crazy are you feeling?”
“I’m…” Stan said, collapsing in a chair and grabbing his head. “I’m not feeling good, that’s for sure.”
“Okay,” Janea said, patting him on the shoulder. “Feeling obsessive?”
“I’m OCD,” Stan said. “Obsessive is normal for me.”
“More obsessive than normal?” Janea asked.
“Maybe,” Stan said, still not looking up.
“Voices?” Barbara asked.
“What are you, my psychiatrist?” Stan asked.
“Seriously,” Barb said.
“No,” Stan said. “But I am feeling more frantic.”
“ More frantic?” Randell said.
“Stop,” Barb snapped. “And?”
“I’m not normally a violent person,” Stan said. “I shout, but I don’t feel violent. Angry, yes. But not violent. But I’ve been feeling very violent since I’ve been studying these samples. And…Yes, crazy. I am neurotic, not psychotic. I am beginning to manifest traces of what I would diagnose as psychosis.”
“There’s not enough material for emanations,” Barb said. “And I don’t feel any at all. Do you?”
“Not a twinge,” Janea said. “A fundamental aspect?”
“How?” Barb asked. “How could it be a fundamental aspect?”
“Arachnophobia,” Stan said.
“Non sequitur,” Janea replied.
“Arachnophobia,” Stan repeated, finally raising his head. “Arachnids induce fear and panic in a large number of people. The theory is that they are so unworldly, so unlike any normal creature, that it induces an automatic ‘other’ response in many humans. It’s been studied because of the possibility that there would be a similar response on the part of anyone encountering aliens. Ladies, I don’t think that we are dealing with something…metaphysical,” he said with a spit of distaste.
“I think that these are extraterrestrial. So, yes, a higher form of biological science. Perhaps with other abilities that are beyond our current understanding. My reaction is, therefore, a reasonable one. My psychological issues with it are a function of that response and there are appropriate medications to relieve some or all of the response. I will immediately consult my psychiatrist. I don’t know how, exactly, I will explain that something I am studying is driving me insane, but I will explain it as best I can and avail myself of the appropriate medications. I’m thinking Haldol. It will slow my thinking and make me marginally less functional, but I will be able to continue to study this phenomenon without, in fact, becoming insane. Hopefully, once I’ve finished the study I will be able to resume my normal medication schedule.”
“It’s possible you won’t,” Janea pointed out. “These things tend to put people in the loony bin. Maybe you should just put the samples away until we figure out a way to study them without resorting to antipsychotics. I know this sounds sort of Catch-22, but I think that continuing to study them is a little crazy.”
“I am a scientist,” Stan said, standing up. “It’s what we do.”
“That is pretty much the same thing Victor Von Frankenstein said,” Janea replied.
“He was a fictional character,” Stan replied, firmly.
“Bet you a dollar?” Janea said. “Seriously, we’ve got what we needed. Drop it.”
“Not on your life,” Stan said.
“It’s not your life I’m worried about,” Barbara said. “It’s your soul.”
CHAPTER SIX
“Graham,” Barbara said unhappily, looking at the house that was the site of the second attack.
The two-story house was in a small neighborhood near the town of Goin, Tennessee. Brick front, vinyl siding, two-car garage. It looked enough like Barb’s house to be a twin, right down to the holly hedging.
At the trailer she had managed to avoid, to the greatest possible degree, thinking of the victims. The horror that they had experienced she now clearly understood, and if she sunk too far into sympathy it was going to take the edge off her deadliness.
With this set of victims, she suspected empathy was going to be unavoidable.
Local police were keeping the news media well back, but they were staying nearly as far away. The forensics van was from the FBI, as was everyone on site at the house.
“Two dead, two missing,” the special agent said without preamble. “Dead, father Wilkerson Boone, age thirty-two, Jason Boone, age nine.”
“Oh, Lord,” Barb said, taking a deep breath.
“MO of deaths is slightly different,” Graham said, looking at her oddly. “Both were strangled. The marks are…strange.”
“I bet,” Janea said. “Sucker marks?”
“Yes,” Graham said, blinking.
“We’ve got some updated information,” Randell said. “Keep going.”
“Missing, Wendi Boone, mother, age thirty-one; Titania Boone, age thirteen.”
“These things are gathering hosts for the Gar,” Janea said.
“ More hosts,” Barb replied, tightly.
“The what?” Graham asked.
“I’ll update you in a second,” Randell said, holding up a hand. “Trail?”
“Similar trail leading up the hill to a cave,” Graham said. “The cave is known in the area. A local kid got lost in it a couple of years ago and a rescue team had to find him. Attack occurred approximately two AM.”
Barb looked at the horizon, where the sun was already falling below the mountains.
“If this thing recognizes that there is more prey here, it might come back,” she said, frowning.
“That’s what’s got me worried,” Graham said.
“Okay,” Barb said, nodding. “We need to clear the forensics people by sundown. I’d like to get the FBI to take over holding back the media. Hopefully get rid of the media. Can we get the other houses cleared?”
“Not without some sort of serious cover story,” Graham said. “Washington is getting really exercised. They want to know what you’re going to do about this.”
“There’s only two of us,” Janea said, angrily. “There are, or were, at least two of these Old Ones, and now we’re pretty sure there’s a major Old One involved. That means there could be dozens. These caves go all through this region, and that’s the natural environment of the Hunters of the Dark. I’m not sure we can get in there and comb them out one by one. I’m pretty sure that it would be suicidal to try.”
“We have to do something,” Graham said, waving his hands.
“We’ll wait for this one tonight,” Barb said. “It may use the same exit, looking for more prey. We need another cave team, but this time, no civilians.”
“You’re civilians,” Randell pointed out.
“You know what I mean,” Barb said. “Send out an urgent message. There are bound to be cavers in the military. Get us a team of people who know how to survive and know how to cave. Get them here, and all the gear we’re going to need, fast.”
“You don’t want much, do you?” Graham said.
“How many more do you want to die?” Janea asked. “You asked for our answer, that’s it. We need a team of fighters to go into the caves and find these things. On their own turf, which is a bit like fighting a leopard in the brush. But leopards aren’t the size of a water buffalo, stronger than a gorilla, invulnerable to most weapons, and able to drive you insane if you look at them. Hopefully find out where they’re coming from. And, you know, survive.”
“And we’re going to want military-grade weaponry,” Barb said thoughtfully.
“Why?” Graham asked. “I thought you said these things weren’t vulnerable to normal weapons.”
“We don’t know that,” Barb said. “The skru-gnon wasn’t, but the other beasts might be. And when people fought them before, they were using spears and clubs. I would personally like to see what a grenade does to one.
