Dirt Nap (A Marnie Baranuik “Between the Files” Story) (3 page)

“Hurry up,” someone yelled in our direction. Batten was already storming over, waving me past a crowd of gawkers, and grabbing a hard hat for me, flashing his badge at a deputy. I chased after him, accepting the hat and shoving it on, not knowing what the hell to expect beyond the wooden, yellow-painted saw horses. The hot wind forced grit against our faces as we ran. I was surprised to see Sheriff Hood standing in the distance; this wasn’t his county, but I didn’t have time to ask why he was there.

We pelted up the gravel path toward him, my Keds scrambling to keep up with Kill-Notch’s big boots. The temperature was unbearable; the rock soaked in the sun and radiated it back. The air was thin and the trees were sparse. No shade. Massive engines added extra heat, and the stink of exhaust fumes plumed up at us from the pit. When we got to the edge of the quarry, where rumbling machinery had paused in their efforts to excavate, it took us a moment to take it all in.

I felt both Hood and Batten go still. Though other men hurried about their tasks both up here and below in the quarry, it was Batten’s immobility that I felt most strongly. My mouth worked impotently before spitting, “Holy swaggering shitlobsters.”

There were four ambulances and a fire truck down in the pit, and stretchers strapped with broken men surrounded by a veritable tornado of first responders in bright vests. It looked like the scene of a major accident on the Interstate, lights flashing, people hurrying to save time and stem blood flow. I counted seven victims. My gaze cut from one injured man to the next, noting broken limbs and lacerations. Nothing that looked life-threatening, if the paramedics could do their job. That was currently impossible. The thing that someone had tried to capture in its lair with their iPhone camera was now playing Whack-a-Mole with the men in vests.

The creature was roughly the size of a nice house; it was definitely bigger than my cabin. It had enormous, articulated limbs that were much longer than its body, like an octopus or arboreal monkey. It had a mouth full of devastation, capable of grinding up pretty much anything unfortunate enough to wind up there, including one of the earth movers, by the look of things – there was a tractor tire wrapped around what passed for an incisor. Its mouth hung open, emitting a growl like the atonal cousin of the forty-ton excavator behind us, and belching heat and stink to the same degree. The monster was covered in a skin of boulders that ratcheted together noisily as it moved. One solid fist struck the ground, causing a human wave of quicksilver flinching and dodging all around. I don’t remember diving behind Kill-Notch for cover, but found that I had to peek around his considerable biceps to see what the monster was doing next.

“Oh hey, look at that,” I said with genuine scientific appreciation. “A stonecoat.”

Hood swiped his Stetson off and ran the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead. He ducked his head closer to me and spoke loudly over the noise. “A
what
, now?”

Batten hooked me out from behind his back with one arm and turned me to face the scene. It was like a beautiful slow dance, except he had to wrestle me into it while my Keds scraped dirt. So, maybe more like trying to shove a cat into a bath. In any case, I filed it away in the semi-romantic corner of my spank bank for later use, and let him position me closer to the ledge.

“Western cousin to the Scottish boggle, Shellycoat,” I explained, my stomach doing loop-de-loops, “and a smaller species of the Northern Canadian beaver-like boggle, Furcoat.”

“You’re making that up,” Batten accused.

“I almost never invent monsters,” I told him gravely.

“What do we do about it?” Hood asked.

“Uh, leave it alone? Get the fuck out of here? Those are my very serious suggestions.” I smiled hopefully up at them. “Please listen to my very serious suggestions. Please?” Politeness was the people skill I needed the most practice with, and I figured now was a good time.

Batten glowered. “Nobody is leaving, least of all you.”

“Boy, you get cranky when your balls are sweaty,” I informed him.

“Marnie!” He barked it, and I’m sure it was heard over all the machinery and monster growls.

“What? It’s like Satan’s armpit up here. I doubt they’re all dry and comfy.” I shrugged. “
Are
they dry and comfy?”

Hood made work of putting his hat back on so that he could tip his face down and hide his smile.

I asked him, “Why were the miners attacking the monster?”

“It attacked first,” Hood said, recovering nicely.

“Oh no, I find that hard to believe.” I shook my head sadly up at the sun. “stonecoats are nocturnal, and are usually very docile creatures.”
Unless…
“What’s going on there?” I pointed down into the quarry, where one corner was pitted with dark holes like rabbit warrens, each one bigger than the next. Those were not caused by machinery. I knew a den when I saw one.

