Thorn Fall

  “It’s not that toxic to humans?” I asked, laying the phone on the table for a moment so I could attempt to type the word she had given into the computer. “So it couldn’t kill somebody?” Maybe this was a coincidence and had nothing to do with the real poison.

  “I didn’t say that. In this case, what less toxic means is that it’s probably not a huge deal if you’re eating corn that came from a crop field sprayed with the stuff. Handling it can cause some mild symptoms, such as respiratory distress and a reduced level of consciousness. Having a bunch of it pumped into your veins… If there are any animal studies where that was done, I couldn’t find them. It’s a newer pesticide, so there are fewer reports of clinical consequences overall. But like I said, the blood sample was saturated. You could go out in a freshly sprayed field, lick the corn stalks all day, and not get this much in your blood.”

  “And is it what’s coming out of the thorns?”

  “You got it, Sherlock. I’m guessing that when they detach—”

  “Shoot out,” I interrupted.

  “Whatever. I’m guessing that when they stick in a person, the stingers deliver their entire canal full of the pesticide.”

  I had the encyclopedia entry on the pesticide up now. “It doesn’t sound like something that occurs in nature.”

  “It’s not. There are some plants out there that make natural pesticides to keep things from noshing on them, but this is a man-made chemical through and through.”

  “And there’s no possibility of making a vaccine or an antidote?”

  “I think the antidote is not to get hit.”

  My lips curled. That wasn’t the answer I wanted. “And what if you do get hit? There are people in the hospital here that are going to die if the doctors don’t figure something out.” Not to mention the odds weren’t good of us avoiding being hit if we went out and tried to kill the jibtab.

  “Atropine followed by pralidoxime chloride would be the typical treatment for acute poisoning by an organophosphate insecticide. I’m not sure for a neonicotinoid, which is what imidacloprid is. Neonicotinoids work by interfering with the transmission of nerve impulses in insects—and I suppose humans, too—by binding irreversibly to specific nicotinic acetylcholine receptors. That induces neuromuscular paralysis and eventually death.”

  I swallowed. “Irreversibly?”

  “That’s what the research states. Like I said, there’s not a lot of it out there yet, in regard to cases of humans being poisoned. And Del?”

  “Yeah?”

  “The hospital lab should have figured out what they’re dealing with by now too. It’s not like I’m some brilliant analyst. If they haven’t found an effective treatment yet, there probably isn’t one.”

  I closed my eyes, thinking of how close we had been to taking some of those thorns the night before. “All right. Thank you, Autumn.”

  “Stay away from those stingers. I’m expecting another sandwich the next time you call me up.”

  “Plan on it.”

  “Imidacloprid?” Simon asked after I hung up. He was kibitzing over my shoulder again. “Weird.”

  “I was expecting a more intellectual analysis from your big brain,” I said.

  “Really weird.”

  “Much better.” I scrolled down the entry, though it sounded like Autumn had already done thorough research. I doubted I would be the one to stumble over a cure. Something else caught my eye, though, and I touched the screen. “May be contributing to honey bee colony collapse disorder?”

  “Ah, that’s who’s behind this mastermind monster creation. The bees are taking revenge.”

  I leaned back in the chair, tapping the table thoughtfully. Was it a coincidence? Or could the fact that we were being attacked by a big flying monster that shot stingers full of this insecticide be… symbolic of something? Dead bees? “You know, Alek isn’t convinced the elves are behind these monsters.”

  Simon’s brows rose. “Because the bees are?”

  I slapped him on the chest. “Be serious. Listen, the first jibtab was made out of plastic, right? And came out of the ocean. Isn’t that a problem? Plastic bottles dumped in the ocean and killing fish that try to eat them? And now we have something attacking us with a pesticide that might be problematic too. What if this has nothing to do with the elves, and it’s some eco-nut here on our world who’s trying to make a statement?”

  “By making monsters that kill people? I thought eco-nuts chained themselves to trees about to be bulldozed.”

