Authors: Bentley Little
Ross walked out in the middle of his father’s lecture, not wanting to argue. Ignoring his dad’s demands to “Get back here! Right now!”, he closed and locked the door to the hall bathroom and took a long, lingering shower. By the time he got out, as he’d hoped, his parents were in the bedroom, their door closed. He didn’t know whether they were asleep or not, and he didn’t care. He was just glad they weren’t in the living room. His mom hadn’t bothered to make up the couch for him, so he got a sheet, pillow and blanket from the linen closet and did it himself, making as little noise as possible so they wouldn’t come out and lecture him again.
He fell asleep watching David Letterman.
There was silence at the breakfast table in the morning. He tried to smooth things over by talking about how he’d be in pretty good financial shape once the condo sale went through, but his father would have none of that. “What I was trying to tell you,” his dad said, “was that you need to stop pretending to be a farmer and get back to looking for a job. Things change fast in the engineering field, and you’ve already been away from it for a year.”
Ross met his gaze. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Then why aren’t you out looking for work?”
“I am, Dad. Every day. My resume is on about a million sites, I keep up with openings and hiring calls…”
“You can’t do everything through a computer. You have to be out there, pounding the pavement, showing your face, going to personnel departments so companies get to know you.”
“Sure. And I’ll put on my cufflinks and my hamburg—”
“Don’t you get smart with me, young man!”
“I’m not looking for a job in 1950, Dad. This is the way it’s done today.”
“You’re lazy. That’s your problem. I don’t know why you’re out there on a farm instead of here in the city—”
Ross leaned across the table. “You want to know why? Because I was out of money and couldn’t afford to keep my condo. I almost had to walk away from it and let the bank foreclose, but now, fortunately, I can actually sell it. Lita offered me a place to live. You didn’t, Dad. Neither did Alma or Rick, despite all I’ve done for them. You’re all a bunch of… Forget it.” He stood. “I’m leaving.”
His mother was scowling at him. “Don’t you talk to your father that way!”
She was still lecturing him as he walked out the kitchen door and into the living room. His one suitcase was already packed, and he picked it up, shouted out a terse “Goodbye!” and headed out to his car.
He drove.
He had nowhere to go and no place to be until he was to meet Jamie Wong and the buyer at his old condo at ten, so he ended up at a McDonald’s in Mesa, where he sipped refill after refill of coffee as he read each useless section of
USA Today
and
The
Arizona Republic
. Where was he going to sleep tonight? he wondered. He didn’t want to go back to his parents’ house. And he certainly wasn’t going to call his brother or sister. Could he make it back to Magdalena? Maybe. But he was thinking of seeing his friends again this evening—who knew when he might see them next?—and he decided to splurge and stay at a cheap motel. He had money coming in. He deserved to celebrate.
Ross arrived at the condominium before Jamie Wong and the buyer. He still had a key and let himself in. The place smelled musty and dusty; the air felt warm and heavy. He walked from room to room, opening the shades as he did so. The condo looked bigger than he recalled, partially due to the lack of furniture, partly because he was used to the much smaller confines of the L-Bar D’s guest house. He walked back out to the kitchen, admiring the abundant counterspace.
There was a knock on the doorframe, and Ross turned to see a smiling Jamie Wong standing on the welcome mat with a squat heavyset man: Burt Abbey, the man who wanted to buy his condo. Ross had left the door open, and he waved to the two of them. “Come on in.”
He disliked Abbey on sight.
These things happened. It wouldn’t affect the sale, but it was a good thing that the realtor was there to act as a go-between because, despite the polite smiles, he could tell that the feeling was mutual, and if there were only the two of them negotiating, the deal would probably have fallen apart instantly. As it was, their natural antipathy kept the meeting short, and after a cursory walk-through and the realtor’s point-by-point reading of an inspector’s report, papers were signed, and the three of them parted ways, with Ross promising to stop by Jamie’s office later in the afternoon to finish things up.
He drove to Garcia’s and into the parking lot the same time as Alex, who honked and waved. The two of them pulled next to each other and walked into the already crowded restaurant, where a slutty looking waitress led them to a table next to a group of elderly women. They’d been talking about nothing in particular, rehashing their criticism of Trent’s stupidity from last night, but as soon as the chips and salsa arrived, Alex got down to business.
