Cascade Prequel: Encounter
Chapters 10 & 11
Ben sat, with his T-shirt off, on a kitchen chair. The room was almost the size of Grant’s entire floor space, with two islands in the center and the latest in kitchenware bordering the walls. Where there were no cooking appliances there were framed pictures of a handsome young man wearing distinctive seventies clothing.
Estella examined Ben’s chest carefully, which was a mixture of blue and yellow. He winced with each gentle touch.
After a few moments, she looked up at Galo and the others, including the two owners. “I don’t think his ribs are broken, but they are badly bruised.” She looked at Fidel Reyes. “It is good you are a bad aim.”
The tall, square-jawed man, frowned. “None of you should have been on our property. You can have one more hour, but then you have to—”
Fidel noticed his wife frowning at him. She gestured he move towards her, and they both left the kitchen, walking into the shadows of the hallway.
“You got any plans of where we are going to go?” said Luciana to Galo. He shook his head.
“What about my dad?” said Ben, wincing at the end of the sentence. “You can’t leave him!”
Grant was laid out on the sofa, in the equally large living room. Estella had acquired the medicine she needed from Diana and he was currently sleeping. The purple and red tendrils that were across his face appeared to have stopped expanding.
Galo sighed. “I do not know,” he said to Ben.
Diana appeared minus her husband. “This Grant, in the other room. Will he be okay to travel tomorrow?”
“Yes, he just needs a good night’s rest,” said Estella.
“And the boy?”
“My name’s Ben.”
“Well… he will be in pain for weeks, but yes, if you want us to leave tomorrow we can.”
Diana briefly smiled. “Good. Then you can all sleep in the largest of the spare bedrooms. It has two single beds and a sofa. Also, I have some leftover Chalupa from earlier if you would all like some?”
They all smiled and nodded.
“What’s Chalupa?” said Ben.
Sofia smiled. “Don’t worry, you’ll love it.”
Diana started to serve the Mexican meal into dishes.
Sofia looked at the large photos on the walls.
“That’s Fidel when he was younger,” said Diana.
“He was very handsome.”
“Ha, yes, why do you think I married him?”
Galo approached a television that was on the wall. “Can I turn this on?”
“Sure, the controller is on the side. It’s already on the news channel,” said Diana.
The screen lit up. At first, everyone thought they were watching a movie for a creature, which looked like a large crab but with beetle-like wings, landed on a driveway, and immediately knocked some bins to the ground. From the TV’s speaker, came voices of disbelief and fear while the person filmed the unwanted visitor.
Diana looked up from the plates in front of her. “That’s odd, I thought—” She saw the scrolling messages and logo. It was still on the news channel.
“Turn it up,” said Sofia.
“And this is the latest of a slew of video footage that has been sent to us from within the city of LA,” said an anxious-sounding female voice. We would like to have our own crews outside on this fateful night for the city but, unfortunately, the authorities have banned all press from the streets. Myself, as well as a small crew, are all that’s left in the studio. We agreed to stay behind to bring you the latest news as it comes to us. We’re going to keep showing you this footage as we get it. And here’s another video, from a Brant Gates of Anaheim, who sent… oh, we believe this is actual live footage from a skate park in Anaheim. Mr. Gates is filming this from his phone right now. We’re not sure how he’s getting his connection, so we might lose it at any moment, but let’s listen in to what he is saying…”
The view from the cell phone camera shook and jolted until it settled on a dark pulsating form just outside of the cone of light, which came from the nearby street. A group of excited young voices argued amongst themselves as to what they should hit it with. One of the young men walked forward, across the concrete, his board in his hand. The others dared him to touch the strange thing, which looked like a porcupine rolled into a ball, about a foot across.
“Umm, maybe we can get a message to these young men to leave this thing alone,” said the female presenter. But what she and the audience was seeing was one way only.
The person with the phone camera stepped forward, following the youth, whose denim pants only barely covered his rear.
“It’s… covered in needles an’ shit,” said the curious teenager, who was now leaning closer to the creature.
