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| Sarge's pride and joy. |
Chapter Forty-Seven
The giant mutant salamanders felt the heat of the sun…
The giant mutant salamanders felt the heat of the sun and began to move. The largest ones, sharing body heat with the little ones, were the first to stir. That stirring in turn prodded the others into life. They were quickly awake. In the fashion of children everywhere, little ones ran to and fro. They ran ahead, exploring their new playground. It has ever been the lot of children not to worry, and to take things as they come. Their high-piping voices joined together in a song. Proud parents looked on, turning their broad flanks to the warmth, and supervising benevolently.
It was good here.
The shattered pickup truck meant nothing.
The broken door, the smashed windows, meant nothing. The gate, folded and bent like a paper clip, meant nothing. The cheep-cheep-cheep of a locator alarm on a valve meant nothing to them, but the steam venting out in short, sharp spurts was a good thing.
They liked the steam. What unheard-of luxury. Such a wealth of heat.
The road, the ditches, the embankments meant nothing to them. They could smell meat, quite a lot of it, and nearby. Now that they were becoming accustomed a little to the delicious smorgasbord of delightful smells, the aromas on the breeze promised many a fine feast to come. The strangeness of the other smells did not trouble them quite so much. As for the incessant buzzing of noise all around, one could get used to it. You could get used to anything, given time. But as well, those noises helped them to find the meat.
Perhaps God, in Her Eternal Wisdom, was making life easy for them.
“Mr. Jones? Bill Jones? Jonesy. What’s going on with that valve, man?” The disembodied voice coming out of the little black box meant nothing to them, but the moving shape coming down the road did mean more meat.
They were learning fast.
Some of the younger ones raced out to meet it in anticipation, to watch, to learn how to kill, and to lick up the delicious blood where it spilled. Most were too small to kill it, of course. The adults began to rise up and slither forward on their bellies, using their snouts to push aside the long grass and bulrushes of the road’s verge.
“Ah. Ah. Ah. Oh, sweet Jesus.” A voice came out of the little black box on the ground.
The salamanders ignored it, and ripped into the truck with Bob Muggeridge and Andrew Hudson, employees of Buncor inside. Thirty metres away, over another embankment, behind the row of trees, past the ditch and the fence, again came the sound of breaking glass. Young people. They’re so jaunty.
Always running ahead of the adults.
More shapes to rip open, and to feast upon the tender, rich food that was encapsulated inside. More noses in the meat, more noses poking into the flesh, more noses exulting in the blood. The high, shrill, shrieking noises made it even more fun than usual to eat.
No hurry.
There was plenty for all.
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| Young people: so jaunty. |
Sounds came from the right and left, as the biggest giant mutant salamanders waited for the meat to get a little closer. Then they lunged forward, and pounded out the shiny clear bits. Tearing into the delectable lungs, the liver, the hearts of the morning shift at Colonial Oil Company, plus a few guys from Scow Chemical.
They tasted best of all.
To push the head into the back corner of the mouth, to crunch down and feel the warm juices cascading out onto the palate and tongue.
Mmn, mmn, good.
Now this was really living.
***
Phil raced through the streets in his black, 1963 split-window Corvette, tires angrily screaming as he pounded through the gears. The car went into a genuine four-wheel drift through the intersection of Billy Bishop Boulevard and Passchendaele St.
What the fuck happened? His cell phone beeped, and he tapped the button.
Hands-off phone systems were a necessity to a senior cop. They all had one in their personal cars.
“Yes.” He barked.
“Can you come into the station?” Deighton, the dispatcher. “We’re having a few problems here.”
“What about Riley?” He asked shortly, concentrating on bulling his way through a red light.
While he wouldn’t get a ticket, he didn’t need a collision right now. The Vette was worth at least eighty grand at auction.
“Fuck, lady.”
He bellowed out the window, yet how could she know he was a cop on a call? No doubt the phones would be ringing.
“Riley says he has the scene pretty much secured.” Said the dispatcher. “We’ve got the chief coming in early, and we’re calling people on their day off.”
