The Influence(37)

Now he knew that it was.

He was a doctor, and he was ethical, so he saw all of the patients that had been brought in—even Mrs. Miller’s spooky whistling cat, for which he had no explanation or advice—but as soon as he was through, he told Janine to go home, closed up the office and headed to his house to pack his bags. He felt bad about not telling Janine the truth, letting her think that they were just taking the day off, but he didn’t want it to know that he was leaving.

Whatever it was.

He would make it up to his receptionist, though, after he was out of here and safe. He’d send her a severance check and a recommendation. Not that a recommendation would be of much use to her here in Magdalena. But she was smart and had ambition, and maybe this would spur her to move on and look for work elsewhere. Hell, maybe he’d even invite her to work for him once he found a place and got settled.

But first things first.

He needed to get out of here.

He closed up the office and spent the next two hours loading up all of his books, medicine and medical equipment. Back at the house—a house he was renting from Cameron Holt’s buddy Cal Demholm—Jose packed his clothes and most important personal belongings. It was nearly dark, his van was full, and there was still a lot of stuff to go, so he paused to decide what to do. He’d intended to just take off and make a clean break, but he saw now that that wasn’t going to be possible. It would take three, maybe four, trips to haul all of his possessions away, and the smartest thing to do might be to wait until morning, drive over to Tucson and find a storage unit, then return with a U-Haul and get everything else. He could live in a hotel for a few days while he decided where to go next.

A tap on his window made him jump.

Jose looked up to see a bright red moth the size of his hand fly into the window, flutter away for a moment, then hit the glass again. It looked like a larger version of the moths that had emerged from the bodies of Holt’s cows, but this one did not disintegrate. Indeed, it continued trying to get into the house, flying into the window again and again and again. Its mindless determination made him decide that it was better to leave tonight and come back tomorrow when it was light. The moth scared him, and he picked up one last box of books and carried them out to the van.

The moth hit him in the head.

There was a burning sensation where it struck his ear, as though the creature were made of molten metal. Jose cried out, dropping the box and putting a hand to the side of his head. His ear felt hot and sticky to the touch, and his hand when he looked at it was red with blood. Quickly, he hopped into the back of the van, leaving the box on the ground. He slammed the door shut before the moth tried to attack him again, and scrambled over his piled belongings until he reached the front seat.

Where a yellow spiderlike creature jumped up from the floor and attached itself to his arm.

Screaming, he tried to bat it off, but the thing’s legs were digging into his skin, holding on, and its small flattened head was bent over, its fanged mouth biting into his flesh. Blood was running down his arm in multiple rivulets, dripping onto the seat. Jose used his other hand to grasp the creature’s midsection, and though the pain was tremendous and he could both see and feel pieces of skin tearing off, he yanked it up, pulled it out, and held it away from his body, trying not to let the thrashing head or any of the wiggling legs touch him.

It looked like one of the spiderthings that had come out of Joe Portis’ cattle, only this one hadn’t dissolved after encountering air. It was very much alive, and he smashed it onto the top of the dashboard as hard as he could, again and again, until it stopped moving and two of its legs had broken off. He considered opening the door or window and throwing it outside, but was afraid that something else might get in, so he dropped it on the floor and squished it with the heel of his boot, gratified to hear a crunching sound as he ground it into the worn dirty carpet.

Breathing heavily, Jose stared down at the shattered body, wondering if it had sprung from one of the samples he’d taken. Maybe some of the gloop had leaked onto the floor and this had emerged from that.

He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. A week ago, he’d been happy, successful, and perfectly content. Now he was battered and bloody and fleeing for his life. God was punishing Magdalena, and he wasn’t going to hang around to see how things turned out. Checking the front seat and the floor to make sure there were no more surprises awaiting him, Jose pulled out his key, started the van and drove away. Once past the edge of town, he pulled to a stop, opened the driver’s side door and used his boot to scrape what was left of the creature out of the van.