Clickers. Part 9

"I don't know," Rick said, grabbing Bobby's blood-slicked arm. "But we need to stop the bleeding." He wound his shirt around Bobby's wrist, tied them together in a knot. He couldn't remember how tight to tie a tourniquet. He remembered vague instructions on first-aid he received when he was in college, but they did no good for him now. Everything had happened so fast that he couldn't gather his thoughts together for the correct procedure. He just hoped the make-shift tourniquet was right and that it wouldn't kill him.

Janice was sobbing uncontrollably and she straightened up and turned toward the ocean. Her eyes grew wide. "Rick!"

Rick spun around. The creatures were scuttling toward them rapidly. He pulled Bobby up as Janice grabbed her son's arm and helped hoist him up. Bobby was semi-conscious, his face white. Rick scanned the parking lot, looking for Ripper's van. His adrenaline surged as a blue Chevrolet van pulled up alongside the curb. Ripper was at the wheel.

Rick swung the door open as the van pulled to a stop. He helped Janice lift Bobby inside while Ripper clamored out of the seat and jostled to the rear to help. Rick turned to catch the progress of the creatures. They were only ten yards away and rapidly approaching. Ripper eyed them, gauging the distance as he rolled Bobby into the van.

Janice hopped up into the van followed closely by Rick just as a searing bolt of pain stabbed through his left calf. He yelped and turned back to see the blaring eyes of one of the creatures bore into him. It had a hold of his left leg in one large monster pincer. Rick felt strong hands grasp his shoulders and pull him into the van, felt excruciating pain as the skin of his leg was shredded as it pa.s.sed through the claw of the creature, heard the van door whisk shut, felt and saw the thing's stinger jab him in the leg, and then he blacked out.

Chapter Eleven.

Rick Sychek was waiting with nervous patience in Dr. Glen Jorgensen's waiting room when he saw Sheriff Roy Conklin pull up.

He felt a sense of dread as he watched the man get out of his squad car. Despite the fact that Conklin hadn't actually carried out his thinly-veiled threat of ticketing him for his accident, the underlying message conveyed that the Sheriff would be watching him. Almost twenty-four hours later, that feeling was beginning to bear fruit.

Rick tried to calm the feeling down but he couldn't. He had been on a pure adrenaline rush since that thing attacked Bobby. And between helping him and keeping Janice calmed down and trying to help her, he hadn't been functioning emotionally very well. One little push from this b.a.s.t.a.r.d would be all it would take to screw up his time in this town.

He battled the emotions down and when Roy Conklin entered the waiting room, Rick didn't even look up. He was troubled by the ordeal, dammit, and he wasn't going to be made a p.a.w.n in this man's petty mind games. Still, he couldn't help feel the rise of nerves as the Sheriff's eyes fell upon him as he closed the door. They seemed to be speaking to him subliminally. Okay...what did you do this time?

Roy Conklin strode over to the receptionist's window and knocked on the gla.s.s part.i.tion. It opened and the Sheriff leaned forward. There was m.u.f.fled conversation. Rick couldn't tell what was being said but whatever it was, it was brief. The door closed and the Sheriff's eyes lighted on Rick again as he crossed the room. He stopped at the window and gazed out. Rick continued staring straight ahead, his mind numb, heartbeat racing.

"The boy sounds pretty badly hurt," Sheriff Conklin finally said, breaking the silence.

Rick nodded. "Yeah," he said, softly. "He-"

"You were there when it happened." Not a question. Just a statement of the facts.

"Yes," Rick nodded.

"Mind telling me what happened?"

Rick gulped. The incident rose in his mind again, unbidden in the ferocity of it. He told Sheriff Roy Conklin, paying no heed to the credence of the story. Let the Sheriff think he'd lost his mind, the man had to know what was out there. He spilled it out; his walk to the pier, meeting Jack Ripley, and later Janice and her son; he related the scream, how he and Janice had raced down to see what had happened and the horror of what they saw; the beast slinking toward them as Rick scooped Bobby up in his arms, the last minute attack by the creature that had almost killed him, the flight back to Dr. Jorgensen's and through it all Janice's hysterical voice babbling about her baby, her poor baby boy- When he finished there was silence. He looked up at Sheriff Conklin, who looked at him from behind his mirror shades. The lawman's features were expressionless. "You don't believe me," he said.

"I didn't say that," Roy Conklin said.

"But it looks like you're going to."

"If you were me and just heard what you said, you wouldn't believe yourself, either." Sheriff Conklin put his hands on his hips and seemed to glare down at Rick. "You say these things that attacked you guys were crab things?"

