case your creatures do some more damage out there in the real world. Those bodies not being discovered gives us a very convenient cover story."
Ward seemed stunned. "But what about the security guard?"
"I don't know about that yet," Lewis admitted. "Those convicts had to have gotten down here from Eddyville somehow. Maybe they had someone else with them. I don't know. I've got people checking on that right now.
"We haven't had a chance to analyze everything yet, so we don't know what happened, but we'll worry about that when we get this thing under control."
Lewis sat on the edge of the desk. "Now. That helicopter isn't going anywhere until I say so. And I'm not going to say so until I know what's happening. So. Fill me in."
* * * *
Route 139, North of the Tennessee Border
_1:08 P.M._
Kentucky State Trooper Mike Truscott had his service revolver lying in his lap ready for use as he slowly cruised down the road. The manhunt for the escapees from Eddyville was concentrated along the interstate, but Truscott had been detached to check out the area in the vicinity of the Land Between the Lakes. All morning he'd cruised the entire length of the Trace, the road running up the middle of the LBL, and now he was moving east, closer to the suspected path of the escapees. People in the local area were very nervous, because two of the three escapees -- Billy Hill and Chico Lopez -- were convicted murderers.
As Truscott topped a small rise, he spotted tire tracks rolling off the hard tar into mud on the right side of the road. He slowed and pulled to a halt, peering off to the left where the back side of a van was visible through the trees. He called in his location and the situation, grabbed his shotgun, and exited the patrol car.
The back doors of the van were shut and the windows blacked out, so he edged around the driver's side, muzzle of the shotgun leading. He stepped up, pointing the gun directly at the glass, and stared in. A woman was in the driver's seat, staring directly ahead, her hands gripping the wheel. Truscott would later tell his buddies over a few beers that it appeared she was still driving the van in her mind, because her hands were twitching on the steering wheel, trying to maneuver as if she saw a turn in the road.
Truscott tapped on the glass with the shotgun; the woman ignored him. He'd seen many victims in shock after accidents but never anything quite like this. Putting down the shotgun, he grabbed the panel door and slid it open. He lunged for his shotgun as the body of an overweight man rolled out the door onto the wet grass.
* * * *
Vicinity Lake Barkley
_1:23 P.M._
Williams Hollow ran northeast from Lake Barkley. After twenty minutes, the team had reached the end of the draw, where the tracks had turned north. They'd been following them in this direction for fifteen minutes.
Riley was impressed with the tracking job Trovinsky was doing. The wet ground obviously helped, but in places the trail traversed old leaves or rocky areas and Trovinsky was still able to stay on track.
They were walking along the edge of a ridge when Trovinsky halted. He turned and signaled for Riley to come up.
"What do you have?"
Trovinsky indicated some matted grass at the base of a tree. "They must have slept here for a while."
Trovinsky edged around the tree with Riley following. He pointed at some droppings. "Now we'll get an idea of how long ago they were here."
Trovinsky poked at the feces with his knife and the lumps broke apart. "I'd say they were here not more than two hours ago. This hasn't had a chance to harden much yet. I've followed deer when I bow hunt and use the same method to tell how far behind I am." Trovinsky cleaned his knife on some leaves and resheathed it. "I would assume that monkey shit works pretty much the same as deer shit."
Riley signaled for the team to come in. "Looks like they rested here. They're less than two hours ahead. Let's tighten it up a bit. I want to
Ward seemed stunned. "But what about the security guard?"
"I don't know about that yet," Lewis admitted. "Those convicts had to have gotten down here from Eddyville somehow. Maybe they had someone else with them. I don't know. I've got people checking on that right now.
"We haven't had a chance to analyze everything yet, so we don't know what happened, but we'll worry about that when we get this thing under control."
Lewis sat on the edge of the desk. "Now. That helicopter isn't going anywhere until I say so. And I'm not going to say so until I know what's happening. So. Fill me in."
* * * *
Route 139, North of the Tennessee Border
_1:08 P.M._
Kentucky State Trooper Mike Truscott had his service revolver lying in his lap ready for use as he slowly cruised down the road. The manhunt for the escapees from Eddyville was concentrated along the interstate, but Truscott had been detached to check out the area in the vicinity of the Land Between the Lakes. All morning he'd cruised the entire length of the Trace, the road running up the middle of the LBL, and now he was moving east, closer to the suspected path of the escapees. People in the local area were very nervous, because two of the three escapees -- Billy Hill and Chico Lopez -- were convicted murderers.
As Truscott topped a small rise, he spotted tire tracks rolling off the hard tar into mud on the right side of the road. He slowed and pulled to a halt, peering off to the left where the back side of a van was visible through the trees. He called in his location and the situation, grabbed his shotgun, and exited the patrol car.
The back doors of the van were shut and the windows blacked out, so he edged around the driver's side, muzzle of the shotgun leading. He stepped up, pointing the gun directly at the glass, and stared in. A woman was in the driver's seat, staring directly ahead, her hands gripping the wheel. Truscott would later tell his buddies over a few beers that it appeared she was still driving the van in her mind, because her hands were twitching on the steering wheel, trying to maneuver as if she saw a turn in the road.
Truscott tapped on the glass with the shotgun; the woman ignored him. He'd seen many victims in shock after accidents but never anything quite like this. Putting down the shotgun, he grabbed the panel door and slid it open. He lunged for his shotgun as the body of an overweight man rolled out the door onto the wet grass.
* * * *
Vicinity Lake Barkley
_1:23 P.M._
Williams Hollow ran northeast from Lake Barkley. After twenty minutes, the team had reached the end of the draw, where the tracks had turned north. They'd been following them in this direction for fifteen minutes.
Riley was impressed with the tracking job Trovinsky was doing. The wet ground obviously helped, but in places the trail traversed old leaves or rocky areas and Trovinsky was still able to stay on track.
They were walking along the edge of a ridge when Trovinsky halted. He turned and signaled for Riley to come up.
"What do you have?"
Trovinsky indicated some matted grass at the base of a tree. "They must have slept here for a while."
Trovinsky edged around the tree with Riley following. He pointed at some droppings. "Now we'll get an idea of how long ago they were here."
Trovinsky poked at the feces with his knife and the lumps broke apart. "I'd say they were here not more than two hours ago. This hasn't had a chance to harden much yet. I've followed deer when I bow hunt and use the same method to tell how far behind I am." Trovinsky cleaned his knife on some leaves and resheathed it. "I would assume that monkey shit works pretty much the same as deer shit."
Riley signaled for the team to come in. "Looks like they rested here. They're less than two hours ahead. Let's tighten it up a bit. I want to
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