Clickers. Part 11

Barbara sighed. She was middle-aged and matronly with reddish hair cut to the shoulders. She wore a white nurse's uniform with a blue sweater draped over her shoulders. "We sutured his finger as best we could and got him stabilized. But he's lost some blood and is in shock."

"Will he need an emergency blood supply?" If the kid needed blood now Rick would gladly hop onto an examining table and jab the needle in the vein himself.

"I don't think so," Barbara said matter-of-factly. "But Dr. Jorgensen is trying to raise Bangor General. He needs to be in a hospital."

The rain suddenly drummed harder, and thunder boomed. KA-BOOM! Its reverberations shook the building. It was the loudest crack of thunder he'd ever heard, or felt. They both looked up for a moment as the boom faded amid the patter-patter of rain, then back at each other. "How 'bout Janice?"

"In shock, as any mother would be," Barbara said, her features lined with worry. "But she'll pull through."

Rick moved toward the door. "I won't be long," he said.

Barbara nodded and Rick stepped inside the room.

Janice had been wheeled into the examination room on a stretcher, and now she was resting with her eyes closed next to Bobby who lay asleep on the examination table with a blanket pulled over him. Bobby's bandaged and splintered hand was cradled close to his chest. It looked like his hand had grown gargantuan. Janice was drowsy but alert. Rick knelt down by her. He wanted her to know he was here for her, but he didn't want to appear smothering. A slight smile appeared on her face as he knelt beside her. "You're still here?" Her voice was weak.

"Of course," he whispered. "I wouldn't leave you two here to fend for yourselves."

"You're a dear," she said. Her hand reached out, her fingers lightly brushing the top of his hand. A genuine gesture. "How are you?"

"How am I?" For a moment Rick had forgotten that he'd been hurt. "Oh, that..." It was incredible that in light of what happened to Bobby and their scramble to get off the beach and to Dr. Jorgensen's that she would remember, much less notice, that he had been stung by one of the Clickers. "I'm fine."

"Good." She settled back on the pillow, her eyes growing heavier. "G.o.d, I'm so tired."

"I know," Rick said. He wasn't very tired himself. If anything, the stress had pumped up his adrenaline. But then he hadn't taken a tranquilizer either.

If there was one thing that surprised them all, it was the attack on Rick. The cuts to his leg from the creature's ma.s.sive pincer had been deep and ugly but hadn't required st.i.tches. Glen attributed that to Rick pulling away just as the creature locked its hold down on him. If he had hesitated a moment sooner and jerked his leg back, the force of the creature's hold on him would have pulled the meat off his leg the way one pulls meat off a chicken leg.

The creature's stinger had pierced the muscle of his right thigh, creating a nice three-inch deep puncture wound, almost as if he'd been stabbed by a small knife. Glen had examined him shortly after Bobby was stabilized, and dressed the wound. If the creature was venomous-and Dr. Jorgensen was pretty sure they were from the evidence Rick and Jack Ripley had been able to provide-Rick had received what the Good Doctor referred to as a "dry sting"-when the animal bites or stings, but no venom is injected.

"It happens with rattlesnake bites quite a bit," Dr. Jorgensen said. "You'd be surprised." Surprised he was. And grateful.

Luckily, in the name of science, the thing's tail had been severed when the door to the van slammed shut. The moment they hauled Rick in screaming in pain and slammed the door, Janice saw the tail. She batted toward the rear of the van while Rick clutched at his leg, eyes squeezed shut in pain, tears welling from them, wondering if he was going to die. Jack was driving like a maniac to get them to Glen's and the tail was forgotten until Glen and Barbara were helping them into the office. After Glen stabilized Rick, he got Jack to go back to the van and retrieve it. Jack had brought it to him, holding it by the tips of his fingers as if it were cancerous. Glen took it gingerly and deposited it in the back room, laying it to rest on a shelf in the freezer with the claw Rick had brought him yesterday. For future reference.

Glen was positive the thing was poisonous. But ten minutes after they had arrived at his office, Rick showed no signs that any venom had been injected into his system. There'd been no abnormal swelling, no loss of muscle coordination, no slurred speech or blurred vision, no nausea, cramps, or vomiting. And most importantly, no deterioration of the flesh that was common in the Brown Recluse Spider, and in some cases, rattlesnake bites.

"I'm going to rest for a little bit," Janice said. "Will you take me and Bobby home?"

"Of course." Rick squeezed her hand. "I'll be here."

"Good." Her eyes opened briefly. "Thanks, Rick."

Rick smiled and stood up. Janice closed her eyes again and was asleep in no time.

Back at the reception area, Glen was still trying to raise Bangor General. Barbara was sitting at her desk, looking almost defeated by the fact that there really was nothing for her to do to help the situation. What could one do with a huge storm, a disaster of possible monstrous proportions, and a downed radio?

