The Uninvited (17 page)

On my way, Vic.”

You've briefed Drs. Terry and Masterson. You'd better bring them along, too. They better see this.”

The doctor did not question him.
Ten minutes, Vic.”

Sheriff Ransonet slowly replaced the phone in its cradle. For the first time as Sheriff of Lapeer Parish, he did not know what to do. What steps to take next. Was this serious enough to call for a general evacuation of the Parish? What would he tell the people? What reason would he give that they would believe? Should he call the governor?

He just did not know what to do.

He decided to wait a few more hours. He'd give this situation till dawn. If it worsened, he would evacuate the Parish.

But, he pondered, his men had prowled the rural areas, and had seen nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing! No bodies sprawled in the roads and ditches. No signs of panic from the people.

He'd give it till dawn.

 

 

“Dear God!” Dr. Terry exclaimed. “What in the world happened to this man?”

The prisoner was crouched in a corner of the solitary-confinement cell. A white, foamy substance oozed from his mouth; his hands and face were swollen grotesquely. He growled and snapped and snarled at the slightest sound from outside the cell. And he clicked his jaws.

“Rabies?” Dr. Masterson questioned.

“Maybe,” Dr. Long replied. “But I don't think so. He was bitten . . . what, Vic? A few hours ago?”

“No, more than that.”

“Then he was bitten before he got himself put in jail,” said Dr. Terry.

No way.” Vic shook his head. “He's been here for almost two months. And there are no rats in my jail. A few mice, I'm sure. But no rats.”

Dr. Long exhaled loudly. He rubbed his hands together. “We'll certainly have to examine him.”

Vic looked at him. “I'd like to know how you're going to do that. He attacks anything that gets close to him. And,” he added firmly, “I'm not about to order a deputy in there.”

Will he eat?” Dr. Masterson asked, not taking his eyes from the sight in the cell.

“Paper,” Vic replied shortly.

Dr. Long looked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“He ate a newspaper. I'm tellin' you people, he ate a newspaper before we could get it away from him. Just tore it up and ate it.”

“Well,” Dr. Terry said, disbelief in his voice, “we'll have to tranquilize him. Go get the vet. Maybe he's got a dart gun.”

“He's out of town,” Vic said. “At a convention in Des Moines.”

“Have one of your men break into his office, Vic,” Dr. Long said. “Right now.”

Vic shouted orders at a deputy, then turned to the coroner. “I don't know how much longer we can sit on this thing.”

The trio of medical men looked at him, Masterson saying, “Are you suggesting it was the roach bite that caused this?”

I damn sure am! But right now, I've got to call Sheriff Grant.”

Why, Vic?” Dr. Long asked.

“The Parish Agent, Tommy Sabatier, was bitten a dozen or more times about noon today. The bugs had him trapped in a toolshed out in the country. So before any of you try to help that poor bastard in there”—he cut his eyes to the misshapen prisoner in the corner—
let's see about Sabatier. And,” he suddenly remembered, “Captain Jack. Where is he?”

“At the clinic,” Dr. Long said.

Vic instructed a deputy to accompany Dr. Long to his clinic and to bring Captain Jack to the jail.

“Don't let him bite you,” he cautioned the deputy.

The deputy shook his head sadly. “My mother wanted me to finish college. Wanted me to be a teacher. Wish to hell I'd done that.”

In his office, Vic stilled the ringing of the phone.
Yeah? Hey, Mike. I was just about to call you. What! Oh, shit!” He listened intently for a few more seconds, then slammed the phone down.

“What's wrong?” Dr. Long asked.

“Tommy Sabatier went wild about a half hour ago. Started foaming at the mouth, screaming. Tore up his house.”

“And?” Long prompted.

Vic sighed. “He's loose somewhere in the Parish.” He put his hand on the phone, then pulled it back.

Who were you going to call?”