The Invasive Read online

  The Invasive

  Michael Hodges

  Copyright 2016 by Michael Hodges

  For Pam, the strongest woman I have ever known. This story would not be possible without you.

  The Invasive would not be possible without my agent, Laura Wood. I’d also like to thank Sarah, Debbie, and Charlie for their help. And to the numerous campers across the state of Montana who wondered why a guy was writing on his laptop on picnic tables at U.S. Forest Service campgrounds: this is why.

  The Invasive

  Something wasn’t right. At least that’s how Bishop felt as he walked onto the deck with the cake he’d bought to surprise Angela for their fifth anniversary. A certain odor clung to the air, and he couldn’t help but feel there was a darkness to the Montana forest that went beyond the night, even as he held the candlelit cake out in front of him. With each step, the candles hissed and the flames shifted. Far off in the woods, something popped like fireworks. Maybe kids.

  Bishop pushed away the negative thoughts and focused on the positive. For one, he was damn happy to be here. The Apex Valley was his home, even though he lived in Chicago. This was where he wanted to be, and for three days, he and Angela hadn’t even gotten in their rental car. Just pure relaxation at their cabin rental. The valley had gotten into his blood thanks to his father, who’d taught him how to fish and camp in these woods a long time ago. His father often met him on trips out here, but not this year. Cancer made sure of that. The last thing he ever told Bishop was that Bishop was a mountain man at heart, and a mountain man is a homeless man in Chicago, roof or no roof.

  The candlelight cut through the night and illuminated Angela’s beautiful face, giving her cheeks a warm glow. Her eyes pooled with moisture and she smiled.

  “Happy anniversary,” Bishop said.

  “Bishop, you didn’t have to—”

  “Yes, I did,” he said.

  Bishop placed the cake onto the table and sat down next to Angela.

  “You get to blow it out,” he said.

  “From Brownies Bakery?” Angela asked.

  Bishop nodded, and Angela leaned into the cake, her skin radiating from the candlelight. She pursed her lips, and the candles rippled and fluttered, then went dark.

  Something screamed from the woods.

  Angela turned and stared into the leafy darkness.

  “Just an animal,” Bishop said as the candle smoke wafted around them. “It always takes us a bit to get used to the change.” Bishop cut a piece of cake for Angela and placed it onto a pink paper plate.

  “Delicious,” Angela said, licking frosting from her upper lip.

  A screech ripped through the forest, and Bishop rose to his feet.

  “OK, that one scared me,” Angela said, putting her fork down and looking into the night.

  Bishop had heard similar sounds before, but he couldn’t be sure if these were a match. He’d heard mountain lions attacking deer, and that was sort of similar. Owls were also an excellent source of weird noises.

  “Probably nothing,” he said. Bishop cut a piece of cake for himself and wondered why he couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feelings. This was supposed to be a happy time for them, but his thoughts were tinged with melancholy. He looked at Angela and the sadness faded. She had a way of doing that. He still wasn’t sure what the heck she’d seen in him all this time. Either way, he wasn’t going to press his luck.

  “Five years married, five years coming to Apex Valley,” Angela said. “Coincidence?”

  “Maybe,” Bishop said, grinning.

  “I think this will be our best trip yet,” she said, forking her cake.

  A moth buzzed against the porch light and was swallowed by an even bigger insect.

  Angela put down her fork and reached for something under the table.

  “Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” she said.

  Bishop did.

  Angela placed the object in his palms and he opened his eyes. He smiled when he saw a tiny gift-wrapped box. He untied the silver bow and ripped open the paper. Inside was a fire flint.

  “You talked about how much you wanted one,” Angela said. “Finally, you have your damn fire flint.”

  Bishop laughed and kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks,” he said. Then he bit her on the neck.

  Angela tilted her head back and laughed. “Ouch.”

  Bishop stood and headed towards the cabin door.

  “Where are you going?” Angela asked.

  “Forgot something,” he said. He’d also purchased a bottle of wine for their celebration, and had kept it hidden in his backpack. Sometimes, Angela would look at him like he was crazy. He lived in Illinois full time, yet he traveled with a hiking backpack as if he would head into the mountains on any given day. Angela had told him it was wishful thinking. He thought she was sweet.

