Beneath the Mall of Madness (A Jaspar Windisle Mystery Book 1) Read online

  I thought this sounded like a suicide mission for the guy with the camera, so I was surprised when more than one person volunteered for the job. Some of the environmentalists argued about the guns but in the end everyone agreed that the photographer should have at least the illusion of protection. I was just glad that I didn’t have anything to do with this plot. Fiona didn’t volunteer, which was understandable. In the end, one of the environmentalists convinced the others that as the fastest runner he should be the one to get the close-up shots. He borrowed the best camera from one of the hunters. I didn’t get a close look at either man, but from his bright purple hair I guessed that the hunter was a Whateley.

  They also decided that this mission needed to take place around lunch time, on the slim evidence that that was when the cops and ambulances had shown up for the second set of deaths, and none of them had been killed. Under the circumstances, I thought the half-hearted attempts at self-preservation were sickening. The only safe thing to do was stay the hell away, which was what I did. I was in the hotel bar when they executed their plan, trying not to think about what might happen.

  ***

  It was indeed a suicide mission for both the photographer and the videographer. They did get their footage, though. The chupacabra, as everyone insisted on calling it, had a body shaped like a radish with a ring of black eyes around the top. In addition to tentacle-like fronds on top, it had long, prehensile roots. The tapered end of its body was like a syringe that it stabbed into the abdomen of its victims. What no one had counted on when coming up with their plan of attack was that these creatures could not only move over the ground as quickly as an environmentalist could run; they weren’t restricted to the construction site. The rifleman tried shooting it after it went after the photographer, but the bullets didn’t even make it flinch. In typical horror documentary style, the last part of the tape showed the demon fern shuffling back to the construction site, climbing over the body of the photographer along the way.

  The rifleman was brave enough to retrieve the video camera and posted the footage on the internet before calling the police.

  ***

  That evening I joined Steve in the bar next to the hotel.

  “I was right,” he said. “The mall is as good as toast. The higher-ups said delayed, but there’s no way we can continue. There are three regulatory agencies that are already coming down on us like the wrath of God. It seems there are questions about how we qualified for some of our permits.”

  “That’s rough,” I said.

  “Rough? Someone’s going to go to prison for this,” Steve said. “Not me, mind you. I only took over when the original man in charge had a nervous breakdown.” That was news to me. Knowing Steve, he hadn’t thought it was important at the time. He’d take a job at the Umbrella Corporation if he liked the hours, and barely even notice that half his coworkers were zombies.

  “I’m so glad I decided to look at corpses first,” I said.

  “It’s funny,” Steve said. “As wild as that area is, it’s surrounded by civilization. Yet no one’s ever hinted at these creatures before.”

  “What, there aren’t local legends about the killer plants?”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” he said. “Not that that means anything. The tribes in this area stuck to the coast and major rivers.”

  “So what’s your next step?”

  “A biologist, I think. I’ve already contacted the EPA. You know, we already had all our inspections and got our permits. I haven’t had a chance to review every single one of them, but real inspectors did them. Someone should have noticed the mystery plants and made a note of them somewhere. I know nothing about ferns. I assumed that they were common.”

  “Did you oversee that personally?” I asked. “Someone in your company has an unusual interest in this area, remember.”

  “You think Mr. Smith knew that there were killer ferns?”

  “Maybe. It would make a lot of sense. He wanted to get underground. Maybe the radish monsters are sitting on top of something even rarer.”

  “Oh God, I really don’t need this,” Steve said. He cradled his head in his hands. “This was supposed to be a simple job, keeping an eye on the construction. I was assured that all the major steps had been completed, and I just had to keep track of the details. Instead, this is becoming a bigger disaster by the day.”

  “You can hardly be blamed,” I said, trying to cheer him up. “If this were a movie you’d still be denying anything was wrong.”

  “Oh God,” he said again. “I can already see it. ‘Devil Radish: Feast of Entrails.’ I’ll be played by a slimy guy who actively feeds people to the poorly CGI’d monsters in order to keep them quiet while construction continues.”

