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"Okay," said the officer. "Not much to see here. The thing, whatever it is, is across the river."
"How about the car?" asked Chet.
"It's still here."
"How about taking some pictures?"
The patrolman hesitated. Then he said, "I guess that would be all right. Don't touch it, though. The FBI has asked us to leave it as it is."
"What has the FBI to do with it?" asked Kathy.
"Ma'am, I wouldn't know," said the officer. "But that's the word I got. Some of them are headed up here."
They went around the patrol car and walked a short distance down the road. The crushed car lay at the end of the bridge—or rather, at the end of where the bridge had been. The bridge was gone. The ear was flattened out, as if it had been put through a rolling mill.
"Is there anyone in it?" asked Kathy.
"We don't think so, Ma'am."
Chet was taking pictures, walking around the flattened machine, the camera's light mechanism winking.
"Any identification?" asked Kathy. "A license plate, perhaps?" The officer shrugged. "I suppose there is, but not visible. It's Chevrolet. Several years old. Can't be sure of the model."
"No idea of who was in it? What might have happened to them?"
"Probably someone stopped to fish the pool under the bridge. Supposed to be some big trout in there. People often do that, I am told."
"But if that's the case," said Kathy, "wouldn't you think whoever it was would have showed up by now to tell about his big adventure?"
"That does seem strange," said the patrolman. "He might be in the river, though. The bridge collapsed when it hit. A timber might have hit him."
"Someone must have made an effort to find him." "I suppose," the patrolman said. "I don't know about that." "Did you see the thing that fell?" asked Kathy.
"Briefly. Before dark closed in. It had already crossed the river before I got here. It was there across the river. A few hundred feet beyond the river. Just sitting there. And big."
"It still was on the road?"
"On it, but extending over it on each side. Many times wider than the road. It had knocked down a few small trees."
"It's still sitting there, right now?"
"I'm almost certain it is. If it moved, it would knock down more trees. There'd be some noise. It's been quiet over there ever since I arrived."
"What's up ahead? Up the road, I mean?"
"Ma'am, that is a primitive forest area over there across the river. A stand of primeval pines. Big trees. Some of them hundreds of years old. The thing, whatever it is, is trapped, I tell you. It won't be able to get through the trees. It has no place to go."
"Any signs of life in it?"
"Not that I saw. Just a huge black box. Like a huge, awkward army tank. Except it seemed to have no treads. I can't imagine how it moves."
"And that was your impression of it? A big army tank?"
"Well, no. More like a big black box. A big oblong box that someone had painted the deepest possible black."
"Is there any way we could get across the river?" Kathy asked. "Not a prayer," the patrolman told her. "There's this deep pool under the bridge and fast water at both ends of it."
"A boat, maybe?"
"You could ask around," the patrolman said. "Probably could get across the pool in a boat. If you can find a boat."
"Up here," said Chet, "everyone's got a boat."
"I wish you wouldn't try," said the patrolman. "I'd have check on my radio. Probably I'd be told not to let you go."
"Any other way to get around?"
"Not on the roads. The roads are all closed."
"How about the people over across the river?"
"There aren't any people. That's a primitive forest area there. Miles of forest. No one lives there."
"Officer," said Kathy, "could I have your name? Could I quote some of what you've told me?"
Proudly, the officer gave her his name. "But go easy on the quotes," he said.