Blood Island

by Tim Waggoner

  Enrique stood in the water next to Bob, the waves rolling into shore surging high enough to reach his waist at times. There was no way he’d be able to fix Bob here in the water – if the fucking thing could be fixed at all. Bob was currently attached to a wheeled wooden platform to make him mobile, the platform designed so that once the wheels were removed, the pliosaur could be towed behind a boat for open-water scenes. If Enrique had had a decent budget to work with, Bob would’ve been mounted on a sleek foundation made of fiberglass. But he’d had what he’d had, and the wooden platform would serve, provided they didn’t tow it too fast. Otherwise, their aquatic dinosaur would be in danger of capsizing.

  This morning, Lee Fleming, a local tow-truck driver – Big-Time Tow: Bridgewater’s Best! – had come out to help put Bob into the water, and she was scheduled to return at dusk. Enrique would have her take Bob to the empty warehouse Inez had rented for the production’s equipment storage. Once Bob was inside, Enrique could peel back the pliosaur’s rubber skin and let the machinery inside air dry overnight. Who knows? Maybe that would be enough to get the damn thing working again.

  Yeah, and maybe a hundred of Bob’s flesh-and-blood cousins will swim out of my ass, he thought.

  As he rubbed his hand across Bob’s rubber hide, he marveled that a creature such as this was actually real. He’d seen the videos of the killings on Las Dagas. Who hadn’t? They were all over the net. And like everyone else, he’d read all the articles about the pliosaurs that had attacked the island resort of Elysium. He knew pliosaurs – long thought extinct with the rest of the dinosaurs – still lived in the modern day, but he couldn’t quite make himself believe it.

  He became aware of Inez approaching, and he groaned inwardly. He did not need any of her shit right now. She stopped when she reached the edge of the water. The entire time they’d been here, Enrique had never seen her so much as dip a toe into the ocean.

  “So?” she said. “What’s the verdict?”

  The verdict is you’re a goddamned penny pincher who won’t give the people you employ the resources they need to do the job.

  Aloud, he said, “The works are gummed up from the saltwater. They might function after they’ve had a chance to dry off.” He shrugged. “They might not.”

  Inez’s face darkened.

  “If you can’t guarantee the monster – which, by the way, is the real star of this movie – will function, then what the fuck am I paying you for?”

  Enrique gritted his teeth. He wanted to turn to Inez and tell her where she could shove her precious monster, but instead he put his hands back inside Bob and pretended to tinker some more. Inez was the Queen of the Ballbusters, but he didn’t want to piss her off. Any more than she already was, that is.

  When it came to special effects, Enrique was a throwback. He loved practical effects and believed they were far superior to CGI. Yeah, CGI allowed for greater flexibility. You could make a CGI-rendered character move in all sorts of ways. But Enrique thought CGI looked flat and cartoonish, entirely unconvincing. It had no tactile reality, no sense of presence, no there. And since the actors had nothing solid to react to, their performances lacked authenticity. Enrique was on a one-man crusade to convince people in the industry and the audience who viewed their films of the superiority of practical effects.

  Inez was one of the few producers left who remained open to the use of practical effects, who didn’t think they were interchangeable with CGI. He didn’t know if this was an aesthetic preference of Inez’s or – and he thought this far more likely – she didn’t know much about CGI and assumed anything to do with computers was hideously expensive. Whichever the case, most of the films Enrique worked on these days were Imagitopia productions, and if he wanted to keep working, he had to stay on Inez’s good side.

  “So you’re telling me that I’m going to have to wait an entire day to see if this goddamned thing will work or not,” she said.

  “More or less.”

  Enrique knew Inez hated wasting time on a shoot. Time was money, and money was one thing Imagitopia didn’t have a lot of. Plus, she was determined that her pliosaur movie hit the market before any other could be released. Delay was simply unacceptable. Unfortunately, in this case, it was also unavoidable.

  Enrique thought Inez would continue berating him, but instead she let out a weary sigh.