Glen turned to Rick as he entered the reception area. "Nothing," he said, almost angrily. "I can't even get anything. Nothing but static."

"Have you tried anybody else?" Rick asked.

"I tried raising the Sheriff at the station but transmission is out everywhere. It must be this storm." Glen sighed and rubbed his forehead with the back of his forearm.

"The phone lines are down, too," Barbara said.

Great. "What about the local radio?"

Glen reached over to a transistor radio that sat underneath the reception counter and flicked it on. Static on both AM and FM bands, all across the dial.

"Jesus Christ, we should be able to get something." Now Rick was alarmed. He could understand the power going out, maybe even the phone lines going out in a storm, but the lines weren't down. Whatever it was, it had to do with something at the plant. If the power was affecting everybody on a wide scale it would also affect the radio station and the phone company. But wouldn't they be equipped with an emergency generator?

"Whatever is going on, it must have to do with something at the GE plant," Glen said. He rose to his full six-foot height, shaking his head in confusion.

"Sheriff Conklin took off for the plant not long after he got here," Rick said. "Rusty radioed in and there seemed to be some kind of problem out there."

"I just wonder what." The expression on Glen's face didn't look so good. It cast a dreary pall over Barbara and Rick.

Rick tried to break it. He motioned toward the rear of the house. "What happens with Janice and Bobby?"

"He should have gone to the hospital, which was why I was trying to raise them." Glen lowered his voice. "If I could I'd drive them to Bangor myself, but with the way this storm is I don't trust those roads."

"Plus who knows what it's like outside the Phillipsport County limits," Barbara piped in. "It'll be best to just hole up here until this blows over."

Glen nodded. "Barb's right. Bobby's stabilized enough now that he can sleep off the tranquilizer and be okay when he wakes up tomorrow morning."

"Could they both go home tonight?" Rick asked.

Glen nodded reluctantly "If it wasn't for this storm I'd rather Bobby would have gone to Bangor General. But he's stable enough to where he can go home and recuperate nicely. If he rests, his body should be able to regenerate the blood that was lost. I can take them home myself if you'd rather go back to the beach and fetch Janice's car."

Rick nodded. That sounded like a plan. Jack had gone back to the pier to shut down his store and try rousing somebody at the Sheriff's station-there were usually two additional men on duty beside Rusty and Roy. There was no telling when Jack would return and there was no way to call the comic shop to update him. Besides, it would be better for him to go to the beach for the car anyway. He surely didn't want the Doc to go down there in the event that those creatures were still around.

"What I'd really like to do is take a better look at that tail you brought in." Dr. Jorgensen looked mighty interested in that. "I gave that claw you gave me last night a good look over. Couldn't identify it for the world. It bore all the similarities of your regular garden variety crab or lobster, but it was...all wrong."

"How so?" Rick asked. How could something that by all rights looked like a crab or lobster claw not be?

"I took a blood sample from it, ran it under a microscope, and while I'm not a marine biologist, the sample didn't match up to any of the DNA samplings I could compare to in any of my textbooks on marine life." Glen Jorgensen shook his head in dismay. "The white blood cells were shaped differently and there seemed to be more of them, a higher count than normally known for that species of crustacean. The DNA itself was..." Glen appeared to be groping for the right word. "...just not right. I don't know how else to explain it."

"Maybe we should get it to a professional," Rick suggested.

"I'd like to. The closest University with a good marine biology department is the University of Maine in Orono, a good two hundred miles south. Maybe after this storm lets up we can pack those samples in ice and get them down there." Glen c.o.c.ked a questioning eyebrow at Rick. "You'll help me?"

"Of course. Just say the word. Where do you have them now?"

"Freezer in the back."

During their talk, Barbara had slipped quietly away to check on Janice and Bobby. She came back with a more relaxed composure. "They're both sleeping soundly," she said.

Glen Jorgensen nodded. "Good. Janice should come out of it in another hour or so." He looked at Rick. "Suppose I give you a quick lift to the pier to fetch Janice's car. Barb can tend to our patients while we're gone."

"Sounds good. Where are the keys?"

"Janice's purse is hanging on a coat hanger in their room," Barbara said. She had drawn her sweater down over her shoulders, as if fending off the cold. "Her keys should be in there."

Rick went to back to the room they were sleeping in and found the purse where Barbara said it was. He fished amid wadded tissues, a leather pocketbook, a mini-photo alb.u.m, packs of chewing gum, and the remnants of a People magazine before he found the keys buried at the bottom of the rubble. He pocketed them and went back to the reception area where Glen Jorgensen was donning a coat. "Ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Rick said. "I'll check to see if Jack is still at his store while I'm at it."

