Fatal Green Read online

Occasionally, someone pushed reading material through the slot, old magazines and paperbacks, but he had no television and got no mail from home or from anyone else. He was starved for news—news about the world in general, but especially news from home and news from Camm. His greatest fear was that they had captured Camm too, and she was now locked away in a cell similar to his own.

  Cal knew that type of treatment would kill Camm for sure. Camm was so active, so quick to take charge and drag Cal into action, fighting for whatever she believed was right. Since childhood, they had been best friends, a team in whatever devilry they concocted. They were Team One.

  For someone like Camm, so alive, intelligent, filled with positive energy, it would be a crime of the grossest sort to confine her, to lock her away and not allow her any contact with the rest of the world. Cal could tolerate this kind of mistreatment for himself, but he would never tolerate anyone treating Camm this way.

  For now, Cal would be patient and bide his time. Sooner or later, he was sure he would get his chance at life again. For himself, he had no desire for revenge, but those two old men had better watch out. All Cal’s hopes for his future were tied up in Camm. If anything happened to her, Cal would come after those old men like a runaway locomotive.

  II

  It was hungry! Free from its prison, but hungry—always hungry. For a long time, it had found only feral animals to eat. It was tired of wild meat. It hungered for human. It craved human!

  Most humans were gone from its hunting grounds. Only the strange ones were left. The strange ones had chained it and tortured it, had forced it out of its sanctuary and taken over the old mansion. The strange ones stayed together in groups and carried hateful weapons that inflicted deep wounds and long-lasting pain. It hated the strange ones, but it would not be driven away by them.

  All its life, it had hunted lone, helpless prey. That was its preferred way. It did not know any other. Its hunting circuit had grown wider as it sought the other humans, the helpless ones, but it could not find them. Where had they gone?

  It craved the sweet tender meat of small ones. Green slime dripped from its teeth at the thought. The young offspring were best.

  Standing suddenly, it whipped its head from side to side, flinging mossy-green sludge on the rocks around it. It heard a human noise, the howling cry of a two-wheeled human carrier. The machine would bring a rider—fresh meat. Maybe, the machine would bring the hated one. It could not forget her, would never forget her! Above all others, it hungered for her!

  Raising its nose, it sniffed the air. The hated face of the sun would soon be hidden behind the mountains. In the coming darkness, it would be safe to leave its shadowed hiding places and take the prey. Soon, it would satisfy its hunger with human flesh and blood. Tonight, it would feast on human!

  * * *

  Lifting her helmet visor, Kissie gazed down at her abandoned hometown from high in the foothills of the Argus Mountains. The sun had almost set behind her, causing the mountain shadows to lengthen across the valley floor. Below, the little town of Trona, empty and deserted, stretched out along the Trona Wildrose Road from south to north. Beyond the road, the vast expanse of the bone-white dry lakebed filled the valley, extending to the base of the Slate Range Mountains, now bathed in the red hues of sunset. Except for clouds of smoke belching from the Searles Valley chemical plant, the scene was devoid of human activity, leaving her feeling an odd mix of desolate and homesick.

  She knew she was trespassing, violating numerous federal laws by just being there, but at the moment, Kissie didn’t care. Defiantly, she revved her loud dirt bike engine. The thick, blue exhaust partially masked the sulfurous odor now engulfing her. Whew! She wrinkled her nose at the plant below, with its acrid clouds of heavy smoke.

  Studying the highways below, she grinned. By riding her dirt bike through gulches and empty canyons, she had avoided all the police blockades on the major roads. Again, she revved her engine. Let them try to stop her. They’d have to catch her first.

  Security was tight in Trona. Sure, the plant was still operating, but the workers in each shift were now bussed in and out of town with a military escort. Everyone had been moved to temporary housing on base property in China Lake, twenty-five miles away. Living on base made it easy for Kissie to find a backdoor into Searles Valley. Now that she knew the way, she intended to come over as often as possible, and maybe work her way along the back trails into Panamint Valley.