  “I’ve spoken with Saul and Boyd about reworking the pliosaur attack scenes in the script to make them less . . . ambitious. If your oversized wind-up toy doesn’t start working again, I figure we can remove the head and flippers and use them like puppets.”

  Enrique stopped pretending to work on Bob and turned an incredulous face toward Inez.

  “Puppets?”

  “Sure. You remove any metal parts from them so they’re not too heavy, and we con a couple of the locals into helping us. They can slap the flippers against the water, thrust the head at the actors, that sort of thing. As long as we’re careful in how we film the monster scenes – and if we’re clever in how we edit the footage – it’ll work. It’s not like I haven’t done it before.”

  Enrique couldn’t restrain himself any longer.

  “It’ll look like shit,” he said.

  Inez didn’t seem to be offended in the slightest.

  “You know Imagitopia’s unofficial motto as well as I do: ‘It doesn’t have to be good, it just has to get done.’ How long would it take you to get the head and flippers ready?”

  Enrique hated Inez’s idea. It was the kind of thing that made practical effects – and those who created them – look ridiculous. Still, he thought for a moment and then said, “A few hours.”

  “Fuck it. Go ahead and do it.” Before Enrique could protest, she said, “If you get the machine working again, you can always put the head and flippers back on. But in the meantime, we’ll keep shooting.”

  Enrique didn’t like it, but he knew his feelings didn’t matter. Inez would do what she’d do, and it was up to him to either get with the program or get the fuck out of the way.

  “Fine,” Enrique said, managing not to sound too discouraged. “The tow truck will be here around dusk, and we’ll get Bob to the warehouse. I’ll start working on removing the head and flippers. They’ll be ready to use by tomorrow morning.”

  Inez grinned. “Excellent! This is why I love working with you, Enrique. You’re always so accommodating.”

  Don’t say anything, he warned himself. Don’t say anything.

  There was still plenty of daylight left, and if he got started now, he might be able to finish before dark. Then he could join the others at Flotsam where he could drink and bitch about Inez to his heart’s content. But until then, he had to keep being a good boy.

  He started walking toward shore, intending to go to his rented pickup to get his tools, when there came a loud thump and Bob shuddered, as if something large had struck him.

  Enrique frowned. What the hell was that? It couldn’t have been a wave. Bob’s head was pointed toward shore, and whatever had hit him had done so on his right side. Besides, waves made slapping sounds when they hit something, not thumps. Something solid had struck Bob. Solid and big.

  “Get out of the water, Enrique.”

  Inez’s voice was completely devoid of emotion, almost as if she was in shock. Her tone frightened him more than her words did, but instead of running onto the beach, he froze. He looked around frantically, trying to see what Inez had warned him about. At first he saw nothing, but then a shark fin emerged from the water less than twenty feet from where he stood. It was followed by a second fin, and both of them moved quickly toward him. The fins were gray, shot through with crimson threads that reminded him of veins. He’d never seen a shark up close outside of an aquarium, and he’d never seen one with red striations like these.

  As the fins drew closer, their paths diverged. One veered off while the other continued toward him. He watched its approach with fascination. Several years ago, he’d done the effects for an Imagitopia fil
m called Shark Wars, and he’d spent a lot of time reading about sharks and watching documentaries about them. He prided himself on his accuracy to detail, and he’d wanted to make sure the shark effects in the film looked as convincing as possible.

  The detail he liked best was how the fins sliced through the water, smooth and quiet, as if they were moving through air. The sharks he’d made for Shark War hadn’t quite been able to move like that, and he’d hoped he’d get another chance to work on a shark film in the future, so he’d get another shot at –

  The shark coming toward him shot out of the water as if it had been launched by a catapult. He recognized it as a bull shark – a big one – and he wasn’t surprised to see crimson veins running through its entire body. He had time to note two other strange details in the last few seconds of his life. The shark’s eyes were completely red, as if they were filled with blood, and something like an umbilical cord – also red – was attached to its body behind the fin, the other end stretching down into the water.

