GAIA’S

  GAME

  A Horror Novel

  Ken Stark

  GAIA’S GAME

  Copyright © 2021 KEN STARK

  First Edition

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  www.kenstark.ca

  Cover Design and Formatting by The Book Khaleesi

  CONTENTS

  OTHER BOOKS by KEN STARK

  CHAPTER I

  CHAPTER II

  CHAPTER III

  CHAPTER IV

  CHAPTER V

  CHAPTER VI

  CHAPTER VII

  CHAPTER VIII

  CHAPTER IX

  CHAPTER X

  CHAPTER XI

  CHAPTER XII

  CHAPTER XIII

  CHAPTER XIV

  CHAPTER XV

  CHAPTER XVI

  CHAPTER XVII

  CHAPTER XVIII

  CHAPTER XIX

  CHAPTER XX

  CHAPTER XXI

  CHAPTER XXII

  CHAPTER XXIII

  CHAPTER XXIV

  CHAPTER XXV

  CHAPTER XXVI

  CHAPTER XXVII

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  CHAPTER XXIX

  CHAPTER XXX

  CHAPTER XXXI

  CHAPTER XXXII

  CHAPTER XXXIII

  CHAPTER XXXIV

  CHAPTER XXXIV

  CHAPTER XXXV

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  CHAPTER XXXVII

  CHAPTER XXXVIII

  CHAPTER XXXIX

  AN EXCERPT from ARCADIA FALLS

  OTHER TITLES by KEN STARK

  STAGE 3: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller

  STAGE 3: Alpha

  STAGE 3: Bravo

  Arcadia Falls

  Jitters (A Short Story)

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  IT WAS A DAY LIKE NO OTHER FOR SHERIFF TOM COOPER.

  Reports of animal attacks had been coming in since dawn, and it looked like they might never stop. Once the news channels began filling up with accounts of similar attacks from around the world, it became clear that this was no local phenomenon. For whatever reason and by whatever mechanism, it seemed that all of nature had chosen that one particular day to declare war on mankind.

  Emma Wong was new in town, but she thought she might have the answer. According to the Gaia hypothesis, the Earth and all of its biological systems could be considered a living entity. If true, then maybe this living Earth had simply had enough of the destructive human race.

  Cooper didn't believe a word of it at first, but then the madness changed shape and he finally had a cold, clear understanding of Gaia's ruthless game plan.

  Humans had always been too good at killing. They defended themselves too well.

  So Gaia upped the ante.

  Now, it's up to Cooper, Emma, and a handful of others to try to save their town. But the odds are long and the stakes have never been higher.

  If they lose, they die.

  If they win, they lose even more.

  This is Gaia's game, and when Gaia plays, she plays for keeps.

  “Similar to the Alfred Hitchcock thriller The Birds, Keeter's Bluff is under siege and no one is safe in Gaia's Game by Ken Stark, prompting us to take notice of our ecological practices. Expertly written, it contains a compelling and suspenseful plot, solid and personable characters, and a definitive and climactic story arc that builds to a dramatic and chilling conclusion. It is a phenomenal horror story that promises to thrill... Outstanding!”

  - Reviewed by Susan Sewell for Readers' Favorite

  CHAPTER

  I

  “What the hell...”

  Jake Peluso pulled his Pontiac to a stop in the alley behind his rooming house even as they emerged from the darkness. There were three, from what he could make out in the dim light thrown down from above. He climbed from the car with a grunt, flicked the stub of his cigarette to the ground, and barked a curse while satisfying an itch just north of his ass crack.

  “Get lost, would'ja?” he growled. “Go on, now! Fuck off! Go home!” But for all of his snarling and scowling and both oversized hands already curling into fists, the three of them just stood there, staring dumbly up at him with their dark, expressionless eyes.

  Well, okay then. If that's the way they wanted it, maybe he'd just teach them a lesson they'd never forget.