  When he opened the door, the smell he’d noticed earlier had become a stench.

  “Honey, what is that?” Angela asked, waving her hand in front of her face.

  Bishop shrugged.

  He went into their rental cabin and took the bottle of wine from his backpack. Halfway across the kitchen, Angela screamed, and through the window, he saw her stand and point in the orange porch light, framed by darkness. Bishop dropped the bottle and ran outside. Two steps onto the porch the screeching started, seeming to come from things much smaller than humans, as if thousands of worms had obtained the ability to shriek with almost comprehensible inflection. His vision sharpened, but what he could make out didn’t seem real. For a moment, he saw a chubby mammal-like creature peeking up between the slats in the deck. Its oversized eyes contained three silver pupils. A rectangular tag on its neck pulsated with a reddish color, like a stop light. He looked up from the strange creature and saw Angela leaning over the deck railing, shouting that she could see unknown figures at the forest’s edge. She pointed to the woods with a shaking finger, and then looked back at Bishop with wild eyes. He reached for her, but Angela was not quite Angela. As she turned, he noticed a peculiar leaf clinging to the right side of her face. As he swiped the rotten leaf away, it made a shrill squeak. This seemed to agitate something in the forest, which came alive with unsettling hoof stomps and grunts.

  Bishop grabbed Angela and pulled her to the cabin door.

  “You OK?” he asked.

  Angela nodded but did not speak.

  They entered the cabin and locked the door. Angela slumped against the wall and slid to the floor.

  Bishop kneeled and met her eyes. “Are you OK?” he asked again. Angela looked at him and nodded. He embraced her and pulled her up.

  “What is going on?” she asked, her voice uneven.

  “I don’t know, baby.”

  Bishop paced the cabin and ran his hands through his hair. More of the leaf creatures appeared on the deck, and his first thought was how to stop the things from coming inside.

  “What are they?” Angela asked.

  “They aren’t native,” Bishop said. “I know that much.”

  “Did you…see things too?” she asked.

  Bishop nodded.

  “And the smell, Bishop…”

  He nodded again and squeezed her shoulder. Then Bishop took a big piece of plywood from behind the wood pile and dragged it to the fireplace.

  “Take the other end,” he said.

  Angela picked up her end and dropped it. She flailed as it fell. “I’m sorry.”

  The fireplace shook and the cabin lights went black. They wanted to run, but the last thing they should do was go outside. Bishop reached for Angela in the murky light, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. He felt her trembling as she sobbed.

  “Shhh…don’t make a sound,” he whispered.

  They looked towards the moon
lit hearth, the soft glow streaming in from the dual skylights.

  From deep inside the fireplace, they heard a noise, like a pressurized can releasing its contents. They retreated to the far wall and stared at the firebox with jittery, wide eyes.

  Something peered out at them.

  An ominous pair of almond-shaped eyes scanned the room, the eyeballs touching each other with no separation, unlike human eyes. Each eye contained three silver pupils. The creature extended from the fireplace and peered up at the moon through the skylights. Its complete form revealed an elongated, sinewy piece of meat with staggered fins on the top and bottom. Surrounding the bones and meat was a gaseous exterior. There were no hands or feet of any kind, and it propelled through the air by undulating its eel-like body. The mouth resembled that of a moray eel, but with more menacing teeth. The creature skulked its way to the kitchen, remained silent for several seconds, then emitted a pressurized hiss.

  They cowered in the corner, Bishop holding her tight, keeping her from trembling so hard that she might make their presence known. He felt her, he loved her. She was beautiful, and he always reveled in the shampoo fragrance of her blonde hair, even now, even as this thing slunk in the cabin, searching for whatever such things search for.

  Bishop put his mouth on Angela’s head and kissed it, but his lips were dry and the kiss was too loud. The creature spun around, eyed their corner, then hovered in their direction. Bishop clutched her, offering his body as a shield. The organism inched closer, eyes searching, the six pupils moving independently for maximum coverage. It stalked within three feet of their position and all six pupils locked onto Angela. Bishop leaped at the intruder and screamed.

