The Spawning by Tim Curran Read Free Book Online

him.
    â€œGoddamn!” he said, the tarp falling back into place. “You see that, Horn? You see that fucking thing under there?”
    There was a sudden explosion and a fireball leaped from the wreckage, casting a wall of sparks over at Slim. Horn grabbed hold of him and yanked him away as burning bits flew free and sizzled in the snow like shrapnel.
    Special Ed was hanging out of the cab of his ‘Cat with the mic still in his hand. “Get away from there! You two, get away from there right now!”
    â€œYeah,” Frye said. “Johnny! Tommy! You quit playing with that burning helicopter! You might get your pants dirty or scuff your Sunday church shoes! Fucking kindergarten.”
    Horn and Slim raced away from the wreckage and Slim’s face was pinched white, his eyes huge. He didn’t look frightened, really, but shocked.
    Then the other helicopter buzzed overhead, hovered, and dropped down far behind the remains of the first, its rotor wash sending smoke and snow in every which direction.
    â€œHell you see over there?” Flagg called out to Slim over the noise of the chopper.
    But Slim kept shaking his head and Horn kept licking his lips like maybe there wasn’t enough spit in the world to lubricate his tongue so he could tell what he saw.
    Something was up.
    And Coyle figured it was more than just a charred body. This was something else. Something bad.
    Three men came out of the chopper and they were all dressed in military-issue olive drab wind pants and parkas and snow goggles. They were big men and they carried sidearms. Two of them formed a perimeter at the wreckage like they were daring anyone to get too close. The other guy jogged over near the Sno-Cats.
    â€œHere come the spooks,” Horn said under his breath.
    â€œWe have a crash team en route from Colony,” the guy said beneath a thick black mustache that looked like a particularly large and hairy spider that was trying to mate with his mouth. “We’ll take care of it from here on in. Thanks for getting here so soon.”
    Flagg said, “The site is very hot, but we saw no survivors. The remains are trapped inside, I’m guessing.”
    â€œThat’s fine,” mustache said. “We can handle it from here. You guys can pull out now. We have it well in hand.”
    In other words, Coyle thought, thanks and now get the hell out of here.
    â€œWe’ll hang around to see if we can be of assistance,” Flagg said.
    â€œThat’s not necessary. We can handle this.”
    Special Ed hopped off the Sno-Cat. “Captain Dayton! How nice to see you again! We got here as fast as we could, but I think we were a little too late as you can see from the wreckage. My God, what a tragedy, what a terrible–”
    Dayton ignored him. “I want this area cleared.”
    â€œWait a minute now,” Flagg said, getting his gumption up. “This is a crash site with fatalities. My assistance will be required.”
    Dayton narrowed his eyes. “Your assistance is not required.”
    Coyle was watching the exchange, but he was also watching Horn and Slim. They both had the same pale wide-eyed look about them, their mouths pulled into gray pressed lines just as sharp as razor cuts. They looked like they’d both just looked through a window into Hell.
    Coyle was also watching Dayton.
    Flagg was arguing with him and Special Ed danced around the periphery trying to make peace like a good little wind-up company man.
    Coyle didn’t know who Dayton was, but he did not like him.
    Just an inflexible, rigid military man with a pole shoved up his ass. He and his two troopers had the same crewcuts, the same pickle jar heads, the same winter-dead eyes. You could read guys like that just fine if you spent enough time around them like Coyle had back in his Navy days. Maybe Special Ed was an obedient yes sir/no sir bureaucratic doormat, but guys like Dayton were one step above all that. They