"Bloodless Thing of Evil"
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dochermes"Bloodless Thing of Evil"
10/16-10/17/2011
I.
"Finally, some buildings!" yelled Archie as low structures appeared dimly in the distance. "We've been driving for five hours and seen nothing but flat road ahead and flat dirt on either side."
In the front passenger seat of her cherry red Jeep Cherokee, Megan lifted her mirrored sunglasses. "Yes. The Great Plains are not known as scenic attractions."
"Your gift for understatement still slays me," Archie said. "Honestly, I thought there was some kind of optical illusion where the horizon kept moving away no matter how far I drove. It was getting on my nerves."
Sitting up straighter, Megan Salenger unclipped a rectagular metal device from her belt and examined its screen. The Link was no thicker than three playing cards stacked on each other. The Trom Girl's face, with its pointed nose and thoughtful dark eyes, was normally serious and now she seemed downright somber. "We are approaching the town of Sillsbury. A farming community now in decline, it has one gas station and convenient mart, a combination bar and restaurant, and an outlet store for hardware and tools. The nearest school is fifteen miles further down this road in Linton, which also has a post office."
Behind the wheel, Archie loomed up head and shoulders taller than the petite Megan and was easily a hundred pounds heavier. He was wearing walking boots, jeans and a heavy flannel shirt. Archie looked imposing and even intimidating at first, but the gentle blue eyes gave away his true nature.
"This has been a fun three weeks, honey. A field expedition funded by your KDF, going from a lake monster sighting to a reported Skinwalker infestation to an interview with a retired Alchemist who turned out to be an imposter. Quite an itenerary."
"Archie, do you regret coming with me on this trip?"
Catching the faintest twinge in her voice, the big mechanic reached over and squeezed her hand. "I couldn't ask for better company, honey. We've done some camping under the stars along the way, found a few decent roadside bistros and we've got you listening to new varieties of music."
"I think I appreciate jazz the most," she said. Megan swung her sunglasses up into her tousled black hair to rest atop her head. "There is a mathematical structure under it that appeals to me."
"Those Trom that raised you may have made you into a certified genius in a dozen fields but, man! They never taught you how to live life. No music. No games. No smooching in the moonlight."
Megan leaned over and bumped her shoulder up against him mischievously. "But I met someone who is educating me in all those matters." She could not repress a chuckle. "And more!"
They rolled past the first of several small farmhouses set well back from the highway. This one was fenced in to contain two dozen cows who watched the Jeep go by with an air of boredom. Before they reached the town itself, Megan and Archie slowed to get a good look at a long one-story building with its own gravel parking lot. A neon sign on the roof proclaimed THE HITCHIN' POST and in smaller letters promised GOOD FOOD COLD BEER. Next to the sign was a wooden placard BEAUTIFUL DANCERS THURS FRI SAT. There were no cars in the parking lot, but then it was only four in the afternoon and the place didn't open until six.
"Combination bar and strip club," Archie grumbled, speeding up again. "Wanna bet there's a few fights there late at night?"
Megan turned her head to gaze back at the joint as they sped away. "I still do not fully understand much of Human behavior. Perhaps I never will."
"It's not you, honey. People themselves don't understand why we act the way we do. I don't think we're meant to be figured out."
"There's the gas station," Megan pointed out.
"Not a minute too soon." Archie wheeled into the four pump next to the tiny convenient mart called PIT STOP. "We'd be tapping those five gallon cans of gas in the back of your Jeep pretty soon."
"I will be right back." Megan hopped lightly out of her door and trotted into the mart. Slightly built in her snug khaki pants and black windbreaker, she moved with the ease of both youth and being in excellent condition. Archie filled the gas tank using the KDF Platinum card Megan had explained would cover their expenses. He got back in and pulled over to the row of air pumps and vaccuum hoses.
As he was checking the tires, the Trom Girl returned at a noticeably more sedate pace. She popped the hood to check the oil and the battery terminals. They had independently acquired these habits before meeting each other, because both were used to long trips where service stations might be widely spaced.
"Satisfied?" Archie asked, replacing the air hose.
"Yes. I am surprised you do not need to urinate."
"Oh, I'm ready. I just got a bigger bladder than you do. Let's grab some supplies while we're here." He led her back into the mart and disappeared through a door in the back. Megan selected a cold bottle of plain water for herself, as well as a bag of unsalted cashews and a bag of raisins. When Archie emerged with a relieved expression, he grabbed a bottle of beer for himself and a big bag of cheese puffs.
"I'M not on a scientifically planned diet."
"I said nothing," Megan protested.
"You had that look as if I'm picking up roadkill to cook." He placed his choices on the counter next to hers and paid with the KDF card. The elderly man at the register smiled benevolently at their conversation, rang them up and wished them a happy day as they left. "Thank you," Megan called back over her shoulder.
Propping himself against the side of the Jeep, Archie popped open his beer. "Let me finish this here, that way we won't have any open containers in the car."
Megan leaned up against him and sighed. "This is the last assignment on this field excursion, Archie. On our way home, we can stop in Omaha for a quality restaurant and a night in a well-reviewed hotel. We have earned some comfort time, don't you think?"
"Sounds great to me. This last assignment, though, it sounds like a nasty one. We're looking into a cult or something called the Harvesters?"
"Yes. In the last eight months, eleven people have disappeared in the immediate area and no traces have been found. The FBI's Department 21 Black has unofficially requested the KDF look into the situation. Four of the missing persons' cars were found in nearby towns and the only oddity was that each had one or two flat tires and that pieces of straw were found in the interiors."
"You'd think the local police would be all over something as blatant as that..." Archie began but his words were cut off by a raspy shout from across the road.
"Megan! Archie! Boy, am I glad to see YOU!"
II.
"Oh my God..." muttered Archie as he felt Megan sigh next to him. "What are the odds?"
Scuttling across the road was a lanky middle-aged man in a white seersucker suit which had evidently not been pressed in years. He waved a straw hat in one hand. Calvin Calvert had untidy red hair with generous sprinklings of grey in it and a weatherbeaten face marked by blue eyes under spiky brows. He was heading toward them with the eagerness of a stranded man seeing a rescue party.
"Hello, Calvin," said the Trom Girl in a careful neutral tone.
"Hi, you guys. My, it's been ages. We haven't teamed up since we tangled with that old religious nut who was materializing spirit forms. Remember him?"
"Teamed up?" repeated Archie, straightening to loom up over Calvert like a solid slab of unfriendly beef. "Where did you get the idea..."
More diplomatic, Megan managed a polite smile and held out her hand for a shake which Calvert retained a bit too long. "It is unexpected to find you here in northwest Nebraska."
"Ha ha, I'm like you two, I go wherever the supernatural sticks its ugly nose into the real world. My blog WHAT REALLY HAPPENED has nineteen thousand subscribers and enough donations monthly to live on. Barely." Calvert adjusted his straw hat back far enough on his head that it seemed in imminent danger on falling off and stuck his thumbs in belt loops. "So glad you guys are here! We must be after the same mystery, right?"
"What would that be?" asked Megan.
"Why, the Strawman! The killing scarecrow. The local papers have refused to print anything about it and the nearest news station is a hundred miles away and all they care about are crop reports and sports. But you must have seen my articles on my blog!"
"We have been unusually busy lately," Megan offered.
"Yeah, there's been a lot going on," added Archie. "In fact, we only stopped to get gas and stretch our legs. We have to hit the road again right away."
"Great, I can take you right to the Harvesters. They know more than they're telling, you can be sure of that. Let's go."
As Archie began to protest, Megan interrupted quietly. "Mr Calvert, am I correct in thinking that you will continue to investigate the mystery either with our help or without it?"
"You bet your life, sweetheart, it's my life's work."
She visibly winced at being called 'sweetheart,' but continued, "You would be safer in our presence, as Archie and I have capabilities you do not possess. I reluctantly agree that we should work together for the moment."
Calvert responded by taking off his straw hat and fanning himself with it. "Now you're talking. Listen, I'll ride in the back and not be any trouble. Unfortunately my car died on the highway and the troopers impounded it, and to be honest it's not worth paying the fee to recover it. I've got everything of value on me, anyway."
There was only room in the back of the Jeep for one passenger. On the left floor section was a fire extinguisher and a large first aid kit. Half the seat was taken up by a locked metal equipment box. Settling in, Calvert peeked to see the rear compartment was neatly filled with gallon water jugs, gasoline containers, two knapsacks with sleeping bags and several more locked metal boxes.
"You guys are well organized," he said.
"Thank you," Megan replied as she slid behind the wheel and started the engine. "Do you have directions for us?"
