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there.”
He wagged one rough finger toward the café windows. “Them bugs.
They’re getting bigger.”
    “ Nonsense.”
Darla chuckled—she wasn’t the kind of woman who giggled.
    “ Hell, I’m
telling the truth. Old Lumpy came running out of the trees last
Thursday evening, tail tucked between his legs. I started laughing
at him, they way he looked all scared—I figured he pissed off a
marmot or something. Anyway, this big son-of-a-bitch comes
scurrying after him. Craziest thing, watching this beetle the size
of that old hound come scurrying out of the forest.” Randy’s voice
became a little distant. “The damn thing scrambled right over a
downed tree, straight at me. I dropped the chainsaw right on it.”
His coffee cup made a noisy clink when it hit the
saucer.
    “ I think the only
thing you’ve been dropping is a little too much of the old Kentucky
vintage, if you get my meaning,” Darla said as she turned back to
the counter and replaced the coffee pot on its warming
plate.
    “ Randy?” I
asked, standing now just a few feet from the counter. “Was anybody
else out there with you?”
    “ Hell no. Pete
and Manny totally turned on me. Won’t go out after talking to that
kid—Lane. Shit, I’m not going back until I’m sure those damn bugs
are gone.”
    “ I think you
should call the sheriff. I mean if you _really_ saw something that
big…”
    Randy stood up,
stretching all six feet of his barrel chest in front of me. “You
think it’s the booze too, huh?” He pushed past me and exited the
café.
    I finished my meal in silence, walked home
under a black umbrella against the rain, and called Lane.
    “ Hello?”
    “ Yeah, Lane. It’s me
Rick.”
    “ Hey Mr. Grinnich.” The kid
still called me Mr. Ginnich even though he graduated three years
ago. “I called my advisor. He was out of the office for the summer
session, but I left a message and emailed him some digital pics of
the beetle.”
    “ That’s what I’m calling
about. Randy was down at Pine Peaks today, and he claimed he saw
another beetle. He said it was bigger and alive.”
    “ Really? They couldn’t get
much bigger. The ecosystem just couldn’t support them.”
    “ Randy does have a bit of a
whisky problem, but that wouldn’t make him hallucinate…”
    “ What time of day was
it?”
    “ I don’t know—wait he said
‘evening’. I know he’s been working late, trying to make up lost
time because of the rain. That and his workers have chickened out
on him.”
    Lane’s voice grew distant
for a moment, like he spoke away from the receiver. “That would
make sense, most species of Carabidae are
nocturnal…Listen, I’m going to call Randy, see if I can go out with
him tomorrow.”
    “ If it stops
raining.”
    “ Of course. I
want to see these things myself.”

    After a slight bribe—a fifth of Jack
Daniels, Randy agreed to drive Lane out to the woods. Lane called
that night and explained the deal, and I waved them the next
morning as they drove west on Kimberly-Long Creek Highway. It was
early on Tuesday, and I jogged around town, my usual workout.
Something floated in the air that day, something quiet and
watchful. The trees seemed closer, pressing in on the edges of
Monument, swelling the town to some breaking point. After the jog,
I ate my breakfast at Pine Peaks and spent a good part of the
morning camped at the booth in the corner. Darla seemed a little
distant that morning—distant and brooding.
    Sheriff Kress came in around ten. “Mornin’
Darla.” He turned to me and nodded. “Mornin’ Professor.”
    “ Black?” Darla
asked.
    “ Sure.” He settled onto one
of the stools at the bar.
    “ Busy morning?” she asked
while pouring the coffee.
    “ Not so much. A couple of
calls on dogs.”
    “ Strays?”
    “ No. Old Elmer Nowlan’s
mutt got torn up by something. Probably just some over-aggressive
raccoons, but it was a bit of a mess. The Hernandez family can’t
find their dog—that old German