Jeff Rovin - Vespers

Joyce continued toward the bats.

“Are you sure they’re dead?” Gentry asked.

“Pretty sure,” she said.

“ Nancy -”

“It’s okay. If they were breathing rapidly, normally, the windows would be steamed up.” She reached the bats and knelt by the one in back. She reached around it, put her hand gently on its chest, and felt for a heartbeat. After a moment she leaned over it and felt the chest of the bat in front. “They’re dead,” she said quietly.

Joyce let her fingers linger on the pup’s fine fur before rising. It was like touching the surface of a bubble bath, the fur was that soft. And it was that innocent. These creatures had done nothing wrong except to be born where and when and how they were.

She felt miserable.

“So history won’t quite be repeating itself,” Gentry said.

“No,” Joyce said sadly. “It won’t.”

Gentry limped up behind Joyce and put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine everything you’re feeling right now.”

She reached across her chest and rubbed the back of his hand. “You’d be surprised what I’m feeling right now. Come on,” she said. “We’re finished here.”

They went back downstairs where they were met by the incoming SWAT team. The heavily armored police officers ushered them outside quickly, as though they were in danger. Joyce and Gentry were taken to the administration building first aid center. Kathy and T-Bone were already there, sitting in plastic chairs as a pair of paramedics examined them. T-Bone had his camera on the floor and Kathy had the tape in her hand. She refused to put it down.

After receiving emergency medical treatment for cuts and burns, the four were bundled onto a harbor boat. Kathy and T-Bone stood in the front of the boat; Joyce and Gentry sat on an equipment locker in the stern. They watched as the last remaining vespers scattered through the bright daylight, headed for shelter.

As soon as they were underway, senior police officer John Esty brought a radio to Gentry. It was Weeks. Gentry held the radio between them where Nancy could hear.

“That was a very nice fireworks display,”Weeks said.

“You should have seen it from the inside,” Gentry replied.

“I’m sure. You both okay?”

“We’re a little banged up, and we’ll have to do the rabies shot thing, but we’re alive,” Gentry said. “A lot of good people aren’t.”

“I hear you,”Weeks said. “There are going to be a lot of questions when you get back, about the museum attack, the tunnel operation, and what happened at the statue. But I’ve spoken with the mayor and the police commissioner and we’re going to put you two in the hospital for observation. While you’re there we’ll minimize the bullshit as much as we can. You did a helluva job, both of you, and we’re all very grateful.”

“Thanks,” Gentry said.

Joyce asked what was going to be done with the remains of the bats.Weeks informed her that their disposition would be decided in a day or two and that Al Doyle was on his way over to collect them. She said that she wanted to be part of any team that was put together to examine the remains.

“Of course,”Weeks said. “Absolutely.”

Weeks said he’d see them in a few minutes. He and the mayor had a few matters to attend to, like making sure traffic could start coming into the city again, that any remaining vespers were cleared from the subway, and that Albany and Washington sent people and money to help clean up guano, fix the tunnel, and make sure that Lady Liberty didn’t lose her arm.

Gentry turned the radio off.

Joyce looked at him. “How’s your ankle?”

“A little surgery, a little rest, no more bats, and it should be as good as new.”

“I think we’ve pretty much guaranteed the no-bats part,” she smiled.

“I hope so,” Gentry said. “So. Can I buy you coffee when we get back?”

“No thanks.”

He seemed wounded.

Her smile broadened. “Hasn’t it occurred to you, Robert, that I just don’t like the stuff?”

“Actually, no. I thought you were turningme down.”

“Uh-uh. It’s coffee I don’t like. Not the server.”

He smiled back and put his arm around her.

She hadn’t felt cold, but now she felt wonderfully warm.

Al Doyle spent the day supervising his pest control personnel as they removed the giant bats from the statue. He left the cleanup of the remaining vespers to the National Park Service police and the Hazardous Materials unit of the Coast Guard. He would return later in the day when officials from the United States Agriculture Department were scheduled to arrive from Washington.

The three giant bats were packed in crates lined with plastic and loaded with ice. The crates were sealed, placed on a barge, and floated up the Hudson River to the Seventy-ninth Street Boat Basin. There, they were met by ESU personnel who loaded them into vans and brought them to the Central Park Zoo’s veterinary department.

Zoo chief Berkowitz had suggested that the remains of the bats could be put on display to help raise money for the zoo and for future pest control efforts. Doyle was all for that. But several things Dr. Joyce had said about the creatures intrigued him. Not just about the bats themselves but about the circumstances that had caused them to mutate.

Whatever accident had created these monsters offered many opportunities to science-and to the scientists who were clever enough to decipher the chemical and biological processes involved. Decipher them, understand them, and one thing more. The most important thing of all.

Replicate them.

Jeff Rovin is an Author of many How to Play, video game books which were popular in the 1980s and 1990s. They detail strategies for dozens of games for the Nintendo Entertainment System, Sega Genesis, and Game Boy. He is currently the editor in chief of Weekly World News.