"Sure, sure, hang a right and head back the way you were coming from. Listen, I'll tell you all about the killer scarecrow, the Harvesters and all the missing people..."
III.
"A couple years ago, I was supposed to meet a Red Sect sorcerer named Fyodor Golyakova out here. You guys know about Red Sect, they're real evil black magic types. Well, I came all the way out here and couldn't find him. The apartment he was renting still had all his clothes and books and stuff but he himself hadn't been seen for a week. Local police didn't seem too interested."
As Calvin Calvert paused, expecting a comment, Megan obligingly made a "Uh-huh" sound and he continued. "Soooo I went about my business. I check a dozen newspapers from around the country every week, different ones every week, looking for weird and unexplained events. And I really sat up when I read about someone in this area claiming they saw a scarecrow walking through their back yard in the middle of the night."
Calvert paused again. He seemed to have a habit of waiting for responses when he talked. This time, it was Archie who grunted and said, "That's out of the ordinary."
"And some more people saw the damn thing. Always in the middle of the night! Walking along a back road, peeking in someone's window, cutting across a parking lot. One old man emptied a Winchester at it and he claims Strawman staggered with each hit but kept going. Everyone described it the same, with a beat-up slouch hat and ragged clothes and a head that looked like a burlap sack with eyes and a smiley mouth drawn on it."
"Go on, we're listening," Megan said.
"This all started a year ago, about the same time the missing people started. Almost always, someone from out of the local area, a traveling businessman or a guy on his way to a new job or something. Five times, the missing man's car was found in a nearby town, abandoned. Three of the cars had a badly blown tire and they had been driving on the rims for miles."
At the wheel, the Trom Girl interrupted. "You have used the phrase, 'killer scarecrow' four times but there is no direct connection between the missing persons and the scarecrow sightings. Is this simply your inference?"
"You bet your dimples it is."
"I do not have dimples."
"It's just a figure of speech, anyway, I'm not the only one who thinks so. People in this county call the thing the Strawman and it's become an urban legend. Or maybe a rural legend." He leaned forward between their seats, peering out through the windshield. "You might want to pull over here. That's the Harvester Ranch over there."
Megan and Archie stared at a neglected field overgrown with dry brown grass. At the top of the hill, a three story red farmhouse could be seen with a weathervane on its roof. Behind it, the edge of a barn could be glimpsed. No one was in sight. At the bottom of the long gravel drive was a mailbox on a post, with the name HARVESTERS 1127 painted on its side.
"I have no useful information about any group called the Harvesters," Megan admitted.
Calvert snorted. "Yeah, well I call them a goddam cult. They want to be known as an experimental commune dedicated to a more equitable lifestyle. Like hell! Members sign over all their property, they take new names and cut off all ties to their families. Sound familiar?"
"Those are bad signs, all right," Archie had to agree. "What else have you found out?"
"This is a sixty acre abandoned hog farm taken over by the cult. Maybe forty members of all ages and backgrounds, most stay here permanently. Leader is a fluke named Clement Swain, probably not his real name." Calvert exhaled and genuine anger echoed in his voice. "It's an old old story, my friends, lost souls looking for someone to tell them how to think. Hate to see it."
"I'm getting the creeps big time," Archie grumbled.
Suddenly, Megan Salenger undid her seat belt and opened her door. "Archie, I would like you to drive us up and remain ready to leave instantly. I think my subconscious is picking up warning clues that I am not consciously aware of yet. This is the sensation you refer to as the creeps."
As they switched seats and buckled back in, the big mechanic said quietly, "Got your projector ready?"
"Yes." She gave a stern glance back at Calvert. "You have already seen some of my devices in use. The Trom do not want our technology to become common knowledge among Humans. Earning their disapproval would be most imprudent. Is that clear?"
"Sure, sure," he hastily said. "I don't want the Trom of all people to be mad at me! I haven't said a word to anyone, nothing on my blog about your gizmos. You can trust me."
"Good." Megan held up a dull metal device like a flat flashlight and clicked a cartridge into its slot. "Neural shock at medium. Archie, if you would?"
The big mechanic started up the engine and began rolling up the long drive to the desolate farmhouse. From the back, Calvin Calvert said, "I don't mind admitting I'm awful glad you two are on hand. I'm getting too old to tackle sinister cults and killer scarecrows by myself."
IV.
As they came to a stop near the front porch of the farmhouse, they could see a wooden rail enclosure in which a dozen huge hogs were lazing about in mud. Beyond that, a good acre of cultivated land stood behind a wire fence. Megan could make out squash, pumpkins and tomatoes from where they were. "Archie, please be ready. Mr Calvert, I suggest you do the talking while I observe."
"You got it, sweetheart. Talking is what I do best."
The two of them got out in the windy afternoon sunlight. Before they could approach, the screen door of the farmhouse swung open and a young woman stepped out to stare at them. In an instant, Megan had taken in dozen of facts about her. Age, height, weight, eye and hair color, details of facial features, visible scars and moles, health, physical conditioning, emotional state... all registered. In that split-second, the Trom Girl decided that this woman was hostile but no physical threat.
All Calvin Calvert took in was that here was a pretty young thing, a little skinny maybe, with long wavy black hair and showing a lot of skin in her cutoff jeans and halter. Her unfriendly glare did not deter him at all, of course. "Well, hello there, little lady. I'm from the news blog WHAT REALLY HAPPENED, you might have heard of it..."
"What do you want?" came a flat disinterested monotone.
"Perhaps you'd like an opportunity to explain to the public about the purpose of your commune, your goals, what you hope to achieve?" As he spoke, Calvert had taken off his straw hat and moved a few steps closer until he was near the porch. Megan had remained where she was.
"We don't care what anyone thinks," she drawled and stepped back into the doorway. "Get lost."
From behind her, a deep male voice said, "Sister Natalie, let me handle this."
"Of course. Whatever you think best," she replied and immediately vanished into the house. Out stepped a short, stocky man in dress slacks and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled back a turn. He had long, untidy brown hair down to his shoulders and intense dark eyes that seemed feverish.
"I am Brother Clement," he announced as if they should react in awe.
Unnoticed by anyone, Megan Salenger had dropped one hand to touch the beam projector clipped to her belt. She was in a loose Kumundu stance, feet braced well apart, not tense but ready for instant action. At the windows of the farmhouse and from within the open barn door, she had spotted watchful eyes on them.
"How do you do, sir," Calvert said. "I wonder if you would like a chance to expound your philosphy and what your group intends to accomplish..."
"No. We have withdrawn from the corrupt decadent game you call civilization. There is nothing more to be said. Go now, you are not welcome here.
"But surely you would want to explain to society where they are going wrong..."
"Go. There is nothing more to say." Brother Clement slammed the door shut as he stepped back inside.
"Drat. My legendary silver tongue has failed for once," Calvert admitted. He swung around and grinned at Megan. "Perhaps we should have let you try your winsome little charm, my dear."
"Get back in my Jeep," was all she said, heading for the front passenger seat herself. As Archie swung around and headed back down the gravel drive, the Trom Girl announced calmly, "A man in the top left corner window held a Glock 19 pistol on us as we spoke."
From the rear seat, Calvert made a distraught sound. "Ack."
Pulling back out onto the road, Archie asked, "What else?"
"The man called Brother Calvert had dilated pupils in the sunlight. He was sweating heavily despite the low humidity and steady breeze. His clothes were new but did not fit him well, they were sized for a considerably larger man."
"Unpleasant clues," Archied grunted. "What else?"
"I spotted six people watching us," she said. "Visible at the west corner of the barn was a front bumper of a vehicle I tentatively identify as a new Ford Bronco. Near the farmhouse was a red Dodge Ram at least nine years old, with considerable rust and scrapes."
"And the conclusion you draw from all this, Holmes?" asked Calvert.
Megan had never read fiction but she had come to understand all the references people made to her about Holmes, Watson and phrases from the Conan Doyle stories. She made no reply, though, and Calvin Calvert began to repeat his question.
"Never mind," Archie interrupted. "Megan sometimes goes deaf when she doesn't want to explain herself. You get used to it."
"Hmph. Well, I never. I guess you have to allow geniuses some eccentricities." He leaned back in the seat and started rummaging through his pockets to come up with a pencil stub and a small memo pad in which he began writing. The drive back to town was silent. When they reached the gas station, Archie slowed and signaled his intent to pull in.
"No, dear," Megan said, coming out of her thoughts, "I think we should go to the restaurant and have dinner. We will return to the Harvester ranch late tonight."
"You got it," the big mechanic said and kept driving. "I'm starving as it is. All I had today was a bag of Cheetos."