“I’ve been in contact with the floor mat company,” he said. “Getting up to speed with their systems and what have you. I found out that they’re planning to expand and, get this, start making mats for railroads and airline cockpits. They outsource all of their machinery design, oversight and implementation, and what I was thinking—if I can get them to go for it—is that you could look over their needs assessment. From your own base, online. You could check in with their people, look into available equipment and…consult. I know you don’t know anything about floor mat manufacturing, but the plant retrofitting’s actually not all that different from the Boeing project we worked on, and I figure you could adapt pretty easily. You know how to do this. And you’re good at it.
“Obviously, it wouldn’t be a real job. There’s no benefits or anything. You’d be a contract worker for this one assignment. But it might lead to something else. At the very least, it would keep you in the game, allow you to update your resume.”
“That’d be great,” Ross admitted.
“There’s no guarantee, and the pay might be shit, but if I can convince them, can I tell them you’re interested?”
“Sure.”
“Then email me your resume when you get back. As soon as I hear something, yay
or
nay, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks,” Ross said gratefully. “I owe you one.”
“Don’t thank me yet. But, yes, you do owe me one.”
They both laughed.
Since he was in the city and had the opportunity, he shopped at Target after lunch, picking up some necessities, then hit a few computer and electronics stores. He checked into a motel off Black Canyon Highway, then watched TV in his room for awhile before meeting his friends for dinner. This time, they didn’t go out. Instead, they hung out at Patrick’s place, where they ate Taco Bell takeout and played X-Box games.
In the morning, he woke early, scarfed down some muffins and bagels from the motel’s free continental breakfast, then got a cup of coffee to go, and hit the road.
He made it to Magdalena by noon.
It felt good to be back. The ranch seemed like home to him now, and there was comfort in the sight of his small shack with the desert stretching out behind it. Lita had prepared lunch—ostrich burgers—and he joined her and Dave in the kitchen of the Big House, where he ate two burgers gratefully.
“How’re the hens?” Ross asked.
Dave shook his head, discouraged. “They still haven’t been laying well. I don’t know what’s wrong. Honey production’s off, too. I’m not sure if there are environmental factors we’re just not registering, or…I don’t know.”
“Ironic, isn’t it?” Lita said when Dave excused himself to go to the bathroom. “Now that we’ve inherited money, our whole operation here’s falling apart. A week ago, this would have ruined us. Now, I guess, we can just buy some new hens. Bees, too, I suppose.” She shook her head. “It’s weird the way things turn out.”
Dave returned. He’d finished eating, so he didn’t sit back down. He nodded toward Ross. “I was going to go out and do the rounds again, see if I could find some more. Want to come with me?”
Ross stood up from the table. “Sure.”
Lita sighed in mock exasperation. “I guess I’ll do the dishes. A woman’s work is never done.”
Ross accompanied Dave outside. They headed over to the chicken coop and the yard, but neither of them found any eggs, and both of them were assailed by angry, overly aggressive birds. It was Dave who finally swung his basket, hitting a hen and knocking the animal over. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.
They both exited through the coop after hanging their baskets on hooks. “I think they’re getting worse,” Dave said, discouraged.
“Do you think it’s some kind of disease or…” He could think of no other alternatives since he knew next to nothing about raising chickens.
“Come here,” Dave said. He led Ross around the side of the house to the cellar, checking to make sure Lita wasn’t watching them through one of the windows before opening the cellar door. “I want to show you something. I haven’t told Lita anything about it, so I’d appreciate it if you kept this to yourself.”
Ross was intrigued. “Sure thing.” He followed Dave down the steps. There was a foul odor in the enclosed space, a fetid stench that did not decrease in rankness with the opening of the bottom door and the letting in of fresh air. “Oh my God!” Ross pinched his nostrils shut, gagging.
“I know,” Dave said, holding a hand over his own nose. “I put a couple of air fresheners down here yesterday, but they just got swallowed up. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it in a few minutes.”
