Extinct (12 page)

He lay down on the grass next to the hole to drop the ladder in just the right spot. The bottom of the hole curved away, but the soil was loose enough that Brad could wedge the legs down and lean the ladder right against the edge of the hole. The top of the stepladder stopped well below the edge of the hole. Brad considered the hole and studied where it curved under the knee wall of the garage foundation. The soil looked damp, and the hole was as black as midnight where it passed under the concrete.

Brad pushed up to his feet and headed back into the house. From the garage, he fetched a coil of rope and his long flashlight. Through the open garage door, Brad peeked at Herm, who still sat in the sedan with the door open. The tall man still looked down; Brad figured he was still doing paperwork.

Back at the hole, Brad tied one end of the rope around one of the deck’s posts. He dropped the coil into the hole. If the base of the ladder wouldn’t anchor in the dirt, he wanted a reliable tether to the above-ground world. With his flashlight tested and his boots retied, Brad lowered himself over the lip and descended the ladder. Gripping the rope in one hand and ready to scramble back up the ladder, Brad squatted down and pointed his flashlight under the garage.

The hole looked like the den of some huge animal, and a big part of Brad’s brain suggested he might be disturbing something dangerous. He could barely see into the hole. It was such a bright day, his flashlight was almost no help at all. Brad removed his hand from the ladder to shield his eyes from the sun. He shuffled closer.
 

After passing under the concrete footing, the hole dropped off. Brad shuffled even closer. He stopped again about halfway to the garage. Brad peered into the darkness, imagining some giant creature sleeping under there. He reached down to his feet, grabbed a handful of dirt and pebbles, and tossed the dirt into the black. Barely any sound came back to him—just the odds and ends of dirt hitting dirt in the dark.

He looked around for something more substantial and his eyes settled on the rope. Most of the rope was still bunched in a loose coil at his feet. Brad straightened the loops out a bit and then flung them into the dark.

“Okay,” he said to the hole. “If there’s anything under there, I’m coming in.”

Brad crept forward and crouched right next to the foundation, where the hole went under his garage. He had about four feet between the bottom of the footing and the bottom of the hole. Brad braced his hand against the concrete and stuck his head far enough under so his eyes could adjust.

The cave under his garage slowly came into focus. Directly ahead of him, the rope fell away into another deeper hole. Above him, in spots, he saw the underside of the concrete which formed the floor of his garage. Something had excavated almost all the dirt supporting the garage.

“I’ve got to move my truck,” Brad whispered.

Across the pit in front of him, on the opposite side of the cave, a ledge of dirt looked compacted compared to all the loose soil which made up the walls.

A noise behind him startled Brad and he spun on the balls of his feet, aiming the flashlight into the sun.

“It’s a breeding hole, as far as we know," Herm said. The tall man, Herm, had somehow climbed down the ladder and snuck up on Brad. “You best come out of there—you don’t want to know how far down that hole in front of you goes.”

“Breeding hole for what, and how do you know anything about it?” Brad asked.

Herm held out his hand to Brad and said, “I’ll feel more comfortable when you come away from there.”

“Fine,” Brad said. He didn’t take Herm’s hand, but pushed away from the concrete and stood next to Herm, looking him in the eye. “How about you tell me what’s going on here.”

“I will," Herm said. “Can we go inside?”
 

Brad stooped and picked up his rope, gathering it into a coil. He waved for Herm to go up the ladder and the tall man obliged. He looked like he barely even touched the steps. Herm’s legs moved, but it almost looked like he floated up out of the hole. Brad followed, carrying the coil of rope. When he got near the top, Herm leaned down and took the coil from him so Brad could use both his hands to get back up on the grass. Lifting the ladder out of the hole took Brad a few grunting tries until Herm helped him.

Brad waved his guest up onto the deck and in through the back door.

“Brad," Herm said, “I’m afraid you’ve got some hard changes coming your way.”