"I must thank you for your patience," Megan said. "And you, too, Mr Calvert. I have reached some conclusions about this situation and I will explain myself soon."
"Fine, fine, not a problem," the journalist reassured her. "I'm going back there myself to poke around."
Turning her head to fix a steady gaze on him, Megan put unusual emphasis in her normally subdued tones. "You should not return to that ranch without us. You would be placing yourself in real peril. I believe those Harvesters have killed at least eleven people and probably many more."
V.
The HITCHIN POST had one public entrance which opened to a small lobby. On the wall was the front and back of a menu, surrounded by glamor shots of women with huge teased hairdos and tons of make-up. To left and right were open doorways, the one on the right leading to the strip club which was just starting its night. The doorway to the left led down three steps to a dining room.
The three investigators found an open area with a large picture window facing some trees on the side of the building. Eight round wooden tables were placed well apart, and they took the nearest one. As was her habit from years in the Midnight War, Megan chose a seat which had her back to a wall and from which she could watch both the entrance doorway and the swinging door to the kitchen. She lived as if expecting sudden ambush everywhere she went.
Immediately, a busty blonde waitress about thirty, in a reasonably modest white dress, came out with a notepad. "Afternoon," she said, "What can I get you folks?"
"Coffee, black for me," Archie said.
"That's about all I can swing. Coffee for me, too. Cream and sugar, though," Calvert added.
Megan thawed enough to give him a wry smile. "You are on our expense account, Mr Calvert. Feel free to order whatever you like. I will have iced water, please."
"You got it," the waitress said cheerfully and strutted back toward the kitchen door.
"Wonder if she works in the other half of this place. She's got the qualifications," Calvert mused as he watched her depart.
"I will order the grilled chicken with a baked potato and peas. That seems to be the least harmful items on the menu," Megan said as if she had not heard him.
"Double cheeseburger and fries for me," added Archie. "Maybe some soup. They have French onion today, I'll try that."
"I'll have the same as you, big fella. And another cup of coffee. Someone seems to have gulped mine down." Calvert put down his menu and studied his memo pad. "Okay, I think I'm following some of your deductions, dear. Here goes. The new Ford Bronco you saw by the barn has to belong to one of the missing people. Have I got that right?"
"Yes." Just the single word.
"And El Creepo there, Brother Clement. I found out his name is Clement Swain, by the way. He's been arrested a few times for vagrancy and petty theft, did thirty days in the county jail for repeated shoplifting a few years ago. Anyway, he was wearing new clothes much too big for him. That's because they were taken off a victim, right?"
"That is my tentative conclusion, too."
Archie tilted his head slightly. "Calvin, you're sharper than I gave you credit for."
"I'll take that as a compliment," the redhead grinned. "You know, I've been doing this for quite a few years. I've worked with Matthias Mage and Caleb Thorne and your own Dire Wolf. Some of that has rubbed off on me."
The waitress wheeled over a cart with their plates and set them down on the table, refilled the coffee cups and said, "Enjoy!"
Archie had learned to eat slowly because Megan took forever chewing each mouthful and sipping water between bites. In a minute, Calvert had finished most of his hamburger and noticed she had hardly begun on her meal. Aren't you hungry, sweetheart?"
"Important digestive enzymes are created while chewing," she replied.
"Oh. Sure, everyone knows that." Calbert finished his burger and splattered ketchup on his fries before attacking them.
Archie McAllister could not help smiling. He himself was eating more slowly than he would have liked. Before he could say anything, he noticed two young women appearing in the doorway and he noticed Megan scrutinizing them.
One was the girl they had met at Harvesters' Ranch, still wearing the same shorts and halter. With her was another woman no more than twenty years old, with similar black hair but a bit shorter and more solidly built. They were carrying knapsacks which they placed on the floor between them.
Megan unclipped her Link, tapped its screen and placed it on the table in front of her. She gave Calvin Calvert a stern glance that hushed him up. They watched as the waitress went over to talk with the newcomers in low tones. As the young women turned back to the lobby, the waitress went past and Archie caught her attention.
"Excuse me, were those the dancers?"
"You bet," she answered. "That's Dolly and Passion. They'll be changing into their outfits in a few minutes." She gave Megan a warm smile, "You're welcome next door, too. Ladies are always welcome. Great sound system."
"Thank you," said the Trom Girl with notable lack of enthusiasm. She held the Link up to her ear, listening, and then frowned at her companions. "The directional microphone picked up everything clearly. The taller woman asked if Deputy Winslow was here yet. The waitress said he called that he would be stopping by around eleven, and the Harvester woman said she would take care of him then."
Calvert whistled and raised both bushy eyebrows. "Well... that does sound a mite suspicious."
"You know, it might be more than sex being available," Archie added. "Those girls and Brother Clement all look like speed freaks to me. Meth or diet pills or whatever, they might be dealing at the strip club and the deputy is a customer."
Megan regarded her still uneaten meal with disinterest. "Whether sex or drugs or both are being used, we can see why the local police have not been diligent in investigating the Harvesters. It is up to us."
After Megan had finally forced herself to finish her meal, the three stepped out into a parking lot that had gone dark. It was a cloudy night with the moon only visible as a hazy white spot high overhead. Three cars and a van were parked in front of the strip side of the building, and a couple with two young children were going into the restaurant side. Loud rap music echoed out into the night.
Moving toward her Jeep, the Trom Girl hesitated. "We will not return to check out the Harvester Ranch until well after midnight. If you two want to spend the next few hours in that club, I have no objections."
"Ahhh," Calvert scoffed. "Better to keep my measley couple of dollars in my pocket."
"And I think grabbing a nap would be a better use of time," Archie said. "We've been up since before dawn and we're likely to be active in the middle of the night.
Getting a little sleep appeals to me."
She still seemed dubious. "Honestly, I wouldn't mind. But we would be well advised to rest up while we can. Mr Calvert, do you intend to investigate further with us?"
"Oh, you bet your life. I won't mention you or Archie of course, but this will draw thousands to my blog."
"Very well then. Archie, did you see a suitable place for us to camp?"
"Sure. Back that way a couple miles. A couple of trees set back from the road and it's public land. We can park there for a few hours with no problem."
Megan nodded. "I am physically tired and a nap will bring me up to standards." She went over to the Jeep and climbed into the front passenger seat. Calvert got in the back again and Archie took the wheel.
VI.
At one o'clock, Megan gently rousted Archie and Calvert from where they were dozing under two elm trees, just beyond sight of the road. She had already changed into her field suit... black boots, pants and waist-length jacket of tough material and holding a dozen gadgets in various pockets. Strapped between her shoulder blades was the convex disc of the gravity shield and he held her visored helmet in one hand. "It's time," she said.
Both men grumbled a little, stretching and yawning before coming back to full awareness. "I wish I'd gotten a cup of coffee to go at the HITCHIN POST," Calvert observed. "Sometimes I wish the Midnight War was the Early Afternoon War."
"My intent is to simply gather information without confronting anyone," Megan said, fastening her helmet on but leaving the visor up. "Archie, if I need assistance, I will beep you on your phone."
"You don't have to tell me to be ready," he said.
Megan got up on her toes and kissed him lightly on one cheek. "I know. There is no one in the world I count on more. And Mr Calvert? Would you get the night vision goggles from the back seat, please?"
As the journalist walked over fifty feet to the Jeep and opened the rear door, Megan tapped a button on the control panel fastened to her left cuff. Without a sound, with no visible flash, she shot straight upward into the dark sky and was gone from sight instantly.
Coming back, Calvin Calvert wheeled around. "Huh? Where is she?"
"She took off," Archie said, enjoying the phrase. "We'll wait for her to call."
Two hundred feet in the air, Megan flew like a diver with her legs together and her arms outstretched ahead of her. Calvert had seen her use the beam projector but he did not know about the gravity shield. Her superiors had stressed the importance of keeping Trom technology secret except to a chosen few Human allies.
Below was the Harvester Ranch. A light burned above the barn door and a single upstairs window was lit. Megan lowered the visor of her helmet. Light enhancers and an ultra-violet beam combined to reveal every detail with stark clarity. She slowed to a hover, lowering her hands and standing on thin air. In her black suit on this gloomy night, there was no significant anyone on the ground would spot her.
For long minutes, she studied the area. Along with the Ford Bronco, another car stood behind the barn under a tarp. More loot taken from a victim? She dropped lower and stared at the chicken coop and pig sty. Heat sources counted six sleeping chickens and eleven hogs. Megan adjusted the sensors to detect Human DNA. To her dismay but not surprise, the sty and the area around it registered hundreds of traces of Human DNA. Her worst fears were confirmed.
