Swamp Monster Love

Chapter 22: Ain't No Stopping Me Now

I don't speed so much on the way back to the pond. I have too much on my mind, and I don't just mean keeping myself solid or ignoring Chip's muffled, profane threats from the trunk. I mean this whole thing. The mystery of Christine's disappearance. I know how the pieces fit, but only if I accept certain unlikely ideas. Like the pond being alive and evil. Like the veiny boy it has taken captive.

Like me.

We're within a half mile when I spot the road block. I can't say whether Jacobs and Miller knew I'd drive this direction (seems unlikely), or whether there's a tracker on the police car (more likely), or whether Chip used his phone to call 911 from the trunk (that's probably it actually), but regardless, there are a dozen police cars and twice as many guns between me and Hansen's Pond. The road is densely forested on either side, so there's no going around.

None of this would be a problem, except that it's rather important for Chip to survive the next few minutes.

"Nice going, jerk!" I pull to the side of the road. "They're going to shoot at us now. Well, it's not going to hurt me, genius."

He shouts something back, but I'm not really paying attention.

"Sit tight. Don't go anywhere, you know?" I don't know that I'm talking loudly enough for him to hear over his own shouting, but it doesn't much matter. "I'll take care of it."

I walk down the yellow dotted line at the center of the road. I pull moisture from the trees and vegetation. By the time I can see the officers' faces I'm twenty feet tall and shaped like an enormous boar on two legs. A great big pig. It's not exactly a subtle joke, but even so, none of the officers smile. My footfalls crack the asphalt.

I stop twenty feet away. I look them over, trying to appear intimidating enough that they run, that they save me from having to do them violence.

No such luck.

"Brian Anderson!" This is Jacobs, speaking through a megaphone. It takes me a moment to locate him. His arm is in a sling, but otherwise he looks okay.

"Howdy," says the giant pig, waving a lobster claw of a hand. "Mind if I pass through?"

"We do mind," says Jacobs. "But we'd like to solve this peacefully."

"Me too," I say. It's true, after all, as far as they're concerned.

"Good. Good, Brian. So let's talk this through. See if we can understand one another better."

If I understand the hundreds of police shows I've seen on television, that means they need a little more time before they spring their hidden trap on me. I pull hard for all the water I can get. Trees topple. A huge drainage pipe erupts from the ground. I swell so high I feel dizzy. I'm the size of several houses stacked together, a shape I take for a few moments, just for effect.

I look over the trees toward Hansen's Pond. I see past the roadblock to the fire trucks and ambulances and armored vehicles and soldiers with automatic weapons. I'll give these guys credit, they mobilize fast when they want to.

I resolve myself to my own shape, albeit massively larger and with a billowing cape. "Let me pass," says my enormous voice, "and no one gets hurt."

"You sound like a bad movie," says Jacobs through his megaphone.

"With awesome special effects."