  Man, that is a fantastic fucking design! he thought.

  The shark slammed into Enrique, jaws fastening on his head. Blood gushed from the wounds, and the impact snapped his neck, killing him before the shark’s weight bore his body down into the water.

  * * * * *

  Imagitopia produced films other than horror. Actions films and low-brow comedies, mostly. Sci-fi, too, if the effects the script called for weren’t too expensive. But horror was the company’s bloody bread and butter. Inez – who was an admitted control freak – had been on the sets of dozens of horror films in her career. She’d watched scenes of torture, murder, and dismemberment without batting an eye, witnessed gallons of fake blood splashing everywhere. Because of this, she thought seeing real violence would have little effect on her. But when she saw the shark jump out of the water and practically bite off Enrique’s head in a spray of real blood, she realized that she hadn’t known shit about real violence.

  The shark took Enrique down into the water and began thrashing its head back and forth, tossing around Enrique’s body until his head finally came loose. The shark then let go of the head, fastened its jaws onto his torso and withdrew, pulling the body back into the ocean until they were both lost to sight.

  It had happened so fast that Inez had been unable to do more than watch open mouthed as Enrique was killed and then dragged away to be eaten. She hadn’t even possessed the presence of mind to scream. But now, almost as if she were coming out of a hypnotic trance, she drew in a breath, intending to release the loudest, strongest scream of her life. Before she could, however, she noticed a second red-veined fin gliding toward the beach. It was heading in her direction at first, but then it changed course and headed for the mechanical pliosaur, which Enrique – dead and likely being devoured this very moment – had dubbed Bob.

  What the hell was the shark doing? Did it think the pliosaur was real, a potential food source or maybe even a competitor, and wanted to investigate? Despite producing a number of shark-attack movies, Inez had no real idea how the fish hunted. Smell? Vibrations in the water? Something else? Whatever drove the shark onward, it surged toward Bob and, just as its companion had, it leaped out of the water to attack. It had the same weird red veins threaded through its hide, same red eyes, and the same umbilical cord as the other had. Also like the first shark, it aimed for Bob’s head. Unfortunately for the shark, instead of bone, muscle, and organs, beneath Bob’s exterior lay a sturdy metal frame and heavy hydraulic equipment. The shark slammed into Bob’s head with such force that rubber tore and the metal frame bent, forcing the pliosaur’s head sideways. The shark fared much worse. Its head exploded in a shower of blood and meat, and it flipped over, flew through the air, and landed on the beach less than two yards from where Inez stood.

  She wasn’t afraid of being bitten, for the shark’s head had been reduced to a ragged, blood-soaked mess. Its killing days were over. Bob 1, Shark 0.

  The umbilicus which trailed back into the water pulsed with a regular rhythm, almost like a heart beating. It lay motionless on the sand for a moment before pulling free from the shark’s abdomen with a sickeningly wet tearing sound. Meat tore, blood flowed, and Inez saw the umbilicus terminated in a wicked-looking barb. The cord then rose upward and began swaying back and forth, like a serpent trying to mesmerize its prey. It was at this point that the part of Inez’s mind dedicated to self-preservation took over. She turned and started to run, but before she could get more than a few feet, the barb shot toward her and embedded itself into the base of her spine. The impact sent her sprawling face-first, and she lay on the sand as the Mass took control of her.

  * * * * *

  The Mass had moved as close to shore as it dared. Its leading edge was practically beached, but the majority of its body remained afloat. The Hunter that survived brought the headless body of the man to the Mass, and it absorbed the meat and bone greedily. The second Hunter had died, but this did not concern the Mass. Hunters were always temporary, and it made no difference to the Mass if its servants died sooner or later, from accidents or natural causes. The Mass had existed for millions of years. Everything besides itself and the ocean it had inhabited was fleeting, of no real importance.