In the house were five sleeping adults and one whose image showed he was sitting in a chair on the top floor, awake but not moving. Reading or watching TV most likely.
Megan glided over the barn and unclipped her beam projector. A low-intensity neural shock put the chickens and the pigs into a harmless deep sleep from they would not be easily roused for the next few hours. Satisfied, she touched lightly down next to the barn and shut off the gravity shield.
No life forms registering in the barn itself. Megan unfastened her helmet and clipped to the back of her jacket. She wanted to develop her natural senses more and avoid relying on electronic sensors. The interior of the barn had a jumble of debris along its walls. Car tires stacked five high, next to a pile of assorted auto parts. Under a canvas sheet was a wooden box holding some cell phones, watches and an expensive Nikon camera. She had enough evidence now to call the FBI's Department 21 Black in on this. Since some of the victims had crossed state lines to meet their deaths here, the FBI could claim jurisdiction.
Rolled up in one corner was a curious device she straightened out to examine. A canvas strip twelve feet long with many three-inch sharp barbs protruding upwards. This was a spike strip used by police to incapacitate fleeing cars. It explained the number of cars found in nearby towns with a flat tire. She rolled it up again and straightened, feeling more sorrow than triumph. Humans were so difficult to understand.
A faint rustle sounded behind her. Quick as any gunfighter of the Old West, the Trom Girl whirled around and swung up her beam projector just as a two by four smashed murderously across her face. She was thrown back, staggering a few steps before falling on her back. Not completely unconscious but lost in a daze of pain, she was only vaguely aware of being lifted and thrown up against a wall. Clinks sounded. She was hanging by her wrists from chains bolted to the barn wall.
In only a few seconds, her enhanced healing kicked in and her head cleared. Her nose was bleeding freely and the front of her head ached abominably but her awareness was clear. Outlined against the glare of the light bulb over the barn door stood the Strawman.
VII.
The thing did not move like a living creature. It stood motionless and balanced with none of the slight swaying everything alive shows. The scarecrow jerked around awkwardly, nearly falling with each step. Ragged old pants and cloth coat, worn out work shoes and a brown slouch hat made up its wardrobe. The head was an oval burlap bag with two simple dot eyes and a smiling crescent of a mouth painted on the front.
Megan had seen unliving constructs before. In the Midnight War, they were known as Targhuls, creations of clay or wood or leather which moved at the will of some potent sorcerer. She figured the missing Fyodor Golyakova had to be somewhere nearby to animate this thing. By then, her nose had stopped bleeding and the pain in her face had ebbed to a dull ache. Her Tel Shai enhanced healing had kept her from being killed outright or permanently damaged by that vicious blow.
The Strawman bent over clumsily and snatched up the beam projector from where Megan had dropped it. It fumbled with the device and then tossed it aside. Moving closer, the scarecrow brought its semblance of a face near Megan's, although the painted eyes obviously could not see in any physical way. The Trom Girl was capable of bringing one or both legs up in a Kumundu kick but she refrained. Such a blow would incapacitate a living Human enemy, but probably not harm this thing of tightly packed straw. She would wait and see what it intended.
Her wrists were far enough apart that she could not touch the control pads on her cuffs, but she had already devised a dozen different plans for escape. After a long tense moment of silence, the Strawman swung around and lurched clumsily out of the barn. She could see it heading for the farmhouse. Megan swung her right leg up with perfect precision to tap the button on her left cuff. The gravity shield activated. She rose up but only a few inches as the slack in her chains was taken up. The shield's effect was not strong enough to break the chains or to pull them loose from the door. Staying calm, using all her muscular control, the Trom Girl raised her knee sharply and knocked the Link from its clip on her belt. To her horror, it bounced on the dirt floor and landed out of reach. Her plan to touch it with her toes was ruined.
Before she could move on to her next step in trying to escape, people ran into the barn. Brother Clement was first, the only one fully dressed. Four young women, wearing panties and T-shirts or in one case a fuzzy yellow bathrobe were next. None of them had brought the handgun Megan had glimpsed in the window that afternoon.
Behind them, the Strawman staggered drunkenly in. The thing gesticulated wildly but stayed back.
"You again!" yelled Brother Clement. "I thought I smelled cop all over you."
Megan said nothing. She met his furious gaze with calm self-assurance.
"FBI, right? State police? That's a crazy outfit you have on."
"Where's the men she was with?" asked one of the girls.
"Who cares? They'll never find out what happened to her." Brother Clement was trembling with anger and his voice was shrill. "She's gonna feed the pigs! Pigs eating a pig, haw haw!"
Megan was ready for her next move. They had not noticed that the gravity shield was lifting her so her chains were taut. Once they unlocked her manacles, she would rise instantly to the roof and there she would be out of their reach. She had confidence in her fighting ability against untrained Humans.
"You know what's funny?" asked one of the Harvester girls. "Them pigs has been tasting a lot better since we started feeding them people. It's a secret ingredient!"
Everyone seemed to find that hilarious and the laughter went on for several minutes. Then Brother Clement added, "We can start selling the pork and ham as special gourmet quality. Imagine people eating hogs that ate people." And they all laughed wildly again until he had to shush them.
"Might as well get this over with," he said, pulling a wicked seven inch long butcher knife from the back of his waistband. "We'll bleed her out so she won't struggle and cut her up into hog-bite size chunks."
Even as he approached, Megan Salenger felt neither fear or dismay. She knew her capabilities. She was certainly able to kill this unimpressive man with a kick, knife in his hand or not. She would be able to incapacitate two or three of the women at a time, but if they started throwing rocks at her or using long stabbing weapons to attack, the chances of survival dwindled. There was one more tactic she might try. If she got her feet up against the wall behind her and thrust with all the strength in her legs combined with the lifting field of her gravity shield....
Every one of the Harvesters swung around at the glare of headlights rushing toward them and the blaring of a horn. Right into the open door of the barn, a red Jeep Cherokee hurtled and skidded to a stop after slamming the Strawman far to one side.
Archie McAllister stormed out from behind the wheel. Six feet four and two hundred pounds, he was intimidating enough when peaceful but now his face was red with fury. The Harvester girls scattered and ran out of the barn into the night.
Brother Clement swung his knife from side to side, but Archie's reach was too long to be stopped that way. The big tight fist whipped around in a looping haymaker swing that broke the Harvester's jaw and threw him down to the ground. Archie kicked the dropped knife far to one side and yelled to Megan, "I'll have you loose in a minute!"
"Look out behind you!" she yelled.
Archie wheeled around and saw the unnatural form of the animate scarecrow back on its feet, completely unharmed by collision with a speeding Jeep. The Strawman had picked up the same two by four it had used earlier and swung it overhead.
"Come on, you!" Archie said. "Do your worst."
Unexpectedly, the drawling voice of Calvin Calvert rang out from the Jeep. "Bloodless thing of evil! Unlawful intruder in this world. By the names of Jordyn, Cirkoth and Eryasha, I command you begone!"
And the Strawman fell apart. It dropped straight down in a limp heap with a strange dry clattering noise and the head rolled away.
As soon as he saw that, Archie rushed over to Megan. "These chains are brand new. Did you see a key anywhere?"
"Better than that," she replied. "Reach in the smaller right hand pocket of my jocket, Archie."
"Oh, this thing," he said. He had seen her use it before. The Trom device extruded flexible metal filaments which stiffened inside a lock and became a universal key. Within seconds, he had her freed and she shut down her gravity shield to hug him. They held each other painfully tight before reluctantly disengaging.
"I think those women might scatter and run for their lives," Megan said. "Never mind them now. Brother Clement and his construct were the real threats. We will call Department 21 Black and within an hour they will send a squad here to clean up."
Calvert had gotten out of the Jeep and was squatting over the unconscious Brother Clement. "Damn. This guy's going to be eating through a straw for months, if they can even wire his jaw back together. You hit him pretty hard."
"Can you blame me?"
"No, of course not." The journalist sighed and went over to where the collapsed scarecrow was scattered. "I will never say I've seen everything."
Taking Archie by the hand, Megan went over to where Calvert was examing the remains of the Strawman. "That was an Invocation spell. You called on the Halarin. How did you know that?"
"Oh, I witnessed Matthias Mage use it once. You know Dr Mage, don't you? Nice guy, a little stuffy. I wasn't sure it would work of course but I guess Jordyn approved of what I was asking, whoever Jordyn is."
Dropping to one knee, Megan picked up the detached head and tugged the burlap sack away to reveal a fleshless white skull. "Now we know what happened to Fyodor Golyakova."
