dug into his much softer flesh.
Renner screamed and tried to drag himself away, but it was like he was hooked and the thing’s arm pulled him closer to an open mouth, showing a ring of dagger-like teeth that went all the way around the dark, pitiless hole of its throat.
His scream only stopped when the mouth smashed through his visor to close over his own.
CHAPTER 26
At dawn, pilot Luke Vincenzo hosed down the Chinook. He had a bucket of soapy water and he’d give the big bruiser a quick wash before heading home. There was nothing like flying over open countryside to pepper your cockpit window and underbelly with squashed bugs, and even the occasional bird that wasn’t paying attention.
The Chinook helicopter was a hundred foot of craft, so his job was just to get the large stuff off, and as it stood eighteen feet high, he’d wait until he could get a turn with the ladder truck to do the skin on the top.
It was still a big job, but Luke didn’t mind. For one thing, it was eighty degrees so throwing around a bit of water was welcome. And then as far as he was concerned it was like washing and tending to your horse — you kept your steed in shape, and it kept you alive when you needed it. Same went for your helo.
Hose and wash, hose and wash, and paying extra attention to any lumpy gunk he could see. The capture pole he’d used to grab Alex Hunter’s sample had been retracted, but the fork was just visible and it had some sludge stuck there that he washed and then rubbed with his cloth.
Ouch. Damned thing was sharp and pierced his rubber glove, scratching the back of his hand. He looked at it briefly, judged it minor, and ignored it, continuing with the wash.
It was still early morning when Luke flopped down in his chair, then groaned and lifted himself to remove a red rubber bone and toss it to Scruff, the overfed beagle, who caught it and scurried away, heading for the backyard in a blur of legs and whipping tail.
His head had started throbbing an hour back and he had a taste in his mouth that was like pure shit.
“How was the trip?” Jenny leaned around the living room door and smiled. The twinkle in her eye never failed to make him smile — it was love, and she still made his heart leap to this day.
“Fine, weird. You know I can’t talk about it, but the job was not something I’d want to try and do every day.” He lifted an eyebrow.
“That’s why they wanted you; you’re the best,” she said and crinkled her nose. “Hey handsome, coffee?”
“Yes, please. I love you.” He grinned.
She came and leaned close to him. “You love me or coffee?”
“You and coffee, in that order.”
“Yeah, I get that.” She laughed and bent forward to kiss him, but stopped. She waved a hand in front of her face. “Wow, Lukie, I’m not kissing you until you brush your teeth. What have you been eating?” She pulled back, holding her nose, and then headed to the kitchen.
Luke leaned his head back, hoping to ease the throb behind his eyes. He could hear kids yelling and laughing outside, and each decibel was like a dagger in his brain. The suburb was usually quiet this time of day; and as the entire town was only a little over six square miles comprising 23,000 people or so, spread out in pretty cottage housing, it usually remained quiet for at least another hour. He sighed.
“Moooooomeeeey.” The long drawn-out complaint was from Angelina, holding the body of a doll in one hand, and its head in another. “Her head keeps coming off.” She spotted Luke and held it out as evidence.
“Daaaadeeee, see?”
“Let me have a look?” He sat forward, frowning from his headache, and holding out his hand. The little girl plonked the doll’s body into his hand first, followed by its head.
“See?”
“Hmm.” He first pretended to try and put the head on the doll’s foot. “Does it go here?” Then over her hand. “There?”
“Daaadeeee.” She wore a scowl like thunder, resisting any and all of his attempts at humor.
“Okay, they were just a few test runs.” He positioned the head on the neck and pushed hard. It popped on. “Ta-daa.” He handed it back. “Good as new.”
Her smile reappeared, and she took the doll, one leg in each hand, her head nodding, but her eyes only on the doll. She went to turn away.
“What do you say?” he tilted his head.
She half turned back. “Thank you, Daddy. I love you.”
“Love you too, honey bunny.” He slumped back into his chair, and blinked. One of his eyes seemed to be a little blurry. And his head still throbbed mercilessly.
The patrol car drove slowly down the tomb-silent street. The late afternoon sunshine was warm, pleasant, and should have drawn car washers, dog walkers, and kids out onto the sidewalk or at least their front lawns.
Today, it was a ghost town.
“Something on we don’t know about?” Police officer Don Murphy turned, reading off the house numbers as they cruised. “Fifty-two, fifty-four, fifty-six… coming up.” They were looking for number sixty-two — the Vincenzo house.
“Yup.” Officer Cleveland Bennings ducked down to look out the windshield at the upper deck of a house — windows open, curtains billowing, but no one there.
“What’s with this guy anyway? How come Mister Suburbia is suddenly so important?” Bennings talked and kept watch for the house.
Murphy shrugged. “Meh. Seems NASA had been trying to contact him following some sort of fire or skirmish out at their labs. They didn’t say whether Mister Luke Vincenzo, a pilot, was a suspect or a witness, only that he needed to be located immediately.”
“A NASA pilot, huh?” Bennings’ brows went up. “Rockets?”
“Nah, helicopters I think, and he doesn’t work for NASA. But we’re only to find the guy. NASA will do the rest. In fact, the chief says we’re only to locate him and call it in. Then NASA will send one of their own medivac vans.”
“They have their own private medical vans?”
“Guess so. Heads up, here we go.” They pulled in at the sidewalk and stopped. Both men got out and Murphy stretched his back and thrust forward a portly stomach.