"Good," Glen said. "When I get back Barb and I will work on getting these two back to their home."

"Maybe I'll drop her car off at the house then," Rick said. "As long as you can give me a lift back to my place later."

"Agreed." Glen zipped up his jacket and reached for his umbrella. He looked over at Barbara. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Barbara saw them to the door as the two men went out into the rain, the doctor's brand new Blazer, and the darkening day.

Chapter Fourteen.

Roy Conklin slammed his foot down on the accelerator as the car slid toward the front gate of the power plant. The road was covered with more than half a foot of water that was quickly rising thanks to the rain. It was coming down harder now, so hard that Roy could barely see out the windshield. He and Rusty had made it to the power plant just in time before all h.e.l.l broke loose.

Rusty.

"Goodbye, f.u.c.k head!" Roy laughed as the front end of the patrol car narrowly missed the gate of the utility plant. Maybe now with that idiot gone, Roy could get some s.h.i.t taken care of. He was now in complete control. No more f.u.c.king townspeople questioning his authority. No, siree. From now on, Sheriff Roy Conklin was the big cheese around these parts.

Those things that killed Rusty were the answer.

Roy formulated his plans as he made his way out of the plant and into the car, pausing only to reload his revolver and blow those overgrown crustaceans into gunk and crab sh.e.l.l. He was able to put down all his weight on the injured leg with only a minimum of pain.

When he reached the safety of his patrol car he examined it briefly and was relieved to find that it was just a flesh wound; the bullet had just grazed his thigh. It was bleeding like h.e.l.l, but that would stop in time. The important thing was that the bullet had nicked him and not buried itself in his leg. That would have been bad.

As he drove out of the power plant he began formulating a plan. He would roll on into town and organize the men into a good old-fashioned hunting party. He would lead them back here and blow the creatures back into whatever s.h.i.thole they had crawled out of. He wasn't going to f.u.c.k up again-he'd done that once before in 'Nam when his carelessness had caused that chemical spill, but not anymore. He knew what he was dealing with now. Mutant sea creatures. And what better way to deal with mutant sea creatures than to get a hunting party going with some of the boys in town and wipe them out?

h.e.l.l, this might just be the ticket out of here. Leading a party of men to kill these things could be a story worth more than the O.J. Simpson saga the tabloids spend so much money on. Roy was sure that the creatures were some kind of rare animal and they were probably something that some fancy-pants scientist will just cream for. He sure hadn't seen anything like them before and he'd lived in these parts of Maine his entire life. h.e.l.l, for all he knew this could be an entirely brand new species. They might even name the f.u.c.king things after him.

Yeah...things were definitely looking up.

He was so wrapped up in his daydream that he failed to notice the big, yellow DIP sign posted at the side of the road. He should have known better, since he'd posted that sign himself after two county employees had knocked it down on a drunk driving expedition a few years back.

Normally the patrol car would have easily handled the dip at the speed Conklin was driving. This time the dip area was submerged under two feet of water and Roy didn't realize anything was wrong until the entire front end of the car dropped down and went under. Muddy water blasted the windshield, causing him to hit the brakes. A jolt of pain slammed through his injured leg as he was slammed into the dashboard. A sense of warm wetness spread down his leg; it felt like the bullet wound had torn open, soaking his pant leg.

He howled in pain and let his foot off the brake, but by then it was too late.

The car lurched to a stop with the front end pointed down into the dip. Water sloshed up the hood and turned to steam. He could hear the engine compartment filling with water and he panicked, fumbling to throw the car in reverse. Before he could do that, the engine gave one last cough and died.

Roy sat in the car, the rain drumming all around him, beating a steady tattoo of sound on the hood of the car. Fear pulsed through his veins as he turned the key to try to restart the vehicle. The starter ground wetly with a grinding sound, then nothing. Even the steady clicking of the solenoid was swallowed up as everything flooded.

"G.o.ddammit!" Roy slammed his fist hard into the steering wheel. It made his leg hurt even worse.

Now what the f.u.c.k am I gonna do? He sat in the car and stewed in his thoughts for a moment. He tried to look through the front windshield, but the driving rain was making everything a gray blur. His fingers flicked the automatic windshield wiper but nothing happened. The battery must have shorted out, too. Great! Just what I f.u.c.king need.

He opened the driver's side door gently and icy cold water flooded in, splashing over his feet and the pedals of the car. He grunted, cursed his ill fortune and with great effort finally found himself almost thigh deep in the puddle. His vision caught the DIP sign and he growled. He struggled and waded to the shallower part of the road near the shoulder. It was only up to his ankles here.