8/22/2023
10/16-10/17/2011
I.
"Finally, some buildings!" yelled Archie as low structures appeared dimly in the distance. "We've been driving for five hours and seen nothing but flat road ahead and flat dirt on either side."
In the front passenger seat of her cherry red Jeep Cherokee, Megan lifted her mirrored sunglasses. "Yes. The Great Plains are not known as scenic attractions."
"Your gift for understatement still slays me," Archie said. "Honestly, I thought there was some kind of optical illusion where the horizon kept moving away no matter how far I drove. It was getting on my nerves."
Sitting up straighter, Megan Salenger unclipped a rectagular metal device from her belt and examined its screen. The Link was no thicker than three playing cards stacked on each other. The Trom Girl's face, with its pointed nose and thoughtful dark eyes, was normally serious and now she seemed downright somber. "We are approaching the town of Sillsbury. A farming community now in decline, it has one gas station and convenient mart, a combination bar and restaurant, and an outlet store for hardware and tools. The nearest school is fifteen miles further down this road in Linton, which also has a post office."
Behind the wheel, Archie loomed up head and shoulders taller than the petite Megan and was easily a hundred pounds heavier. He was wearing walking boots, jeans and a heavy flannel shirt. Archie looked imposing and even intimidating at first, but the gentle blue eyes gave away his true nature.
"This has been a fun three weeks, honey. A field expedition funded by your KDF, going from a lake monster sighting to a reported Skinwalker infestation to an interview with a retired Alchemist who turned out to be an imposter. Quite an itenerary."
"Archie, do you regret coming with me on this trip?"
Catching the faintest twinge in her voice, the big mechanic reached over and squeezed her hand. "I couldn't ask for better company, honey. We've done some camping under the stars along the way, found a few decent roadside bistros and we've got you listening to new varieties of music."
"I think I appreciate jazz the most," she said. Megan swung her sunglasses up into her tousled black hair to rest atop her head. "There is a mathematical structure under it that appeals to me."
"Those Trom that raised you may have made you into a certified genius in a dozen fields but, man! They never taught you how to live life. No music. No games. No smooching in the moonlight."
Megan leaned over and bumped her shoulder up against him mischievously. "But I met someone who is educating me in all those matters." She could not repress a chuckle. "And more!"
They rolled past the first of several small farmhouses set well back from the highway. This one was fenced in to contain two dozen cows who watched the Jeep go by with an air of boredom. Before they reached the town itself, Megan and Archie slowed to get a good look at a long one-story building with its own gravel parking lot. A neon sign on the roof proclaimed THE HITCHIN' POST and in smaller letters promised GOOD FOOD COLD BEER. Next to the sign was a wooden placard BEAUTIFUL DANCERS THURS FRI SAT. There were no cars in the parking lot, but then it was only four in the afternoon and the place didn't open until six.
"Combination bar and strip club," Archie grumbled, speeding up again. "Wanna bet there's a few fights there late at night?"
Megan turned her head to gaze back at the joint as they sped away. "I still do not fully understand much of Human behavior. Perhaps I never will."
"It's not you, honey. People themselves don't understand why we act the way we do. I don't think we're meant to be figured out."
"There's the gas station," Megan pointed out.
"Not a minute too soon." Archie wheeled into the four pump next to the tiny convenient mart called PIT STOP. "We'd be tapping those five gallon cans of gas in the back of your Jeep pretty soon."
"I will be right back." Megan hopped lightly out of her door and trotted into the mart. Slightly built in her snug khaki pants and black windbreaker, she moved with the ease of both youth and being in excellent condition. Archie filled the gas tank using the KDF Platinum card Megan had explained would cover their expenses. He got back in and pulled over to the row of air pumps and vaccuum hoses.
As he was checking the tires, the Trom Girl returned at a noticeably more sedate pace. She popped the hood to check the oil and the battery terminals. They had independently acquired these habits before meeting each other, because both were used to long trips where service stations might be widely spaced.
"Satisfied?" Archie asked, replacing the air hose.
"Yes. I am surprised you do not need to urinate."
"Oh, I'm ready. I just got a bigger bladder than you do. Let's grab some supplies while we're here." He led her back into the mart and disappeared through a door in the back. Megan selected a cold bottle of plain water for herself, as well as a bag of unsalted cashews and a bag of raisins. When Archie emerged with a relieved expression, he grabbed a bottle of beer for himself and a big bag of cheese puffs.
"I'M not on a scientifically planned diet."
"I said nothing," Megan protested.
"You had that look as if I'm picking up roadkill to cook." He placed his choices on the counter next to hers and paid with the KDF card. The elderly man at the register smiled benevolently at their conversation, rang them up and wished them a happy day as they left. "Thank you," Megan called back over her shoulder.
Propping himself against the side of the Jeep, Archie popped open his beer. "Let me finish this here, that way we won't have any open containers in the car."
Megan leaned up against him and sighed. "This is the last assignment on this field excursion, Archie. On our way home, we can stop in Omaha for a quality restaurant and a night in a well-reviewed hotel. We have earned some comfort time, don't you think?"
"Sounds great to me. This last assignment, though, it sounds like a nasty one. We're looking into a cult or something called the Harvesters?"
"Yes. In the last eight months, eleven people have disappeared in the immediate area and no traces have been found. The FBI's Department 21 Black has unofficially requested the KDF look into the situation. Four of the missing persons' cars were found in nearby towns and the only oddity was that each had one or two flat tires and that pieces of straw were found in the interiors."
"You'd think the local police would be all over something as blatant as that..." Archie began but his words were cut off by a raspy shout from across the road.
"Megan! Archie! Boy, am I glad to see YOU!"
II.
"Oh my God..." muttered Archie as he felt Megan sigh next to him. "What are the odds?"
Scuttling across the road was a lanky middle-aged man in a white seersucker suit which had evidently not been pressed in years. He waved a straw hat in one hand. Calvin Calvert had untidy red hair with generous sprinklings of grey in it and a weatherbeaten face marked by blue eyes under spiky brows. He was heading toward them with the eagerness of a stranded man seeing a rescue party.
"Hello, Calvin," said the Trom Girl in a careful neutral tone.
"Hi, you guys. My, it's been ages. We haven't teamed up since we tangled with that old religious nut who was materializing spirit forms. Remember him?"
"Teamed up?" repeated Archie, straightening to loom up over Calvert like a solid slab of unfriendly beef. "Where did you get the idea..."
More diplomatic, Megan managed a polite smile and held out her hand for a shake which Calvert retained a bit too long. "It is unexpected to find you here in northwest Nebraska."
"Ha ha, I'm like you two, I go wherever the supernatural sticks its ugly nose into the real world. My blog WHAT REALLY HAPPENED has nineteen thousand subscribers and enough donations monthly to live on. Barely." Calvert adjusted his straw hat back far enough on his head that it seemed in imminent danger on falling off and stuck his thumbs in belt loops. "So glad you guys are here! We must be after the same mystery, right?"
"What would that be?" asked Megan.
"Why, the Strawman! The killing scarecrow. The local papers have refused to print anything about it and the nearest news station is a hundred miles away and all they care about are crop reports and sports. But you must have seen my articles on my blog!"
"We have been unusually busy lately," Megan offered.
"Yeah, there's been a lot going on," added Archie. "In fact, we only stopped to get gas and stretch our legs. We have to hit the road again right away."
"Great, I can take you right to the Harvesters. They know more than they're telling, you can be sure of that. Let's go."
As Archie began to protest, Megan interrupted quietly. "Mr Calvert, am I correct in thinking that you will continue to investigate the mystery either with our help or without it?"
"You bet your life, sweetheart, it's my life's work."
She visibly winced at being called 'sweetheart,' but continued, "You would be safer in our presence, as Archie and I have capabilities you do not possess. I reluctantly agree that we should work together for the moment."
Calvert responded by taking off his straw hat and fanning himself with it. "Now you're talking. Listen, I'll ride in the back and not be any trouble. Unfortunately my car died on the highway and the troopers impounded it, and to be honest it's not worth paying the fee to recover it. I've got everything of value on me, anyway."
There was only room in the back of the Jeep for one passenger. On the left floor section was a fire extinguisher and a large first aid kit. Half the seat was taken up by a locked metal equipment box. Settling in, Calvert peeked to see the rear compartment was neatly filled with gallon water jugs, gasoline containers, two knapsacks with sleeping bags and several more locked metal boxes.
"You guys are well organized," he said.
"Thank you," Megan replied as she slid behind the wheel and started the engine. "Do you have directions for us?"