What happened next appeared before anyone had the chance to turn away or even close their eyes. The creature moved so quick, it enveloped the youth’s head before he even had a chance to back away. He flailed around, pulling at the thing that had smothered his face, but its body was covered in spikes, and blood quickly started to turn the gray floor red.
The person with the camera repeatedly swore, while two other youths ran forward, trying to stop their friend from thrashing around, so they could try to pull it from him. Eventually, after what seemed an eternity, the first youth collapsed to the ground, his body twitching. The sound of retching could be heard off camera. Someone screamed, “It took his head, Bro!” Then the footage ended.
A pale-looking young woman looked at the camera in the news studio, searching for words.
Mason Hendricks sat in his FBI-issued sedan, across the street from Grant’s house. Only shadows were contained within.
“He doesn’t look home,” said the slender, younger man next to him.
“Nope.”
“Then there’s no point us going in there. Holland is going to be on our ass if we don’t report—” David Hoang frowned as Mason got out and started walking across the street.
Mason walked across the fading grass, ignoring the front door, and walked down the side alley to the gate, which he kicked open. This wasn’t proper FBI procedure, but he didn’t care. He had spent the last few hours watching traffic cam footage of his girlfriend arrive at LAX, and then when it all went to shit, how she raced across the parking lot and hooked up with some guy. A quick trace on the plate and here he was, trying to see inside a darkened kitchen from the rear yard of the man’s house.
Hoang peered around the corner from the alleyway. “Mason! We should leave before someone sees us here. She could be anywhere.”
“She’s with him.”
“You don’t know that.”
Mason turned and walked across to the wooden construction which sat along one side of the small yard. The door was already ajar. He pulled it open with his flashlight and walked inside, onto the dusty floor. He swung the beam around the open boxes and discarded papers and books that laid on the floor and shelves.
Hoang stood in the doorway. “He’s not planning on coming back here. The kitchen cupboard doors were open. He cleared stuff out.”
Mason walked towards the back of the long room and aimed the light at the floor. Thin streaks led away from a patch of concrete that was untouched by the grime everywhere else. “They left on bikes. More than one by the looks of it. That’s how he’s planning to get out of LA.”
“There are roadblocks on all the major routes out, what would be the point. Might as well have just tried using his car.”
“He’s an ex-cop. He knows ways out.”
“Then they have gone. Just give up on her!”
Mason angrily looked back at his partner. “Apart from the hundred K she took, she’s got the thumb drive.”
Hoang threw his arms up in the air. “I thought that thing was on you all the time?”
Mason reached into his shirt and pulled out an empty chain, he let it dangle in the light.
Hoang whipped around. “Fuck.”
“Yup. She hands that in, and it’s over.”
“So what do we do?”
Mason looked at the open metal container and the worn police badge that sat on an old uniform. “Collins, his kid, and Luci, escaped from the shitshow at LAX. We say that their neighbors saw them coughing like they were really ill.”
“Like they caught a virus from the bugs?”
“Yeah. And that they’re trying to get out. We sell that story to Holland, and he’ll give us all the access we need to find them. The military’s already got him spooked as it is.”
A beeping came from Mason’s jacket pocket, he pulled his phone out. “I’m here, what is it?”
Chapter 11
Grant awoke with a start.
“Ben?” he said into the gloom around him.
A single light from somewhere allowed him to see the large and luxurious room he was in. Glass-front cabinets held porcelain figurines, while modern art paintings hung from where there was a space. A flat-screen television dominated the wall to his left.
He threw the single blanket back that was covering him and heard a small piece of paper slide off to a rug.
He bent over ignoring the throbbing that was flowing through his skull and picked up the note.
Angling it so the writing was visible from the hallway light, he started reading.
“Grant, Ben is fine. The bulletproof vest you put on him saved his life. He has some very bruised ribs and will be in pain for some weeks, but he should be fine. He is sleeping in the spare room upstairs. The owners of this property have allowed us to stay here for tonight only, then we must leave. So get some rest. Diana, the wife of Fidel, told me to tell you there is food in the refrigerator if you are hungry. It would seem you had a reaction to what stung you. On the coffee table, there are some pills for you to take. Try and eat something before you take them. Things have gotten worse in the city… Estella.”