“Okay.” He said. “Shit.”
He had to backtrack a little, but it was only ten blocks or so.
Finally he slammed over the bump of the sidewalk and down into the sloping tarmac parking area out in front of the stationhouse. He took the steps three at a time, barely noticing that for a man his age, he was in pretty good wind. That was one of the benefits of cycling. Phil had always loved racing on the open roads of Lennox as a young man. He had started up a cycling club a few years ago, but not enough members came out consistently and so it folded.
The phones were ringing off the hook. Ben Deighton on dispatch looked frantic, as he pointed vehemently at a particular unit. As the sergeant picked it up, Deighton hit a lit-up button.
“Hello, Sergeant Oberon, Lennox Police Services.”
“This is Mayor Pedlar.” He heard to his dismay.
Shit. This was getting bad.
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| "I've always enjoyed our little talks..." |
“Um, this is a bad time Mayor. I’ve always enjoyed our little talks, but…”
He was tempted to hang up on her. But that would be very bad politically, with the budget up for council’s approval right now. And the woman tended to maunder on, vapid, insipid, banal and trite.
“Perhaps it’s not an emergency. But the thing might be dangerous. It’s pretty big.”
“What is?” He interjected impatiently.
The station was deserted. Then Grunion came in wearing a jogging suit. Deighton intercepted her progress towards the side door leading to the locker rooms. She came over and Deighton put her on the phones.
Then all of a sudden Deighton ran out the front door. He wanted to yell at him, but that would have blasted out the Mayor’s ears. Oberon wanted to shake off the Mayor so bad, like when someone buttonholes you at a fancy party and all you want to do is go for a shit…
Where’s he going?
He motioned to Grunion, who looked bewildered. She just shrugged, and reached for a phone.
“It’s some kind of strange animal. I don’t know what exactly, perhaps a lizard, or maybe an iguana, like in the pet shop they had this one once…”
“Okay, ma’am. Can you tell me real quick what the problem is? We’ve got another situation and we need to prioritize.” He broke into her spell.
The mayor seemed a little disoriented this morning. She gave the clear impression of someone waking up after taking a couple of tranquillizers.
“It’s on the balcony, and it’s really big, you see. That’s the thing. If it got into one of the other apartments, it might hurt a child or take a pet cat, or something.” She mumbled off into silence. “There’s a lot of senior citizens in the building.”
“I’ll send a car around as soon as one’s available.” He began. “I’ve just been called in on my day off. I worked the night shift last night. So far I haven’t really caught up with, uh, whatever’s going on.”
“I suppose I’d better get ready for work.” Said the mayor.
In a revealing moment, just for a second, he caught the faint hint of despair in her tone.
“Some days it just doesn’t seem worth it.” He agreed.
It was the first time he ever felt any real sympathy for the bitch. Silly old woman. A fucking iguana. At a time like this.
“I wonder if the poor little thing is hungry, and so chilly first thing these days.” She went on.
Would it never end?
“We’ll get to you as soon as we can.” He promised.
Finally the woman rang off.
“What’s going on around here?” Grunion asked him first.
“Some crazy kid made a run for it at the loonie bin.”
“Well, I just had a report of a big accident or incident at the curve on River Road.” She advised Oberon. “Right where it goes between Buncor and Scow. They say vehicles are smashed up, lots of glass and blood, and no bodies. Witnesses claim a bunch of alligators or something.”
“Oh, wow.” Groaned Oberon. “Is this some kind of sick prank? You’re sure?”
Were the guys playing some kind of crazy joke on old Sarge? It wasn’t his birthday, it wasn’t April Fool’s. It wasn’t his anniversary on the force…
Two figures strode up the steps into the building, and thankfully they were in uniform.
“We’re pressed for time.” He called out, breaking into their muttered conversation.
They looked up and diverted towards him.
“I need you guys to check out the Mayor’s place.” He instructed. “She’s on the top of the condo…”
“Yeah, yeah, we know where she lives.” Grunted old Harold Lee, with a characteristic grimace.
