Dean R Koontz Invasion

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disbelievingly: "I'm home."
SATURDAY
12:00-1:00 A.M.
The Attack
14.
I didn't see it, of course. I cannot know. I can't retell it with perfect
confidence in the tale. Never theless, it must have happened something like
this:
A small herd of deer was sheltered in the forest where the snow didn't drift
to such heights as it reached out in the open fields. They fed on the tough
but juicy leaves of winter brush, on crow's foot and holly, on cold weather
berries, of various sorts, on tender bark, and on those mushrooms that had
sur vived far enough into the autumn to be quick-frozen by a sudden change in
the seasons.
One buck fed at the edge of the herd. He nibbled on strips of peeling birch
bark.
The wind was high above the trees, a distant howl ing like wolves held at bay
by mounted hunters.
Now and again one of the deer would look up into the darkness overhead, never
with fear but with curiosity.
The pine boughs-for this part of the forest was mostly pines-protected the
deer from the worst of the storm.
The alien moved noiselessly through the trees.
The buck paused in his meal.
The alien came closer.
The buck stopped chewing, blew steam, drew breath, tilted his
magnificent head, listened, snorted, went back to the birch bark.
The alien closed in on him.
Suddenly aware of the foul odor of ammonia, the buck finally raised its proud
head. It sniffed and shook its antlers and let a half-chewed mouthful of bark
drop to the ground.
Some of the other deer turned to watch it.
The buck sniffed again.
By now all twenty-odd members of the herd had caught the ripe scent. None of
them were interested in food any longer. They were motionless, except for
their long eye lashes which trembled and except for their nostrils which,
beaded with moisture, also trembled. They were waiting for the worst, hearts
racing, ears pricked up. . .
The alien stopped ten yards away.
Snowflakes melted on the buck's nose.
The wind moaned. It seemed a bit louder than it had been a moment ago.
The buck stood very still for a while-until it saw the huge yellow eyes that
were fixed on it. It froze for an instant, then panicked.
The alien moved in quickly.
The buck snorted and reared up on its hind legs-
-and the alien reached out and took full control of the simple animal mind.
One of the does squealed.
Then another: contagion.
The herd thundered away down the forest trail, white tails puffed up behind
them, their hoofbeats silenced by the blanket of snow that misted up around
them.
Only the buck remained.
The alien came out from the deep brush, shoving aside the jagged brambles and
blackberry vines, snow pluming up from its many legs. It stepped onto the
narrow path between the pines and approached the deer.
The buck blinked, quivered.
The other being immediately soothed it. Standing before the animal, the alien
carefully examined it for all of half a minute, as if learning the uses of the
beast, then turned away and lumbered down the trail in the direction that the
herd had gone.
Head lowered, large brown eyes wide, the buck followed without hesitation. Its
tongue lolled be tween its lips. Its tail was tucked down now: bril liant
white side concealed, dull gray-brown side re vealed.
The two creatures eventually left the woods and came out on a long slope where
five other yellow-eyed beings were waiting for them.
The buck snorted when it saw the others.
Its heart thundered, threatened to burst.
The alien responded quickly, stilled the terror, slowed the heart-and kept
rigid control.
Silently, they climbed the hill.
The buck was forced to jump through a number of deep drifts that nearly proved
too much for it. It kicked and heaved. Its thick haunch and shoulder muscles
bunched painfully. Steam spurted from its black nostrils.
Steam rose, too, from the broad, dark, slanted, shiny backs of the six aliens.
Shortly, a house came into sight atop the hill.
A farmhouse.
Timberlake Farm.
The attack had begun.
15
I took a quick, hot shower, sluicing away some of the chill which had curled
like a segmented worm of ice deep inside of me. The worm had anchored it self
with a thousand tendrils and could not be en tirely torn loose. When I came
out of the shower, I discovered that Connie had left a double shot of whiskey,
neat, in a squat glass tumbler on the edge of the sink. I sipped at the first
shot while I toweled off and dressed. Just before I went downstairs, I
finished the second shot in one fiery gulp that scorched my throat and made my
eyes water.
However, not even the whiskey-although it brought a bright flush to my
face-could burn out every segment of the ice worm.
Connie and Toby were in the kitchen. They had both eaten earlier, but she was
re-heating some homemade vegetable soup for me. Toby was sitting at the table,
intently studying a large, half-com pleted jigsaw puzzle; I winced when I saw
that it was a snow scene.
Even a stranger, stepping into that room without knowing anything about our
situation, could have seen that we were living under siege conditions. The
curtains had been drawn tightly over the window, and the sun porch door was
closed, locked, and chained. The rifle lay on a chair near the table, and the
loaded pistol was beside the water glass at the place Connie had set for me.
But most of all there was an air of expectancy, a thinly masked ten sion in
all of us.
I sat down, and she put a bowl of soup before me. I drew a deep breath of the
fragrant steam and sighed. I had not been very hungry until the food was
before me; and now I was ravenous.
While I ate Connie dried, dismantled, and oiled the shotgun which had taken a
beating in the bliz zard.
Toby looked up from his puzzle and said, "Hey, Dad, you know what happened?"
"Tell me."
"Mom put a spell on me."
"A spell?"
"Yeah."
I looked at Connie. She was trying to suppress a smile, but she didn't glance
up from the shotgun on which she was working. I asked Toby: "What sort of
spell?"
"She made me sleep all day," he said.
"Is that so. After you slept all the night before?"
"Yeah. But you know what else?"
"What else?"
"I don't believe it was a spell at all."
Now Connie looked up from her gun.
I said, "It wasn't a spell?"
Toby shook his head: no. "I think she slipped me one of her sleeping capsules
in my breakfast orange juice."
"Why, Toby!" Connie said.
"It's okay, Mom," he said. "I know why you did it. You thought as long as I
was asleep the aliens couldn't get me to run away again. You made me sleep to
protect me."
I started to laugh.
"Boy child," Connie said to him, "you're really too much for me. You know
that?"
He grinned, blushed, and turned back to me. "You going to tell us some more
about what all you found over at the Johnson farm?"
The only thing I had told them thus far was that the aliens had been there
ahead of me and that Ed and Molly were dead.
Connie quickly said, "Let your father eat his dinner, Toby. He can tell us
later."
When I'd finished three bowls of soup, I told them about the skeletons at the
Johnson farm and about the dead bull lying in the generator shed. I tried to
stay calm, tried to leave out most of the adjectives and adverbs, but now and
then I let the tale become too vivid, so vivid that they recoiled slightly
from me.
After I had finished Toby said, "Then I guess we have to hold them off all by
ourselves. We can do it."
Connie said, "I'm not so sure of that, general."
She looked at me, crow's feet of worry around her lovely eyes. "What are we
going to do?"
I had been doing a great deal of thinking about that. "Just one thing we can
do. Get out of here."
"And go where?"
"East."
"The county road?"
"That's right."
"You think it's been plowed open?"
"No." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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