James Swain - The Night Monster

We began by driving back to the town of Chatham. Our procession consisted of four vehicles. The first two were unmarked black vans containing the Daytona Police Department’s ten-man SWAT team. Then came Wood and his assistant in their black Audi. I was last, with Seppi sitting beside me, Linderman and Buster in the back.

Five miles outside of Chatham, we found the spot where Sheriff Morcroft’s pickup truck had taken down the fence. Everyone pulled over, and I led Wood and his assistant to where the sheriff’s pickup lay upside down at the bottom of the borrow pit. Wood shone his flashlight on the two corpses. Rigor mortis had set in, and the men’s faces were a gruesome mix of purple and red.

“I still think we’re taking an unnecessary risk,” Wood said.

“Not if we do it right,” I said.

“You like to have the last word, don’t you?”

I started to reply, then realized I’d be agreeing with him. I heard a rustling sound, and Wood killed his flashlight. In the darkness, a pair of silvery eyes began to circle us.

“Is that a dog?” Wood asked.

“Coyote,” I said.

“It doesn’t seem to be afraid of us.”

“It wants the bodies.”

Wood had strapped his gun to his side. He drew and aimed. The gunshot echoed across the field like a solitary clap of thunder.

I left Seppi with Wood, and drove to Chatham with Linderman. The town was quiet, and I pulled into the metered parking lot behind The Sweet Lowdown. Seppi’s blue Honda was parked in the rear of the lot, and I pulled up alongside it.

Linderman hopped out of my car. He had Seppi’s keys, which he used to unlock the Honda. The Honda was slow to start, but finally turned over. Linderman pulled out of the space, and I followed him out of the lot.

We drove through town. The images from the night before were still vivid in my memory. I was never going to forget the gruesome parade I’d seen outside the restaurant. Only the insane cut off their own limbs. Yet the people in Chatham who’d mutilated themselves were far from insane. They’d let a terrible idea take hold of them, and that idea had taken on a horrifying life of its own.

Buster sat beside me, his hackles standing straight up. People didn’t pay attention to animals’ behavior, but I’d been raised to look at it as a sign. My dog knew that this was a bad place.

Five minutes later, we’d reached the broken fence, and Linderman pulled off the road, and I did the same. Wood emerged from the shadows. He’d put on a black windbreaker and wool hat, and was nearly invisible. I lowered my window.

“How did it go in town?” Wood asked.

“No problems,” I said.

“Good. The SWAT team is ready.”

“Where are the other cars?” I asked.

Wood pointed up the road. “Just around the curve. They’re hidden behind some trees.”

“I’ll be right back,” I said.

I drove up the road, and parked my Legend with the police vans and Wood’s Audi. I started to get out, and Buster tried to follow. I wanted him by my side, but I knew things might get ugly. The last thing I wanted to see was my dog get hurt.

Buster whined as I walked away from my car.

Seppi and Wood were standing by the break in the fence when I returned. Seppi had her cell phone out, and looked at me expectantly.

“Everything set?” I asked Wood.

“We’re ready whenever you are,” Wood replied.

“Call him,” I said to Seppi.

Seppi called Travis Bledsoe on her cell phone. I stood close enough to Seppi to hear the call go through. It rang ten times before Bledsoe finally answered. His voice was thick with sleep.

“This had better be good,” Bledsoe said by way of greeting.

“Travis, this is Victoria Seppi,” Seppi said.

“Whatta yah want, Victoria?”

“Something bad’s happened. I need your help.”

“Call the flipping sheriff. That’s what he gets paid for,” Bledsoe snapped.

“Sheriff Morcroft’s hurt, and so’s his deputy.”

“Hurt? What do you mean?”

“I was driving down Highway Forty-seven, and saw a huge hole in the fence,” Seppi said. “I figured a car had gone through it, and went to look. Sure enough, there’s Sheriff Morcroft and his deputy hanging upside down in his pickup at the bottom of a hill.”

“Are they alive?”

“Yeah, but they’re all busted up. Sheriff Morcroft asked me to call you. He said you’d know what to do.”

“For the love of Christ, are they drunk?”

“They’re hurt, Travis. You’ve got to help me.”

“Fuck it. All right. I’ll come out there with my boys.”

“Thank you, Travis.”

Seppi folded her cell phone. She shivered from an early-morning chill. I put my hand on her shoulder and smiled at her.

“Did I do good?” Seppi asked.

“That was perfect,” I said.

I walked with Seppi and Wood across the field. We stopped at the top of the borrow pit, and stared down at the sheriff’s upside-down pickup truck. The SWAT team was at the bottom of the hill, and had taken up positions around the piles of debris that were lying around the pickup. Each SWAT team member wore body armor and carried a menacing-looking assault rifle. Linderman was with them. He’d also donned body armor and was carrying a shotgun.

Seppi crossed herself and turned her back on the dead men. She was holding up well, considering the situation.

“I need to talk to the SWAT team,” Wood said. “Sound the alarm when the Bledsoes arrive.”

“Will do,” I said.

Wood started down the hill. The wind had picked up, and the sound of my dog barking could be heard in the distance. Wood halted and looked at me.

“Is that what I think it is?” the FBI agent asked.

“Sounds like it,” I said.

“Want me to go shut him up?”

There were three things in this world a person wasn’t supposed to mess with, and one of them was a man’s dog. I almost told Wood to go to hell.

“He’ll calm down,” I said.

Wood walked away. The sky was growing lighter and filling with color. Soon the darkness had been erased, and a chorus of chattering birds greeted the new day.

“I used to dream about this day,” Seppi said.

Linderman had said the same thing to me earlier. I knew that his dreams and Seppi’s were much different.

“What was in your dream?” I asked.

“I dreamed that a stranger came to town. He looked just like Clint Eastwood, and he was carrying a rifle. He shot Mouse and Lonnie dead, then he shot Sheriff Morcroft and his deputy and the Bledsoes. Shot every one of them between the eyes, and killed them. But when I’d wake up, nothing would have changed.”

“It has changed. Everything has changed.”

“I know, but it still doesn’t feel real.”

I heard the low rumble of thunder. The wind had shifted, and was blowing from the east. Looking in that direction, I saw a line of single headlights rumbling down the road toward us. Motorcycles, moving fast.

“Bledsoe and his sons are coming,” I said.

I knelt down behind the hill so as not to be seen. Seppi remained standing, and waved to the Bledsoe clan.

Lifting my head, I watched the Bledsoes roar up. Travis Bledsoe rode in a sidecar, the empty sleeve of his leather jacket flapping in the breeze. A boy that was his spitting image drove the motorcycle attached to the sidecar, while his three other sons rode behind their father in souped-up Harleys. Each member of the clan wore a black leather jacket and a colorful bandanna to keep their flowing hair tied out of their faces. It was like watching a remake of Easy Rider.

“Is that all of them?” I asked.

“There are two others, but they’re in prison,” Seppi said.

The Bledsoes parked their hogs behind Seppi’s Honda. Travis climbed out of the sidecar, hitched up his pants, and had a look around. His leather jacket was unzippered, and I spotted a huge sidearm tucked behind his waistband.