Page 61 of Them

From the corner of his eye, he could see Lane watching him. Pacing back and forth. Shards of lightning crashing down on the horizon. No rain yet.

When the folder was empty, the flashlight holding down the loose pages resting on the bench beside him, Tim looked up at their author. “Can I read the rest of it?”

“Of course,” Lane said, his tone impenetrable.

“I mean right now. I want to finish it.”

Lane took two more folders from his knapsack and handed them over. “Take all the time you need.”

So, he did. It took the better part of two hours.

By the time Tim finished the old man’s testimony, it was just past two thirty in the morning. He stared at the scribbled words on the last page, trying to sort his thoughts, trying to find the guts to look up and face what came next. Intrigue, sympathy, and rage all swelled inside his chest.

The old man, unaware that Tim had finished, paced back and forth in front of the bench. Disappearing and reappearing in the circle of lantern light. His knees must’ve been killing him.

He’s right to be nervous, Tim thought. This isn’t a backstory; it’s a goddamn confession. A trickle of sweat tickled his spine. Been the executioner, now I’m judge and jury too.

Part of him wanted to stand up and throttle his new friend, to thrash him senseless and leave him out for the Scorpions to find. He’s a villain straight out of The X-Files. Isn’t that how a story’s supposed to end? The bad guy gets his beatdown. What else?

But no matter how hard Tim tried, his legs wouldn’t budge. His feet wouldn’t move. Even his throat grew coarse and uncooperative when he tried to speak, reminding Tim of his long, silent walk. Of the nights when he spoke to only himself and the bats, if he spoke at all.

Lane’s a friend, Tim’s mind whispered in a voice that sounded like a stranger’s yet he knew was his own. When was the last one of those?

Besides, aren’t I tired? Don’t I want to take a break?

And this hate is oh so draining.

“How do they rotate without twisting their limbs and joints?” Tim finally asked, his mouth moving before he even realized it.

Lane stopped walking and sat down on the bench with an exhausted wheeze. “I’m sorry… what did you say?”

“When the Scorpions walk… their legs spin but their heads and tails don’t. How is that possible without their limbs or joints getting all tangled up?”

The old man didn’t say anything at first. He seemed confused by the question, and Tim understood why. He expected the other stuff first. The anger. The recriminations. The fists. To be honest, Tim was a little confused himself.

“It’s… it’s because of their bones and muscles, I think. Their exoskeletons grow from the skin underneath, then split off, because their bones and muscles are almost the same thing. Like living rock. Tectonic plating. It melts and reforms. Their blood too. It… crystallizes, like making a scab.”

“Is that why they eat each other?” Tim asked. Another question out of his mouth before he could stop it. “Their bodies have a special mineral or enzyme or something?”

Lane shook his head. There was relief in his eyes, and voice. “That sounds about right. I really don’t know. Like I wrote, I rarely understood the science behind it all.”

“What about their food chain? They couldn’t have been solely cannibals on their home planet, right? Not enough energy’s conserved.”

“Our experts claimed the same thing, but we never found any evidence to the contrary, and we cut open a lot of Scorpion stomachs. There were a few hypotheses, one being the presence of hyper-nutritional water on their world, but… like I said, that was Dr. Brown’s realm.”

“And what happened to him?”

“Can’t say where he ended up. There was chatter about him being used as a scapegoat, along with yours truly, but soon after there weren’t any courts to charge him in. Rumor had it the Russians offered the good doctor safe haven in exchange for his research. But who the hell knows how long that lasted.”

“What about Weisbrot? How’d you even know you would need him?”

“We didn’t. That was just Brown playing the college lottery. He recruited two or three prodigies every year. New Mexico had other ET biologics for Weisbrot to work on, but that genetic material was decades old. Fresh Scorpions were the only viable test subjects he ever found.”

“Other ETs? You mean…”

“Don’t get too excited. It was all very faded. Like finding an antique Buick Roadmaster with a pair of skeletons for passengers.”

“And them… the Scorpions. If they were mutated with human DNA, why’d they turn around and hunt us?”