“How’s that?” Brad asked. He led Herm down the hallway to the living room.

“I’m going to come clean with you now. It’s going to feel at times like you’re a prisoner in your own house, but you have to believe, it’s for the greater good," Herm said.

Brad stopped and turned in the middle of the living room. He didn’t sit down, he just stood in the middle of the room and looked at Herm, who stood near the arch to the hall.

“Can you back up and tell me exactly what the hell you’re talking about?” Brad asked.

Herm gestured towards the window. Brad’s mouth fell open as he regarded the driveway. Men wearing golf shirts, cargo shorts, and boat shoes, milled about carrying equipment and having discussions in tight circles. Several sedans parked side by side in the driveway behind a white panel van. Brad counted about a dozen men before he saw the Humvee pulling through the lower part of the yard and out through the back gate.
 

Brad rushed to the window to get a better view.

“What the fuck?” he whispered to himself.

Towards the front of the house he saw a bucket truck from the cable company working on the wires at the telephone pole.

“We have to deal with the situation out back," Herm said, startling Brad. He had crept to within arm’s length while Brad looked out the window. The tall man could sneak up on a chipmunk.

“What exactly is the situation out back? Are you really from the USDA?” Brad asked.

“No, not the USDA," Herm said. “I work for the government. Truth is, we’re not exactly sure what’s going on with the vines.”

“I thought so,” Brad said. “From Georgia? Not likely.”

“You’re right," Herm said. “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll explain.” He gestured towards the couch.

“I think I have some phone calls to make first, if you don’t mind,” Brad said. He pulled his phone from his back pocket. The phone read full-strength signal—unusual for his living room—and where the carrier normally displayed, instead of “AT&T,” the display read “NOS.”
 

Brad called Stavros.

“Hello?” asked a voice.

Brad looked at his phone—he dialed correctly, but it wasn’t Stavros he was talking to.
 

“May I speak with Stavros please?” Brad asked.

“I’m sorry sir, I’ve been instructed to hold your calls until you speak with Mr. Guntner," the voice said.

“Gunther,” Brad said. He looked at Herm. “He told me his name was Gunther.”

“That’s what I said, sir. Gunther," the voice said.

“Sure,” Brad said. He ended the call. “Okay,” Brad said, throwing up his hands and flopping down to the couch, “You’ve got my car blocked in, my phone redirected, and I’m guessing you won’t let me just walk away, so you might as well talk.”

“I know we’re stepping on your liberties here, Brad," Herm said.

“You can call me Mr. Jenkins,” Brad said.

“Yes, Mr. Jenkins," Herm said. Herm’s shoulders sagged, and the corners of his eyes betrayed his exhaustion again. “We’re stepping on your liberties because we need to get control of this situation before it causes a panic. Most people would be a little disconcerted to learn that you’ve got some unknown species in your little portion of the Maine woods.”

“You can’t just cover up something like this,” Brad said. “Wait a minute, did you guys cause the fire at the Cartonio place? Was it part of your cover-up?”
 

“No, sir, no," Herm said. “This isn’t some giant conspiracy going on here. If you could just stow the tinfoil hat for a minute, I’ll explain. We’ve found these same plants and animals other places, but nowhere near any population until yours. And this isn’t a cover-up, we’re just keeping a lid on the publicity until we have a better understanding of what we’re dealing with, and how to proceed.”

After a very quick rap on the door, a man walked in. He looked older an even more tired than Herm. He wore khakis, a Hawaiian shirt, and a baseball cap. “Sorry about the intrusion here, Mr. Jenkins. You copacetic for cocktail hour, Herman?” the man asked.

“Blue skies, Ollie," Herm said.

“Take care, Mr. Jenkins,” the man said. He ducked out through the door, closing it softly.

“Your superior?” Brad asked.

“I’m sorry?” asked Herm.

