“That’s enough dirt to fill the living room,” Brad said to himself.
He reached up and gripped the back of his head with his hands. Brad spun slowly, looking for any tracks on the lawn.
“It would have taken an excavator all night,” he said under his breath. “I was just out here last night. Last night.”
Brad approached the gaping hole slowly. The hole exposed the side of the concrete foundation, where it descended into the soil. The concrete was still dark under the soil-line, where it had recently been in contact with the dirt. His foundation went down about four feet below the grass, but the hole went lower. Brad leaned forward to see the smooth edge of the bottom of the concrete footing.
Eight or ten feet down, the bottom of the hole curved towards the garage, like a tunnel. Brad looked at the grass beneath his feet. The grass was completely undisturbed right up to the ragged edge of the hole. Aside from the mammoth pile of dirt under the deck and the small pile he’d seen first, the area was completely clean. Brad couldn’t even imagine how one would dig such a perfect hole in any circumstance, let alone over the course of just one night. Instead of going back up the stairs to the deck, Brad left his coffee behind and walked around the garage and opened the big door. His biggest ladder still rested against the pine tree out back, but he had a smaller, more appropriate ladder for this job anyway. He retrieved his six-foot step ladder and carried it overhead to get it past his truck.
A tan sedan pulled down the driveway and parked alongside the fence as Brad set the ladder down.
Brad walked up to within ten feet of the car and waited for the man to get out.
The man looked tired, but extremely precise. He glanced through the car window at Brad, gave him a single, clipped nod and then opened the car door. His feet hit the gravel drive together, perpendicular to the car, and the man stood with one quick motion, not pushing against the doorframe or pulling on the door for assistance. Brad just watched, not making any movement to introduce himself or greet the man. The man wore a golf shirt and crisp khaki pants—no pleat.
When the man stood to his full height, Brad was surprised. Brad stood about six-foot two, and didn’t expect to be dwarfed by the man in the tan sedan. The man was thin, too. Brad guessed they probably weighed the same, even though the man stood several inches taller. The man removed his sunglasses and perched them atop his crew cut before he closed the door and approached Brad.
The man put out his hand to Brad.
“Good morning, sir,” the man said. “I’m Herm Gunther, I want to talk to you about your plants?”
“Plants?” Brad asked.
“Yes,” Herm said. “Your name is Brad Jenkins, correct? You gave a sample to Stayev-ross Orestus last Tuesday?”
“Yesterday,” Brad said, nodding.
“I’m sorry?" Herm asked.
“I gave a sample to STAVross OrestES yesterday. On Tuesday,” Brad said. He crossed his arms and looked at Herm’s shoes. They were casual boat shoes, which Herm wore with no socks. Brad could see a half inch of bright white ankle between the shoes and the khakis. He guessed Herm’s ankles didn’t get much sun. His hands and forearms did though, Brad saw tan lines about halfway down the man’s biceps.
“Would you be more comfortable if we moved inside?" Herm asked.
“No, I’m fine here,” Brad said.
“Do you have a cell phone on you by any chance?" Herm asked.
“Yes, I do,” Brad said. He didn’t move for a second, but then pulled the phone from his back pocket and waved it at Herm.
“Good,” Herm said. “Would you like to check the date?”
“Okay?” Brad said, with a hint of uncertainty creeping into the edges of his voice. The phone informed him of the current date: Thursday, July twenty-first. Brad’s eyes shifted from side-to-side as he tried to figure out where Wednesday had gone. He remembered Tuesday, then writing a letter, and then going to bed a little early. How was it Thursday?
Herm watched Brad’s puzzlement and rubbed his eyes while Brad tried to piece together his calendar. “These plants are close to your house?” he asked.
“No,” Brad said. “No, they’re out back. Who are you again?”
“I’m Herm Gunther,” the man said. “I work for USDA on the abatement of aquatic and arboreal invasives. Have you taken any trips to Georgia or South Carolina recently?”
“Nope,” Brad said. “I’ve been right here. Are you saying that plant is from Georgia.”
“More than likely,” Herm said. “It’s been on the Federal Noxious Weed list for years, but it’s just starting to show up in other parts of the country. Would you mind showing me where you took the clipping?”
“Well, perhaps,” Brad said. He put his hands on his hips and then thrust them into his pockets. “I’m, uh, I’m a little concerned though.”
“Concerned?" Herm asked.
“Well, I’m not sure why, but the last time I was out back I kept going into a little of a dream state or something. I know this sounds weird, but maybe since you’ve heard of this plant, you’ve heard of this as well?”
“Dream state?" Herm asked.
“Yeah,” Brad said. “It was… It was like I became unconscious for a few moments. I thought maybe it was a sound or a chemical the plant is giving off?”
“Did you see any out of place puddles, patches of fog, boulders, piles of sand, or lava flows?" Herm asked.
“Lava flows?” Brad asked. “Do you think I would be talking to you about plants if I’d seen any out of place lava flows?”
“Flows or pools—any molten or even iridescent metals?" Herm asked.
“No,” Brad said. “But a boulder, yes. I did see an out of place boulder.”
“And the boulder was with the plants?" Herm asked.
“Yes,” Brad said.
“Did you hear a loud ‘tock’ sound, like a giant clock?" Herm asked.
“Yes. It was more like a click, but yes,” Brad said.
“Thank you,” Herm said. He walked back to his car and opened the door. Herm reached across the seat and his torso disappeared from Brad’s view for a second. When he reappeared, he was holding a hand-held radio unit. “Can you show me the area now?”
“Like I said, I’m a little concerned,” Brad said.
“Don’t worry,” Herm said. “I’ve read about this. We’ll be fine. I’ll call into the office, and if we don’t check back in, one of my co-workers will come. But there’s really nothing to be worried about.”
“Okay,” Brad said. He was still hesitant, but Herm knew about both the rock and the clicking sound, so he felt inclined to go along with him. Plus, Herm seemed very professional—not likely to take unwarranted risks, despite how tired the man looked.
“Let me just change my shoes first,” Brad said. “You might want to consider socks, if you’ve got them.”
“Thanks, I’m fine,” Herm said.
Brad shrugged and walked over to his side door. He kept his boots on the tile floor of his entryway, so he sat down on the porch to change into them. While Brad laced up the boots, Herm just stood there, looking off into the distance.
“Hey, um, Mister …” Brad said. He couldn’t remember the man’s name. It was something silly sounding—weird nickname—he remembered.
“Herm,” the man said, “call me Herm.”
“Thank you, Herm. You can call me Brad. May I ask, what was the rock thing I saw out back?” Brad asked.
“I have no idea,” Herm said.
“But you mentioned rocks as part of your list, with the lava flows, and the iridescent metal, and the mist?” Brad asked.
“Patches of fog,” Herm said. “Yes, it’s one of the things I read about.”