Ross didn’t think so, and he didn’t want to be down here for even
one
minute, but clearly something was up, and he was anxious to see what Dave had to show him.
Just inside the doorway, along the left side of the wall, was a shelf on which sat various tools and jars. Dave picked up a ball peen hammer and carried it to the table in the center of the room, where oddly shaped, sized and colored eggs sat in a box. Next to the box, on the wooden tabletop, were scattered pieces of broken eggshell and what looked like dried blood.
“Watch,” Dave said. Gingerly—
nervously?
—he picked up a large egg from the box and placed it carefully on the table, holding it in place with a finger to make sure it didn’t roll as he tapped the egg lightly with the hammer, cracking it. He stepped back as the crack grew of its own accord. Within seconds, a tiny claw had punched its way out of the shell, and a moment later the shell was in pieces, a slimy black lizardy creature writhing amidst the fragments. It had a thin body, clawed appendages and an oversized head with beady red eyes and a permanently open mouth.
The hideous thing stared up at them, screaming.
Dave hit it hard with the hammer, smashing its head.
A smell like raw sewage emanated from the blood and brains that spilled out. The horrible stench in the cellar grew stronger, and Ross gagged, staggering back. Dave was gagging, too, and seconds later, both of them were bolting up the stairs. Miraculously, neither of them threw up when they reached the top, although each of them stood in place, bent over, breathing heavily and gulping in the fresh air.
Dave glanced over at the house to make sure Lita wasn’t watching them. He exhaled heavily, straightened. “The thing is,” he said, and Ross heard real fear in his voice, “they’re all different. As far as I can tell. No two seem to be alike. I discovered it yesterday morning when I brought the six eggs I’d collected down to the cellar. One of them broke open immediately, and an insect came out. Not any insect that I’ve ever seen before, but kind of a wasp crossed with a scorpion. A big one. It came at me, and I batted it down and squashed it on the floor with my boot. Scared the hell out of me. But I cracked open another egg, wanting to see if it was the same. It wasn’t. It was a freakish little thing that looked like a rat’s head on top of an overgrown silverfish. And it made a sound like a baby crying. This morning, I picked one at random, checked again, and it was kind of a snake. Only…it kind of wasn’t.” There was a long pause. “My chickens are giving birth to monsters.”
The words hung in the air.
“I don’t know why this is happening,” Dave said, genuinely confused. “Or how it could.”
He looked to Ross as if for answers, but Ross had none to give. For some reason, he found himself thinking of that black thing he’d seen flying through the night sky. And Jill’s missing dog. And the little girl at the farmer’s market.
“Dick suck mushroom! Pickaninny pie!”
Jill was right. There
were
a lot of crazy things happening around here lately.
“So what do we do now?” Ross asked.
“I don’t know.”
“What about…?” He gestured toward the open cellar door.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“What did you do with—”
“The other ones? I ended up burying them. At first, I thought about taking the bodies to the vet to see if he could figure out what they were and how they got into my hens’ eggs, but I found out he left town, he’s gone. I thought about burning the bodies, but with the smell that bad, the smoke might be toxic. Besides, I didn’t want Lita to find out about it right now. It’s…a stressful time. So I buried them out past that tree there. Deep. So the goat wouldn’t try to eat them.”
“And that’s what you’re going to do with this one?”
He shrugged. “I guess. But I’m saving those other eggs. I need to show them to somebody. Maybe one of the other ranchers. See if they know anything about it, if it’s happening to them, too.”
“So should I…?” Ross gestured toward the house.
“Keep her occupied. Keep her in the house. Keep her away from the window.” Dave sighed. “Give me twenty minutes.” Bracing himself, taking a deep breath, he once again started down the cellar steps.
Ross headed for the house.
FOURTEEN
Lita hadn’t seen Darla since New Year’s Eve, so she dropped by her friend’s house on her way to the store. Jackass McDaniels was there, repairing the Ingrams’ rain gutters, and she called out to him as she walked up to the front door. She should probably have Dave check their own rain gutters, Lita thought. It had been a mild winter, but that didn’t guarantee anything, and by the time the monsoons rolled around this summer, they’d be too busy with gardening and ranch work to take care of small details like the gutters.