Kramer exhaled through pressed lips and shook his head. He doubted it would even be used for that any more, now that a huge sinkhole had opened up in its center. He walked out a few dozen feet, breathing through his mouth to avoid the sulfurous odors wafting over the dry ground. He panned his light slowly over the landscape.

“Jesus Christ.” He started, and felt his neck and scalp tingle from the shock. Someone was there. Still as a post, but around fifty feet further in, standing there in the dark. Kramer couldn’t tell if the guy was facing him or not. However, he looked big, bigger then him, and damned bulky. Marc Rice had been a little dude, according to his girl.

“That you, Clem?” Kramer squinted. “Trying to give me a heart attack here?” Big Clem Johnson was an ex-wrestler, six-eight easy, but this guy seemed even bigger.

Kramer reached down to unclip his gun while keeping the beam of his light on the figure. He advanced a half dozen feet. “Sir, you need a hand?” He waited, but the figure didn’t flinch.

He swore softly, and angled his head to touch the mic button on his shoulder. “Got someone in Knob Hill Park. Not responding to instructions.” He went to take another step, but felt his primitive core rebel. “Ah, Sal, are there any cars in the area you could send?”

“Will, is there a problem?” Her voice contained a hint of concern.

Kramer smiled. “No, no, just like to have some backup. This guy is no lightweight and isn’t talking.” He let go of the microphone, and stood a little straighter. Kramer, at six-two, was a fair-sized man, and broad across the shoulders. But he guessed he fell about a foot shy of this guy and was outweighed by a hundred pounds.

“Sir.” He drew his gun. In the entire time he had been in the force, he had only drawn it once, when a car chase dropped a load of out-of-town gang-bangers on their doorstep a few years back. Even then, he hadn’t needed to fire it.

He stopped his approach, and started to crab to the side, trying to see under what he assumed was a hood or shawl up over the guy’s head. He tried again with the light, but couldn’t see to pick out any definition – inside the hood, it just looked empty – and wet.

“Sir, you need to answer me. Sir.” Kramer swallowed, feeling the pulse of his heart in his chest and neck. He had advanced to within ten feet of the figure, and up closer he seemed even bigger than ever…Or is this guy actually getting bigger? he wondered. One thing was for sure, this was no resident.

Kramer resorted to breathing through his mouth as the smell up close was revolting, and he wondered whether the guy had shit himself. He took another step, but felt his stomach roil, from nerves. His feet were begging to challenge his commands, as if his body recognized danger that his brain was too dumb to notice.