The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove by Christopher Moore Page A

the Pine Cove area. He stopped and rubbed his eyes. It wasn’t possible.
    Gabe went to the computer and typed in a command. The map of the area reappeared in wider scale. Still, the dots were all moving in a line. He zoomed the map to only a few square miles, the dots were still on the move. Each green dot on the map represented a rat that Gabe had live-trapped, injected with a microchip, and released into the wild. Their location was tracked and plotted by satellite. Every rat in a ten-square-mile area was moving east, away from the coast. Rats did not behave that way.
    Gabe ran the data backward, looking at the rodents’ movements over the last few hours. The exodus had started abruptly, only two hours ago, and already most of the rats had moved over a mile inland. They were running full-tilt and going far beyond their normal range. Rats are sprinters, not long-distance runners. Something was up.
    Gabe hit a key and a tiny green number appeared next to each of the dots. Each chip was unique, and each rat could be identified like airplanes on the screen of an airtraffic controller. Rat 363 hadn’t moved outside of a two-meter range for five days. Gabe had assumed that she had either given birth or was ill. Now 363 was half a mile from her normal territory.
    Anomalies are both the bane and bread of researchers. Gabe was excited by the data, but at the same time it made him anxious. An anomaly like this could lead to a discovery, or make him look like a total fool. He cross-checked the data three different ways, then tapped into the weather station on the roof. Nothing was happening in the way of weather, all changes in barometric pressure, humidity, wind, and temperature were well within normal ranges. He looked out the window: a low fog was settling on the shore, totally normal. He could just make out the lighthouse a hundred yards away. It had been shut down for twenty years, used only as a weather station and as a base for biological research.
    He grabbed a blanket off of his bed and wrapped it around his shoulders against the chill, then returned to his desk. The green dots were still moving. He dialed the number for JPL in Pasadena. Skinner was still barking outside.
    â€œSkinner, shut the fuck up!” Gabe shouted just as the automated answering service put him through to the seismology lab. A woman answered. She sounded young, probably an intern. “Excuse me?” she said.
    â€œSorry, I was yelling at my dog. Yes, hello, this is Dr. Gabe Fenton at the research station in Pine Cove, just wondering if you have any seismic activity in my area.”
    â€œPine Cove? Can I get a longitude and latitude?”
    Gabe gave it to her. “I think I’m looking for something offshore.”
    â€œNothing. Minor tremor centered at Parkfield yesterday at 9 A.M. Point zero-five-three. You wouldn’t even be able to feel it. Have you picked something up on your instruments?”
    â€œI don’t have seismographic instruments. That’s why I called you. This is a biological research and weather station.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Doctor, I didn’t know. I’m new here. Did you feel something?”
    â€œNo. My rats are moving.” As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t.
    â€œPardon me?”
    â€œNever mind, I was just checking. I’m having some anomalous behavior in some specimens. If you pick up anything in the next few days, could you call me?” He gave her his number.
    â€œYou think your rats are predicting an earthquake, Doctor?”
    â€œI didn’t say that.”
    â€œYou should know that there’s no concrete data on animals predicting seismic activity.”
    â€œI know that, but I’m trying to eliminate all the possibilities.”
    â€œDid it occur to you that your dog might be scaring them?”
    â€œI’ll factor that in,” Gabe said. “Thank you for your time.” He hung up, feeling stupid.
    Nothing seismic