Christ, was he still on the force? He looked about seventy.
Still, the man was a legend in some ways.
“Do we have a unit for these guys?” He asked Grunion.
“The PT.” She called.
Oh yes, the Chrysler retro-wagon the school kids loved so much.
“The chief still hasn’t shown up.” And the phones were all still ringing, ringing, ringing.
Wordlessly, Lee and his partner, a man whose name Oberon temporarily couldn’t place, turned and headed out the doors again. That was typical Lee—probably picked up the partner on his way.
Those two were joined at the hip.
Now radios blared to life, as two or more units spoke to each other at once.
“Dispatch.” Someone shouted over the radio. “I need backup.”
Then nothing but silence.
“Who was that?” Asked Oberon.
She just shook her head, “I think maybe unit three…”
Anders and Zabrowski.
“Come in, unit three.” Called Grunion again, and again, then she tried seventeen, and nine.
No luck, no response.
“What the hell is going on out there?” She gasped.
“Where are all of our units?” Shouted Oberon, all of a sudden just losing it.
Grunion was staring at the log.
“Jesus Christ.” She swore, uncharacteristically for her. “They’re fucking everywhere.”
“Where the fucking hell did Deighton go?” He asked in disbelief. “That man’s in some serious trouble.”
That’s when the shots sounded right outside the building. The two of them bolted for the weapons lockup, but suddenly Oberon slid to a halt.
“Get one for me. I got to have a look.”
He spun around and pelted back to the front of the building with its doors and full-length, bullet-proof, smoked-glass panels.
He could see nothing from the inner lobby, and going out through the first pair of doors, he couldn’t see anything from the entrance foyer. Just the building opposite, his own car and some other cars…a few empty parking places…Grunion came running up with a shotgun. She handed him an unfamiliar weapon, a Colt .40 calibre automatic pistol.
“That’s mine.” She said. “Mag’s full, and there’s one up the spout.”
He put two spare magazines in his left back jean pocket. They could hear radios squawking incoherently and phones ringing in the background, more faintly now that a sheet of thick glass separated them from the waiting room.
“How do we do this, Sarge?” She murmured quietly.
No trace of fear. Good for her. He cocked the gun, thinking.
His own heart had a little thumpity-thump to it, but he was confident enough in the training, and the ability to shoot first and answer questions later. But Phil had been on supervision for a long time, and they had no clear idea of what was going on.
“I’m going to go to the right. The PT was parked over to the right.” And she nodded in the affirmative.
“Lee and what’s his name.” The sergeant asked.
“Smith. They must have been right there.”
“How many shots do you figure?” He asked.
“About four.”
He nodded.
“That’s what I make it,” and then he struck out for the light of the outer world.
Within seconds he stood on the porch, above the ten or twelve steps that led down to the parking area. To his right, there was a drop-off to a narrow patch of lawn, and a row of conifers which provided some shade and made the place look a little friendlier.
He could see the back ends of the cars parked there. He heard the door clunk shut.
“Your back’s clean. I’m watching to the east.”
“I see a foot,” he reported. “Sticking out from behind the PT.”
And something else too...a veritable sheet of blood, slowly pooling up and then making its way toward the sewer grating in the center of the lot. She took a quick look.
“Oh, Jesus.” She said, then: “Okay.”
“Okay, I’m going down now.” He eased over the railing, and down onto the pine needle blanket by the base of the block wall, as she watched in all directions, taking quick glances up at the edge of the roof and overhang.
“Good girl.” He said, and then he did the same while she came over.
“I don’t think it’s a sniper.” There was a sudden shot of juice in the guts at the realization of how quick they were to move without thinking. “Those were pistol shots, I think…”
“He would have taken the shot by now.” She agreed.
The sergeant was originally against women cops. Right now he was real proud of her, in spite of his own imminent crisis. He eased out into the parking lot, weapon held high, pointed up but ready to go.