  He strode straight at them, intending to either barge his way through or begin the day's schooling, but he never got the chance for either. He only became aware of the fourth one hiding in the shadows when a sharp sting in the small of his back brought him nearly to his knees, howling in pain.

  “Son of a bitch!” he roared, spinning around to pour out his anger on anything within reach. “Are you fucking kidding m—”

  A sudden pain near his temple silenced his tongue and clouded his vision with a crimson haze. As he doubled over, something sharp pierced the skin behind his right ear, and a warm gush of blood began to soak down the back of his shirt.

  He tried to fight back, but it was like battling an octopus. Every time he turned on one, the others closed in from somewhere else. He swung at one, and something sharp hit him in the ribs. He threw a back-handed punch at another, and felt a slash near his crotch. He spun around in an absolute rage, but then something heavy bounced off the back of his skull, and his entire world started to spin.

  Battered, dazed, and bleeding from a dozen places, Jake 'the Snake' Peluso finally shook himself free and bolted back toward his car, but it was no use. They were right on his heels. In the time it would take him to fish the keys out of his pocket, they would be on him. So, he did the only thing he could do. He pivoted midstride, abandoned his car where it sat, and ran for his very life.

  He ran like no man had ever run before. He ran until his side ached, and until his breath came in tight little gasps. He ran until his legs were numb, and until he could taste bile at the back of his throat. He ran with the determination of a man knowing his own life was about to end, but even with street after street blurring past, those horrible things gained more ground by the second. In desperation, he tore across the road and barged through a used car lot, hoping against hope that dodging rows of vehicles might gain him an extra second or two, but they stayed right with him. He barreled through the back gate and sprinted down Laurel Avenue as fast as his feet could carry him, but with the huffing and puffing from behind growing louder by the second, he knew that his time was running out.

  Then he saw his chance. An expansive yard overgrown with weeds as high as wheat sprawled out at the bottom of the hill. If he could make it that far, he might just make it through this night after all. With a final burst of energy, he sprinted the last thirty feet and allowed himself to be swallowed up by the suburban jungle. He bulldozed his way through, swatting weeds away from his face and all the while throwing frightened glances back over his shoulder. Then a door miraculously appeared before him, and without a single concern as to where it might lead or what might be on the other side, he threw himself bodily into that door and crashed straight through it.

  But it was already too late. The things descended on his bloodied, crumpled form, and the last the world ever heard from Jake Peluso was a wet, gurgling sob, lost in the darkness.

  That, and the squealing.

  CHAPTER

  II

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph...”

  Carl Rankin stood in the doorway of the Elk's Hall, surveying the carnage. Everywhere he looked, he saw red. The floor. The walls. Even the ceiling hadn't been spared from random spatters of gore. And in the middle of it all was Sheriff Cooper, down on one knee, examining a pair of tiny, broken bodies.

  Cooper sensed his young deputy approaching and looked up.

  “Carl, you look like a cow that's just come across a new fence. Shut your damn mouth and get in here. Just watch where you step.”

  Rankin tiptoed over the threshold and picked his way through the carnage, then he hovered over Cooper and hushed the single word, “Jee-zuzz!”

  Cooper made no reply. He simply knelt there, staring down at the pair of broken bodies.

  At last, he stood up, shook his head, and uttered a long, slow sigh.

  “She's going to kill me for this, Carl. I swear to Christ, that woman is going to hand me my everlovin' ass.”

  He bent down and scooped up the tiniest bit of crimson gore from the floor, and then he did a most curious thing. He brought that tiny bit of detritus up to his nose and had a sniff. Then, he stuck out his tongue and gave it a lick.

  “Mmm... Cherry,” he said with an approving nod. But as the horror returned in full, he threw back his head and howled, “Damn it, Carl! The reception's in six hours, and I have single-handedly destroyed the biggest and most expensive wedding cake this town has ever seen. How the hell did I fuck this up so badly? I m
ean, look at it, Carl. Look at it!”

