“I know we’re stepping on your liberties here, Brad,” Herm said.
“You can call me Mr. Jenkins,” Brad said.
“Yes, Mr. Jenkins,” Herm said. Herm’s shoulders sagged, and the corners of his eyes betrayed his exhaustion again. “We’re stepping on your liberties because we need to get control of this situation before it causes a panic. Most people would be a little disconcerted to learn that you’ve got some unknown species in your little portion of the Maine woods.”
“You can’t just cover up something like this,” Brad said. “Wait a minute, did you guys cause the fire at the Cartonio place? Was it part of your cover-up?”
“No, sir, no,” Herm said. “This isn’t some giant conspiracy going on here. If you could just stow the tinfoil hat for a minute, I’ll explain. We’ve found these same plants and animals other places, but nowhere near any population until yours. And this isn’t a cover-up, we’re just keeping a lid on the publicity until we have a better understanding of what we’re dealing with, and how to proceed.”
After a very quick rap on the door, a man walked in. He looked older an even more tired than Herm. He wore khakis, a Hawaiian shirt, and a baseball cap. “Sorry about the intrusion here, Mr. Jenkins. You copacetic for cocktail hour, Herman?” the man asked.
“Blue skies, Ollie,” Herm said.
“Take care, Mr. Jenkins,” the man said. He ducked out through the door, closing it softly.
“Your superior?” Brad asked.
“I’m sorry?" Herm asked.
“I’m just working on this theory,” Brad said. “Looking at those guys in the driveway, it seems like the more covered up you guys are, the higher the rank. You’ve got pants and a golf shirt. That guy is wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a cap—which makes him your boss, or at least higher rank. The guys with the cargo shorts must be pretty low on the totem pole, and the one hanging on the back of the Humvee was just wearing a tank top and soccer shorts, is that the lowest rank?”
“You’re pretty observant, and you’re correct,” Herm said. “And I was just about to try to establish rapport by revealing something I shouldn’t. Guess I don’t need to now?”
“You’d have to go a long way to establish rapport at this point,” Brad said.
“Let me try,” Herm said. “I’ll just be as straightforward as I can. We’re intercepting your phone and we run a delay on everything you say. If you try to reveal anything, we drop your call or fuzz it out. We’ve got a similar system hooked up to your internet connection. My guys say you work from home, programming, right? You can keep doing that, but remember, all your communication will be gated through us. That means documents, code check-ins, emails, everything.”
“I won’t be able to work,” Brad said. “All my communication with the office has to be through secured channels. You’re either flying blind or you have to block it completely.”
Herm smiled and nodded.
“The guys have tricks even I don’t understand, Mr. Jenkins,” Herm said. “Just continue to live your life as normal, don’t try to alert anyone, and everything will go smoothly. Before you know it, we’ll be out of your hair. We’ll do your shopping, your errands, and you even get a stipend for the inconvenience.”
“My friends and family are going to suspect something’s up if I don’t turn up,” Brad said.
“Our research guys put together a plan before I showed up here, Brad. I don’t think we have much to worry about,” Herm said. “I’m going to leave you to mull things over for a bit. I’ll be back later to answer any questions.”
Herm stood and held out his hand for Brad to shake. Brad just stared at the tall man and kept his place on the couch. Herm shrugged and showed himself out.
CHAPTER FIVE
On the Water - FALL
SARAH AND ROBBY stood side-by-side on the bridge of the borrowed boat, looking at the coast. The snow stopped falling, but the skies still looked heavy, like there was more snow to come. That wasn’t what drew their eyes.
Robby killed the engine and they bobbed in the swells, about three quarters of a mile from the coast.
“South?” Robby asked.
His mom didn’t take her eyes from the horizon as she answered, “I think we’d better.”
They both stared at the little port town on the coast. Robby counted seven funnel-clouds darting and dancing over the the town. They touched down one at a time, ripping apart buildings and tearing up leafless trees. All seven spun in a slow circle, as if connected by invisible spokes to some center point. Each tornado picked up a load of material and carried it around until it hovered over the ocean. When the cloud brought its load over the water it dispersed a bit and dropped the wreckage into the surf.
Sarah looked down and saw a red door float by. It had brass numbers—two-one-seven—mounted above a tarnished knocker.
Robby put the engine in reverse, not wanting to get any closer to the destruction. He kept his eyes locked on the church steeple. It gleamed whiter than the rest of the buildings, and the tornados seemed to move around it without ever touching it. Almost like it was responding to his thought, the next tornado to come around dropped directly on the church, lifting and crushing the steeple into meaningless debris.
“Robby,” Sarah said. “Robby! You’re headed for the breakwater, turn this thing around.”
“Yeah,” Robby said. He fumbled with the throttle and spun the wheel. He’d made it almost thirty minutes without vomiting, but the sudden change in direction and speed were too much. Sarah anticipated and handed him a fresh trash bag. For all his retching, only strings of yellow film came out. Robby spat into the bag and then pushed the engine a bit harder. They needed to backtrack to the west far enough to get around the point before they could head south.
Robby settled his gaze on the lighthouse and tried to adjust to the new swells they were hitting from their new course. Inside the breakwater, the waves calmed quite a bit, but now they were headed back out to the big stuff. Robby wiped his mouth on his jacket sleeve and handed the bag towards his mom, figuring he was done for a while. In fact, he figured, he might be done with food for a while too, since it looked like they had to stay on the boat.
Sarah didn’t take the bag.
Robby shook it and said, “Mom? I think I’m done.” He heard the door—the one that led to the stern of the boat—close behind him. Robby dropped the bag, forgot about nausea, and spun around. Sarah was looking off to the horizon, back towards the shore, like she couldn’t tear her eyes from the destruction of the once pretty port town.
“MOM!” Robby screamed, throwing open the door.
She didn’t look around. The boat chugged on, still heading roughly west. Robby sprinted towards his mom. She was only a few steps away, but with the bobbing motion of the deck he felt like he was running through molasses. She got to the stern before he reached her, and he saw his mother put a foot up on the taffrail and step up.
She didn’t jump in, or even complete her climb. Robby’s mom just got plucked from the back of the boat into nothing. She jerked upwards and then simply disappeared. Robby skidded to a stop and pumped his legs furiously backward, like he could kick away what he’d just seen. The boat bobbed and the deck came up to meet Robby’s feet. He slammed himself backwards into the cabin door, which swung shut.
Robby pawed at the handle, threw open the door, and pulled it shut behind him. He stared through the window at the space where his mom stepped up into nothing. He scanned the sky for any sign of her. The engine rumbled on while Robby tried to process what he’d seen. When Paulie and his dad were pulled up and away, he figured they must have gone somewhere, not just vanished. His mom had been mid-stride, then she’d been jerked upwards by an unseen force, then poof, gone. Robby pushed back from the window and backed into the wheel. He tore his eyes from the stern and looked around to the instruments.