Jeff Rovin - Vespers

Gilheany was stepping quietly and Joyce was wearing running shoes. The scientist listened carefully for sounds from above; the mother wailing, the pups mewling, the noise of nursing or movement-anything. But there was nothing save the distant howl of the wind as it slipped around the statue. At least there was no scratching from outside. Whatever bats were left were inactive.

All around them were the monument’s zig-zagging stainless-steel support struts. Joyce knew that the bat could be hanging from any one of them. Or from the steps. Or from the central column itself.

Or the dark folds of the statue’s skin.

The light from the flashlight threw ever-changing shadows on the copper plates that comprised the statue’s robe. The shifting light and dark made the skin appear to crawl, made it seem more liquid than solid. And though her mind told her the bat was nestled somewhere above them, Joyce couldn’t rid herself of the feelings she’d had as a child, that the night, the darkness, held more than she could ever know. That any of those fluid changes to the side or above them could have been the bat moving its wings, preparing to jump-

Joyce started when Gilheany spoke. As if her heart weren’t thumping fast enough from the climb.

“How soon before she knows we’re here?” the sergeant asked quietly.

“She already knows,” Joyce assured her. “The bat heard us as soon as we entered the pedestal.”

“So there’s no reason to whisper.”

“None. And she’ll smell us soon, if she hasn’t already.”

“You said downstairs that you were hoping she would. Why?”

“Because if the bat gives birth quickly, and if she feels strong enough, she may try and intercept us. We’ll hear her.”

“If she’s already given birth, how dangerous will the babies be?”

“I don’t know,” Joyce admitted. “Vesper pups tend to be about twenty-five percent as large as the parent. Their wings aren’t developed enough for flight, and many of them are born with their eyes shut. But the way this bat was mutated it’s impossible to say.”

They passed the statue’s midriff. The tablet in the figure’s left arm loomed above. Joyce turned her light there and made sure the bat wasn’t inside. In the dull light that bounced back she could see Sergeant Gilheany’s expression. A great deal of her gung-ho had been sucked into the shadows. If time hadn’t been so short, Joyce might have insisted that Gilheany stay behind with Gentry and let her have the shotgun. She probably had more wildlife experience than either of them.

But Joyce was glad it hadn’t worked out that way because she might not have been able to get off a steady shot. Her thigh muscles were aflame and trembling from the running she’d done and now from the climbing. She’d had to put the radio in her back pocket, hold on to the handrail, and pull herself along. The higher they went the hotter it also became. Her jumpsuit was thick with perspiration, and the fresh bites she’d suffered stung continuously as sweat dripped into them. Her hand was clammy around the flashlight’s rubber handle.

The climb did provide one unexpected compensation for Joyce. She liked knowing that Gentry was on the other end of the radio, listening silently, worrying about her. Not being alone was a new and different kind of feeling for her.

Just above them were the statue’s massive shoulders; straight above them was the neck and the ascent to the crown. Between the shoulders, to the right, was a small rest area with a relatively wide landing beyond it. Past that, Joyce saw dark, narrow steps that rose into the statue’s raised arm to the torch. The ladder that rose through the statue’s raised arm to the torch was there. Joyce heard the wind rushing around the arm, swift and ghostly. And while she heard only that, she knew that wherever the bat was it could hear everything. She wished there were something she could do to neutralize that advantage. Feedback from the radio wouldn’t distract the bat because there was no signal to disrupt. The flashlight might blind her momentarily, but she’d still be able to hear. They could fire a shotgun blast and deafen her, but they’d also deafen themselves. And there was still the bat’s olfactory sense.

Joyce shined the flashlight toward the upraised arm. She ducked under a low strut and walked slowly toward it. She looked up inside.

The wind blew hard in the crown above, almost as though the statue were drawing a breath.

“I don’t think she can fit in the arm,” Gilheany said, without looking over. She was peering up. “The neck would give her a little more room.”

“You’re probably right, but I want to check anyway,” Joyce said. “How thick are the copper plates?”

“Three-thirty-seconds of an inch. About the thickness of a dime.”

“The bat could bend them out, make herself fit. Squeezing into places is something bats are very good at. They also like to hang upside down and there’s a ladder in the arm.”

Gilheany was walking close behind Joyce. She was breathing heavily. “When we do see the bat, where should I aim?”

“For her head,” Joyce said. “She’s got sheets of muscles around her torso. It may be difficult to inflict a fatal wound below the neck.”

The wind stopped blowing for a moment, and Joyce stopped. They heard a scraping sound behind them. She and Gilheany both spun around. The officer raised the shotgun to her shoulder.

There was nothing there. But the scraping came again, definitely from above the neck.

“She’s in the crown,” Gilheany said softly.

Joyce slipped the radio from her pocket. Then she walked around the sergeant toward the statue’s neck.

The staircase here was like a large loop with the right side higher than the left. The upward steps curved up along the back of the statue’s neck and followed the contour of the statue’s right cheek, past her right eye into the crown. The downward steps were different. They didn’t follow the curve on the left side. At the end of the observation area they turned sharply toward the right, dropping and passing under the ascending stairs.

Joyce stood on the bottom step and shined the light up. The beam glinted off the curving rails of the staircase. They were bent away from the deck, as though something had pushed them outward. She saw the rolling copper curves of the statue’s hair and heard more scratching. Slowly, she went up another step. The flashlight roamed higher to the upright support beams that ran up the crown and along the top of the head. Joyce saw that they bulged outward, slightly distorting the shape of the head.

She put the radio to her mouth. “Robert?”

“I’m here.”

“The bat was definitely in the crown. She may still be up there.”

“I know. I heard Sergeant Gilheany. Nancy, the SWAT team will be here soon. Why don’t you leave this-”

“Shit!”Gilheany screamed.

Joyce had heard it too. The loud creak of metal. She ran down the stairs to the landing. Gilheany was facing the statue’s arm. She raised the shotgun as Joyce shined the flashlight in that direction.

“I don’t get up here a lot. I didn’t even notice that before.”

“What?” Joyce asked. Gilheany pointed the light to an area left of the arm, at the very edge of the ledge. A gate that had been erected to keep tourists out lay wadded and crushed off to the side. The light climbed higher.

Officer Berk’s body fell to the landing an instant before the giant bat dropped from the arm.The copper sides rattled as she landed. There was blood on the creature’s mouth and nose; she was no longer pregnant and looked thin and bedraggled. The birth had obviously been an ordeal for her.

Gentry shouted something, but his voice was swallowed by Gilheany’s oath as she fired. The blast was deafening, and Joyce screamed from the pain. The shot punched a bloody wound in the side of the bat’s neck, but it didn’t stop her. The giant screamed audibly as she jumped forward, her wings folded against her sides so that she could move through the confines of the statue. Gilheany raised her sights and fired a second shot. But the bat lowered her head and charged like a bull, and the bullet flew past her, blowing a hole in the copper.