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    The Uninvited
    The Uninvited
    The Uninvited
    Ebook235 pages3 hours

    The Uninvited

    By William W. Johnstone

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    It was like any other spring day in the quiet, peaceful community of Lapeer Parish, Louisiana. But for Sheriff Vic Ransonet it was the beginning of a nightmare. People were disappearing without a trace. Animals were being eaten right down to the bone. Lush fertile fields of crops were being stripped bare. But the sheriff knew the evil that lurked in the barns, sheds, and homes of the sleepy parish. He had seen the creatures with his own eyes. He had heard the clicking of their jaws, the signal that they were on the move to feed their ravenous appetites. And if he couldn't stop them, then every man, woman, and child would die, and Lapeer Parish would be wiped off the map.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLyrical Press
    Release dateJun 23, 2015
    ISBN9781616507848
    The Uninvited
    Author

    William W. Johnstone

    William W. Johnstone is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over 300 books, including the series THE MOUNTAIN MAN; PREACHER, THE FIRST MOUNTAIN MAN; MACCALLISTER; LUKE JENSEN, BOUNTY HUNTER; FLINTLOCK; THOSE JENSEN BOYS; THE FRONTIERSMAN; THE LEGEND OF PERLEY GATES, THE CHUCKWAGON TRAIL, FIRESTICK, SAWBONES, and WILL TANNER: DEPUTY U.S. MARSHAL. His thrillers include BLACK FRIDAY, TYRANNY, STAND YOUR GROUND, THE DOOMSDAY BUNKER, and TRIGGER WARNING. Visit his website at www.williamjohnstone.net or email him at dogcia2006@aol.com.  

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    Reviews for The Uninvited

    4.5/5

    12 ratings3 reviews

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    Review must be at least 10 words

    • 5/5
      It starts with a little spill. Just some toxic junk. No big deal.Until that stuff changes something. Creates something new and deadly.If you hear the clicking, it’s already too late.Another scary good story from this author with more creatures. I can’t tell you what they are. I can tell you they appear from out of nowhere, strip a body down to the bare bones in the time it takes to say, Oh sh#t!, and vanish just as quickly.No place is safe. As the town is slowly cut off from the rest of the world, the reports of missing animals and people rises and more dessicated bodies are discovered.Once again, this author gave me horror the way I like it. Creatures, a desperate struggle to survive, and no guarantees that your favorite characters will still be standing at the end.
    • 4/5
      This was a creepy, crawly, crazy book!

      What do you get when you mix toxic chemicals with insects? Mutants on steroids that grow from an inch to twelve inches! Not only do they get big, but they are also cannibalistic meaning they are very hungry.

      Lapeer Parish, Louisiana with a population of a few thousand are enjoying the quiet life, until the mutants show up. When a farmer's herd of cattle end up dead and all that is left of them are bones is when the mystery surrounds the community. Then people start disappearing, but just a few at a time, so nothing really to worry about as excuses are made as to where the people have gone.

      When more people start vanishing, that is when Sheriff Vic Ransonet steps in and tries to make sense of what happened. Not only people, but pets, farm animals, lush crops, etc. are at the mercy of these mutants. The sheriff along with his deputies go to investigate the farms to find the people, but when they get out to the farms, all they find are bones of what use to be the citizens.

      Night is the worse for the mutants as that is when they come out in full force, but we are not talking about hundreds of mutants, we are talking about millions of them and they love to eat. The only way to know that they are in the vicinity is by the "clicking" noise of their jaws.

      The crap hits the fan though when the mutants bite some of the people as not all of the them die as when the toxin hits their system, they are driven to madness which makes them almost like zombies. It is everything that Sheriff Ransonet can do to keep his deputies alive along with people that have not come in contact with the mutants. Do they make it out alive? Are the mutants able to be killed? No spoilers here as you will just have to read the book.

      This was one scary insect ride as it shows what happens when toxic chemicals mix with our ecological system and things go haywire with any kind of living organisms. Giving this book four stars.
    • 4/5
      I read this book a number of times as a teen.

      Fun book, kind of horrible. Guilty pleasure.

    Book preview

    The Uninvited - William W. Johnstone

    Poe

    Prologue

    The tractor-tanker rig rumbled through the early spring night, obeying the speed limit, obeying all laws of the road, taking it easy around the curves of the state road. The driver wanted this load to get through without any problems, without any close inspection.