  The deputy gazed down at the tiny broken bodies that had once graced the top of a grand five-tiered wedding cake, and he tsk-tsked aloud.

  “Don't reckon Fancy'll be too happy about it, and that's a fact. Reckon the Judge'll have somethin' to say about it, too.”

  Cooper swallowed hard.

  “Carl, I am officially screwed. How do I replace a wedding cake in six hours?”

  “Dunno about wedding cakes, Sheriff, but did you ever try one of them ice cream logs from Dairy Queen? Tell you what, I'm always the man of the hour when I show up at one of my niece's birthday parties with an ice cream log from the DQ.”

  Cooper hung his head and sighed.

  “Carl, you're a goddam genius. An ice cream log to celebrate a union of souls and wish them a lifetime of wedded bliss. I wonder why no one's ever come up with that before.”

  All sarcasm lost on him, Rankin simply shrugged.

  “Dunno, Sheriff. Twenty bucks for a whole lot'a happy don't seem like a bad deal to me.”

  “Carl, Fancy ordered this wedding cake six months ago. It set her old man back over a thousand dollars. Marigold had to bring in extra people just to get the frosting done right because of drooping, or wilting, or whatever the hell. Five layers, Carl. Five! Each one with pink rosettes all around, and cherub's perched along the edges.” He collected the pair of tiny bodies from the floor and cradled them gently in his hand. “These were hand-carved by a master craftsman back in Boston, Carl. Hand-carved mind you, then Fed-Exed all the way here. This little pecker-ass bride and groom cost an extra hundred bucks each. Each, Carl! The usual plastic dealies might be good enough for everyone else, but Fancy heard about some guy who could carve the happy couple out of marzipan, and she wanted them. And like Judge Whittacker always says, what Fancy wants...”

  “...Fancy gets,” Rankin finished the quote. “But Jee-zuzz! Two hundred bucks for two little dolls? Man a'livin', what's this world comin' to?”

  Cooper ran his hand through hair turning white with age and thinning far too much for his liking, and regarded the broken figures in his outstretched palm.

  “I have no idea, Carl. Maybe he charges by the pound.”

  In fact, the bride and groom did look a little like a tiny Fancy Whittacker and a nearly as tiny Gordon Harshwaldt. The bride was double-wide, with extra marzipan around the middle and a chunk or two spilling out on either side. The groom was even closer to the genuine article. Tall, skinny as a rail, and how the guy managed to carve those Buddy Holly glasses and massive Jimmy Durante schnozzola, Cooper hadn't a clue.

  He unfurled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wrapped it gently around the broken marzipan bodies like a funeral shroud.

  “She trusted me, Carl. Fancy trusted me with the single most important part of her special day. All I had to do was pick up that damn wedding cake and deliver it here. And as hard as I tried, I still fucked it up.”

  “I'm sure you tried real hard, Sheriff...” Rankin started, but that was as far as he got.

  “The damn monstrosity was too big for my cruiser, so I borrowed Doc Jenkins' wagon. Marigold and three of her girls helped me get it out to the van on a dolly, and we loaded it in just as carefully as you please. And on the way back, I drove as slowly as I've ever done, Carl. I swear to you, I drove that van with Fancy's cake in the back slower than I've ever driven a motor vehicle before. I drove so slowly that people were honking at me to get out of the way. Seriously! I drove so slowly and so carefully that ordinary citizens were honking at the coroner's wagon to get the hell out of the way, and flipping the town's Sheriff the bird as they tore past. Can you believe it?”

  Rankin tucked his thumbs behind his belt buckle and clucked a disheartened, “Tsk, tsk, tsk...”

  “I got it all the way here in one piece, Carl. Not one rosette dislodged, not one cherub disturbed, and Fancy and her beanpole of a beau completely intact. Then I had to get that massive son of a bitch out of the van and into the Elk's hall, and it took the help of an entire herd of Elks to get it done. But we did it, Carl! We actually delivered Fancy's ugly-ass monstrosity in one piece!”

