Lindsay Buroker - Torrent

“Now that’s suspicious. Those are the guys who must be up to something shifty. It’s pure coincidence that we’ve been here for both of these.”

“Is it?” I wondered.

“What do you mean?”

I shrugged. The woods lay out there, dark and ominous, still being bathed by the red police lights. The shade reminded me too much of blood.

“I found another body,” one of the police called.

“There’s someone injured over here,” one by the smashed car said. “Steve, get the paramedics out here too.”

The man at the radio chopped a wave.

Simon gripped my arm. “Del, what do you mean about it not being a coincidence?”

“I don’t know. Just musing. But don’t you think it’s weird that this has happened in the two places we were today? What if that creature is after us ? Or wants something we have?”

“Oh, sure, it’s upset it didn’t get a chance to bid for the antique coffee grinder.”

“Hey, we’ve found some good stuff. Remember those quirky clay figurines from that Fremont pit house near the Wilcox Ranch?”

“I remember that you wanted to donate them to a museum instead of selling them,” Simon said.

“But we haven’t done that yet. They’re still in the van. Other stuff is too.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get your point, and I think you’re nuts.”

I propped my fists on my hips. “Well, thank you for so thoroughly considering it from all angles.”

“You’re welcome.” Simon waved his phone. “I’m going to see if I can get some pictures of monster footprints.”

“What you’re going to get is arrested for interfering,” I called after him.

More sirens were wailing, coming from the direction of the town. Why did I have a feeling we’d both be in jail before dawn?

Two lean, dark figures walked out of the trees on the opposite side of the camp. The riders were back. They stuck to the shadows, and the police didn’t notice them. As far as I could tell nobody had noticed them. Except for me.

I put my back to the van and checked the police cars, making sure armed men were in earshot if I shouted for help. The younger rider carried a stick. He was walking and gesturing, waving it about as he spoke with his comrade. The flashing police lights fell upon them for a moment, and I realized it wasn’t a stick, it was an arrow. My arrow. Nobody else had been running around with a bow. I’d only shot the one, and it had hit the creature. At least I’d thought it had. How had these two gotten it? What if they knew where the creature had run to and had retrieved it somehow? I chomped down on my lip, torn between wanting to jump out and interrogate them and knowing it’d be smarter to hide in the shadows and hope they didn’t notice me. They couldn’t be happy about the fire extinguisher incident, not to mention those slashed tires… Albeit they’d since replaced those tires, for there was no sign of the damage on their Harleys.

As they neared the dumpster where they’d parked, I caught a few snippets of their conversation over the clamor of approaching sirens. And it floored me. Whatever language they were speaking, it sure wasn’t English. I didn’t think it was a romance language either. True, I wasn’t hearing them well, but I’d studied enough Roman history in school that I figured I could identify something based on Vulgar Latin. It didn’t sound Slavic or Germanic either, though I was less familiar with those groups of languages. Their words had a lot of variation in tone-I thought I heard a couple that were repeated, only with different inflections. It reminded me of Mandarin, but these guys were awfully white for Chinese people. On looks alone, I would have guessed them Scandinavian, but even in those countries, they’d stand out.

I was so intent on listening to their words, that I almost missed the fact that they’d reached their motorcycles and turned to look at me. The older rider twitched his head-it wasn’t quite the side-to-side motion of a head shake, but it had the same negative gist-and hopped onto his bike. He roared away without a backward glance. One of the cops shouted at him to stop, but an ambulance and a news crew rolled into the campground, and the Harley weaved around a couple of cars and disappeared from sight. This was about to become a circus. The remaining campers who’d apparently been reluctant to leave their tents and motorhomes to talk to the police, flowed out of hiding as soon as the news van stopped.

The remaining Harley rider, Blue Eyes, walked toward me, my arrow held at his side. As he drew closer, I could see his face and hands well enough to tell that there weren’t any signs of injury from the fire extinguisher propellant. My own skin was raw and red in spots, and I hadn’t even been the target.

I shifted from foot to foot and scanned the trees for Simon, but I didn’t see him. The authorities were swamped by now too. This guy better not be trouble, because it looked like I was on my own for dealing with him.

“Hello,” he said. “I am Eleriss. What is your name?”

“Er?” I’d been tensing, ready for him to stab me with the arrow, so this frank introduction took me off guard.

He tilted his head. “Er?”

“No, I mean, it’s Delia.” Belatedly, I wondered if I should have lied.

“I located your arrow.” Eleriss held it out to me.

“Uh, thanks. Was it in the haunch of anything when you located it?”

“Haunch? Ah, no, the jibtab would not be injured by such a weapon. Perhaps you… what is the expression? Gave it a hangnail?”

In the poor lighting, it was hard to tell, but I thought a slight smudge darkened the arrow tip. Maybe I’d made the creature bleed at least. Truth be told, I was impressed I’d hit it at all given how much my hands had been shaking. Of course, that might be a smear of dirt on the arrow too.

“But you attacked it,” Eleriss said. “It will remember you now.”

“Oh, good.”

“This… conveyance-house-” he pointed at the van, “-will not protect you from its fury if you cross it again. The jibtab is very strong.”

“So moving back to New Mexico would be a good idea now?” As soon as I said it, I rejected the idea. On the off chance that something-a jibtab , whatever that was-was hunting me, I wouldn’t lead it back to my family.

Eleriss considered my question for a moment, mouthing, “New Mexico,” a couple of times. “Ah yes,” he said, “the territory adjacent to this one. Perhaps a farther destination? Your Alaska may be safe for some time.” He smiled, like a man making a joke, but I didn’t find any of this amusing.

“Safe for some time? What do you mean?”

“It is lightly populated by humans, so will not attract the wrath of the jibtab’s master for now.”

I digested that for a moment. It was hard to concentrate as fully as I would have liked with people shouting and setting up lighting and equipment in my peripheral vision. It was only a matter of time before someone came over and wanted to interview me. Or arrest me. I wasn’t sure which sounded less appealing.

“Just to be clear, you’re not the jib-thing’s master?” I asked.

Eleriss took a step back. “Me? I would not create anything to harm humans. I like humans.”

“Yeah, me too.”

This guy was seriously weird. I was beginning to think there was some merit to Simon’s idea that our strangers were Vulcans, or nut jobs who thought they were Vulcans. Would he be affronted if I told him Prescott didn’t have a Live Action Roleplaying Group?

“It would not be within my abilities to create a jibtab regardless,” he said. “I am not a… scientist, is that the profession?”