    The tanker wore the markings: WJS TRUCKING COMPANY, INC, Wichita, Kansas. But the company would exist only until this one run was concluded. Two men, from the office of Scientific Experimentation, would take turns manning the phone in the rented office in Wichita. Once the tanker was delivered to Charleston, South Carolina, and was safely lifted on to a waiting U.S. Navy freighter, the office in Wichita would close, the phone would be disconnected, and the two men would quietly leave town. The end of WJS Trucking Company, Inc.

    Sloshing quietly about in the tanker was a chemical with the code designation: N-A-N-1-D. Nandy, for short. For a time—a very brief time—the chemical was looked upon as a wonderful discovery in the secret labs of the experimentation station in Utah: a great boon to farmers. For Nandy would not only protect soybean plants from just about any pest, it could also be used as a fungicide. A truly marvelous discovery. Nandy was also ecologically safe, posing no threat—it was first thought—to mankind, animals, underground water sources, lakes, streams, rivers, or wells. Yes,

    N-A-N-1-D

    would, the scientists thought, be hailed as the greatest discovery of this century.

    Then it was discovered that Nandy had a startling effect on one certain bug. Just one bug. Or rather, as it was later learned, one species of bug. This bug has been around for more than three million years. A living fossil, some say. Nandy not only produced hideous and grotesque mutations among this species, but also some dangerous side effects. One employee who was bitten by a mutant felt some unsettling changes in his body chemistry.

    While this particular member of the insect family produced shudders and screams among both men and women since the beginning of time, it was never hostile toward humans. Until it started feeding on

    N-A-N-1-D

    .

    * * *

    Crossing the Velour River into Lapeer Parish, the rig hit a slick spot on the blacktop, slewed once, then banged into a bridge railing. The driver pulled off onto the shoulder and carefully inspected the tanker for damage. He found none. But the impact had jarred loose a nozzle cap on the underside of the tanker, allowing a trickle of liquid to spill from that compartment. As the rig bounced along the state road, through Lapeer Parish and very close to Baronne Parish’s southernmost tip, more and more liquid spilled and splashed out, hundreds of gallons of the chemical

    N-A-N-1-D

    dribbling along the highway.

    It was not until the driver crossed the bridge into Mississippi that he noticed the weight difference and pulled over. One entire compartment was empty. Two thousand gallons gone. In lab work, Nandy was mixed one part to fifty parts water. The government agent—not an experienced truck driver—almost went into a panic. He knew fully well what he was hauling was so highly classified not even the President knew about it. When the chief of the experimentation station learned of Nandy’s side effects, he ordered all work on the chemical halted and cautioned his people to be silent about it. Not one word must leak out; it would mean their jobs. And, especially, they mustn’t say anything about those . . . unfortunate men who had died. The technicians understood; they’d been through this before, many times.

    At a truck stop, the driver put in a frantic call to the men in Wichita.

    After several moments of the most expert cussing the driver had ever heard, the agent calmed down and said, Get the hell out of there and get on the road to Charleston. And for God’s sake, Clint, be careful. Don’t let anymore of that stuff spill. We’ve got to get that crap out of this country and out to sea to dump it.

    But the people in those Parishes?

    Goddamnit, Clint! Will you stop worrying? You know one of the drawbacks of that stuff was the conditions under which it had to be applied. Under sixty degrees and it had to rain within twenty-four hours—and we were working on that problem until that damn bug popped up. Just don’t get any of that stuff on bare skin, for Christ’s sake. How’s the weather down there?

    Clint stuck his head out of the phone booth and looked up at the sky. Beautiful. Not a cloud in the sky. Very pleasant.

    Then we’ve got nothing to worry about, do we? That stuff, in its pure form, doesn’t last long. As long as it’s over sixty degrees and doesn’t start to rain, that stuff can’t mist and float. How’s the wind?

    No wind.

    Hell, it’ll be dissipated in an hour or so. All gone. Those hayseeds in Louisiana will have the finest soybean crop in their history of farming—bug free.

    You suppose we can have a share of the profits? Clint asked.

    Both men laughed.

    Much relieved, Clint climbed back into his rig and pointed its nose east. Yes, he thought, looking out the side window, the radio blaring Waylon and Willie, it was a beautiful night. And he would be very happy when he stepped down from this rig in Charleston. He was also very happy that what had spilled was harmless. He whistled along with the music.

    But early spring in Louisiana can be tricky, with wide variations in climate between Mississippi and Louisiana. In Baronne and Lapeer Parishes, it was 58 degrees and drizzling rain, the wind gusting to the north.