"Yes, crab things," Rick exclaimed. He held his arms about three feet apart, indicating the creatures size. "They were about this big from head to tail. They looked like giant lobsters to tell you the truth."

Roy looked at him as if he was a new species of insect. "Giant lobster? Listen to yourself, kid. How do you expect me to believe a s.h.i.t story like that?"

"I don't care what you believe!" Rick was on the verge of shouting and he mentally checked himself. From behind the nurses part.i.tion, movement appeared. A headache began rising in the bony ridge of his nose, right behind the eyes, and he closed his eyes to will it away. When he opened them the Sheriff was gazing out the window again. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to shout."

Roy Conklin didn't answer. He kept his gaze trained out the window at the lightly falling rain.

Rick Sychek stood in the middle of he waiting room, trying hard to keep his frustration down. He'd been on the verge of telling the Sheriff about the claw he'd dug out of his tire the day before, how he thought it might belong to one of the crab things. But after seeing the lawman's reaction to his story, he figured his credibility with the man would slip even further if he told him his theory about the accident. So he kept his mouth shut. Roy remained silent as he kept his gaze on the rain. The sky outside was light gray but it was growing darker rapidly. The wind was picking up again. The silence was deafening.

Rick was just settling back into his seat and psyching himself up to telling the Sheriff more about what happened when the lawman broke the silence. "It looks like the storm's going to get worse."

Rick looked out the window.

The storm clouds were ma.s.sive; coal black and building, they roiled across the sky threateningly. The wind blew briskly, scuttling leaves and gra.s.s, bending the smaller trees. From as far as the eye could see the clouds covered the horizon, blotting out the afternoon sun. A few drops of rain spattered on the ground outside and hit the window. Rick retreated from the window and cast a glance at Sheriff Conklin. The Sheriff remained at the window, seemingly entranced by the sudden storm. It looked like it was going to be a big one.

Rick was beginning to wonder what was going on behind the closed door to Glen Jorgensen's office when the lights suddenly went out.

With the now absent sun, it cast the waiting room in a grayish gloom. Rick looked up at the lights in surprise, and from behind the gla.s.s part.i.tion he heard the sharp exclamation of Glen Jorgensen's nurse Barbara. Sheriff Conklin peered out the window. "No lightning, yet," he said. "Strange."

The squawk of CB static came through the radio clasped to Roy Conklin's belt. He unclipped it and raised it to his mouth. "Unit 7 to Unit 12, I copy you. Over."

Deputy Rusty's voice came in, full of static and tin. "Sheriff Conklin, I've got a power outage here at headquarters. I put in a call to the GE plant and didn't receive a response. Over."

"Did you try the CB band, Unit 12? Over."

"Affirmative, Unit 7. I've been unable to raise anybody in all communications, sir. It also appears the power is out elsewhere. It looks mighty dark out there. Over."

"Meet me at the GE Plant in fifteen minutes, Unit 12. Over." Sheriff Conklin headed for the door.

The door to Glen Jorgensen's office opened and the physician stepped out, looking surprised to see the Sheriff. Barbara stood behind him, peering curiously over his shoulder.

"Affirmative, Unit 7," Deputy Rusty's tinny voice squeaked. "Over and out."

"Over and out, Unit 12." Roy Conklin signed out, nodding at Glen Jorgensen as he replaced the CB unit and made for the door. He bade Glen a courteous nod. "Gotta run, Doc, but I'll be back in a few to take a report." He stepped outside and dashed to his patrol car. He backed out of the driveway and headed down the road into the storm.

Glen approached Rick from behind. "What was that all about?"

"It sounds like the power is out all over town," Rick said. "He's meeting Rusty at the power plant to see what's happening."

From behind them, Barbara spoke softly. "I'll go back and check on Bobby and Janice. He got really spooked when the lights went out, poor thing." She turned and went down the hall.

Glen and Rick stood in the waiting room, looking out the window. The storm was growing stronger, the winds blew harder yet the rain was still coming down in drizzles and spits. Lightning couldn't be seen, nor thunder heard. "Did the wind blow the power line down?" Dr. Jorgenson asked.

Rick shook his head and pointed out the window.

"No. Look up there." Glen followed his pointing finger. The power line across the street was intact, the thick, heavy cables resting in their spot as they always did. "And it surely wasn't lightning, either. We would have seen it, heard the thunder right before the lights went out."

Glen Jorgensen was quiet. His heavily-lined face was etched in worry. "I wonder what it is then?"

Outside, the storm grew stronger.

Chapter Twelve.

Deputy Russell Hanks got to the GE power plant two minutes before Sheriff Roy Conklin sped to a stop at the gates of the employee parking lot.

