Dead Roots (The Analyst) (29 page)

“Mother Nature will swallow you up,” Odie screamed. Tom had no choice but to face him. Odie's spittle was spattering against his face. He held an arm up to shield himself from Odie's outbursts and the prying news cameras.

“Her roots have taken here, and she
protects
this place. The people of Orchard are Mother Nature's
children.
You leave or she'll eat you whole, boy. Tear you limb from limb and feed you to the wolves in the forest.”

“What did you just say?” Tom asked, resisting the urge to take off his sunglasses.

“Oh my God,” Artie said as he came to Tom's side in the crowd.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Tom repeated.

“This place is
Mother Nature's
. It all starts here-- human beings, returning to the earth, returning to the wild. You fuckin’ city boys, bringing your guns and your drugs and your poor manners, your
frightening
lack of social graces. Mother Nature will raise her branches and strike you down where you
stand.
Get out of here.
Get out of her town, and get away from us.
”

“I've heard enough,” Tom snarled. He tried to push past Odie. Odie shoved him against the car. The big waiter gripped Tom’s collar and raised his fist.

“You're no threat to her,” he shouted in Tom's face. “Leave here, or serve.
Leave here, or serve.
”

“You better take your fucking hands off me before I put
you
back in the earth.” Tom drew his pistol and jammed it against Odie's stomach. The crowd shouted louder. They took steps back, everyone pointing at the gun in unison.

“Let the
world
see,” Odie yelled at the nearby cameraman. “See how this man treats those he feels to be
beneath
him. Mother Nature's reckoning will swallow all of you whole. Her roots and branches will tear down your buildings. She will
envelope you
.”

Tom ducked as he heard Heather's shotgun go off. She had fired a warning shot into the air. She stomped forward and threw Odie to the ground with the weight of her firearm.

“Let us
through,
” she spat as she stepped over him to reach the cameraman. “I told you to turn that shit
off,
” she yelled. Heather wrestled the camera out of its owner’s hands and threw it on the ground. The casing cracked and pieces flew off. The cameraman was off like a shot, fleeing back down the hill to his news van.

“Children, these traitors are no threat to us,” Odie yelled from the dirt. “Spill their blood on Gaia's ground. Feed her verdant, fertile grass.”

“We are going inside,
now,
” Heather yelled at the others. Tom, Artie and Keda ran behind her. She leveled her shotgun at members of the crowd, who were advancing on them with looks that could curl paint from brick. Tom felt a woman from the throng grip his shoulder. He turned and punched her in the jaw, sending her hurdling to the ground. The woman issued an inhuman wail that cut the air like a dying animal. Several of the crowd joined in and began yelling at Tom wordlessly, making a cacophony of incoherent screams.

The crowd was still following them as they entered the house. Heather shut and locked the front door behind them. Pounding started on the doors and walls. Tom saw townsfolk starting to obscure the view from the windows, and he set about closing all of the curtains.

“This is going south really quickly,” he shouted. He thumbed the safety off. “Any ideas?”

“Where is Susan?” Heather yelled. “Mr. Bailey, I know you're home.”

“What the hell is all this racket?” Morgan Bailey's voice came from their left. Tom turned to see Mr. Bailey emerging into the living room from a door next to the stairs. The old man was quaking with rage. The door looked to lead into a basement. But what Tom noticed first was that Mr. Bailey was holding a rifle.

“We need to speak to Susan, now,” Heather said curtly. “Go get her.”

“What fresh hell is all this? Coming into my house, shooting off guns? Just leave us in
peace
.” Bailey brandished his hunting rifle angrily, but wasn't pointing it at anyone, yet. Artie and Keda stood off to the side. Neither of them was armed.

“Morgan, I told you to bring me Susan, and you're going to do it or I'm going to blast you in half, you geriatric fuck.” Heather pointed her shotgun at the old man.

Bailey's jaw dropped. He stared into Heather's eyes for a long moment, trying to intimidate her. She took another step towards him.

“Get her.”

Bailey spat on the ground.

“Susan, come downstairs, sweetheart.”

They waited. Susan Bailey appeared at the top of the stairs, followed by Mrs. Bailey, who had her hands on Susan's shoulders. She looked as weak and defeated as she had before, descending the steps with a futile limp.