Hood said, “They broke new ground there last night.”

“Well, there ya go,” I said.

There, they obviously didn't go, and I didn't feel like explaining myself more than once. “Come on, we better hurry. That thing’s gonna make paste out of those guys. Who can call a full retreat? The foreman?” I scanned the portable buildings among clusters of flustered men trying to look useful and in control but obviously out of their league. “Is that what you call the boss of a gravel pit? Foreman?”

“You call him Mr. Le Pique,” Batten reminded me. “He owns this land, and he owns the company.”

“Rather face him than the boggle. Where is he?”

“He’s the big bald guy yelling into the phone.”

I shrugged and started striding towards the red-faced guy who seemed seconds away from morphing into Yosemite Sam on a rampage. “I’ve been yelled at by bigger and weirder, present company included. Let’s do this.”

Hood tried to take point, maybe thinking his title would give us a little traction. He got as far as, “Mr. Le Pique, this is Doctor Baran—” when Le Pique cut him off.

“Thought I told you, sheriff, I don't need some useless, ivory tower pencil-neck in a suit telling me my business.”

I looked down at my dusty cargo pants and stained t-shirt in bewilderment. “Are you talking about me? I don’t even own a suit.”

“I’m losing money by the minute here, young lady, so stow your paperwork and your attitude.” He focused his ire on Batten next, taking in Batten’s bulky physique with a sweeping inspection. “You the monster expert? How about you take your head out of her ass and get that thing out of my pit?”

I turned to raise my eyebrows at Batten eloquently, inviting him to try, while le Pique exhaled harshly and glared at us.

Batten’s brow furrowed and he clenched his jaw; I really enjoyed seeing that expression aimed at someone else for a change. I could see him biting his tongue, and I remembered him once claiming:
New and improved vampire hunter, now with people skills
. He put his hands on his hips and said his piece by turning around and sizing up the stonecoat, which had backed towards the warren holes and was pacing agitatedly. He was probably trying to figure out how big a gun he'd need, whether or not bullets would go through the rocky hide, and whether or not he could use the gun on Le Pique after slaying the boggle. Batten opened his mouth, maybe to suggest fetching dynamite or a tank, but I cut him off before he could make the mistake of agreeing that the creature needed killing.

“You’re right, Mr. Le Pique, me and my fancy suit are probably not going to be useful, here. You obviously have everything under control.” I kept a straight face, hooked my thumbs in my belt loops, and rocked back on my heels. “I'm sure you and your boys have already figured out that you’ve disturbed a type of boggle known as a stonecoat. Probably been living on this mountain about fifty, sixty years, judging by its size. Would have popped up on any environmental impact study, specifically a preternatural environmental assessment for protected habitats by the Preternatural Wildlife Protection Agency. But you probably
have
a PEA pod, so it’s all good. If you’ve got your green forms in a job box I could just take a look-see at, I can mosey my girlish ass right on back to the spa for a mani-pedi.”

His eyes narrowed; this was obviously not a guy who enjoyed paperwork, sassy chicks, or sassy chicks who had the nerve to demand paperwork. I didn't enjoy his pointless dick-waving, so we were even.

“Don’t you get smart with me, missy,” he said.

“Now I know you’re super-serious,” I said, “because you lowered your voice at me.” I lowered mine, too, bringing out my babydoll voice. “Tell me again about hauling rocks, Big Daddy.”

His lips thinned at the same rate that his eyes bulged.  “I started working these mountains before you learned to walk in heels.”

“So, like, last year,” I clarified. Batten elbowed me in the arm.

Le Pique’s voice shot up through the octaves, and though he addressed Hood, it was my face he yelled into. “These bullshit conservation hoops are a waste of time, sheriff, and the fact that the feds rammed them down our throats doesn't make 'em right. Now, are you going to get this monster out of my mountain, or am I going to have to call my cousin, the Governor, to get the National Guard to do it?”

I blinked rapidly through the blowback, facing it like a dedicated meteorologist in the face of gale force winds. When he was done, he was pink-faced, bug-eyed, and panting. I was struck for a moment about how utterly human and antithetical to Harry's calm, cool, breathless reserve this guy was.