He'd received a call from the Phillipsport County dispatcher that something was amiss at the power plant. Just what, the dispatcher didn't say. It had been a routine 911 call, most likely from building security. It could be anything from a medical emergency to some wayward criminals holding up inside the plant with a hostage situation. The nearest state prison was one hundred miles south and a good fifty miles inland. If there were prisoners that had made a break it was feasible they could have made it this far north on foot, especially if they had stuck to the heavily wooded areas.

Sheriff Conklin had answered the call on the radio and Rusty waited for him in his patrol car at the entrance of the building. The wind was picking up a bit, and Rusty drew his raincoat tighter around his lanky body. He hadn't seen it rain this hard in years.

A moment later Sheriff Conklin's car pulled up beside Rusty's. Conklin rolled down the pa.s.senger side window. The rain had trickled to a steady drizzle. "Let's see what kind of s.h.i.t this is, partner." Roy sneered. For a moment Rusty wondered what it would be like to step behind Conklin, pull his police-issued revolver, point it at the back of his superior's head and decorate the ground with Sheriff Brain stew.

It was the first time the thought of killing Sheriff Conklin crossed Rusty's mind and the notion downright scared him. The thought of pulling a gun on another human being unprovoked had never crossed his mind, especially in the heat of malice. It wasn't the act per se that had him on such pins and needles; rather, it was the fact of actually performing it. He would draw his gun if threatened and shoot to kill to protect himself or uphold the law. But to do so out of malice and hatred? Yes, Sheriff Conklin was an unbearable, smug, racist a.s.shole and yes, Rusty admitted that at times he downright hated the man. But kill him?

Why, that would make him just like Sheriff Conklin.

Rusty tried not to let his unease show as he got out of his car and followed the bigger man to the large gate that bordered the lot. "How's the Harrelson kid?" Rusty asked, trying to make conversation.

"Pretty torn up," Conklin replied. They were standing outside the gate to the power plant. "That Ichabod Crane-looking hippie that runs that comic book store and that new guy brought him and his mother into Doc Jorgensen's. That new guy was there at the Doc's when I showed up."

Rusty frowned. When Conklin didn't like somebody he didn't give them the compliment of calling them by their first name. It was like they didn't even exist. h.e.l.l, Rusty was surprised Conklin referred to him by his first name.

Before he could stop it from coming out, Rusty let his tongue loose. "Why don't you like Rick, Sheriff Conklin? He sure ain't done nothin' to you."

Conklin reacted as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown on him. He turned slowly to Rusty, a look of dumbfounded amazement on his craggy face. His cold, gray eyes were like flint and they bore right into Rusty's. Rusty dropped his gaze from the Sheriff, wishing he hadn't said anything. G.o.d, but the man was an intimidating p.r.i.c.k.

The ice was broken by Conklin's laughter. Rusty looked up into Conklin's face, cracked by a wide grin as he chuckled. Rusty grinned, feeling the pressure lift from his shoulders. Roy put his hands on his hips, grinning down at his deputy. "Why that's a stupid question, Rusty. You know how I feel about outsiders to Phillipsport. Especially ones from big cities like Philadelphia or New York, and especially ones with hair long enough to pa.s.s for a woman. d.a.m.n bunch of commie-loving, war-protesting, drug-snorting b.a.s.t.a.r.ds is what they are. Every single one of 'em. Ain't no better than n.i.g.g.e.rs and f.a.ggots as far as I'm concerned." Conklin glowered at Rusty, his intimidating figure seeming to tower over the Deputy. "It shouldn't matter to you what I think of him," Roy said, slow and steady. "What should matter is you knowing when to keep your nose out of other people's business."

Rusty gulped and shuffled a step back. He didn't want to bring Conklin's fury down on him, but then again he'd seen the Sheriff violate the rights of too many people. Control was his vice, and intimidation was how he wielded it. He'd born witness to Roy's threats and intimidation since he had been a deputy, and his reluctance to stand up to the man felt like he was tarnishing the badge of law and order.

Only now he wasn't going to take it anymore. He was getting downright tired of it. He stepped forward. "I think that's something you need to follow yourself, Sheriff. b.u.t.ting into other people's business-like singling out Mr. Sychek for something he ain't even done; now that's b.u.t.tin' into other people's business. And if you're like'n to keep that up, then I guess I'm gonna have to tell the proper authorities."

There. He'd said it. And his belly began flip-flopping in his abdomen as Sheriff Conklin glowered at him with an evil looking grin. "Why Russell...that's pretty d.a.m.n good. For a minute there I didn't think you had any b.a.l.l.s."