Roy glanced back up the road and saw the twin towers of the power plant about a mile back. He turned south and figured that he had another mile and a half back to town. Not too bad in normal circ.u.mstances, but the rain was creating a real danger of flash floods and mudslides. Plus, he was limping on his wounded leg, which throbbed like a sonofab.i.t.c.h. He looked out at the beach. The dark, gray waves were really pounding the rocks and sand of the sh.o.r.e. The tide was lapping at the rocks fifty yards from the road; he'd never seen the water line this high before.

The best way back to town was this road, Highway 1. He'd simply have to go around the puddle caused by the dip and hike it back. Maybe he'd get lucky and someone would come along and give him a lift back to town.

Nope. That wouldn't work. The only people who would use this road on a day like this were those who worked back at the plant. And they were all dead.

Lightning flashed out over the ocean. The thunderclap that quickly followed almost knocked Roy off his feet. His hand ma.s.saged the area around the bullet wound, and he started limping down the road.

He had traveled about half a mile when he decided to head toward the beach.

The rushing water made this decision for him. It transformed Highway 1 into a dangerous river of water and mud. He'd almost been knocked down twice by the force of the current and had to grab onto a low-lying tree branch to avoid being swept away. When he got to his feet he clambered up the incline that served as the side of the road and scuttled down the hilly slope that led to the beach. The beach was wider at this point of the coast, and as long as he stuck to the rocks he would be okay.

The wet sand along the beach was easier on his wounded leg and the bleeding had finally stopped. He felt a little light-headed and for the first time since his confrontation with Rusty (Jesus, I never knew the stupid f.u.c.k had it in him. G.o.dd.a.m.n, but he shot me!), he began to worry about blood loss and shock. The thought ran through his head and he shook it out. He gritted his teeth with set, grim determination. No way was he going to let that numbskull Rusty have the last laugh by dying out here on the beach from a wound he'd inflicted.

f.u.c.k him!

He quickened his pace and a moment later was able to make out the dim silhouette of the pier. Another mile or so and he would be back in the warm arms of civilization.

The comforting softness of the sand had created an almost lulling effect on him that when he stepped on something hard in the sand, it jolted him to awareness. He stopped in mid-stride, thinking it was a rock until he felt it move beneath his foot.

"Yaaahhh!" He jumped back, arms flayed out. He lost his balance and fell on his b.u.t.t in the sand-and gasped as the rock grew claws, legs, and a dark, red sh.e.l.l. Roy yelled and scrambled back as the crustacean pulled its body from the sand and waved its marble-like eyes at him. Remembering what those things had done to Rusty, Roy scrambled back farther till his back brushed up against a tree. The creature hissed and clicked its claws at him. The segmented tail arched threateningly and Roy saw drops of yellowish liquid drip from the stinger that he knew wasn't just dirty rain water.

He plucked the revolver from his holster and aimed it at the creature. He'd reloaded before he set off down the road in the patrol car and had packed a box of sh.e.l.ls in his jacket pocket. The crustacean became a pile of oozing yellow meat and broken red sh.e.l.l with a single shot.

He sat slumped against the tree for a moment, the recoil of the gunshot echoing amid the driving rain. Slight movement in the distance made him squint and crane his neck for a better view.

His eyes widened. There were more of them. The sound of the gunshot must have aroused the other creatures. The sand was now erupting with red sh.e.l.ls and clicking pincers as they rose from their hiding spots in the ground. The clacking of their claws began to rise above the din of the rain as Roy rose to his feet.

He held his gun out before him as his back hit the tree again. He fired the revolver, blowing crustaceans into paste with every shot, but he quickly realized that alone wouldn't help him. He was hopelessly outnumbered, and would soon run out of bullets.

He stood his ground and sized up his advantages. He could make a dash for it back to the car, but Highway 1 had become a river. The car was dead. Heading down the beach in the opposite direction these things were coming from might corner him in more. In short, he was f.u.c.ked.

The clicking rose louder as he saw them getting closer.

He turned to the tree as his mind lit up. It was an old pine, with its nearest branch five feet from the ground. He cast a nervous glance backwards, turned back toward the tree and jumped, grabbing the lowest limb and hauling himself up. His arms and legs wrapped around the branch, causing it to bend down from the weight of his body.

He became soaked with water and wet leaves. He ignored it, pulling himself up just as the creatures made the base of the tree. His wounded leg dangled as he sat on the limb, dripping blood onto the creatures' backs. It throbbed. The creatures raised their upper bodies and snapped at the air below his foot with their claws. He pulled the tempting leg up and tucked it to his chest, wincing at the pain from the bullet wound. The creatures snapped at the air, straining their scorpion-like bodies upward.

Roy's heart pounded in his chest. His mouth was dry. Hope these things can't climb.