“It’s Smith…Lee’s not here…Lee’s not here.” He said, totally befuddled.
“Lee’s not here.” He said again.
“Where the fuck is everybody?” She asked in confusion. “The chief should have been here half an hour ago, according to Deighton.”
“We have to leave him. We’d better get back inside and try to get a picture of what’s happening.”
The sergeant didn’t hesitate. Smith was dead, bitten in two almost, by something that had cut a huge semicircle out of his middle. And where the hell was Lee?
Was Lee the one doing the shooting? A man like that, it was hard to believe he couldn’t hit what he was shooting at. But then where the hell would he go? Off in the distance they could hear sirens. Fire, ambulance, and yes, cop sirens.
Phil grabbed for the radio.
“Riley. Deighton. What’s going on out there?”
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| Always a good time for a little gun porn. |
But all he got was a squeal as the people were all talking at once.
Sergeant Oberon desperately called into the microphone, holding the button down for long seconds, shouting.
“Senior men call in, all the rest of you guys separate into frequencies, Jesus, I told you all this fifty times.”
More squeals, and ominously, during one short patch of clean signal they heard a shot and a scream. Grunion hovered by the bank of phones, all lit up and ringing to beat hell.
She just picked one.
“Lennox Police.” There was simply no time for her to respect the protocol of giving her full name. “Who?”
Suddenly she beckoned to Oberon.
“Get over here. It’s Chief Ethercott from Schmedleyville.”
He grabbed the set.
“Oberon.”
“What’s going on up there, Phil?” The chief was frantic. “I’ve got giant lizards all over the place down here. They’re breaking into cars and buildings. We’re running out of ammo. Can you help us?”
“We’ve got the same or, or, or, a similar problem here, Chief.” He reported. “Chief O’Shaughnessey seems to be overdue. My dispatcher just ran out of the place. All of my units are committed. We’ve got gunshots all over the place, sirens, most of them seem stationary. I can hear them all over town when I go outside. The phones are jammed.”
“Call the fucking militia or something. How many RCMP guys up there?” Ethercott yelled at him in sheer panic.
“Shit. Maybe six.” Allowed Phil. “I think one or two are away on vacation.”
Suddenly the chief hung up, and Oberon couldn’t do anything for the man anyway.
“All right. We’re going to use the cell phones. Call the militia. Phone book. Get the phone book. Call the army next, call the TV station and the radio stations and tell the people to stay indoors. Call the Chemical Emergency Teams, but tell them to standby. We have to assess the situation,” and then he just sat down, weak in the knees.
“Otherwise it’s just more casualties…” Phil broke down. “Oh, my God.”
He sat there with tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Oh, my god, oh, my God.”
Radio signals overlapped, like bubbles, the zone of interference predictable, yet when the new analog-to-digital conversion system was installed, this had all somehow been overlooked. There was no scandal at the time. It was all hushed up.
Grunion was too busy trying to call someone, anyone, to comfort him right now. Tires screeched to a halt in the parking lot outside, and two men came running in wearing hunting clothes. They had rifles slung over their shoulders. Technically, this was totally illegal. The sergeant and Grunion were prepared to overlook it under the circumstances.
“My name’s Chan, and this is my buddy Don.” Phil didn’t care.
He straightened up. A deep, shuddering breath went through him.
“Stay here and watch those front doors. It is extremely important that Constable Grunion establish contact with the outside world. Right now, I need you guys on guard duty.”
They nodded okay. He stationed them behind the reception counter, rifles leveled in a businesslike manner and pointing out at the front door.
“Don’t shoot any people, okay? Just lizards.” He ordered, receiving nods in return.
“Having any luck?” He asked Constable Grunion, aware of the sob in his voice as it caught momentarily.
She shook her head in frustration.
The sergeant allowed himself the luxury of another long, deep breath.
“Whew.” He said, letting it all out again.
He rubbed his eyes with a handkerchief, surprised by his outburst, and also surprised by how quick a man could get a grip on himself.