He sighed in relief.
Despite the world around him being just blurs when they arrived at the house, the gunshot pierced through the vale that had descended across his mind, and he tried to get to Ben, but his body had other ideas, and no matter how hard he fought to move his limbs he remained where he was, propped up by others.
He lightly touched his cheek, and immediately retracted his fingers when pain pulsed through the left side of his face.
Grabbing the three tablets from the marble coffee table he staggered forward into the hallway, using the cold walls as supports and wandered into the kitchen area. A middle-aged man was seated at a table, wearing denim pants and a red shirt. He also had a silver revolver on the table in front of him, next to a mug of coffee.
Grant stopped, then nodded towards the fridge. “You’re Fidel?”
Fidel nodded.
“I need to get some water.”
Fidel nodded again.
As Grant moved across the tiled floor, he looked back to where Fidel was looking. On the wall in front of him, was a television, the volume turned down, showing scenes of fires in the city, and then medical diagrams of animals, although not any he had ever seen before.
He took a glass, then held it under the water dispenser, quickly swallowing the tablets. The cool water cascaded through his body. He hadn’t realized how warm he was.
“You were a cop?” said Fidel.
Grant looked back at him, feeling as if he was finally waking up. “Umm yeah, twenty years, homicide division.”
“I’m sorry for shooting your son.”
A number of conflicting emotions threatened to overwhelm him. He reached and held the corner of the space-gray refrigerator and took a breath. The painkillers couldn’t do their magic soon enough.
Taking his water with him, he walked and sat opposite Fidel, who tried to hide his unease.
“It was dark, we were trespassing… My son’s sleeping upstairs?”
Fidel nodded, then looked back at the TV. “You did well to leave. More people are seeing the things and, as you would expect, others are causing trouble. Taking what’s not theirs.”
Grant looked at the flames beyond jagged panes of storefront glass, and the shadowy figures that laughed and ran in the streets outside. The riots of ‘92 were still fresh in everyone’s mind when he emerged from the academy and a small part of him wanted to be back there, helping his colleagues. A bigger part though was relieved he was watching it on the news, his son relatively safe not far from him.
The scene of destruction then changed to video footage of a woman running along a street. Someone was filming her from a few stories above.
“They have shown this footage many times, watch,” said Fidel.
Grant sipped on his water.
The person filming panned the camera with the woman as she ran, moving from shadow into light, then back into shadow. As she got closer to the apartment block where the camera person was located, there was a blur, and she was pulled into the shadows.
Grant put his mug down. “What the hell was that?”
Fidel raised the volume on the TV.
“This footage was sent to us from a viewer some hours ago. We still do not have any information on who that lady was, or what befell her. Emergency services were told of the incident but, as of yet, we have not heard anything back from them regarding what we all saw in this horrifying event. What grabbed her? Just what is this plague of creatures that have fallen on our city? More twenty-four-hour coverage, coming up next!”
Fidel turned the volume down again.
Images of the thing that raised up into the sky from the canal pushed their way into Grant’s mind.
A crashing sound, somewhere off in the distance pulled him from his memory. He and Fidel looked at each other.
Fidel laid his hand on his handgun.
“What did you do with my shotgun?” said Grant.
Fidel got uneasily to his feet, picking up a walking stick and walked with it into the hallway. Grant heard him unlock a door, and descend down some steps, he presumed into a basement.
Something crashed down once again, this time the noise felt as if it was just beyond the blinds of the kitchen windows.
Fidel reappeared, Grant’s shotgun and his box of shells in his hands. He placed them on the table.
“The noise happened again,” said Grant, looking at the kitchen windows. He grabbed the shotgun, and he and Fidel walked to the external door behind them. “What’s outside?”
Fidel pulled the blinds back and looked out, but he could only see absolute darkness. “The sounds are coming from behind the pool house, but I cannot quite see—”
“What?” said Grant.
Fidel moved to the external door, unlocked it, and walked outside into the darkness. Grant followed.
They both stood on the edge of a wide set of steps which led down into shadows.
