Jeff Rovin - Vespers

“Because, Mr. Mayor,” said Joyce, “you’ll still have the little bats to deal with.”

“You mean her offspring?”

“No. The million other vespers in the city. When she came to the shelter, the small bats were nonaggressive because the giant bat was calm. We have to keep her that way. If you try to sneak up on her, she’ll hear. If she hears, she’ll call for backup, as it were.”

Weeks turned back to Joyce. “So what’s your plan?”

“I’m sort of improvising,” she said, “but I propose we lure the she-bat out of her nest using the video game sound. Bring her to wherewe want her, whether that’s somewhere in the subway tunnels or out in the open. Once we have her there, we kill her in a way that doesn’t involve anyone trying to close in on her.”

“Kill a pregnant female animal,” said Press Secretary Hardaway. “The animal rights activists will excoriate us for that.”

“Sane humans will applaud us,” the mayor said dismissively.

“The question is, how do we kill the bat without getting close to her?” Weeks asked. “Could we put snipers on surrounding rooftops?”

“No,” Joyce said. “The smaller bats would muck things up for a telescopic sight.”

Commissioner Veltre looked at her. “You’re sure of that?”

“I do a lot of shooting,” Joyce said. “The little bats would crisscross the line of fire at different depths of field, making it extremely difficult for a marksman to focus on the target.”

“What about poison gas?” the mayor asked. “We were talking about this before you arrived, Dr. Joyce. The Pied Piper aspect could be perfect. If we have the ability to bring the bat to a specific section of tunnel, then all we have to do is keep everyone away from that area until we’re finished.”

“And I still say that’s much too dangerous,” Department of Health director Whalen and Environmental Protection head Irizzary both said almost at once and with the same exasperation.

“As if a few hundred thousand bats, a mad giant, and tons of bat shitaren’t dangerous,” contributed Doyle.

“They are,” Whalen agreed, “only we don’t even know how large a dose it will take to kill the bat.”

“Plus leaks can and will happen,” added Irizzary. “Especially if we have to keep pouring it on.”

“And then there’s the cleanup afterward,” Whalen said. “It could leak into the water, kill fish, birds-”

“We can always use a shitload of hair spray and a really big tennis racket,” Veltre suggested, only half in jest.

“There is one thing to keep in mind,” Joyce said. “I have no idea how long the bat will sit still when she realizes that the heartbeat isn’t a heartbeat. We may have only a few seconds to destroy her. And I don’t think we’ll be able to draw her out a second time. This creature’s smart.”

Doyle said, “Assuming we can even get the bat where we want her using this dubious Pac-Man gambit, we can always use ethyl chloride.”

“Yes,” Weeks said. “Yes, I like that.”

“What’s ethyl chloride?” the mayor asked.

“It’s a congealant,” Weeks said. “A liquid that vaporizes at room temperature and freezes whatever it comes in contact with.”

“We use it as a local to numb kids’ skin before we give them stitches,” said Emergency Medical Services chief Lipsey. “Fast-freeze-turns everything white. A large enough dose will induce hypothermia.”

“We’ve got a lot of it on hand from the rat sweep we just finished. All we’d have to do is barge it down from the boat basin on West Seventy-ninth,” Doyle said.

“What are the risks?” the mayor asked.

“Frankly, not many,” Weeks said.

“Do you agree?” Taylor asked Whalen and Irizzary.

They both nodded.

The mayor looked at Joyce. “So we have the agent. But do we have the subject? Doctor, I’m more than a little worried about betting everything on-what did you call it, Al?”

“The Pac-Man gambit.”

“It’s the Dumbo effect,” Gentry muttered.

“The what?”

“The Dumbo effect,” Gentry repeated. “Using a mother image to lure out a child. But you knew that, didn’t you?”

Doyle said nothing. Joyce smiled slightly.

Weeks asked Joyce, “If what you’re saying is true, why not use a recording of a real bat heartbeat?”

“Because the video gameworked. The bat’s mother had been exposed to nuclear waste and God knows what else in Russia, then came to a totally new environment in New Paltz. I have no idea what effect the radiation and the change in climate and diet had on her metabolism-whether her heartbeat was normal or irregular, whether it was stronger or weaker than that of a normal bat. Whatever the special sound or rhythm was in that video game, it ‘spoke’ to the giant vesper. I suggest we stick with it.”

Everyone was silent.

The mayor nodded thoughtfully. “Gordy?”

Weeks sighed. “Dr. Joyce is the expert on bats.” He looked over at her. “I say we bet on her game plan.”

The mayor slapped the table. “Then let’s make it happen. Otherwise we’ll all be living in Jersey.”

The mayor thanked everyone, rose, and left the room. The press secretary was sitting to Joyce’s left and thanked her for her efforts. Commissioner Veltre came over to congratulate Gentry on the fine work he’d done since the crisis began.

“The fine work you’ve doneagain,” was how Veltre put it.

Doyle slipped away without a glance.

As everyone else left, Weeks came over, thanked them both, and asked them to continue as members of the team.

“There’s a lot of work we’re going to have to do over the next few hours,” the OEM director said. “We’ll have to get the ethyl chloride down here and figure out exactly where to draw the bat to, and also how loud the video game has to be relative to where the bat is.”

“You don’t want to make it so loud that the sound is distorted,” Joyce said. “Then it may not sound like what she heard. And the time factor is very important. Bats usually stop flying twelve to twenty-four hours before giving birth.”

“We’re going to move this along as fast as possible,” Weeks assured her. “What I think is that you and Detective Gentry should get some food and rest. We’ve got a cafeteria downstairs and rooms you can use. When we need you, we’ll come and get you.” He smiled. “I’ll also scare up a pair of jumpsuits. Looks like you two’ve been living in those clothes for quite a while.”

Joyce and Gentry both smiled, after which Marius Pace led them to the small, busy cafeteria. After picking up a few sandwiches and sodas, they were taken to the “crash pads” on the tenth floor-small, quiet, prison-size cubicles each with a cot, a shower, and a toilet.

Gentry made sure that Joyce was comfortable before heading to his own cubicle next door. After showering, eating, and pulling on the baggy blue jumpsuit Weeks had sent to the room, Gentry felt three things. One was pain from all the cuts and gashes the bats had inflicted. They were superficial enough that they could be washed out and seemed to disappear. But each of those little cussers stung. He also felt totally exhausted. Now that he’d stopped running, all his muscles wanted to do was nothing. They didn’t want to lift, adjust, or move in any way. They let him know that by complaining each time he shifted his shoulders, his arms, his legs, and even his fingers.

As he lay there, he forced himself to enjoy the respite, the sense of accomplishment-of survival-and he imagined he could hear Nancy’s heartbeat from the other side of the wall.

Gentry woke at three-thirtyA.M. He wasn’t accustomed to the quiet, and it finally got to him. He left his room, warmed with the expectation of seeing Joyce’s door shut. When he saw that it was open, he tracked her down to the conference room.There were blueprints spread on the table; Joyce, Marius, and a team of OEM tacticians were collected around them and talking animatedly.