  I spread my hand. “That was back in the ’70s. People are more jaded now.”

  Simon returned to the other side of the table. “Why would the elves be here if they didn’t have something to do with the problem? And how would an eco-nut learn to create nearly indestructible monsters in the first place?”

  “Can’t he be a mad-scientist eco-nut? Or is mad engineer the more appropriate term when you’re building creatures?”

  “I don’t know, but if he can build living, breathing creatures that guns and Greek fire can’t take down, he ought to be working for military R and D. And should we be assuming it’s a he? Can’t girls be mad engineers?”

  “Maybe, but…” I shut my mouth when a gray-haired man in uniform came into view. A police uniform. “Don’t look,” I whispered when Simon started to follow my gaze.

  He did anyway. It probably didn’t matter. The librarian was pointing in our direction.

  “It was only a matter of time before my fans found me,” Simon said.

  “He probably wants to contribute to your crowd-funding campaign.”

  “I’ll ask.” Simon’s eyes crinkled. He probably would ask. Even if he was being handcuffed at the time.

  The policeman turned out to be a sergeant—I had thought he might be higher ranking, based on the grays—a swarthy-skinned fellow with the name Keetso on his tag. His face went from stern to glowering as he approached us. He tapped a pouch on his utility belt. Was that where the handcuffs were kept? I hadn’t truly expected him to bring any out…

  I nudged Simon under the table, trying to tell him to keep his mouth shut about his pleas for donations.

  “You the kids with the van?” the sergeant asked. That couldn’t be the official opening line on the books. Maybe he wasn’t sure who we were.

  I was in the middle of wondering what would happen if I said no when Simon smiled and said, “Zelda? Yes, did you see how much damage she suffered here in Sedona?”

  “Been out in the wilderness, have you?” There wasn’t any sympathy in Keetso’s tone. Nor any surprise. Did he know how the van had received all those perforations? The ER nurse had certainly known more than she had let on. Maybe the town locals had a better idea of what was going on out there than the papers were sharing.

  “Yes,” Simon said. “Hiking and enjoying the scenery. Until Zelda was so horrendously vandalized. Would you be interested in contributing to a special fund to help with her repairs? Thus to ensure we have only kind things to say about Sedona when we’ve left your fine town?”

  Keetso’s dark eyes narrowed. “Will you be leaving soon?”

  “We’re just visiting for a few days,” I said, deciding I shouldn’t leave the talking to Simon.

  “I suggest you cut your trip short,” Keetso said. “Head back to New Mexico.”

  Simon glanced at me. The van had an Arizona plate. It was Temi’s Jag that sported the yellow of New Mexico. This wasn’t the same police officer that we had seen at the campground, but I wasn’t surprised the department had been chatting internally about us. This wasn’t a big town.

  Keetso turned his glower back to Simon. “I will also strongly suggest you don’t update your website with anymore talk of monster sightings.”

  Even if Keetso’s tone was as friendly as gravel crunching under tires, the fact that he was making suggestions made me feel better. The police must not have found any reason to suspect us of an actual crime. Unfortunately, the words made Simon feel better, too—perkier and lippie
r.

  “Actually, I was talking about the monster un-sightings,” Simon said. “And how we got shot at by something that wasn’t there. At least that’s what it looked like. You know anything about that, Sergeant?”

  “Your website is encouraging more people to go out into the wilderness and get themselves into trouble,” Keetso said. “Idiots with cameras, trying to capture footage of monsters. If you’ve been paying any attention to the news, we’ve been trying to get people to stay home until whoever is responsible for the trouble is discovered, something the professionals will handle.”

  “They will?” Simon asked. “When will that be?”

  I kicked him under the table.

  Glowering more than ever, Keetso said several sentences in a language I knew Simon wouldn’t understand. Navajo? That was my guess, but if police had looked us all up, the guy should have known from Simon’s surname that he wasn’t an Arizona native. Maybe it was just some expression of disappointment that Simon wasn’t supposed to understand.