"Sure, sure, hang a right and head back the way you were coming from. Listen, I'll tell you all about the killer scarecrow, the Harvesters and all the missing people..."
III.
"A couple years ago, I was supposed to meet a Red Sect sorcerer named Fyodor Golyakova out here. You guys know about Red Sect, they're real evil black magic types. Well, I came all the way out here and couldn't find him. The apartment he was renting still had all his clothes and books and stuff but he himself hadn't been seen for a week. Local police didn't seem too interested."
As Calvin Calvert paused, expecting a comment, Megan obligingly made a "Uh-huh" sound and he continued. "Soooo I went about my business. I check a dozen newspapers from around the country every week, different ones every week, looking for weird and unexplained events. And I really sat up when I read about someone in this area claiming they saw a scarecrow walking through their back yard in the middle of the night."
Calvert paused again. He seemed to have a habit of waiting for responses when he talked. This time, it was Archie who grunted and said, "That's out of the ordinary."
"And some more people saw the damn thing. Always in the middle of the night! Walking along a back road, peeking in someone's window, cutting across a parking lot. One old man emptied a Winchester at it and he claims Strawman staggered with each hit but kept going. Everyone described it the same, with a beat-up slouch hat and ragged clothes and a head that looked like a burlap sack with eyes and a smiley mouth drawn on it."
"Go on, we're listening," Megan said.
"This all started a year ago, about the same time the missing people started. Almost always, someone from out of the local area, a traveling businessman or a guy on his way to a new job or something. Five times, the missing man's car was found in a nearby town, abandoned. Three of the cars had a badly blown tire and they had been driving on the rims for miles."
At the wheel, the Trom Girl interrupted. "You have used the phrase, 'killer scarecrow' four times but there is no direct connection between the missing persons and the scarecrow sightings. Is this simply your inference?"
"You bet your dimples it is."
"I do not have dimples."
"It's just a figure of speech, anyway, I'm not the only one who thinks so. People in this county call the thing the Strawman and it's become an urban legend. Or maybe a rural legend." He leaned forward between their seats, peering out through the windshield. "You might want to pull over here. That's the Harvester Ranch over there."
Megan and Archie stared at a neglected field overgrown with dry brown grass. At the top of the hill, a three story red farmhouse could be seen with a weathervane on its roof. Behind it, the edge of a barn could be glimpsed. No one was in sight. At the bottom of the long gravel drive was a mailbox on a post, with the name HARVESTERS 1127 painted on its side.
"I have no useful information about any group called the Harvesters," Megan admitted.
Calvert snorted. "Yeah, well I call them a goddam cult. They want to be known as an experimental commune dedicated to a more equitable lifestyle. Like hell! Members sign over all their property, they take new names and cut off all ties to their families. Sound familiar?"
"Those are bad signs, all right," Archie had to agree. "What else have you found out?"
"This is a sixty acre abandoned hog farm taken over by the cult. Maybe forty members of all ages and backgrounds, most stay here permanently. Leader is a fluke named Clement Swain, probably not his real name." Calvert exhaled and genuine anger echoed in his voice. "It's an old old story, my friends, lost souls looking for someone to tell them how to think. Hate to see it."
"I'm getting the creeps big time," Archie grumbled.
Suddenly, Megan Salenger undid her seat belt and opened her door. "Archie, I would like you to drive us up and remain ready to leave instantly. I think my subconscious is picking up warning clues that I am not consciously aware of yet. This is the sensation you refer to as the creeps."
As they switched seats and buckled back in, the big mechanic said quietly, "Got your projector ready?"
"Yes." She gave a stern glance back at Calvert. "You have already seen some of my devices in use. The Trom do not want our technology to become common knowledge among Humans. Earning their disapproval would be most imprudent. Is that clear?"
"Sure, sure," he hastily said. "I don't want the Trom of all people to be mad at me! I haven't said a word to anyone, nothing on my blog about your gizmos. You can trust me."
"Good." Megan held up a dull metal device like a flat flashlight and clicked a cartridge into its slot. "Neural shock at medium. Archie, if you would?"
The big mechanic started up the engine and began rolling up the long drive to the desolate farmhouse. From the back, Calvin Calvert said, "I don't mind admitting I'm awful glad you two are on hand. I'm getting too old to tackle sinister cults and killer scarecrows by myself."
IV.
As they came to a stop near the front porch of the farmhouse, they could see a wooden rail enclosure in which a dozen huge hogs were lazing about in mud. Beyond that, a good acre of cultivated land stood behind a wire fence. Megan could make out squash, pumpkins and tomatoes from where they were. "Archie, please be ready. Mr Calvert, I suggest you do the talking while I observe."
"You got it, sweetheart. Talking is what I do best."
The two of them got out in the windy afternoon sunlight. Before they could approach, the screen door of the farmhouse swung open and a young woman stepped out to stare at them. In an instant, Megan had taken in dozen of facts about her. Age, height, weight, eye and hair color, details of facial features, visible scars and moles, health, physical conditioning, emotional state... all registered. In that split-second, the Trom Girl decided that this woman was hostile but no physical threat.
All Calvin Calvert took in was that here was a pretty young thing, a little skinny maybe, with long wavy black hair and showing a lot of skin in her cutoff jeans and halter. Her unfriendly glare did not deter him at all, of course. "Well, hello there, little lady. I'm from the news blog WHAT REALLY HAPPENED, you might have heard of it..."
"What do you want?" came a flat disinterested monotone.
"Perhaps you'd like an opportunity to explain to the public about the purpose of your commune, your goals, what you hope to achieve?" As he spoke, Calvert had taken off his straw hat and moved a few steps closer until he was near the porch. Megan had remained where she was.
"We don't care what anyone thinks," she drawled and stepped back into the doorway. "Get lost."
From behind her, a deep male voice said, "Sister Natalie, let me handle this."
"Of course. Whatever you think best," she replied and immediately vanished into the house. Out stepped a short, stocky man in dress slacks and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled back a turn. He had long, untidy brown hair down to his shoulders and intense dark eyes that seemed feverish.
"I am Brother Clement," he announced as if they should react in awe.
Unnoticed by anyone, Megan Salenger had dropped one hand to touch the beam projector clipped to her belt. She was in a loose Kumundu stance, feet braced well apart, not tense but ready for instant action. At the windows of the farmhouse and from within the open barn door, she had spotted watchful eyes on them.
"How do you do, sir," Calvert said. "I wonder if you would like a chance to expound your philosphy and what your group intends to accomplish..."
"No. We have withdrawn from the corrupt decadent game you call civilization. There is nothing more to be said. Go now, you are not welcome here.
"But surely you would want to explain to society where they are going wrong..."
"Go. There is nothing more to say." Brother Clement slammed the door shut as he stepped back inside.
"Drat. My legendary silver tongue has failed for once," Calvert admitted. He swung around and grinned at Megan. "Perhaps we should have let you try your winsome little charm, my dear."
"Get back in my Jeep," was all she said, heading for the front passenger seat herself. As Archie swung around and headed back down the gravel drive, the Trom Girl announced calmly, "A man in the top left corner window held a Glock 19 pistol on us as we spoke."
From the rear seat, Calvert made a distraught sound. "Ack."
Pulling back out onto the road, Archie asked, "What else?"
"The man called Brother Calvert had dilated pupils in the sunlight. He was sweating heavily despite the low humidity and steady breeze. His clothes were new but did not fit him well, they were sized for a considerably larger man."
"Unpleasant clues," Archied grunted. "What else?"
"I spotted six people watching us," she said. "Visible at the west corner of the barn was a front bumper of a vehicle I tentatively identify as a new Ford Bronco. Near the farmhouse was a red Dodge Ram at least nine years old, with considerable rust and scrapes."
"And the conclusion you draw from all this, Holmes?" asked Calvert.
Megan had never read fiction but she had come to understand all the references people made to her about Holmes, Watson and phrases from the Conan Doyle stories. She made no reply, though, and Calvin Calvert began to repeat his question.
"Never mind," Archie interrupted. "Megan sometimes goes deaf when she doesn't want to explain herself. You get used to it."
"Hmph. Well, I never. I guess you have to allow geniuses some eccentricities." He leaned back in the seat and started rummaging through his pockets to come up with a pencil stub and a small memo pad in which he began writing. The drive back to town was silent. When they reached the gas station, Archie slowed and signaled his intent to pull in.
"No, dear," Megan said, coming out of her thoughts, "I think we should go to the restaurant and have dinner. We will return to the Harvester ranch late tonight."
"You got it," the big mechanic said and kept driving. "I'm starving as it is. All I had today was a bag of Cheetos."
