The dispatcher’s details had been scant. She’d received a 911 call from the forest, but the cell reception kept cutting out so she had trouble deciphering the message. A group of teenagers had been attacked. There were injuries. No, they didn’t know who—
“You’re an EMT, right?” Donny asked Hank.
“Yes, sir.”
“Agent O’Dell?”
“No.”
“But you know the basics?”
“Very basics. I’m a little rusty.”
“Let’s do a quick check.”
Donny tipped his flashlight back at himself.
“I’m State Patrolman Donny Fergussen. We’re here to help. You’re not in trouble. If you’re hurt, call out. If someone’s hurt next to you, call out for them.”
Silence. Even the moans went quiet.
An owl hooted. Branches creaked in the breeze.
Finally a voice, a girl’s, thin and high-pitched, yelled, “Over here.”
Another voice, a male from the opposite side of the darkness. “I’m hurt pretty bad.”
Then another girl’s voice, on the verge of tears. “I think he’s dead. He’s not moving. Oh my God, he’s not breathing.”
Donny looked to Hank, the only EMT. The ranger simply said, “I’ll take that one.” He shot his flashlight in the direction and followed the beam.
Donny pointed the opposite way to indicate that he’d take the “hurt pretty bad” male. That left Maggie with only her pen-size Maglite to check the girl. She avoided shining it in their faces, scanning for anyone down and not moving. Two girls huddled together under a tree. Maggie tried to get a take on the area while making her way to them. She walked slowly, acutely aware of not disturbing what could be a crime scene.
Hank had led them down through the forest but on the other side of this clearing Maggie could see the rolling hills of pasture separated from the forest by a barbed-wire fence. And close by there had to be a river—she could hear water.
Her penlight picked up something fluttering in the branches, hanging down from a pine tree about ten feet away. She needed to check on the girls first. Maggie swept the light across the path with slow swipes. Every time the beam brushed close, the girls jerked as if the thin razor of light had sliced them.
“Are you two okay?”
They stared at her with glassy eyes. One finally nodded. The other girl lifted her arm to Maggie and said, “He bit me.”
Maggie bent down a couple of feet in front of them so she could get a better look without startling them again. She traced over the girl’s arm with the penlight, making the girl jump back.
“I won’t hurt you. I just want to see your arm.” Still that blank stare. “I’m Maggie. What’s your name?”
“Amanda,” the girl with the bite mark said and batted the hair out of her face.
Both of the girls were in shock but other than the bite mark Maggie couldn’t see any blood. The other girl’s eyes stared, still wide and unblinking, at something above and beyond Maggie’s head. She turned to track what it was. The dark object hanging from the tree swayed back and forth.
Maggie stood, flicked the penlight up, and pointed as she moved closer. It looked like a dark piece of cloth pierced on the branch. She was almost directly underneath it when she realized it was an owl, hanging upside down.
A dead owl.
Startled, Maggie took a quick step aside and tripped over a log. She lost her balance and fell, hitting the ground hard and dropping her light.
“Agent O’Dell?” She heard Donny call out. “You okay?”
Maggie fumbled in the pine needles, trying to get back up while her hands searched for her penlight. It was still on, about three feet away. She reached for it just as she noticed what it was that she had tripped over.
The beam of light shined directly into the wide-open eyes of a boy who appeared to be dead.
Then he blinked.
SIX
Wesley Stotter knew a back way to the forest. The sandy road became impassable after a little rain but with any luck he’d be out of there by the time those thunderheads arrived.
The grass was almost taller than the Stottermobile. Even the grass growing in the middle of the tire tracks scraped the bottom of his car. The sand sent him sashaying if he went too fast. Yet he pressed down the accelerator. No way could he climb it on foot. Once upon a time he wouldn’t have hesitated. He didn’t mind growing older until he realized one more physical limitation.
Grasses gave way to trees. Back here were oaks instead of ponderosa pine. The leaves had started changing, some had already fallen. The road wound in such tight turns it was impossible to see what was around the next corner. Branches hung low enough to scratch the car’s roof rack. The trees had been planted in straight rows years ago but brush filled in the rows and in the moonlight shadows seemed to spread and devour any openings.
Just a little ways more and he would get to the clearing. A couple more bends to climb around. Then it would be a short hike down to where he believed the radio dispatcher had sent emergency personnel.
He goosed the accelerator a little more, fishtailing in the sand before turning up the next curve. Stotter thought he saw movement to his right between the trees. He slowed and craned his neck to get a better look out the passenger window.
Someone was running. Someone or something.
The front of its face bulged, the back looked hunched. The head swiveled and it looked at Stotter with glowing red eyes.
Then it was gone before Stotter had a chance to decide whether he had really seen anything at all.
He sped up, winding around the trees when a flash of light blinded him.
Stotter slammed on the brakes and held his arms up in front of his face to protect his eyes. The light swept back and forth over the hood. The engine coughed and died. The headlights went dark. He kept one arm up while he fumbled for the keys. Found them and twisted. No response.
The light flashed off. Then came back, piercing him.
A burning sensation raced through his body. His stomach, his lungs, his heart felt like they were on fire. The pain was unbearable, a flame sweeping through his veins. He thought his chest would explode.
And then it stopped.
It took him a minute to unclench his body, to breathe, to open his eyes. That’s when he realized the light was gone, too. Only darkness surrounded the Roadmaster. Darkness and silence.
He tried to look out the windows but his vision had blurred. The light had blinded his eyes. He wouldn’t be able to see a man—or an alien—if he was standing in front of him at the hood of the car.
Stotter grabbed for the key in the ignition and turned it again.
Usually there was enough battery juice left for the dome light. Whatever that beam of light was, it had knocked out the entire electrical system of his vehicle.
He crawled frantically around, locking all the doors. He climbed over the backseat to retrieve his duffel bag, yanked it open, and started pulling out item after item until he found it.
He wrapped shaking arthritic fingers around the handle of a Colt .45.
SEVEN