  “Sergeant,” I started, though I wasn’t sure what to say next. I wanted to know if we were going to be charged with something if we stayed in the area and Simon kept updating the site. At the same time, I didn’t want to start the man thinking down those lines.

  Keetso pointed at both of us. “Pack up your stuff and leave town. I don’t want to find either of you in that campground when I come by tonight.”

  I kicked Simon again, hoping to stop him from voicing that mulish “Or what?” that was in his eyes.

  “We understand, Sergeant,” I said.

  He glowered at us a little longer before stalking away. I liked the officer in Prescott better. He had given us coffee.

  Simon waited for Keetso to exit before leaning forward and saying, “He doesn’t want us in the campground? No problem. We’ll go to a hotel.”

  “One of the oh-so-affordable Sedona hotels, or will we be commuting from elsewhere for our monster-hunting work?”

  “We’ll totally be able to afford a hotel here.” He spun the laptop toward me. “We already have backers, my friend.”

  I squinted at the sidebar. “You’ve got a commitment of fifteen dollars? Congratulations, that’s almost enough for us all to shower at the campground.”

  “We could save money by sharing showers.” His face grew wistful. “Do you think Temi would ever share a shower with me?”

  “You’d be more likely to talk Alek into it. Nudity and public bathing were common back then. The Greeks weren’t shy.”

  “Don’t remind me. I’m still trying to get certain images out of my head.”

  “You explain that underwear thing to him yet?”

  Simon grimaced. “Not exactly. I thought he’d figured it out on his own when I saw the bag of them open in the tent, but then I caught him polishing his sword with his fresh new cotton briefs.” He pushed his hands through his hair. “What’d that guy say to me, anyway?”

  “The policeman? I don’t know. I can translate Navajo rock paintings for you, but you’ll have to go to the rez if you want to find someone who speaks the language.”

  “Do a lot of the people there actually speak it?”

  “Not many our age, I don’t think. But Navajo is supposed to have more native speakers than any other Native American language north of the border.”

  “Huh. I know three Makah words. There isn’t anybody left who grew up speaking it.” For a moment, he looked wistful, but the moment didn’t last long. “So, we’re going to buy some Kevlar vests and check out a cave?”

  “If we can find some.” I was more certain than ever that I didn’t want to wander around out there without full-body protection. “Maybe the police would have loaned us some if you hadn’t been so busy being mouthy.”

  “Please, that guy wouldn’t have loaned us a match.” Simon opened his laptop. “Oh, another donation.” His phone bleeped. He pulled it out and looked at the display. His enthusiasm for the donation disappeared into a frown.

  “Problem?” I asked.

  “My brother is flying to Phoenix to see me.”

  “Today?”

  “I hope not.” Simon turned it off without answering. “My plan is to ignore him and not tell him where I am.”

  “Isn’t he following your blog?”

  Simon groaned and clunked his head down on the table.

  I shook my head and pulled up the Haines address on my phone again. Maybe we would get lucky and the cave wouldn’t be far from the road.

  Chapter 12

  Zelda didn’t sound that healthy as she chugged up the highway into Oak Creek Canyon. Even if I thought Simon’s money-acquisition plan sounded ludicrous, I hoped he would find a way to get the van repaired sooner rather than later. We had moved out of the campground but opted for leaving Temi’s car in a shopping area instead of taking it, since the convertible’s soft top wouldn’t do much to stop thorns. I didn’t want to test the van against thorns again, either—especially with nothing except a few new layers of duct tape on the roof keeping the weather out in places—but at least we had better protection this time, a mismatched collection of Kevlar helmets and vests Simon had located from some online contact. I hoped anyone who saw us tramping through the woods in camouflage would assume we were a paintball team rather than skulking terrorists.

  “This is behind someone’s house?” Temi asked from the back of the van, peering out the window as trees, lodges, and campgrounds slid past. It wasn’t exactly a residential area.