  Anything was better than being trapped in China Lake. After being stopped several times by the local police, she didn’t dare ride her bike on the paved roads of either China Lake or Ridgecrest. In reality, the two communities were one contiguous metro area that felt more like a prison than anything else.

  Kissie wrinkled her nose again, staring at the columns of smoke rising from the chemical plant. The plant is really making a stink today. Worse than usual.

  * * *

  It dared not leave the shadows—not until the hurtful sun went down—but it would not lose this prey. It had been waiting too long. When the girl looked the other way, it crept closer, green saliva building in anticipation. A surprise attack from behind was best. It knew how to quickly immobilize its prey. Soon, the sun would be gone and it would feast.

  * * *

  Kissie sighed. She knew she should head back before it got late but wished with all her heart she didn’t have to. She hated being forced out of Trona more than she hated her name. And she really hated her name. She even hated her nickname, Kissie, but it was an improvement over the name on her birth certificate: Kissamee. That was unbearable. Her father, Pastor Justenough, should have known better than to burden his kids with creative names. They all hated their names and didn’t take any guff from hecklers. Loudly, she revved her engine again.

  The evacuation of Trona had something to do with all the children that had gone missing from town. Of that, Kissie was sure. She heard rumors about giant spiders, but her dad said it was just idle talk by silly folk with nothing better to do. She also didn’t buy the Fed’s story about a dangerous chemical leak at the plant. Bad smells and noxious fumes leaked from the plant all the time, and no one had ever done anything before. No, the eviction had to do with the missing kids.

  Last year, her little brother, Dylan, disappeared while hiking up at Indian Joe’s. The year before, a little boy she had often babysat, Joey McKay, went missing as well. Neither boy was ever seen or heard from again. She even remembered back in second grade when Hughie Jones vanished on a cold Halloween night.

  So this was the answer? If they couldn’t figure out who kept taking the kids, then just empty out the whole town? Her mom, who still cried when talking about Dylan, said something was seriously wrong and kids would start disappearing from Ridgecrest, too. Kissie shuddered, filled with a deep sense of injustice. Why didn’t someone actually do something to catch the kidnappers?

  The shadows in the valley had deepened. Kissie needed to head back to her new, but hopefully temporary, home. Out of nowhere, a sensation of vertigo swept over her, leaving her nauseous and dizzy. Afraid she would fall over with her bike, she leaned it on the kickstand and dropped to one knee as everything seemed to spin around her.

  After a moment, the sensation faded. Rising slowly, she looked down at her real home one last time—across the town, there were no lights, no signs of life. Only the plant lights blazed. Sighing again, she reached for her bike.

  Something stirred behind her. Rocks and sand slid down the hill, rolling around her feet. Peering over her shoulder, an involuntary scream escaped her lips. Something like an enormous, ochre-colored, hairy piece of furniture scampered on too many legs down the hill toward her. As a hairy leg reached for her, she dropped beneath it and rolled away. Only as she jumped up and ran away did she realize she was being chased by a tarantula. A gargantuan tarantula.

  Kissie’s first thought was to get back to the dirt bike—the engine was still
running. She could outrun this thing on her bike. Too late, she realized the tarantula was between her and her bike, and she was headed in the wrong direction.

  She had always thought tarantulas moved kind of slow, but this one was hauling. It was almost on top of her again. Grabbing a handful of sand and pebbles, she hurled it back at the spider’s eyes. The hideous arachnid rose up on six legs, hesitating for a moment. The two furry legs in front probed the air in front of Kissie. The hair on its legs bristled out like a wire brush.

  The monster had so many eyes—dead, black, unmoving eyes. Two sharp fangs, dripping venom, protruded from what looked like its mouth. Its face appeared both menacing and emotionless, telling her she was just another meal.

  Scooping up more debris from the desert floor, she threw it at her pursuer’s eyes. Such a poor defense would not save her. She had to find something better. Desperately, she searched for a large stick or a rock she could throw. Surrounded by pebbles and boulders, everything was either too small or too large.