Susan didn't say a word. She stared down at the group, her expression mimicking Heather's look of intensity.

“There. Are you satisfied?” Morgan shouted. “Will you people leave us in peace now?”

Tom wasn't sure what to do, or what to say. He stared at Susan. His fingers drummed along the side of his handgun. She stared back into him. Her facial muscles twitched.

“Morgan, listen to me,” Heather said slowly. “I need you to put down the gun. That girl is not your daughter.”

“What are you blathering about, you
cunt?
Of
course
it's my Susan. Get
out
of
my house
.”

“Morgan... drop the weapon.”

They stood there for a long moment. Artie was breathing heavily, pinned up against the wall. Keda leaned with his arms folded, his eyes darting between Heather and Mr. Bailey with catlike readiness. He opened his mouth to speak.

“You need to shoot her,” Keda said flatly. Tom's eyes widened. Heather looked at the Medium with her eyebrow raised in angered disbelief.

“What?”

“You need to shoot the thing posing as Susan. It's the only way to prove it.”

“Are you out of your
God damn minds?
” Morgan shouted. He raised his rifle and aimed it squarely at Heather. She stared back at him.

“Even now, Susan isn't reacting,” Keda said in a calm voice. “She is not scared, or angry. She has no way of comprehending this situation, because she has no mind. She is not a real little girl. You are being tricked.”

Nobody said anything for a long moment. Heather's eyes kept flicking up to Susan and Mrs. Bailey. Tom had his pistol ready.

Suddenly Mrs. Bailey spoke.

“Take her,” she said. Her hands fell away from Susan and she took a step back.

“
What?
” Morgan yelled. His grip on his rifle loosened.

“Take her. Do it,” Mrs. Bailey said in a weak voice. “This is not my daughter.”

The next few seconds were a blur. Heather aimed her riot gun up the stairs towards Susan and fired. Tom saw Mr. Bailey about to shoot and fired at the old man first, clipping him in the thigh. Mr. Bailey stumbled and pulled the trigger, the shot shattering one of the windows.

As Mr. Bailey fell to his knees, Tom looked up the stairs. The second the buckshot had hit Susan, she transformed. Now her skin was mottled with ugly red and brown protrusions, and her face had been replaced with a featureless gash. A torrent of red and black slime vomited forth, and the thing masquerading as Susan Bailey fell to the ground. It made loud bumps as it rolled down the stairs. Susan Bailey this was not.

The branch creature shrunk and shriveled into a small body not unlike a fetus, contorted and covered in deep lesions, lying in a puddle of its own expelled bile.

“You're under arrest,” Heather shrieked at Mr. Bailey. He had started stumbling down the stairs into the basement. Heather chased down the steps after him. Mrs. Bailey fled upstairs in tears.

Another window shattered. The yelling outside had grown louder. With the sounds of the gunfire, the pounding on the front door and windows had increased.

“Start putting up barricades,” Tom instructed. “I'm gonna go make sure Mrs. Bailey is okay.”

“On it,” Artie said, rolling up his sleeves. He flipped over the coffee table and started pushing it towards the front door.

Tom ran up the stairs, stepping over the fallen, hideous thing that had replaced Susan Bailey. He put his pistol back in its holster as he ran down the hallway to Susan's room.

********

He knocked.

“Mrs. Bailey?”

There was no answer. He pushed the door open. Molly Bailey was there, sitting on the bed and staring into space. There was a strong smell in the room, something like wet wood, or swamp.

“Mrs. Bailey, it's going to be alright,” Tom said, approaching her slowly. “We'll find your daughter... can you tell us anything that might help?”

Mrs. Bailey had a book in her lap. She ran her hand across its surface, and looked around the room at something Tom couldn't possibly know. She spoke, her aged voice a pained croak.

“This was her favorite book,” Mrs. Bailey said simply, before breaking into quiet sobs.

Tom approached her and knelt down, putting a hand out to rest on her lap reassuringly. Mrs. Bailey offered him the volume. He took it, and regarded the cover. The corners were frayed and the cover blanched from the sun.

As he read the title, his heart fell into his stomach.