"I got b.a.l.l.s...you can bet on that. Least I don't pick on people the way you do."

Roy's grin faded, replaced by an angry grimace. His eyes narrowed in their sockets. "You better watch your f.u.c.king tongue boy. I'll slap you so hard your whole family will die."

Rusty's heart was racing madly in his ribcage and he could feel the adrenaline pouring through his system. He was pumped and ready to go full swing. Might as well go all the way. What else did he have to lose besides this dead-end job? "You know, I have a feeling that the people of this town are sick of you and the way you treat people."

"What are you sayin' boy?" Roy coaxed him on, daring him.

Rusty paused for a moment as the rain pounded steady. "Folks around town don't like the way you do business. Next year's the election and word is you won't be re-elected."

Roy stood still, looking like an animal trapped in the headlights of an oncoming car. It obviously appeared that he had gotten the message loud and clear. He grunted, turned and began heading toward the power plant.

As they strode up the walkway to the power plant, Rusty appeared to let down his guard. Roy noticed this with a smirk. He would have figured it. The feebleminded deputy could talk as much s.h.i.t as he wanted but it wouldn't do any good. Sheriff Roy Conklin was in control of this town, not the taxpaying citizens of Phillipsport. They just better watch it and not pull any funny stuff or they would see how quickly help arrived when the town started going up in flames.

But now his thoughts on his political defeat evaporated as he and Rusty stopped and looked up at the towering monolith that controlled the region's electricity.

Usually the building was lit up like a Christmas Tree. Not so now. There wasn't one light on in the structure anywhere.

Rusty looked concerned. Roy glanced at him with slight irritation and rubbed the back of his head. Much as he hated Rusty, he had to admit the power outage at the GE Plant was pretty weird s.h.i.t.

Rusty finally broke the silence. "Where is everyone?"

Roy was going to come back with an inane retort destined to put Rusty in his place, but the rain soaked parking lot and empty windows of the building made him think otherwise. "I don't know," he said quietly. The hostility was gone for the moment. The two men were once again cops.

Roy looked at the security booth next to the gate, which was wide open. Somebody should have emerged from the booth when they drove up. No guard had emerged to meet them, and n.o.body had emerged from the building.

Roy zipped up his coat, drew his hood up over his head and turned toward the booth. Rusty sighed and quickly followed suit. They walked up to the booth. Roy pulled a flashlight from his belt and flicked it on. He tapped on the dark window a few times, hoping for a response, but none came. He shined the light into the booth. It was empty.

He stepped back and looked up at the fence. The top was covered with spools of razorwire. He looked down toward the beach where the waves were slamming on the rocks with ma.s.sive power. He turned his gaze toward the cars in the parking lot, the security camera perched on top of the security booth, and wondered why n.o.body from the control room inside hadn't come outside to greet them when they pulled in.

It was apparent that n.o.body was manning the control panel in the plant. Roy moved to the front gate, which was wide open. He placed a gloved hand on the chain-link fence. He tugged at the gate in puzzlement. "What the f.u.c.k's going on? This thing is always locked."

Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by a steady roll of thunder. The rain beat down harder, as if the sudden thunder had opened a chasm in the sky. Sheriff Conklin and Rusty raced down the lot to the employee entrance and the shelter of the overhanging concrete of the plant.

It was hidden from the security booth and the parking lot, but once they got to the employee entrance they knew something was terribly wrong.

The gla.s.s doors of the entrance were smashed to pieces. They lay shattered in the foyer.

They pulled their guns out of their holsters and crept quietly inside. Roy motioned silence. The tiled floor of the foyer was quickly becoming covered with water from the rain and the going was slippery. They crept slowly into the building.

The interior security booth was to the left. They approached it slowly, guns drawn. The steady rain pattering outside was the only sound in the plant.

The booth appeared empty.

Roy stopped just shy of the visitor's window where people stopped to sign in to security before going on to other parts of the building. He could see into the window of the booth and noticed the non-descript items: the desks, the control panels, computer monitors. No lights blinked on the panels. The monitors were blank.

Roy's nose tickled. He sniffed at the air, his nasal pa.s.sages picking up a strong, acidic scent. His eyes almost watered from the stench. "You smell that, Rusty?"

"Yep."

And it was then that he saw it, just out of the corner of his eye. A patch of blue lying on the floor, between the door of the security room and the employee break room. He motioned to Rusty.

His deputy saw it. "What do you think it is?" Rusty asked quietly.

Roy shook his head. It looked like a discarded shirt, but it was hard to tell in the dark.

"Follow me."