"I must thank you for your patience," Megan said. "And you, too, Mr Calvert. I have reached some conclusions about this situation and I will explain myself soon."
"Fine, fine, not a problem," the journalist reassured her. "I'm going back there myself to poke around."
Turning her head to fix a steady gaze on him, Megan put unusual emphasis in her normally subdued tones. "You should not return to that ranch without us. You would be placing yourself in real peril. I believe those Harvesters have killed at least eleven people and probably many more."
V.
The HITCHIN POST had one public entrance which opened to a small lobby. On the wall was the front and back of a menu, surrounded by glamor shots of women with huge teased hairdos and tons of make-up. To left and right were open doorways, the one on the right leading to the strip club which was just starting its night. The doorway to the left led down three steps to a dining room.
The three investigators found an open area with a large picture window facing some trees on the side of the building. Eight round wooden tables were placed well apart, and they took the nearest one. As was her habit from years in the Midnight War, Megan chose a seat which had her back to a wall and from which she could watch both the entrance doorway and the swinging door to the kitchen. She lived as if expecting sudden ambush everywhere she went.
Immediately, a busty blonde waitress about thirty, in a reasonably modest white dress, came out with a notepad. "Afternoon," she said, "What can I get you folks?"
"Coffee, black for me," Archie said.
"That's about all I can swing. Coffee for me, too. Cream and sugar, though," Calvert added.
Megan thawed enough to give him a wry smile. "You are on our expense account, Mr Calvert. Feel free to order whatever you like. I will have iced water, please."
"You got it," the waitress said cheerfully and strutted back toward the kitchen door.
"Wonder if she works in the other half of this place. She's got the qualifications," Calvert mused as he watched her depart.
"I will order the grilled chicken with a baked potato and peas. That seems to be the least harmful items on the menu," Megan said as if she had not heard him.
"Double cheeseburger and fries for me," added Archie. "Maybe some soup. They have French onion today, I'll try that."
"I'll have the same as you, big fella. And another cup of coffee. Someone seems to have gulped mine down." Calvert put down his menu and studied his memo pad. "Okay, I think I'm following some of your deductions, dear. Here goes. The new Ford Bronco you saw by the barn has to belong to one of the missing people. Have I got that right?"
"Yes." Just the single word.
"And El Creepo there, Brother Clement. I found out his name is Clement Swain, by the way. He's been arrested a few times for vagrancy and petty theft, did thirty days in the county jail for repeated shoplifting a few years ago. Anyway, he was wearing new clothes much too big for him. That's because they were taken off a victim, right?"
"That is my tentative conclusion, too."
Archie tilted his head slightly. "Calvin, you're sharper than I gave you credit for."
"I'll take that as a compliment," the redhead grinned. "You know, I've been doing this for quite a few years. I've worked with Matthias Mage and Caleb Thorne and your own Dire Wolf. Some of that has rubbed off on me."
The waitress wheeled over a cart with their plates and set them down on the table, refilled the coffee cups and said, "Enjoy!"
Archie had learned to eat slowly because Megan took forever chewing each mouthful and sipping water between bites. In a minute, Calvert had finished most of his hamburger and noticed she had hardly begun on her meal. Aren't you hungry, sweetheart?"
"Important digestive enzymes are created while chewing," she replied.
"Oh. Sure, everyone knows that." Calbert finished his burger and splattered ketchup on his fries before attacking them.
Archie McAllister could not help smiling. He himself was eating more slowly than he would have liked. Before he could say anything, he noticed two young women appearing in the doorway and he noticed Megan scrutinizing them.
One was the girl they had met at Harvesters' Ranch, still wearing the same shorts and halter. With her was another woman no more than twenty years old, with similar black hair but a bit shorter and more solidly built. They were carrying knapsacks which they placed on the floor between them.
Megan unclipped her Link, tapped its screen and placed it on the table in front of her. She gave Calvin Calvert a stern glance that hushed him up. They watched as the waitress went over to talk with the newcomers in low tones. As the young women turned back to the lobby, the waitress went past and Archie caught her attention.
"Excuse me, were those the dancers?"
"You bet," she answered. "That's Dolly and Passion. They'll be changing into their outfits in a few minutes." She gave Megan a warm smile, "You're welcome next door, too. Ladies are always welcome. Great sound system."
"Thank you," said the Trom Girl with notable lack of enthusiasm. She held the Link up to her ear, listening, and then frowned at her companions. "The directional microphone picked up everything clearly. The taller woman asked if Deputy Winslow was here yet. The waitress said he called that he would be stopping by around eleven, and the Harvester woman said she would take care of him then."
Calvert whistled and raised both bushy eyebrows. "Well... that does sound a mite suspicious."
"You know, it might be more than sex being available," Archie added. "Those girls and Brother Clement all look like speed freaks to me. Meth or diet pills or whatever, they might be dealing at the strip club and the deputy is a customer."
Megan regarded her still uneaten meal with disinterest. "Whether sex or drugs or both are being used, we can see why the local police have not been diligent in investigating the Harvesters. It is up to us."
After Megan had finally forced herself to finish her meal, the three stepped out into a parking lot that had gone dark. It was a cloudy night with the moon only visible as a hazy white spot high overhead. Three cars and a van were parked in front of the strip side of the building, and a couple with two young children were going into the restaurant side. Loud rap music echoed out into the night.
Moving toward her Jeep, the Trom Girl hesitated. "We will not return to check out the Harvester Ranch until well after midnight. If you two want to spend the next few hours in that club, I have no objections."
"Ahhh," Calvert scoffed. "Better to keep my measley couple of dollars in my pocket."
"And I think grabbing a nap would be a better use of time," Archie said. "We've been up since before dawn and we're likely to be active in the middle of the night.
Getting a little sleep appeals to me."
She still seemed dubious. "Honestly, I wouldn't mind. But we would be well advised to rest up while we can. Mr Calvert, do you intend to investigate further with us?"
"Oh, you bet your life. I won't mention you or Archie of course, but this will draw thousands to my blog."
"Very well then. Archie, did you see a suitable place for us to camp?"
"Sure. Back that way a couple miles. A couple of trees set back from the road and it's public land. We can park there for a few hours with no problem."
Megan nodded. "I am physically tired and a nap will bring me up to standards." She went over to the Jeep and climbed into the front passenger seat. Calvert got in the back again and Archie took the wheel.
VI.
At one o'clock, Megan gently rousted Archie and Calvert from where they were dozing under two elm trees, just beyond sight of the road. She had already changed into her field suit... black boots, pants and waist-length jacket of tough material and holding a dozen gadgets in various pockets. Strapped between her shoulder blades was the convex disc of the gravity shield and he held her visored helmet in one hand. "It's time," she said.
Both men grumbled a little, stretching and yawning before coming back to full awareness. "I wish I'd gotten a cup of coffee to go at the HITCHIN POST," Calvert observed. "Sometimes I wish the Midnight War was the Early Afternoon War."
"My intent is to simply gather information without confronting anyone," Megan said, fastening her helmet on but leaving the visor up. "Archie, if I need assistance, I will beep you on your phone."
"You don't have to tell me to be ready," he said.
Megan got up on her toes and kissed him lightly on one cheek. "I know. There is no one in the world I count on more. And Mr Calvert? Would you get the night vision goggles from the back seat, please?"
As the journalist walked over fifty feet to the Jeep and opened the rear door, Megan tapped a button on the control panel fastened to her left cuff. Without a sound, with no visible flash, she shot straight upward into the dark sky and was gone from sight instantly.
Coming back, Calvin Calvert wheeled around. "Huh? Where is she?"
"She took off," Archie said, enjoying the phrase. "We'll wait for her to call."
Two hundred feet in the air, Megan flew like a diver with her legs together and her arms outstretched ahead of her. Calvert had seen her use the beam projector but he did not know about the gravity shield. Her superiors had stressed the importance of keeping Trom technology secret except to a chosen few Human allies.
Below was the Harvester Ranch. A light burned above the barn door and a single upstairs window was lit. Megan lowered the visor of her helmet. Light enhancers and an ultra-violet beam combined to reveal every detail with stark clarity. She slowed to a hover, lowering her hands and standing on thin air. In her black suit on this gloomy night, there was no significant anyone on the ground would spot her.
For long minutes, she studied the area. Along with the Ford Bronco, another car stood behind the barn under a tarp. More loot taken from a victim? She dropped lower and stared at the chicken coop and pig sty. Heat sources counted six sleeping chickens and eleven hogs. Megan adjusted the sensors to detect Human DNA. To her dismay but not surprise, the sty and the area around it registered hundreds of traces of Human DNA. Her worst fears were confirmed.