I sucked my teeth and indicated the helicopter with my thumb. “I vote National Guard, personally. They can
totally
take me out of here. I’ve got the last season of
Hell’s Kitchen
on Blu-Ray waiting for me. Angry hot British chef trumps angry sweaty miner and truck-smashing monster any day.”

Le Pique was dialing, now, practically stabbing his phone with a thick finger, and I waved my hands to stop him. I managed not to point out that asking the government to take care of his problem when he wouldn't even fill out a lousy form was a fairly douchey kind of hypocrisy, especially if he was expecting to get special treatment in the process.

“Hold up, hold up. Before you waste your time looking to the Guard, or your boys down in the pit, or these two for help,” I said, indicating Hood and Batten, “I should remind you that killing an endangered preternatural creature is a quick trip to deep shit, last time I checked. You blasted a new section of the mine last night, woke up a monster, and it’s a monster you’re forbidden to kill unless there’s no recourse. That last part would be judged by a jury of your peers. Now, I know you don't want to lose any more time, and I know you don’t want any more of your expensive toys eaten. I didn't know stonecoats actually ate trucks; maybe it's low on iron and feeling peckish. Or, I don't know, maybe it's pissed off that you blew up its home.” The Blue Sense reported Hood's anxiety, which mixed with the general miasma of fear coming from the pit, and, like a vein of rotten ore, Le Pique's stubborn refusal to budge.

“Since the paramedics have their hands full taking care of your employees' injuries, and I don't want them to have to stop in case you have a fuckin' stroke when I tell you where to stick it, I won’t tell you where to stick it. I’ll let you decide where to stick it.” I smiled up at him and silently dared him to make some macho suggestion of where he might stick what, but he wasn’t dumb enough to take the bait; gotta respect a jerk with enough smarts to mind his tongue when he knows he’s treading a fine line. “Let me speak to you in a language you’ll understand, sir. You don’t want me here. I don’t want me here. If there was anyone else who could get the stonecoat out of your mine without smashing more miners, I’d heartily suggest you call them instead of me.” I shrugged. “But I’m what you’ve got, so pull those bunched panties out of your ass, round up your men, and evacuate while I get to work.” I made a show of opening a gloved hand and pointing into the palm. “I’m going to want to see your PEA pod before this mine gets reopened, and you better believe I’ll be filing all the appropriate paperwork for your fines with the PWPA.”

I faced Batten. “Changed my mind. I’d rather play with the boggle than the foreman. Come on, let's see how I get to kick ass today. If Chuckles so much as sneezes in that thing's direction, I want his ass arrested for animal cruelty.”

Le Pique settled into a heartfelt, if repetitive, litany of, “
Get it out! Get it out! Get it out!
” He would hear nothing more from us, and I had nothing more to say, so Batten and Hood and I went back to the edge of the quarry.

“That went well,” Batten muttered.

“I agree,” I said. “Did he call me ‘young lady’ and 'Missy'? Ruby Valli called me 'Marlene' and got punched in the gootch for it. I kinda want to kick him in the taint, keep my streak going.”

“Didn’t hear ‘young lady,’” Batten said. “But then, my head was apparently stuck up your ass, so I missed a lot.”

“Pretty sure he called me ‘young lady’.”
And it was hysterical, and I deserve a medal for not giggling.

Hood said, “The feminist in you should be insulted.”

“I have a feminist in me? I should let her out; poor gal’s probably drowning in my broken-record thoughts on cock worship.” I used the back of my wrist to wipe sweat off my brow. “I wasn’t kidding about the manicure. I’d much rather be at the spa. Or the office. Or the DMV. Also, I’m still really craving pizza.”

We stood in silence for a moment, breathing the thin, hot air, watching the monster lope in agitated circles below. The stonecoat opened its enormous mouth and growled at the ambulances again; the tire fell off its tooth and surprised the boggle into a ground-pounding dance complete with smashing fists. The scientist in me would have liked to stand there and observe for the rest of the day, not go any further, and maybe take some notes and pictures from a safe distance; unfortunately, I had a job to do. I heard myself offer the ludicrous suggestion, “Let’s get down there.”

“You got a plan?” Batten asked, lifting his arm to wave over the Jeep driver. He hoisted into the Jeep and offered me a hand up. I took it, and hauled myself into the dust-covered leather seat beside him. Hood grabbed shotgun. The driver didn’t flinch when Batten directed him down into the pit, did a breakneck three-point-turn, and rocketed us towards the ramp.
Point: ballsy driver.