The Caretaker of Lorne Field

He rode first to the Caretaker’s cabin, then onto what used to be the dirt path to Lorne Field. They had turned it into a dirt road wide enough for two cars. At the start of the path the town had posted a sign warning against trespassers and announcing that construction would be starting soon for a new subdivision of luxury homes. When he reached the field there was enough moonlight for him to see that the shed was gone. He searched further back in the woods from where the shed had been and found remnants of it there. Picking through the pile of broken boards, he found his flashlight, tested it to make sure it still worked, and walked back to the edge of the field and flashed the light over it.

It was as he expected it. At the end closest to him the Aukowies were a foot-high and swayed towards the light. It was a cool, crisp night, with the air dead still, but he could see them swaying. He could see their faces waiting in anticipation. His jaw muscles set, he took the machete and went to work.

An hour later he had made only a small dent in the field. He stopped to wipe the sweat from his face, then rested with his hands on his knees and waited for the pounding in his chest and temples to slow down. Off in the distance he could see headlights coming down the new dirt road. As Wolcott’s jeep came closer, the headlights framed him. The jeep came to a stop with the engine still running and the headlights left on. Wolcott stepped out of it. The lights were bright enough that Durkin had put a hand to his eyes as he squinted towards Wolcott. Wolcott’s face was left mostly in shadows.

“Is that a machete you’re holding?”

Durkin was still winded from his exertion. He tried answering, but couldn’t manage the breath necessary. Even buried in shadows, he could see the harshness on Wolcott’s face.

“Damn it, Jack, put the machete down.”

“Dan, I’m only doing what I have to. Why don’t you go home and leave me alone.”

“Put the machete down now! This is the last time I’m telling you!”

Wolcott’s hand dropped to his service revolver. Durkin looked from him to the field of Aukowies.

“They dug up this field today, didn’t they?” Durkin said. “At least enough for their road. How come if these are just weeds, they’re growin’ here as strong as ever?”

“I don’t know, Jack, and to tell you the truth, I don’t care. They’re only weeds. That’s all they are.”

“If that’s true, how about you stepping out among them? You do that and I’ll drop the machete. Not only that, I’ll never come back here. I promise on my son’s grave.”

“Damn it, Jack, if those were really monsters growing out there, don’t you think the army would’ve been brought in, or something like that? You really think they would’ve left it to one man to protect the world?”

Durkin kept his gaze fixed on the Aukowies. “It’s been done this way for a reason. Once Aukowies are given a chance to mature, bullets and bombs won’t make much of a difference to them,” he said. He could hear Wolcott swearing to himself. He kept his gaze focused where it was. He didn’t want to look at Wolcott.

“Is that what it’s going to take to satisfy you? Fine, Jack, I’ll take a little stroll among your weeds.”

Wolcott walked past him. Jack Durkin closed his eyes and covered both his ears with his hands. He didn’t want to see what was going to happen next, and he certainly didn’t want to hear it.

Chapter 12

It was forty minutes after Sheriff Wolcott was gone when Jack Durkin walked over to the Sheriff’s jeep and shut off the engine. He knew he had no chance of cutting down the Aukowies with the machete, especially after they had tasted human blood. How much blood did a man’s body hold? He remembered reading the answer to that when he was in school. What was it, something like six quarts? However much it was, the Aukowies had had all of it. No, the machete wasn’t going to work anymore. Something else had to be done to kill them.

He flashed his light in the front seat, then the back and finally the trunk compartment before finding a water bottle he could use, but he couldn’t find anything to siphon gas with. A Molotov cocktail would be easier, but there was another way he could do it. He looked around outside the jeep and found a rock that would be big enough, then dropped it on the passenger seat and drove the jeep to about twenty yards from the edge of the field.