Stinger
Chapter 4 The Visitor

"I guess this means we walk," Jessie had said while Celeste Preston was waiting on her balcony for Sheriff Vance. Her nerves had calmed down somewhat, and Stevie was no longer crying, but Jessie had gotten the truck's hood opened and seen at once that a flat tire was the least of their problems.
The engine had been pierced by the same object that had put a hole in the hood; metal had been flayed open like a flower, and whatever had passed through had driven itself right into the depths of the engine block. There was no sign of what it had been, but there was a smell of scorched iron and charred rubber and the engine was hissing steam from its wound. The truck would do no more traveling for quite some time - possibly the thing was ready for Cade's junkyard. "Damn!" Jessie said, staring at the engine, and instantly regretted it because Stevie would remember the word and spring it on her when she least expected it.
Stevie was looking at the direction the fiery thing and the helicopters had disappeared in, her face covered with dust except for the drying tracks of tears. "What was it, Mamai" she asked, her green eyes wide and watchful.
"I don't know. Something big, for sure." Like a tractor-trailer truck flying through the air and on fire, Jessie thought. Damnedest thing she'd ever seen in her life. It might've been an airplane about to crash, but it hadn't had any wings. Maybe a meteor, but it had looked metallic. Whatever it had been, the helicopters had been chasing it down like hounds after a fox.
"There's part of it," Stevie said, and pointed.
Jessie looked. On the ground about forty feet away, in the midst of chopped-down cactus, was a piece of something sticking up from the sand. Jessie walked toward it, with Stevie right behind. The fragment was the size of a manhole cover, a strange hue of dark, wet-looking blue green. Its edges were smoking, and Jessie felt the heat coming off it before she got within fifteen feet. In the air there was a sweet odor that reminded her of the smell of burning plastic, but the stuff had a metallic sheen. Just to the right was another chunk of the material, this one shaped like a tube, and more smaller pieces lay nearby, smoke rising from all of them. She said, "Stay here" to Stevie and approached the first fragment a little closer, but its heat was intense and she had to stop again. Its surface was covered with small markings arrayed in a circular pattern, a series of Japanese-like symbols and short wavy lines.
"It's hot," Stevie said, standing right beside her mother.
So much for obedience, Jessie thought, but this was not the time for discipline. She took her child's hand. Whatever had passed this way and thrown pieces off in its passage was unlike anything Jessie had ever seen before, and she could still feel the static electricity that had crackled through her hair. She glanced at her wristwatch: the digits had all returned to zeros, flashing erratically. In the blue sky, the jet contrails all aimed toward the southwest. The sun was beginning to beat down on her unprotected skull, and she searched for her cap. It was a red speck about seventy yards on the other side of Cobre Road, blown there by the helicopters' rotors. Too far to walk when they should be going in the opposite direction, toward the Lucas place. They had their canteens, thank God, and at least the sun was still low. There was no need to stand around gawking; they had to get moving.
"Let's go," Jessie said. Stevie resisted her for just a couple of seconds, still looking at the manhole-sized piece of whatever it was, and then allowed herself to be tugged along. Jessie went back to the truck to get her satchel, which contained her wallet and driver's license as well as a few veterinary instruments. Stevie stood gazing up at the contrails. "The planes sure are high," she said, more to herself than to her mother. "I'll bet they're a hundred miles - " She heard something that stopped her voice.
Music, she thought. But not music. Now it was gone. She listened carefully, heard only the noise of steam from the broken engine.
Then there it was again, and Stevie thought she knew what the sound was but she couldn't exactly remember. Music, but not music. Not like the kind Ray listened to.
Gone again.
Now slowly, softly returning.
"We've got a ways to go," Jessie told her. The child nodded absently. "You readyi" Stevie knew what it was: it hit her quick and clear. On the front porch of the Galvin house, before Jenny had moved away, hung a pretty thing that sounded like a lot of little bells ringing when the wind stirred it. Wind chimes, she remembered Jenny's mother saying when Stevie had asked what it was. That was the music she was hearing, but no wind was blowing and there weren't any wind chimes around, anyway.
"Steviei" Jessie asked. The little girl was just staring at nothing. "What is iti" "Can you hear that, Mamai" "Hear whati" Nothing but the damned engine spouting.
"That," Stevie insisted. The sound was fading in and out again, but it seemed to be coming from a certain direction. "Hear iti" "No," Jessie's voice was careful. Did she hit her headi Jessie wondered. Oh Lord, if she's got a concussion...!
Stevie took a few steps toward the blue-green smoking thing out in the cactus. The wind-chimes noise immediately weakened to a whisper. Not that way, she thought, and stopped.
"Steviei You okay, honeyi" "Yes ma'am." She looked around, walked in another direction. Still the sound was very faint. Not that way, either.
Jessie was getting spooked. "It's too hot to play games. We've got to go. Come on, now." Stevie walked toward her mother. Stopped abruptly. Took another step, then two more.
Jessie approached her, took off the child's cap, and ran her fingers through the hair. There was no knot, no sign of a bruise on the forehead either. Stevie's eyes were a little shiny and her cheeks were flushed, but Jessie figured that was just from the heat and excitement. She hoped. There was no sign of injury that she could see. Stevie was staring past her. "What is iti" Jessie asked. "What do you heari" "The music," she explained patiently. She had figured out where it was coming from, though she knew also that such a thing couldn't be. "It's singing," she said, as the clear strong notes swept over her again. She pointed. "From there." Jessie saw where she was pointing to. The pickup truck. Its torn-up engine, the hood still raised. She guessed the noise of steam and bubbling fluids from gashed cables might be construed as a weird kind of music, yes, but... "It's singing," Stevie repeated.
Jessie knelt down, checking her daughter's eyes. They were not bloodshot, the pupils looked to be fine. Checked her pulse. a little fast, but otherwise okay. "Do you feel all righti" That was her mama's doctor voice, Stevie thought. She nodded. The wind-chimes sound was coming from the truck; she was certain of it. But why couldn't her mother heari The fragile music pulled at her, and she wanted to walk the rest of the way to the truck and keep searching until she found where the wind chimes were hidden, but her mother had hold of her hand and was pulling her away. With each step, the music faded just a little more.
"No! I want to stay!" Stevie protested.
"Stop this foolishness, now. We've got to get to the Lucas place before it gets really hot out here. Stop dragging your feet!" Jessie was trembling. The events of the past few minutes were catching up to her. Whatever that thing had been, it could've easily smashed them to atoms. Stevie'd had flights of fantasy before, but this was certainly neither the time nor the place. "Stop dragging!" she ordered, and finally the little girl was walking under her own power.
Ten more steps, and the wind-chimes music was a whisper. Five more, a sigh. another five, a memory.
But it had penetrated deep in Stevie's mind, and she could not let it go.
They walked away, following the dirt road to the Lucas place. Stevie kept looking back at the pickup truck until it was a dusty dot, and only when it was out of sight did she remember that they were on their way to see Sweetpea.