  The umbilici that the Mass used to attach Hunters to itself came loose when a Hunter died and immediately sought out a new host. Whatever suitable lifeform was closest would do until such time as a more appropriate Hunter – such as a shark – could be found. The umbilicus of the dead Hunter had done what it was designed to do, and it had found a new host. But for the first time in the Mass’ long, long life, an umbilicus had attached itself to a creature of the Dry. And not just any creature, but one with a far more developed mind than any the Mass had ever bonded with before.

  The Mass instinctively understood that this creature would not make an efficient Hunter. It was weak and slow, its flesh soft and vulnerable. What’s more, its small, flat teeth were useless for grabbing and holding onto prey – and it couldn’t breathe underwater. Still, there was something about this softskin: the Mass had ingested many of its kind over the millennia, but it had never joined with one before. The softskin’s mind was far more complex than those of its current Hunters. For all their strengths, shark were simple, instinct-driven creatures. They possessed an elegantly deadly design which made them supreme hunters in the ocean, yes, but they added nothing to the Mass’ vast neural network. This softskin had large quantities of information stored in its sophisticated brain, and for the first time in the Mass’ unimaginably long life, it realized there were other ways to feed besides ingesting meat. It could ingest knowledge as well.

  The Mass commanded the softskin to walk into the surf, and the creature had no choice but to comply. When it was up to its chest in water, the Mass commanded it to stop. The Mass sent a Hunter to the softskin, and when the crimson-veined shark was close enough, the softskin took hold of its dorsal fin, and the Hunter began swimming out to sea, bearing the softskin toward the main body of the Mass. And when it arrived, the Mass would feed in a way it had never fed before.

  The Mass was incapable of experiencing emotion, but its neural network jangled with a sensation not unlike excitement.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  When Inez returned to consciousness, she found herself in darkness.

  She didn’t panic. She simply assumed she was in her hotel room, and the lights were off. She had absolutely no memory of how she’d gotten here. The last thing she remembered was talking to Saul and Boyd about script revisions, and then . . . There was nothing. It had been late afternoon when she’d spoken with Saul and Boyd, and given how dark it was in her room – pitch-fucking-black, actually – it had to be nighttime. What had happened in the intervening hours? Had she gone to Flotsam and gotten utterly shitfaced? Normally she was careful to drink in moderation during a shoot, but when the liquor began flowing, she would often wax nostalgic and start relating anecdotes about her time in the business, and after that she’d begin telling scandal
ous stories about the sexcapades of various industry notables. If she wasn’t careful she’d keep gabbing and drinking until she was drunk off her ass by closing time. That’s probably what had happened this time, and while it was embarrassing, it was hardly unprecedented. The real question was whether she’d come back to her room alone or if she had a guest or two lying next to her. It wouldn’t be the first time, and while some people could manage to be adult about such situations come morning, sometimes they made for awkwardness and hurt feelings on set. It was her job to make sure everything went as smoothly as possible during filming, not to create problems by fucking the wrong person – or people – when she was blind stinking drunk.

  She considered saying to hell with it and going back to sleep and dealing with the fallout of whatever mistake she’d made in the morning. But she decided she’d rather find out what she was in for now. She reached out her hand, but her fingers didn’t come in contact with another body. She felt a wave of relief until she realized something. She’d only thought she’d reached out. She hadn’t actually moved at all.

  She felt a sting of panic then, and she tried to move once more. Nothing difficult, just raising her right hand off the bed. She felt nothing, so she concentrated harder, but she still didn’t feel anything. She couldn’t feel her body, not any part of it. She didn’t feel numb, either. Numbness was a sensation, and she felt absolutely nothing. She tried to draw in a breath but couldn’t. She listened for her heartbeat but heard nothing.

  Oh god. I’m dead.

  Her missing memories came flooding back to her then. She remembered speaking with Enrique about the mechanical pliosaur, remembered the strange shark that had attacked and killed him. Remembered the one that killed itself trying to attack the pliosaur, remembered its umbilicus detaching and waving around, as if searching for something else to attach to.