  “Run!”

  The creature twisted past him and struck Angela, wrapping the sinew and fins around her neck and cinching. It let out another pressurized hiss and a croaking, sandy call which seemed like mocking laughter.

  Bishop reached out to grab the creature. The boney fins sliced into his flesh like an errant paring knife. A flash of powerful electricity stunned him, but he held on, discombobulated from the shock. The creature shrieked and yanked free of Bishop’s bloody grip. Bishop adjusted and seized Angela as the creature wrapped itself around her neck. As he clutched her, the electric shock floored him again, forcing him to release his desperate grip.

  “Hang on!” he shouted.

  The thing dragged Angela to the glass doors and jerked her through. It never hesitated, not even once. Spikes of glass tore into her back and calves. The last thing Bishop saw was her moonlit blonde hair disappearing over the railing like the luxurious tale of some wild animal. From the woods came unspeakable noises—a grotesque clicking of jaws and repetitive shrieks. The noises echoed in his mind as the world dimmed.

  *

  A stench woke him, and he scrambled to his feet, panic bouncing off the walls of his skull. When he saw the bloodstained glass, his bearings righted themselves, and the panic receded to determination. He gazed upon the pink-streaked sky, and the reality of what happened last night began trickling in, each piece of the puzzle infuriating him. He gripped the rug, uttering things no one could ever understand and vomited—the retching attracting something in the forest. A hostile utterance emitted from behind a row of ponderosa pines, and the disquieting tone was held for thirty seconds for maximum effect. Bishop remained quiet, a thick string of drool hanging from his chin. He wiped it away and stood. In a moment of clarity, he pictured Angela’s pretty face, and soon clarity morphed into rage. Bishop raced into the kitchen and seized a meat cleaver from the knife rack. He took his cell phone from the counter. No reception. He opened the cabinet below the sink and stretched on a pair of rubber gloves.

  Taunting whispers floated from the woods.

  Go ahead and mock me, he thought. I’ve got a little present for you.

  Bishop ransacked the closet, taking a daypack, first-aid kit, and lighter fluid. He loaded the pack, grabbed the fire poker near the hearth, and set out to the deck. When he reached the jagged glass, he realized the deck was seething with the rotten leaves. Bishop took the lighter fluid from the pack and moved carefully, raising his feet high with every step so the rotten leaves couldn’t latch on. He held out the bottle of lighter fluid, splashing it onto the glistening, pockmarked backs of the chittering creatures. Satisfied with the level of saturation, he reached the steps and struck the fire flint, careful to turn his face away. The flames purred and rose into the air behind him, in harmony with the squealing of burning creatures.

  Bishop ran towards the deep woods, his back warming from the heat. At the edge of the forest, he stumbled to the ground and rolled onto his back. A rotten leaf bit into his knee and chortled. Bishop grasped the thing with his right hand and closed his fist. The creature shrieked and bit his palm. He squeezed harder, felt it crunch, and the cries went silent. Bishop opened his fist. The rotten leaf was flaccid. He checked the forest and gasped as the thing jumped at his left eye. Bishop swatted with his left hand and sent it flying into the understory.

  Stop wasting your time, he thought. Angela is out there somewhere.

  He stood and dusted himself off, checking for more of the creatures.

  A tremendous roar shook the woods. Bishop placed his hands over his ears and grimaced. Not more than five hundred feet above, two A10 Thunderbolt jets flew, their powerful engines kicking up a roiling storm of forest litter. For a moment, he thought he saw one of the dark-helmeted pilots craning his neck and scanning the ground.

  The jet engines faded, and the unfamiliar noises returned.

  Heart pounding, Bishop walked the edge of the lawn where it met the ponderosa pine forest, looking for any sign of blood. He found a slick patch on a fern and his heart sank. There was simply too much. Then he noticed a flattened trail of sweet grass and bracken fern and followed it. As he entered the forest, his chest tightened, and his heart popped out of rhythm—what his doctor called atrial fibrillation. He pounded his chest and coughed simultaneously, and his heart settled back into a normal rhythm.