  Rankin stepped casually aside as a dollop of icing peeled away from the ceiling and splatted to the floor, inches away.

  “Uh, but if you got it here safe and sound, Sheriff...”

  “It was my kryptonite, Carl. My goddam kryptonite. We were just hoisting that rosette-covered, cherub-lovin', pink slab of hernia-generating self-indulgence onto the table when I saw it. “

  “You don't mean...”

  “Carl. I don't know what I did in a past life to warrant the universe giving me a punch in the ball sack every chance she gets, but I swear she does. I don't know, maybe I kicked a puppy in a previous life or something. But just as we were getting that pink behemoth onto the table...” He paused a beat, took a breath, and skewered Rankin to the spot with tight, hooded eyes. “It was big, Carl. And I mean big! A good foot across if it was an inch. My hand to God, Carl. Now, I can handle those little green bastards in the garden. Mostly. And I can deal with an occasional daddy long-legs because I tell myself they're nothing more than crane flies with their wings torn off. But dammit Carl, that motherfucker was as big as my hand! No, bigger! It was like Thing from the Addams Family, you know? But black. Jet black. And with extra fingers. And hair. And a whole shitload of beady red eyes. I only saw it once we were lifting that damn cake onto the table, but then it started to skitter towards me with its legs all going everywhere at once, and... and... Fuck, Carl!”

  Rankin laid a gentle hand on Cooper's shoulder.

  “I understand, Sheriff. I've never been particularly afraid of spiders myself, but phobias are a real thing, and I want you to know that I support you. You know, as a person. As a fellow human being. I do not see you as any less of a man just because you are afraid of itty bitty insects. No sir, I respect all my fellow citizens of this planet Earth as individuals, and just because you happen to be deathly afraid of something that mostly scares little girls does not diminish you one iota in my eyes. We are all equal here on this beautiful blue planet drifting through the black void of space, and if you happen to be afraid of something that anyone else might squash with the heel of a boot and scrape off on a patch of grass, then that is just part of the magic and majesty that is you.”

  Cooper narrowed his eyes at the man.

  “Carl, you been watching Oprah again?”

  “Nuh uh. Mindy-Lou posted somethin' like it on my Facebook page. Pretty, ain't it?”

  “Oh yeah, Carl,” Cooper replied, deadpan. “Goddam beautiful.”

  Rankin grinned triumphantly, and Cooper began to pick his way through the pink minefield to the door. He stopped at the threshold and swung back, darting his eyes from one corner of the room to the other, just in case his kryptonite might still be hanging around.

  “Carl, any word yet on Jedediah?”

  “Actually, that's what I come to tell you, Sheriff.” Rankin whipped a notebook from his breast pocket and flipped to the correct page. “Captain Callahan from the State Troopers called in a while ago. Two of his men made the trek up to Lake Habersham and found Jed's campsite. Said it looked like a bear'd gone through it, and no sign of old Jed.”

  “Any blood?”

  “Not a drop, but what with the rain last night, that's not surprising. The boys found his truck down at the turnoff where Agnes said it'd be. The doors were locked, and no sign suggesting Jed tried to make his way back down there. Captain Callahan called in Search and Rescue from up in Jolene. Said he'd let you know when they figure out what's what.”

  “Well, the man practically grew up in those hills. If anyone knows how to take care of himself out there, it's Jedediah Smithers.”

  “Reckon so,” Rankin agreed. “According to the missus, he's made the same trip every June for the past forty years. First day of hunting season, he's up there tryin' to bag himself a buck or two.”

  “And he never comes back empty handed, either. Alright, keep me informed. And hey, Carl, we need this place to be spotless for Fancy's reception. Grab a few Elks and see to it, alright? I have to go find something approximating a wedding cake, or Fancy and the Judge will tear me apart like a pack of hyenas.”