“I’m just working on this theory,” Brad said. “Looking at those guys in the driveway, it seems like the more covered up you guys are, the higher the rank. You’ve got pants and a golf shirt. That guy is wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a cap—which makes him your boss, or at least higher rank. The guys with the cargo shorts must be pretty low on the totem pole, and the one hanging on the back of the Humvee was just wearing a tank top and soccer shorts, is that the lowest rank?”

“You’re pretty observant, and you’re correct," Herm said. “And I was just about to try to establish rapport by revealing something I shouldn’t. Guess I don’t need to now?”

“You’d have to go a long way to establish rapport at this point,” Brad said.

“Let me try," Herm said. “I’ll just be as straightforward as I can. We’re intercepting your phone and we run a delay on everything you say. If you try to reveal anything, we drop your call or fuzz it out. We’ve got a similar system hooked up to your internet connection. My guys say you work from home, programming, right? You can keep doing that, but remember, all your communication will be gated through us. That means documents, code check-ins, emails, everything.”

“I won’t be able to work,” Brad said. “All my communication with the office has to be through secured channels. You’re either flying blind or you have to block it completely.”

Herm smiled and nodded.
 

“The guys have tricks even I don’t understand, Mr. Jenkins," Herm said. “Just continue to live your life as normal, don’t try to alert anyone, and everything will go smoothly. Before you know it, we’ll be out of your hair. We’ll do your shopping, your errands, and you even get a stipend for the inconvenience.”

“My friends and family are going to suspect something’s up if I don’t turn up,” Brad said.

“Our research guys put together a plan before I showed up here, Brad. I don’t think we have much to worry about," Herm said. “I’m going to leave you to mull things over for a bit. I’ll be back later to answer any questions.”

Herm stood and held out his hand for Brad to shake. Brad just stared at the tall man and kept his place on the couch. Herm shrugged and showed himself out.

Chapter 5: On the Water (Fall)

S
ARAH
AND
R
OBBY
STOOD
side by side on the bridge of the borrowed boat, looking at the coast. The snow stopped falling, but the skies still looked heavy, like there was more snow to come. That wasn’t what drew their eyes.

Robby killed the engine and they bobbed in the swells, about three quarters of a mile from the coast.

“South?” Robby asked.

His mom didn’t take her eyes from the horizon as she answered, “I think we’d better.”

They both stared at the little port town on the coast. Robby counted seven funnel-clouds darting and dancing over the town. They touched down one at a time, ripping apart buildings and tearing up leafless trees. All seven spun in a slow circle, as if connected by invisible spokes to some center point. Each tornado picked up a load of material and carried it around until it hovered over the ocean. When the cloud brought its load over the water it dispersed a bit and dropped the wreckage into the surf.

Sarah looked down and saw a red door float by. It had brass numbers—two-one-seven—mounted above a tarnished knocker.

Robby put the engine in reverse, not wanting to get any closer to the destruction. He kept his eyes locked on the church steeple. It gleamed whiter than the rest of the buildings, and the tornados seemed to move around it without ever touching it. Almost like it was responding to his thought, the next tornado to come around dropped directly on the church, lifting and crushing the steeple into meaningless debris.

“Robby," Sarah said. “Robby! You’re headed for the breakwater, turn this thing around.”

“Yeah,” Robby said. He fumbled with the throttle and spun the wheel. He’d made it almost thirty minutes without vomiting, but the sudden change in direction and speed were too much. Sarah anticipated and handed him a fresh trash bag. For all his retching, only strings of yellow film came out. Robby spat into the bag and then pushed the engine a bit harder. They needed to backtrack to the west far enough to get around the point before they could head south.

Robby settled his gaze on the lighthouse and tried to adjust to the new swells they were hitting from their new course. Inside the breakwater, the waves calmed quite a bit, but now they were headed back out to the big stuff. Robby wiped his mouth on his jacket sleeve and handed the bag towards his mom, figuring he was done for a while. In fact, he figured, he might be done with food for a while too, since it looked like they had to stay on the boat.