    Soon, all over the Parishes, pockets of what looked to be fog began forming, a gray mist that floated and clung close to the rich earth, coating the land and everything on it. No one paid any attention to the mist. Who pays any attention to fog in Louisiana?

    Chapter One

    Early June—Lapeer Parish, La.

    You ever seen anything like this? the farmer asked his good friend and neighbor. I haven’t. He held a dead bug in his hand. The bug stretched from wrist to fingertips.

    His friend shook his head. Nope. Can’t say as I have. Can’t say as I ever want to see another one. That’s a mean-lookin’ sucker, I’ll tell you that. What the hell is that thing?

    I was hopin’ you could tell me. Like to have scared the pee outta my wife this morning. She found it in the kitchen and stomped on it. He grinned. And don’t make any smart cracks about my wife’s weight.

    I never once thought about it, the man chuckled. His friend’s wife was indeed ample. Was there more than one of them things?

    Nope. And I hope I don’t see another one. Sally damn near gave me a heart attack with all that whoopin’ and hollerin’ this morning. Her jumpin’ around shook the whole house. He dropped the bug on the ground. How’s your crop comin’ along?

    Beautiful. Just beautiful. I’ve never seen beans this high this early. I got a hunch this is gonna be a year we’ll all remember.

    * * *

    I worry about you, Billy, his wife said. You’ve been working long hours of late—too many hours. You need to slow down. You’re not a youngster anymore, you hear?

    I hear, but it just can’t be helped, honey. When I get a call to spray a house, I gotta go. He buttered a hot biscuit and looked at the jars of home-canned preserves and jellies on the kitchen table. He selected blackberry and spread a spoonful on the biscuit. "I tell you this. I have never seen so many spooky housewives in my life. They got me and that other old boy jumpin’ crazy tryin’ to keep up with all the calls to spray."

    What is it this time? she asked. Fire ants getting in the houses?

    No, he shook his head. That’s the funny part. It’s something else, but I can’t find it—never seen it. Whatever it is.

    The woman stood up from the table and put her hands on her hips. Billy, that doesn’t make any sense. If you don’t know what it is—if you’ve never seen it—how can you spray for it?

    He buttered another biscuit and frowned as his wife moved the jellies and jams and the plate of biscuits off the table, out of his reach. She’d been cautioning him lately—bitching was a better word—about his weight. I just been mixin’ the standard chemicals for sprayin’ houses. Must be workin’. No one’s called to complain about it.

    Come to think of it, he silently pondered, that bug man up in Barnwell told me yesterday folks been disappearing. What’s that got to do with bugs? he asked himself.

    His wife’s voice brought him back to the present. She softened her stern gaze and smiled at her husband of thirty years, You just be careful you wash up good and leave your boots in the workshop. I sure don’t want any funny bugs in this house. She laughed. That wouldn’t be very good for business, would it?

    He returned her smile and then put down his half-eaten biscuit, his expression serious.

    What’s wrong, Billy?

    I did see something up under the Garrett house day before yesterday. I think I did. Just caught a glimpse of it. But damned if I can tell you what it was.

    What do you mean, Billy?

    I just never saw anything like it before in my life. That’s what I mean. I saw it for just a second—part of a second—but God! it was ugly. And something else, too: it was mean-lookin’.

    What did it look like?

    Billy started to tell her, then changed his mind. No point in getting into a big discussion about something he wasn’t even sure he’d seen, much less knew what the hell it was. He might even get her all worked up and she’d worry. But, Billy frowned, biting at his lip, he was certain he’d seen that thing, and he was sure he had never seen anything like it before. And he also knew, from years of past extermination experience, if there was one bug, there was sure to be others. And not just a few, either; nature didn’t work that way. He inwardly shuddered at just the thought of thousands, millions of ... them!

    He rose from the table, aware of a tightening in his belly. He had eaten too much-again. But the tightness in his belly, he knew, was not only from too much food. It also resulted from something he had never before experienced in this business: fear.

    Gotta go, he said.

    She kissed him. You take it easy, Billy, she said gently. I’ll see you later.

    He returned the kiss, with more ardor than usual. His wife flushed from the sudden passion in him and pushed him away.

    Billy! It’s seven o’clock in the morning. What’s got in to you? Get away now, you hear? But she was smiling and felt like giggling.

    He patted his wife on the rump and she did giggle, watching him leave, the back door slamming. She would see him again, but he would be drastically changed; it would not really be the Billy she had kissed goodbye, and she would never have to fuss at him again for eating too much.