Something moved across the ground where the stone steps led. They both raised their weapons without knowing what they were aiming at.
“You are on private property!” shouted Fidel.
The response was a staggered ticking noise which varied in pitch.
“I don’t think there’s anything human down there, Fidel.”
They could both hear the sound of something sliding across the wet grass just twenty feet away.
Grant placed his hand on Fidel’s arm. “Let’s go back inside. We will see better in the—”
As if by divine providence, light blasted from every corner of the walls and roof around them, including the huge lawned area at the back of the house and the pool and small structure beyond. Somebody had switched on the lights to the grounds, and now they could both clearly see what was making the strange noises.
Both men stood too shocked to even think about using their weapons.
A thing, for a thing was all they could initially label the impossible creature with, slowly rotated its long bony head around to face them.
Beetle? thought Grant. Except it was at least ten feet long, and a few feet wide. A forked tongue flicked from an angular, shell-like head.
Lizard? thought Fidel, except its body was segmented like an insect, and it clearly had too many limbs to be one.
Whatever it was, its tongue flicked out tasting the air. Its body pivoted, then its legs propelled it across the lawn towards them.
Rather than trying to fight what was bearing down on them, they both turned and started to run back to the open doorway. Fidel moved as quick as he could, but Grant could see the older man wasn’t going to make it to safety before the monster was on them. He swung around and fired at the thing, that was now just ten feet from them. He wasn’t sure if the first shot hit, because the creature kept on skittering up the steps, so he fired again, and again, by now he realized the less explosive sound of a revolver was also filling the night with sound.
The strange insect-lizard collapsed just over the top step, its body trailing down to the bottom. It wheezed, then stopped moving.
Mason sat on the edge of a desk at the back of the LA FBI field office. Around him was a room of rolled up sleeves and sweat-stained shirts. All the available field agents stood and sat, looking towards the front of the office and assistant director Holland. Next to him were two suited men no one recognized.
“So this is Dr. Cornell and Drake from STB. I wouldn’t know where to begin with all the shit that’s been happening in the city, so hopefully, the doctors here can fill us in. It’s all yours.” Holland looked at the tall older man, who gave a brief smile then stood next to a large monitor.
“As you all know, a plague of, umm, exotic animals has been attacking the city’s inhabitants. Unfortunately, I can tell you that we are now getting similar reports from elsewhere across the United States although, not to the extent, yet, as we have here.”
“What the hell are they?” said a glossy-faced man.
“Our current theory is that something in the environment has caused insects and other creatures to mutate.”
The man looked at his colleagues. “Not aliens then.”
A ripple of laughter quickly came and went.
Cornel looked directly at the man. “I can assure you the problem is completely terrestrial in nature. However, some of these creatures are quite dangerous.” He looked up at the monitor. “Apart from the attack at LAX, there have been over a hundred 911 callouts so far tonight of people being hurt by them.”
“So what can we do about it?” said Mason.
The room quietened.
Mason stood. “Unless these things are breaking federal laws, I don’t see what our involvement is here. This is a department of agriculture or the CDC’s problem.”
Cornell went to reply, but Holland beat him to it. “You got somewhere better to be Hendricks?”
“As it happens, I have. I’ve got word that one of my informant’s life could be in danger. She’s stolen a lot of money from the ‘Centrics’ gang, and there’s a price on her—”
Holland held his hand up. “I’m going to stop you right there. I understand you want your informant to be safe, but there are literally monsters running around the streets of LA.” He looked back at Cornell. “Mason’s got a point though. How can we help?”
Mason and his partner’s eyes met, then the former looked away and sighed.
After being told how the FBI can help back up the various agencies that were on the ground trying to make sense of what was happening, Mason and Hoang were back outside in the parking lot.
He was glad to feel the night air on his face, despite the smell of smoke that came with it.
Hoang looked across from the passenger’s side of the car. “So how we going to find her?”
Mason opened the driver’s door. “First, we put some hours on the clock for Holland, then we get back to it.”
“What we going to do when we find her?”
Mason paused, half in the car, “That’s on me.”