  Thrusting at her with a front leg, the tarantula punched Kissie in the chest, knocking her onto her rear end. She flung more sand at it. “Go away! Go away!” Her voice cracked; her throat was dry. She felt so defenseless, so overwhelmed.

  Rising up on its four hind legs, the spider swooped down on her, fangs thrusting toward her torso. Kissie rolled to her left, knocking one of its legs out of the way, barely dodging the deadly penetration of its fangs. As she jumped to her feet, the tarantula swung around to face her.

  No spider should be this big. Its head was level with hers, its roundish torso the size of a small car. She swore, thinking of her dad. This was not silly, idle talk. This was real!

  There! Finally, she saw something she could use: an old, weathered length of mesquite bush, maybe three feet long and a couple inches thick. Against the giant spider it looked pathetic, but it was the best weapon she had found so far.

  Grabbing the stick, she turned and whacked the spider with all the force she could muster on top of its gruesome head. The stick splintered. An end piece broke off completely.

  The spider hesitated a second, not seriously hurt, and thrust at her again. Instead of whacking it, this time she jabbed at its eyes with the splintered, pointy end of the stick. Its hideous face nauseated her, but she kept jabbing while it jumped and jerked, trying to avoid the stick.

  Mucous and foam dribbled from its oral opening. Kissie imagined it sucking her body juices dry, or worse yet, laying its eggs inside her. Do tarantulas do that? The thought was more than she could bear. She screamed again, but the spider didn’t seem to notice.

  It thrust at her now in rapid, repeated jabs. Losing her balance, she fell back on her bottom again. From her seated position, she grabbed the stick with both hands and beat it against the beast until the branch splintered in her hands like so much useless kindling.

  Sobbing, Kissie fell back on her elbows as the spider positioned itself above her. Again, she saw the deadly fangs descend and tried to roll to one side, but the spider now held her in place with its legs. In that instant, Kissie knew she was dead meat for sure. In the next instant, she heard a dull thud and putrid mucus splashed down the side of her face and arm.

  Above her, the spider rolled over onto its back with a giant, green ball of slimy, rancid fur clinging with teeth and claws to the spider. Bits of tarantula flew into the air. Kissie gasped, hardly able to take in what she saw. Some other kind of ferocious creature was attacking the spider, literally ripping it to pieces.

  Jumping to her feet, she glanced around for her dirt bike. It lay silently on its side in the dirt. The engine had died. Racing towards the bike, she glanced over her shoulder. What looked like a giant, green rat with long, slimy fangs and flaming, red eyes bore down on her from behind. It would be on her before she reached her bike, let alone before she could get it started again.

  Whatever this thing was, Kissie had no doubt it intended to rip her to pieces like it had just done to the spider. No rock or stick would slow this monster down. Its red eyes glared pure hate at her. Panicking, she again realized her life was over. She was going to die, and no one would ever know what happened to her.

  Boom! The deafening sound of a powerful explosion reverberated off to her left.

  Boom! Again, something exploded so forcefully Kissie thought she felt a shock wave.

  Behind her, the monster shrieked, a shrill terrifying scream.

  Glancing to her left, she spied a man leaning across a big boulder, gripping a ridiculously large revolver in both hands, aiming at the monster behind her.

  Boom! The shot rang out like a full-size cannon.

  The creature screeched in pain.

  Turning her head further to peer behind as she ran, she saw the giant rat-thing had now focused its angry red eyes on the man with the gun.

  Boom! The monster jerked violently with the impact of the bullet and shrieked again.

  Still looking back, Kissie caught her toe in a clump of sagebrush and fell spread-eagle. Instantly, she sprang to her feet and sprinted towards the man. She didn’t know this guy, but he was clearly trying to protect her, and she was inclined to let him.

  Boom! The rat made a series of high-pitched crying noises as it scurried towards the man.

  In its rush to get the man, the rat hurtled out of the mountain’s deepening shadow and into the direct light of the setting sun. Shrieking and writhing as if in horrible pain, the rat quickly retreated back to the shadows. At the same time, Kissie burst into the sunlight, dashed down the slope, and slid to a stop behind the man, who continued to focus his attention on the rat.