    * * *

    With the warm sun beating down on the land, instinct told the creatures it was time to move, to march. If they were to survive, they must find food. So from under logs and rocks and rotted places, out of old barns, tumble-down shacks and old storage areas, and from under the floors, in the walls, and out of attics they crawled, millions of them.

    Almost all had survived the nesting period after the short gestation time that spring. Not that the coolness would have bothered them even had they been normal creatures. These creatures were practically indestructible, immune to the elements. But the chemical Nandy had touched the eggs, producing mutants tougher than their ancestors, stronger, much bigger, more aggressive.

    For several weeks now, they had fed on their smaller cousins, and were content with that food. But now their cousins were all gone. The mutants were growing larger, and they had developed a voracious appetite.

    Their metabolism had been altered due to the chemical

    N-A-N-1-D

    , altered drastically, their senses sharpened to a fineness never before experienced in their species—almost a thought process. They became as one, like the much-feared army ants of South and Central America, where for years telegraph poles had to be made of iron, to keep the ants from eating them. The mutants split into armies of thousands, with leaders and soldiers and scouts, with a central point they marched from and returned to.

    None of the pesticides known to man would affect them for long—could kill them. They might halt them temporarily, forcing them to regroup and wait until their bodies could produce the chemicals necessary to combat the insecticides they encountered along the way. And because they were so large, and their metabolism altered so drastically, they could produce that resistant in a matter of minutes.

    Man had finally done it, had finally stepped over the line and produced, as scientists had warned for years he would, a super-strain of insect.

    The leaders sent out the scouts, and the scouts sent back the message: food is near. The leaders began clicking their jaws, producing a tiny sound, and soon others did the same, thousands of jaws working in unison, signaling the march had begun.

    Through eyes that could look in all directions at once, the scouts observed two men talking by the side of the Parish road, near the open doors of a pickup. The men leaned against the hood, smoking and talking.

    The creatures moved closer, through the bean field. The jaw-clicking increased.

    What the hell is that noise? one farmer asked.

    I don’t know. Seems like it’s comin’ from out there in the field. Weird! Come on, let’s go take a look.

    The men walked across the ditch, up the far side, then climbed the fence, stepping into the bean field, lush with unexpected growth. The clicking grew louder as they walked deeper into the field. Then, as if on signal, the clicking stopped. The silence grew heavy around the men, almost tangible.

    Now, what the hell?

    I don’t know, his friend replied, his voice little more than a whisper. Just the faintest touch of fear crawled up his spine, moving around to tickle his belly with cold fingers. He tried to shrug off the sensation, thinking: I’m a grown man, and there isn’t a damn thing out here in this bean field for me to be afraid of. But he shuddered involuntarily, the fear not quite releasing him. His friend caught the gesture.

    What’s wrong?

    Nothing! the answer was short. Yeah, he admitted. That sound. I never heard anything like it before. You?

    No, he said, then slapped at his ankle. Damn! Something just bit the hell out of me!

    Fire ant, his friend replied. Ever since the government banned any chemical that would do any good, they’re all over the place. I lost a dog to some last year. Damn government, always sticking their noses into things don’t concern ’em. They’re gonna keep on protectin’ little fish and bugs and the damn bugs gonna take over the world some day.

    I heard that, his buddy said, once more slapping at his ankle. He raised his hand from his boot and for one second stood staring at the ugly creature attached to the back of his hand. The creature boldly returned the stare. The man’s eyes held a mixture of fear and revulsion.

    The creature’s eyes gleamed with maliciousness.

    Then both men began slapping at themselves, screaming and running across the field.

    * * *

    Baronne and Lapeer Parishes are mostly good, rich farm land, timber, and bayous. Good hunting, good fishing, good logging, and none of the stresses of city living. The combined populations of the two Parishes do not exceed twenty thousand. Lapeer Parish is the larger—land-wise—of the two. There are only five incorporated towns in the combined Parishes, the largest being Bonne Terre, population 8,000. Barnwell ran a close second—population, 7,491. Most agree it is a good place to raise a family.

    The racial mix, both Parishes included, is about two to one, with whites in the majority. While white and black do not embrace each other in passionate gestures of brotherly love, there have never been any really serious, violent clashes. There are hot-headed nincompoops, narrow-minded racists (on both sides of the color line), but most people in the two Parishes try to ignore the troublemakers and go their own way. There are several high schools, about a half dozen elementary schools, and one private academy in the two Parishes. There have been

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