In the house were five sleeping adults and one whose image showed he was sitting in a chair on the top floor, awake but not moving. Reading or watching TV most likely.
Megan glided over the barn and unclipped her beam projector. A low-intensity neural shock put the chickens and the pigs into a harmless deep sleep from they would not be easily roused for the next few hours. Satisfied, she touched lightly down next to the barn and shut off the gravity shield.
No life forms registering in the barn itself. Megan unfastened her helmet and clipped to the back of her jacket. She wanted to develop her natural senses more and avoid relying on electronic sensors. The interior of the barn had a jumble of debris along its walls. Car tires stacked five high, next to a pile of assorted auto parts. Under a canvas sheet was a wooden box holding some cell phones, watches and an expensive Nikon camera. She had enough evidence now to call the FBI's Department 21 Black in on this. Since some of the victims had crossed state lines to meet their deaths here, the FBI could claim jurisdiction.
Rolled up in one corner was a curious device she straightened out to examine. A canvas strip twelve feet long with many three-inch sharp barbs protruding upwards. This was a spike strip used by police to incapacitate fleeing cars. It explained the number of cars found in nearby towns with a flat tire. She rolled it up again and straightened, feeling more sorrow than triumph. Humans were so difficult to understand.
A faint rustle sounded behind her. Quick as any gunfighter of the Old West, the Trom Girl whirled around and swung up her beam projector just as a two by four smashed murderously across her face. She was thrown back, staggering a few steps before falling on her back. Not completely unconscious but lost in a daze of pain, she was only vaguely aware of being lifted and thrown up against a wall. Clinks sounded. She was hanging by her wrists from chains bolted to the barn wall.
In only a few seconds, her enhanced healing kicked in and her head cleared. Her nose was bleeding freely and the front of her head ached abominably but her awareness was clear. Outlined against the glare of the light bulb over the barn door stood the Strawman.
VII.
The thing did not move like a living creature. It stood motionless and balanced with none of the slight swaying everything alive shows. The scarecrow jerked around awkwardly, nearly falling with each step. Ragged old pants and cloth coat, worn out work shoes and a brown slouch hat made up its wardrobe. The head was an oval burlap bag with two simple dot eyes and a smiling crescent of a mouth painted on the front.
Megan had seen unliving constructs before. In the Midnight War, they were known as Targhuls, creations of clay or wood or leather which moved at the will of some potent sorcerer. She figured the missing Fyodor Golyakova had to be somewhere nearby to animate this thing. By then, her nose had stopped bleeding and the pain in her face had ebbed to a dull ache. Her Tel Shai enhanced healing had kept her from being killed outright or permanently damaged by that vicious blow.
The Strawman bent over clumsily and snatched up the beam projector from where Megan had dropped it. It fumbled with the device and then tossed it aside. Moving closer, the scarecrow brought its semblance of a face near Megan's, although the painted eyes obviously could not see in any physical way. The Trom Girl was capable of bringing one or both legs up in a Kumundu kick but she refrained. Such a blow would incapacitate a living Human enemy, but probably not harm this thing of tightly packed straw. She would wait and see what it intended.
Her wrists were far enough apart that she could not touch the control pads on her cuffs, but she had already devised a dozen different plans for escape. After a long tense moment of silence, the Strawman swung around and lurched clumsily out of the barn. She could see it heading for the farmhouse. Megan swung her right leg up with perfect precision to tap the button on her left cuff. The gravity shield activated. She rose up but only a few inches as the slack in her chains was taken up. The shield's effect was not strong enough to break the chains or to pull them loose from the door. Staying calm, using all her muscular control, the Trom Girl raised her knee sharply and knocked the Link from its clip on her belt. To her horror, it bounced on the dirt floor and landed out of reach. Her plan to touch it with her toes was ruined.
Before she could move on to her next step in trying to escape, people ran into the barn. Brother Clement was first, the only one fully dressed. Four young women, wearing panties and T-shirts or in one case a fuzzy yellow bathrobe were next. None of them had brought the handgun Megan had glimpsed in the window that afternoon.
Behind them, the Strawman staggered drunkenly in. The thing gesticulated wildly but stayed back.
"You again!" yelled Brother Clement. "I thought I smelled cop all over you."
Megan said nothing. She met his furious gaze with calm self-assurance.
"FBI, right? State police? That's a crazy outfit you have on."
"Where's the men she was with?" asked one of the girls.
"Who cares? They'll never find out what happened to her." Brother Clement was trembling with anger and his voice was shrill. "She's gonna feed the pigs! Pigs eating a pig, haw haw!"
Megan was ready for her next move. They had not noticed that the gravity shield was lifting her so her chains were taut. Once they unlocked her manacles, she would rise instantly to the roof and there she would be out of their reach. She had confidence in her fighting ability against untrained Humans.
"You know what's funny?" asked one of the Harvester girls. "Them pigs has been tasting a lot better since we started feeding them people. It's a secret ingredient!"
Everyone seemed to find that hilarious and the laughter went on for several minutes. Then Brother Clement added, "We can start selling the pork and ham as special gourmet quality. Imagine people eating hogs that ate people." And they all laughed wildly again until he had to shush them.
"Might as well get this over with," he said, pulling a wicked seven inch long butcher knife from the back of his waistband. "We'll bleed her out so she won't struggle and cut her up into hog-bite size chunks."
Even as he approached, Megan Salenger felt neither fear or dismay. She knew her capabilities. She was certainly able to kill this unimpressive man with a kick, knife in his hand or not. She would be able to incapacitate two or three of the women at a time, but if they started throwing rocks at her or using long stabbing weapons to attack, the chances of survival dwindled. There was one more tactic she might try. If she got her feet up against the wall behind her and thrust with all the strength in her legs combined with the lifting field of her gravity shield....
Every one of the Harvesters swung around at the glare of headlights rushing toward them and the blaring of a horn. Right into the open door of the barn, a red Jeep Cherokee hurtled and skidded to a stop after slamming the Strawman far to one side.
Archie McAllister stormed out from behind the wheel. Six feet four and two hundred pounds, he was intimidating enough when peaceful but now his face was red with fury. The Harvester girls scattered and ran out of the barn into the night.
Brother Clement swung his knife from side to side, but Archie's reach was too long to be stopped that way. The big tight fist whipped around in a looping haymaker swing that broke the Harvester's jaw and threw him down to the ground. Archie kicked the dropped knife far to one side and yelled to Megan, "I'll have you loose in a minute!"
"Look out behind you!" she yelled.
Archie wheeled around and saw the unnatural form of the animate scarecrow back on its feet, completely unharmed by collision with a speeding Jeep. The Strawman had picked up the same two by four it had used earlier and swung it overhead.
"Come on, you!" Archie said. "Do your worst."
Unexpectedly, the drawling voice of Calvin Calvert rang out from the Jeep. "Bloodless thing of evil! Unlawful intruder in this world. By the names of Jordyn, Cirkoth and Eryasha, I command you begone!"
And the Strawman fell apart. It dropped straight down in a limp heap with a strange dry clattering noise and the head rolled away.
As soon as he saw that, Archie rushed over to Megan. "These chains are brand new. Did you see a key anywhere?"
"Better than that," she replied. "Reach in the smaller right hand pocket of my jocket, Archie."
"Oh, this thing," he said. He had seen her use it before. The Trom device extruded flexible metal filaments which stiffened inside a lock and became a universal key. Within seconds, he had her freed and she shut down her gravity shield to hug him. They held each other painfully tight before reluctantly disengaging.
"I think those women might scatter and run for their lives," Megan said. "Never mind them now. Brother Clement and his construct were the real threats. We will call Department 21 Black and within an hour they will send a squad here to clean up."
Calvert had gotten out of the Jeep and was squatting over the unconscious Brother Clement. "Damn. This guy's going to be eating through a straw for months, if they can even wire his jaw back together. You hit him pretty hard."
"Can you blame me?"
"No, of course not." The journalist sighed and went over to where the collapsed scarecrow was scattered. "I will never say I've seen everything."
Taking Archie by the hand, Megan went over to where Calvert was examing the remains of the Strawman. "That was an Invocation spell. You called on the Halarin. How did you know that?"
"Oh, I witnessed Matthias Mage use it once. You know Dr Mage, don't you? Nice guy, a little stuffy. I wasn't sure it would work of course but I guess Jordyn approved of what I was asking, whoever Jordyn is."
Dropping to one knee, Megan picked up the detached head and tugged the burlap sack away to reveal a fleshless white skull. "Now we know what happened to Fyodor Golyakova."
8/22/2023