  “That wouldn’t work,” I told him. “They attacked again only a couple of days later. That’s not much construction.”

  “Or an awful lot of sacrifices,” the bartender said. I recognized him as one of the protestors. He was the purple-haired Whateley clone. His black eyes looked like empty sockets in the dim lighting of the bar. “Even if you hid the bodies people would notice. And what if you accidentally sacrificed someone from the army base? No way that’s not getting investigated.”

  “Someone has been making people disappear,” I said. “Behind the hotel. None of them seem to have been reported missing yet.”

  “You mean in Bishop’s Corner?” The bartender asked. “Who’d want to go there? It’s creepy at first; then it’s just boring, and you have to cross the marsh to get there.”

  “You’ve been there?” I asked.

  “Sure, with my cousins,” he said. “I think everyone in town’s been out there at least once. They went down the hill, but I stayed at the top.”

  “Is your cousin Jeremiah Whateley by any chance?” Steve asked. The bartender grinned.

  “How could you tell?”

  “If it weren’t for the age difference you could be twins,” Steve said. “Is there a lot of that going on in this town?”

  “Depends on what you mean by ‘that.’ We Akeleys and Whateleys are pretty interchangeable now. I’m Zebulon Akeley by the way. Mordecai Whateley and I used to switch places all the time when we were younger. Nowadays he’s too dignified for that.”

  As we left the bar and made our way to the hotel, Steve turned to me and asked,

  “Do you think there’s only one of them running around, changing clothes as an elaborate prank?”

  “No way,” I said. “He’d have to change his hair color too.” Zebulon’s hair was very purple. “I guess if Jeremiah’s in the lobby we’ll know there are at least two of them.”

  “Not good enough,” Steve said. “He could have beaten us there. The two buildings share an interior wall. Have you ever seen two of them together?”

  “No, but I’ve been in town less than a week.”

  Steve tripped on the mat in front of the lobby doors.

  “Hey, can I crash in your room tonight?”

  “You’d better. I think you’re too drunk to drive.” Steve immediately collapsed onto my shoulder as a joke and was totally unable to stand back up on his own. Oh yeah, he was way over the limit.

  “Thanks,” he said. “You’re a good sport.”

  “Get off me!” I said, trying not to lose my balance. I shoved him to the side, and he crashed to the ground.

  “And kind too.” He got back to his feet. “Since I’m not driving, wanna go back for more drinks?”

  “No. You’ve had enough and I’m going to church tomorrow.”

  Mrs. Whateley nodded to us as we made our way through the lobby. There was a rollout bed in my room. By the time I figured that out, Steve had passed out on the floor. It hadn’t done me any harm the night before, so I threw a blanket over him and went to bed myself.

  Chapter 8: Fire, brimstone, and napalm

  I woke Steve up before I went to church. He was hung-over and barely awake enough to be eating breakfast when I left. We waved to each other as I grabbed an
orange and ate it on the way to the church. The weather had taken a turn for the worse. I should have bought an umbrella earlier, or tried to borrow one from the hotel. I’d had enough warning about the unpredictable weather the other day.

  I arrived ten minutes early, and the church was already crowded. I was glad that I’d picked up my dry cleaning yesterday. The whole congregation was dressed to the nines. I didn’t see a single pair of jeans or sneakers on my way to a pew. Fiona and Cecilia spotted me on the way in and I ended up sitting between them during the service. Everyone was very subdued, but I couldn’t tell if that was because it was a church or because of all the recent deaths.

  They weren’t so subdued after the service. I can’t remember much, but Pastor MacReady really poured on the fire and brimstone. And the napalm.

  ***

  “What the fuck was that?” Cecilia asked the universe in general as we stood in line for coffee and cake. Fiona giggled.

  “Don’t swear in church,” she admonished. “Especially now.”

  “Hey, you heard Pastor MacReady. Rage Jesus doesn’t care. He’ll set you on fire, and you’ll like it.”