  Peculiar animal vocalizations mocked him from shady nooks, mixing with rustling leaves and snapping branches just out of sight. He didn’t care. His concern was for Angela, her blood trail pointing the way. He didn’t want the creatures to have her, even if she was dead. He’d provide for her a proper burial. And when he finished that, he’d find the eel thing and tear it to shreds.

  Another splash of blood on a fern.

  When Bishop’s gaze left the fern, six aligned pupils met his own, followed by hissing. The eel floated before him, its eyes narrow and fiery. He dropped to his knees and the creature darted past him. Bishop jumped and swung the fire poker down upon its tailbone. The eel buckled and shrieked. It recovered and faced him again, tail end sagging. Bishop heard a faint charging sound, like a muffled hairdryer starting. The eel struck, although this time its speed was lessened without proper propulsion from the tail. The creature went for Bishop’s knees, expecting his head to be there after the last dodge. Instead, Bishop leaped into the air, and the eel darted under his feet. Bishop twisted around and brought the fire poker down, creating a flash of sparks and a throbbing buzz which forced him to drop the poker. He fell to his knees as the shocking sensation faded. The rubber gloves had done their job. The retreating eel rode through the understory like a frenzied seahorse, its bony, tapered end slithering between a pair of aspen trees.

  Then Bishop heard the groaning.

  “Angela?”

  The groans became louder, responding to his call.

  “I’m coming. Keep making noise, sweetheart. Please keep making noise.”

  The groans came to him again, and he was able to ascertain their location. He sprinted through the brush, coming upon a small depression with two large tree roots forming a V-shape. In the depression lay his injured wife, bleeding from her legs and torso. To her right lay several dead animals—a small white-tailed deer and a six-limbed furry animal he’d never seen before. A food cache, he thought.

&nb
sp; “Hey…you’re going to be OK,” he said, dropping to her side. But deep down internal alarms flashed as he examined her.

  She was in bad shape.

  Bishop took off his pack, retrieved the first-aid kit, and applied hydrogen peroxide to her wounds, focusing on the heart-sinking calf wounds first. Her torn pants were stained and glistening, and he realized she may have nicked a vein. He took off his flannel and cut it into strips with the meat cleaver, then wrapped the strips around each leg below the knee, pulling tight. Then he rolled her over.

  “Angela, look at me, honey,” he said. “You’re going to be alright, I promise you.”

  Angela opened her eyelids part way, her striking, blue eyes twitching in his direction. Her face was pale.

  “Bishop…thank…I love y-you…I never thought…” she groaned, grasping at his right arm.

  Bishop washed his hands in peroxide and prodded into her back and calf wounds. Angela grunted and shook, but too weak to scream. He pulled out an inch-long shard from her left calf and dressed the wound. The right calf was free of glass, and he wrapped that as well. Bishop reached into his pack and brought a bottle of water to Angela’s lips, tipping her head towards it with his left hand. She drank some of the fluid, and he sighed with relief. Then Bishop laid her head back upon the soft ground.

  “That better?” he asked.

  Angela nodded, clinging with what little strength she had to his forearm.

  Mosquitoes stung Bishop’s shirtless back. These particular bites were nastier than usual. He swatted at his sweaty, pale back, feeling one of the things crumple under his fingers. Bishop brought his hand back and examined the squashed bug, only to find that it wasn’t a mosquito at all, but rather a peculiar specimen with two oversized, round eyes—each with three silver pupils. The bug featured a saw for a snout and wings that were leathery rather than the fragile see-through membrane of a mosquito. The wings were supported by a fleshy tendril that tapered to a four-pronged end. And it wasn’t dead. It buzzed its wings in an effort to fly. Unfortunately, flight was not the only thing on its mind as it jabbed its saw-snout into Bishop’s hand. It buzzed and seethed, its eyes mirrors of rage, trying with everything it had to jerk the saw into his flesh. Bishop closed his fist and squeezed, listening to the leathery wings crumple, feeling the reservoir of gunk in its plump sack squirt onto his skin. He squeezed harder, and the foul organism gushed between his fingers. One of the eyeballs squeezed out, and as it dripped down his fist and onto the forest floor, the pupils fetched onto him in a psychotic gaze.