Chapter XII

More and more calls came in to the phones of the house of Joseph Tyler as the next day progressed. "Is somebody a murderer?" asked one frightened elderly women, "I was told Pete Jacobson didn't die of a heart attack, but he was murdered!"

After this call, Tyler unplugged his telephone lines and simply turned on the TV. Much to the exhausted sheriff's dismay, the first thing he saw was a news report by the NBC station out of Topeka talking about the brutal killings. To make matters worse, the state police were coming around town poking their noses about as much as T.B. Walker's people had been doing.

My peaceful little town's getting over run, Tyler thought as he threw himself down upon the couch in his living room. And I thought the stuff I saw in the city was bad…

The frustration was getting to him, and he needed escape. It had been a year, but the sheriff got into his truck and drove to the liquor store that was right on the edge of town, so that there wouldn't be many people who would spot him. He entered the small store, and immediately saw the hundreds and hundreds of bottles lining the walls. The owner caught sight of him immediately, and being as he owned the shop, he knew Tyler well due to Tyler previous habits.

"Joe! Haven't seen you in here for a while. What can I do for you today, Sheriff?" asked the owner. He was bald, but had a very bushy black mustache to make up for it. Jim was the only name Tyler could remember to call him. A look of curiosity befell Jim, "Say, what's going on with all these deaths?"

"We're looking into it, Jim," Tyler responded, "Just sit tight, everything will clear out."

"So, what would you like?" Jim asked.

"The biggest bottle of Daniels you've got," Tyler responded. "And some rum too."

"Having a party?"

"Yeah," started Tyler, "Something like that."

Jim smiled and picked up a clear glass bottle of Jack Daniels, the label read eighty ounces, as well as a thirty-two ounce bottle of rum. "I can throw in some free soda to go with that rum."

"Yeah sure," he said, "Give me a Pepsi."

The shopkeeper went back into the back room, opened a fridge and pulled out a three-liter bottle of Pepsi. "That'll be forty dollars and ninety-two cents."

Tyler handed Jim a credit card and took his drinks back to the truck and made back for home. On arrival at his house, he got some glasses, poured some drinks and sat down in his favorite chair. After a few glasses of Jack Daniels, he began laughing at himself. "Aliens? Right, they're only in movies…" he blurted out. "Not here in Kansas, hunting people…they only live in space and burst out of peoples' chests. Or need to make a collect call…No aliens here, no Surry-Bob."

*  *  *

Tyler awoke the next morning with the now half empty bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand and saw the rum had about a third of it missing. His head pounded and his vision was blurred. He noticed a figure in his window, staring at him. He couldn't quite make out what the figure was, but it was tall and had long hair. The skin looked dark, but he couldn't quite make it out. But when he approached the window, the figure just disappeared.

*  *  *

The Yautja decided it was still not time to get his prize. It appeared to be disoriented or intoxicated, hardly a worthy hunt. Once the prey had recovered, he would take it. So, in order to calm his need for blood, he set off for the settlement. He had once again claimed a skull of a native biped for his trophy room. The previous night he found another law enforcement biped that was armed and ready for battle. He quickly dispatched the biped.

*  *  *

After a knock on his door, Tyler opened it to see T.B. Walker with May Peterson and James Larry. James immediately saw Tyler's condition and took him over to his chair. "Joe?" he asked, "You with us?"

Tyler groaned aloud.

"I take it you've heard the news?" asked Walker, unemotionally.

"What news?" Tyler asked.

"The mayor of your quaint little town has declared that due to the violent nature of the crimes. He revealed that Pete Jacobson had, in fact, been murdered, and that the three cocaine dealers and that Deputy Willis had been killed in the same manner. It was the belief of the police department that there was in fact a serial killer in the area that seemed to be killing those with weapons. But the progression of the killings from one spot to another was very erratic and that it would be impossible to guess where the killer would strike next. The citizens had been urged to stay in their homes, and allow the police to find this killer. It was his belief that action needed to be taken, and the rest of the city held the same opinion. And to top the matter, you have been relieved of duty due to negligence," Walker explained. "He has no idea what he's doing."

"Willis? Dead?" he began. "Relieved of duty? Dammit! Somebody has to get this thing!" He slammed his fist on to his knee, but could not feel any pain due to his being extremely numb.

"So," started Walker, quite amused, "You've accepted that what we're dealing with us not of this world?"

"In all my years," began Tyler, speaking was a labor to him and his "S's" were slightly slurred because of his hangover, "I have never seen such atrocities as what's happened to the people that this thing has killed. Your insane theory makes the most sense in a world of insanity."

"Then let's catch ourselves a critter," Walker smiled.