********

Tommy set down the cardboard box full of toys and wiped some sweat off his forehead. He retreated into the shade of the garage.

The space seemed cluttered despite being strangely empty. There was no station wagon for him to squeeze past to get to the door. He was instead surrounded by tables and makeshift stands. All kinds of things-- a microwave, utensils, books, clothes. He had just finished bringing out the last box of his old toys and setting it in the hot sun, next to the camping equipment.

A white-haired man in a white polo shirt and khaki shorts strolled up the driveway, bearing an amiable grin. He gave Tommy a wave. Tommy held up a hand over his eyes as he squinted to make out the man's leathery features in the afternoon sun.

“Nice day for it, huh?” the man declared in a smooth, sharply American accent.

Tommy nodded noncommittally. The man knelt down and rummaged through the box he'd just placed down.

“You sure you don't wanna keep some of these?” the man said with a smirk. “Could be collector's items.”

“Nah,” Tommy responded, stepping closer, keeping his eyes shaded. “I don't want any of it.”

“How old are you?”

“Twelve.”

“Suppose you're that age. Is your mom or dad around? I'd like to take some of this stuff off your hands.”

“Dad doesn't live here anymore.”

“Well, is your mom home?”

“She's taking a shower.”

The man kept smiling that damn smile. He stood up and made his way around Tommy, to a box full of the books from Tommy’s room.

“I guess you and me will just have to make a deal, then.”

“Yes, sir.”

The man fingered through the books as if looking through used records. He'd occasionally make an impressed exclamation, like
'Moby Dick!'
or
'Edgar Allen Poe!'
as if subtly commenting on Tommy's tastes. Tommy shuffled his feet, checking the door behind him every so often to see if mom was done yet.

“Oh,
wooow
,” the man said when he pulled out a dog-eared paperback volume. “This is awfully dark for someone your age, don't you think?”

“No, sir. It's just a book.”

“Well, how much do you want for it?”

Tommy was about to answer when he felt a sudden chill run up his spine. A jet of cool, conditioned air came from inside as his mother came into the garage.

“Are you sure you want to get rid of that one, Tommy?” she asked, kneeling down and putting a hand on his shoulder. Tommy tensed up. He stared straight forward, refusing to make eye contact.

“Five bucks,” Tommy answered the older man.

“Is that all? This is worth a lot more.”

“Yeah,” Tommy's mother agreed. “It's worth a lot more. Don't sell that one, your father gave it to you. For your birthday.”

“Five bucks,” Tommy repeated. His hands clenched into fists. He started taking slow, deliberate breaths.

“That one is not for sale,” Tommy's mother said in a stern voice.

“Well, if you're sure, hang on just a moment here...” The man reached into his pocket to dig out his wallet.

Tommy felt the fingernails on his shoulders dig into his skin. He shut his eyes tightly while he waited for the man to get his money. Tommy felt himself being shaken gently.

“It's not for sale,” Tommy's mother repeated. “It's not for sale. Keep it. It's too special.”

“Here you go, son,” said the man. Tommy opened his eyes and stared straight ahead. He reached out and snatched the bill, then stuffed it in his pocket. “Pleasure doing business. I'll come back a little later when your mom's here, huh?”

“Sure,” Tommy said. He felt the grip on his shoulders loosen.

A haggard breath hit the back of his neck, making the hairs stand up as he watched the man leave.

“Disappointed,” he heard his mother croak.

Tommy couldn't help himself any longer. His eyes darted to the left. It was for only an instant, and in his peripherals, but he caught sight of the dead, pupil-less eyes that glared at him from his mother's upside-down face. His chest went cold. The face disappeared silently, as if simply cut from the frame of his vision. It left no trace and made no mention of its exit.

Tommy did not leave the corner of the garage for an hour. After the first fifteen minutes his mother arrived and tried to console him, but he tearfully screamed at her to leave him alone.

********

“Artie,” Tom shouted as he thundered down the stairs. “Take Keda upstairs and get ready to do an exorcism.”

“
What?
Tom, there's like fifty of those people out there. The whole town's gone apeshit.”

“I know. Look,” Tom said, raising the book for Artie to see.

“What is that?”