“Unit seventeen.” Someone called in the clear. “I’m out of ammo. I’m surrounded.”
Grunion pushed the keys of the desk unit. The computer terminal screen scrolled to a notation. Seventeen was about six blocks away by a midtown shopping plaza. More squeals from the ten or twelve year-old antiquated and obsolete radio system. The municipality was one of the first in the country to go digital. Unfortunately, recent budget requests to upgrade the system were turned down due to high salaries, mandated but not funded by the province.
Oberon grabbed the microphone.
“We’re going to try to get to you, seventeen.”
“Get here quick.” Moaned the man on the other end of the ether.
Then there was nothing but silence.
“Landlines must be down.” Reported Grunion. “I’m not getting a tone.”
The sudden silence was worse than the ringing. They all stared at the phones briefly.
She grabbed her cell phone from its belt pouch.
“Some of the repeater stations must be down.” Called Don from his end of the counter.
“We weren’t having much luck earlier.” Added Chan.
“No answer from seventeen.” Advised Grunion.
“Okay, keep trying. One, I’m going to change and gear up for big game. Two, I’m going to check the holding cells, and three, you can gear up, and four, we’ll see what’s going on in the vicinity.”
She nodded firmly, and he turned to go into the hallway leading to the locker rooms. His footsteps pelted off into the corridor, the big steel door swinging softly shut behind him.
“I’ve got a pickup with a roll bar.” Said Chan. “You guys can stand in the back and we’ll go looking for more lizards.”
Suddenly a voice came out of the radio speakers.
“…listen to me. There’s big lizards all over the place. School buses on Maxine Street…only about three rounds left…(Squeals from other radios cutting in again.)
“…hold on, hold on. Janey’s gone…her gun’s out there…two small lizards on the hood of the car…power lines down in the south end, from Lexmouth Street to King George the Fifth…car smashed…won’t start…”
Grunion’s finger hovered over the button, trying to build a picture in her mind.
More squealing. There must be somebody left out there. The screen on the terminal to the left showed the list of civilian employees and their phone numbers. Was Deighton calling them? Was he telling them all to get in here? Or telling them to stay put? Even at this hour, there were usually a couple of civilians in the building. The security-bonded cleaning staff and office people started work pretty early sometimes.
“Okay, here’s the momma one again…who’s in the station?” Came the calm, flat tones of a male voice she didn’t recognize.
She punched the button.
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| Ugly or beautiful, the sarge was proud of her... |
“Grunion and Oberon,”’ She told him real quick.
“I remember you. Tell my wife and kids I love ‘em,” and then he was gone.
Nothing but squealing on the radio, like all the radio transmit buttons were being held down with tape or something.
“Riley here.” Came through suddenly. “Did you get all that, Grunion?”
“Yes.” She blurted, then released the button.
Time was precious, without a second to waste. The most horrid screaming came over the radio, a high-pitched shriek that seemed impossible to drag out of a human throat.
Mercifully, the signal was cut off abruptly and horribly.
Riley was back.
“I’ve got four officers down. Willis and I are holed up in the top of a house. These creatures are on the roofs. They’re coming in the second and third-floor windows. There’s hundreds of them…” Then the signal just cut out.
“There’s plenty of ‘em out there.” Don told her with a grimace. “We shot three pretty big ones on the way here, and Chan’s neighbor got a twelve-footer at dawn.”
“That’s up to the Sarge.” She said. “But thank God you guys came in.”
Should she call the Army? How? The phone book had a 1-800 number for a recruiting office in London. At this time of day, she doubted if they were in. She punched at the number anyway. She stood there a moment, listening to the ring-tone as it forlornly repeated over and over again. Then their machine picked it up. Grunion couldn’t think of any rational message to leave them, so she hit the ‘end’ button.
After a time, Sarge came back with a prisoner and a janitor.
They were loaded with boxes and boxes of ammunition.
END
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| Fascinating. |
Images. Louis. He steals them from the internet.
Louis has books and stories from iTunes. He also has some art on ArtPal.
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