  “There are a few streets off the main highway with houses on them.” I waved my phone, and the map lit up. “I think if we drive up to the end of this one, we won’t have to cross people’s yards to get to the canyon wall.” We shouldn’t have to walk far to reach the cave, either. I was well aware that our new gear protected our heads and torsos, but not much else. We all wore long sleeves and pants, but those thorns would cut through fabric with ease. And unlike with bullets, even a grazed forearm might be deadly.

  Alek sat near Temi, plucking at his bulky new vest.

  “Can’t be any worse than a muscle cuirass,” I said in English, then repeated it in Greek. We had been conversing fairly well, if stiltedly, that afternoon without the tablet. English was still a stretch—beyond barnyard animals—but he was understanding my Greek even better than I was understanding his.

  Alek grunted. I didn’t expect more of a response—he rarely spoke unless I asked a direct question—but he added, “The Dhekarzha have protection that weighs nothing.” He gestured to his torso. “You do not see it unless it is struck.”

  Invisible armor? I thought of the invisible jibtab and of Simon’s skepticism that the monsters were being created by humans.

  “Did you get to wear it when you were with them?” I asked.

  Alek’s lips twisted wryly. Or maybe wistfully? “No. It was… preferred that I wore my own clothes and armor.”

  “As a spectacle? Some prize that had been won and was being shown off?” I was thinking aloud and probably shouldn’t have been, because Alek’s lips flattened, any humor that had been there disappearing.

  “Some prize,” he said—in agreement?—then shifted his gaze toward the window.

  “Sorry,” I murmured, though I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t look back at me.

  “This the spot, navigator?” Simon asked, the van already turning off the highway and onto a bumpy dirt road.

  “I think so.” I didn’t see a sign anywhere, but the GPS promised we were on the right forest service road. We crossed a one-lane bridge that appeared more suitable for foot traffic than vehicle traffic, and climbed steeply. We passed two grassy driveways that hadn’t seen use in a while, and I had a feeling I needn’t have worried about being caught trespassing. The van pitched and groaned, doubtlessly lamenting the day it had been sold to someone who preferred dirt roads to pavement.

  “You sure you don’t want to trade in that Jag for a Jeep, Temi?” I asked. “It’s not too late.” After it was perforated with thor
ns… then it might be too late.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said. “Though Simon promises he’ll soon have access to riches to be used on new monster-hunting gear and perhaps even vehicles.”

  I snorted. Amazing how a man who had trouble speaking directly to Temi could make sure she heard about all of his genius plans. “At the moment, he hasn’t even earned enough riches for showers at the campground.”

  “That’s not true.” Simon grimaced, navigating around a pothole that might have been the landing site for an asteroid. “We’re up to twenty-seven dollars.”

  I eyed the GPS unit as we continued to climb, wanting to get us as close to the canyon wall as we could without getting the van stranded. We hadn’t passed a driveway recently.

  “We’re there,” Simon announced before I would have.

  “Our destination?” Temi leaned forward, peering out the cracked windshield. Nothing but a twisting rocky road lay ahead of us.

  “Also known as the point at which Zelda won’t go any farther? Yes.” Simon did a ten-point turn to face us in the other direction and pulled to a stop underneath a tree.

  Nothing resembling a trail led away from the road. That wasn’t unexpected. If there were trails, people would know about the cave.

  Temi climbed out of the van, her sword in its scabbard across her back. Despite all the reluctance she had shown toward being trained to be a warrior, she made a convincing soldier, standing there in camo clothing, listening for the drone of aerial attackers. With his long hair and spear, Alek didn’t look quite the image of an American soldier, but there was no doubt he was a warrior. I grabbed my whip and knife and joined the team, wondering what I looked like. I probably didn’t want to know.

  After locking the van, Simon showed up with…

  “Is that a flamethrower?” I asked.

  “More or less.” He tapped the bulging pockets in his jacket. “And incendiary devices.”

  “Didn’t we decide those weren’t effective on the jibtab?”