  “Yeah, I wasn’t really expecting the Lamb of God to make an appearance in such an Old Testament sermon,” I said.

  “Must have been from repressing it all these years,” Fiona mused. “I wonder if he’ll do it again forty years from now.”

  “One thing’s for sure; everyone who skipped will regret it. Today will become the stuff of legends,” Cecilia said. “I wonder what brought it on.”

  I was going to take my cake and run, but Fiona urged me to stick around.

  “We’re going to have a community meeting about what’s been going on,” she said. “We just have to wait a bit.”

  “Why?”

  “The Methodists aren’t done with their service yet and Pastor MacReady’s infamously dull, so I’m not surprised people waited until they were sure it was over before coming in.”

  Sure enough, as churchgoers began to leave more people arrived. Most of them were also dressed for church. Officer Earl showed up in jeans and a windbreaker, towing Steve along with him. Steve was looking pale, and his clothes were rumpled. I guess he hadn’t had time to go back to his own place to freshen up. Two more men of the cloth walked in as well. I raised my eyebrows at that.

  “Our church is biggest,” Cecilia explained. “We have all our town meetings here. The Baptist minister doesn’t usually wear his robes though. Maybe he didn’t have time to change.”

  We went back to the pews and sat down. Pastor MacReady took the podium once again. He was back to his earlier kindly demeanor, with no hint that half an hour before he’d been threatening us with hellfire.

  “As you all know, strange things have been going on around here. Again. Now, the new mall is far enough away from town that we’re arguably safe, but somebody’s been messing around in Bishop’s Corner. That is what we’re here to discuss. Mike, did you have something to say?” The Catholic priest had raised his hand.

  “Yes. Are you still on schedule for the reenactment?” There were murmurs in the crowd.

  “Yes we are,” Pastor MacReady said.

  “Should we cancel it?” Someone else asked.

  “No!” the pastor said. “It’s a tradition we’ve kept going no matter what for over a hundred years, and this is going to be the best year yet.”

  “We’ve put too much work into that wall to quit now!” Someone else called out. Sheriff Warren stood up and waited for everyone to quiet down.

  “As long as everything’s finished up before dark I don’t see what the problem would be,” he said, “but that may change. We’re setting up surveillance that won’t be affected by anomalies in the area. If it looks like . . . things . . .are starting to react we may have to relocate the reenactment. Of course,” he continued, raising his voice over protests from the crowd, “we’re looking into catching whoever’s responsible. The hotels haven’t reported any disappearances, but we’re still checking.”

  Fiona stood up and walked to the podium.

  “The main reason we’re having this meeting,” she said, “is to refresh everyone’s memory of what to do if an emergency arises. Now that Abner Whateley is dead we’ve lost one of our safe areas, so some of you are going to have to adjust your plans. If we’re looking at an invasion from Bishop’s Corner, I would not recommend taking refuge in either the hotel or this church.”

  “We can’t take in that many people,” the Baptist minister said. I expected this to start another argument, but he kept talking. “We’re going to need to reassign people and move our next drill forward, or a real emergency will be a disaster.”

  “Yes, of course,” Pastor Macready said. “Jeremiah, do you still have the lists?”

  “Yes,” Jeremiah said. “I can review them this morning if you like. Then we can practice tomorrow.”

  “I hate practice,” Cecilia said with a groan. “Something always goes wrong the first time, and it takes all day.”

  “If things go badly during a drill, imagine what the real thing would be like if we didn’t practice,” Farther Mike said tartly. “No one would have died in the trilobite invasion if we’d been organized then.”

  “I know,” Cecilia sighed. “I just don’t like closing up shop.”

  “Is this like a town-wide fire drill?” I asked.

  “More like a tornado drill,” she replied. “I’m sure Jeremy will tell you where to go.”

  “Now that that’s settled,” Pastor MacReady said, “we can talk about the monsters.” It was my turn to groan.