  The rat shrieked again. Now, it sounded more angry than in pain. Turning, it vanished into the dark shadows of the huge boulders piled up against the mountain’s steep slope.

  Without taking his eyes off the spot where the rat had disappeared, the man reloaded his revolver with bullets bigger than his thumb, which was not small. Everything about this man was impressive. With the loaded revolver once again in both hands, he surveyed the shadows expectantly for long moments.

  As a surge of relief washed through her body, Kissie took her first good look at her savior. He stood about six foot two, with a strong athletic build, and short, sandy-blond hair. He looked to be in his thirties, with chiseled, but weathered features. Handsome in a craggy, rough sort of way, he wore khaki pants, a sleeveless, green t-shirt, and black-leather hiking boots. A tattoo in strange letters, which Kissie thought she should recognize, circumnavigated his left bicep and forearm.

  The man grimaced, squinting into the sunset as he turned to walk toward the incapacitated spider. “These things never die easily,” he stated flatly, as if repeating some mundane fact.

  When he arrived at the spider, it wriggled its two or three remaining legs, struggling to get up. The man fired the revolver several times directly into the horrible face of the beast. Only when nothing of its eyes and mouth remained where the face had been, did the man seem satisfied.

  Reloading the spent shells in his gun, he walked toward Kissie, a frown on his face.

  A moment of panic swept through her, until he smiled, calming her fears. She knew she shouldn’t trust him just because he was good looking, but he had saved her life.

  As the man approached, he stooped to scoop up a handful of clean sand, holding it out for her to see. “You can use sand to scrape off that smelly, green goop on your face and arm.”

  Suddenly, Kissie realized she reeked like a week-old dead coyote decaying in the hot desert sun. She glanced down with horror at the noxious green slime that had splashed on her when the rat rammed the tarantula. Grabbing handfuls of sand, she scrubbed at the slime, gagging at the overwhelming scent of rotten-eggs and death.

  Turning away as if to respect her privacy, the man surveyed the surrounding desert. “Let’s grab your bike and get out of here before the sun disappears completely. Tha
t green rat will be back once it gets dark. I bet it’s up there in those big rocks, watching us.” His eyebrows arched at her as he smiled again. “We don’t want to be here when it decides to come back.”

  She wanted to hug him. He deserved a hug because he had killed that horrid tarantula and driven away the giant rat, and because he was so calm and in charge and handsome, and mostly because he had saved her life. But, she restrained herself, not sure what to do, especially since she smelled so bad. She had to be as offensive to him as she was to herself.

  The man strode over to where she had left her dirt bike. Kissie stared at his broad back, wondering how he knew she was up here in the mountains in trouble. And, how did he know she came on her dirt bike? He did not act like a civilian. Had she been tracked by base security?

  Her bike engine was pretty loud, especially when she gunned it up a hill. Had someone heard her riding through the foothills and reported her to the military guard?

  He stood the bike back up on its wheels and walked it toward some gigantic boulders. “My truck is parked behind those big rocks. We can stick your bike in the back.”

  Kissie didn’t know what else to do, so she walked next to him. “Thank you!” was all she could think to say.

  He glanced at her, “What are you called, anyway?”

  “Kissie,” she responded, hoping he wouldn’t ask for more information.

  “Ah, you’re one of Pastor Justenough’s kids.”

  Kissie blushed, wondering if he knew her full name, but when he said nothing more, she smiled up at him and asked, “What are you called, anyway?”

  He laughed at her feistiness. “Everyone calls me Granny.”

  Kissie scowled, thinking she had not hear him correctly. “Everyone calls you Granby?”

  “No, you heard right. I go by Granny.”

  She frowned deeper. “Why does everyone call you Granny?”

  He smiled. It was a warm, sincere smile, but something about him seemed distant. “I suppose because I take good care of other people and clean up their messes when no one else will. Like your grandma, I can always be depended upon to do a thorough job.”