  “I hope Steve isn’t going to go on about how they’re endangered,” I said.

  “The monsters are endangered?” Cecilia repeated. “I thought chupacabras were everywhere.”

  “No, they’re definitely not,” I said. “I think the real thing is confined to Puerto Rico, or maybe Mexico.”

  “Why would we have Puerto Rican monsters?” A man a few pews ahead of us asked. “Damn immigrants should stay out of our country.”

  “Puerto Rico is part of the United States you moron,” the woman sitting next to him said.

  “But it isn’t a state.”

  “Who cares?” The church had amazing acoustics. They were whispering and yet I could hear them as clearly as if they were speaking into a microphone. I wondered what the man’s position on Guam was.

  “Everybody QUIET!” Officer Earl yelled. His voice echoed throughout the church. “Sorry, Pastor. Please go on.”

  “It seems to me,” the pastor continued, “that we need to keep an eye out for these things and figure out how to keep them from spreading.”

  “How long have they been where they are without spreading?” The priest asked. “If they’ve been there longer than the town there must be something keeping them in place.”

  “What if the construction changes that?” Jeremiah asked. He was wearing the same suit he wore at the hotel. I suppose if you’re always dressed to the nines there’s no need to change things up for church. “These things can be delicate, you know that.”

  “We’ve halted all work while this is sorted out,” Steve said. “Honestly, I doubt we’ll be able to continue with a colony of carnivorous plants controlling the site.”

  “What about the attention this will get?” Jeremiah asked. “You’re going to have biologists and thrill seekers alike swarming the place.”

  “I haven’t heard from the EPA yet, what with it being the weekend, but as far as I know Jesticorps still has the final say in who can legally come on to our property, and with the liability issues involved I don’t see us advertising it as a tourist attraction.”

  “How much say do you have?” Someone asked.

  “Can you do anything about trespassers besides post signs?” Someone else chimed in.

  “I can hire guards,” Steve said. “I was about to do that anyway. As for stopping construction, someone in our company does seem to be . . . acting up. Given the number of people k
illed, and the evidence, I don’t think moving our project will be a hard sell to the board of directors. We own that whole tract of land after all. We should be able to relocate without too much of a headache.”

  “How much of that land is covered in chupacabras?” Cecilia yelled out. No one answered.

  “We need to find that out,” Fiona said. “Not using the same method as last time. We don’t want to lose anyone else. What about that dowsing you do, Mr. Windisle?” I flinched.

  “What about it?” She gave me a stern look.

  “You knew that it was a bad place the day you went there. Could you trace the ‘bad’ area?”

  “I could find the bodies of the animals killed there,” I admitted. “But that won’t tell you where the . . . chupacabras are now.” It hurt to call them that, but I can recognize a lost cause when I hear one.

  “Excellent,” Pastor Macready said. “That’ll be a start. How much do you charge?”

  ***

  “You owe me for this,” I complained to Steve later.

  “Me? It was Fiona who threw you under the bus.”

  “It’s your property,” I muttered. “You could have said no.”

  “But I want to know how bad it is too. I’m sure it’ll be safer. Your spirit guide went nuts, right? You should be able to stay well away from the chupacabras. Besides, now you’re getting paid twice for the same job.”

  “And I’ll be backing you up with something heavier than a .22,” Zebulon Akeley said. He was a hunter, and he’d been chosen to cover me while I worked. I just hoped he was better at killing radish monsters than the last guy.

  “Do you think the ordinance was the only problem?” I asked him.

  “Absolutely,” he said. “You wouldn’t expect a tree to die if you shot it, would you? I’m thinking something more explosive will be a good start.”

  “It couldn’t hurt,” I said. “Has any of this made the news yet?”

  “Not yet,” Steve said. “It will though. It’s all over the internet. Unfortunately, the film was high enough quality that most viewers are believing what they’re seeing. I put out a press release, but today is Sunday. If any news outlet is going to pick up the story, they’ll do it tomorrow.”