Silurid

by Gerry Griffiths

  “Hello, Kate.”

  Kate turned her attention away from the television and was taken aback by the woman standing by the front door. She had been so engrossed with the news report that she had not heard the bell ring.

  “I’m afraid business is going to be slow for a while,” Jess Murdock said.

  “And why’s that?”

  “The road is closed. Mudslide.”

  “Then, how did you get here?” Kate asked.

  “Let’s say, I had to improvise.” Jess glanced out the store’s front window.

  Kate looked out and saw a vehicle parked outside completely covered in mud.

  “Well, that frees up my day. Would you care for some coffee?”

  “Yes, I could use some caffeine right about now,” Jess said. “You haven’t by any chance seen my brother, Vernon?”

  “Is that why you are here?”

  “It’s important that I find him.”

  “I haven’t seen him,” Kate said and poured two cups of coffee. She handed a cup to Jess. “Let’s go sit outside and talk.”

  The women went outside and sat at a table overlooking the lake.

  “I love it out here,” Kate said, sipping her coffee.

  Kate and Jess bided their time, not saying a word.

  Finally, Kate opened with, “I wish I had…” Just as Jess blurted, “I didn’t know how…”

  They both stopped and smiled at each other.

  “A lot has changed,” Jess said.

  “I know.”

  “I don’t know if you heard, but I took over my grandfather’s business when he died.”

  “The hatchery?”

  “Yes. It was a go at first, but I do enjoy it.”

  “Must keep you busy.”

  “Oh, you can’t believe.”

  “So busy that you didn’t have time for my son?”

  “Kate, you don’t understand.”

  “Explain it to me.”

  “It’s true, I’ve missed Devon. But I’ve been struggling to keep the hatchery in operation, not to mention worrying about my brother. Which is really why I’m here. To find Vernon.”

  “And why do you think he’s here?”

  “I’ve been following his trail.” Jess reached inside her purse and pulled out the journal, which she held up and said, “This belongs to Vernon. I’m pretty sure it has to do with his research.”

  “Research?”

  “Something he’s been working on. I’m not completely sure.”

  “Perhaps you should talk to Jonathan.”

  “Jonathan?”

  “Jonathan Stone.”

  “You mean Professor Jonathan Stone? The ichthyologist? He used to be one of our professors.”

  “Well, it really is a small world.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Victoria Savage handed her microphone to Bernie Barnes, her audio technician, stepping into the news van. He crawled to the rear of the van to stow the rest of his sound gear.

  Tony Carver, Savage’s cameraman, was sitting on a swivel chair in front of a console of monitors and communication equipment inside the van. He switched off the feed that had just broadcasted Victoria’s live interview.

  “How did I look?” she asked Tony. She had spent two minutes preparing her script for the interview and twenty minutes fixing her makeup and hair.

  “Beautiful as always,” he replied.

  Victoria loved the spotlight. Aspiring to work her way up to an anchor position, she had eagerly taken any assignment dished out to her to get exposure on the broadcast news. All she needed was to cover a big story, one that would get her recognition from the network executives. It was inevitable that Barbara Walters and Diane Sawyer would be stepping down someday, and when that day came, Victoria would be standing in the wings to fill in.

  So far, nothing had come her way.

  Nearly all of her airtime had been reporting El Nino related stories while she stood in the freezing rain, usually at 4:00 a.m., yelling into the microphone while a calamity ensued behind her.

  She wondered if the viewers really appreciated the sacrifices she made just so that they could conveniently get their daily dosage of the news and be able to go to work and have something to talk about during their coffee breaks. She knew the viewers couldn’t give a rat’s ass about her. She was just another pretty face for the camera.

  “Did you notice how the foreman reacted when I asked him about that pond by the Quonset hut?” Victoria asked Tony.

  “He was just shook up from last night,” Tony replied, adjusting the tracking on one of the video recorders.

  “Maybe, but I don’t think so. Call it a hunch,” Victoria said.

  Tony shook his head and went back to fiddling with his controls.

  “I’m serious. There is something strange about that place,” she said, eyeing the Quonset hut.

  “What’s so strange about a dilapidated shack?”

  “Tony, I want you to go over and check it out.”

  “Shouldn’t I get the foreman’s permission first?”

  “What for?”

  “It’s policy to—”

  “Forget all that. Just do it. Get moving.”

  “You know, we could get canned for trespassing.”

  “Not if we don’t get caught. Hell, if every news reporter played it safe, there wouldn’t be any news. Go,” Victoria said, shooing Tony out of the van.

  Tony reluctantly climbed out. He pulled up the hood on his windbreaker, shoved his hands into his pockets, and casually strolled toward the Quonset hut.

  “Where’s Tony going?” asked Bernie, stepping out of the van.

  “Wait, you’ll see,” Victoria said. One aspect of her job that she liked was the power she had over her crew. Tony and Bernie were always willing to oblige—not that Victoria was putting out—as she had them wrapped around her little finger.

  They knew that their jobs were as stable as a three-legged coffee table when it came to the media job market. If sticking with Victoria was going to keep them employed, all the merrier.

  “Hey, look,” Bernie said, pointing to Tony sneaking into Quonset hut.

  “Don’t point, you idiot,” Victoria said and slapped his arm.

  “Ouch.”

  “Just act natural.”

  Victoria and Bernie pretended to stow their equipment so as not to look suspicious.

  “I thought you all had left?” a gruff voice said.

  Victoria turned and saw a large man standing in front of her. A masticated cigar hung out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Oh, we’re almost packed up,” Victoria said.

  “That’s some fancy gear you got there,” the man said.

  Victoria stole a peek at the Quonset hut. Tony was just coming out the door.

  “Would you like to take a closer look…mister?”

  “The name’s Gus. Sure.”

  Victoria quickly took Gus by the arm and dragged him over to the van so he would not see Tony.

  “So, what does all of this do?” Gus asked.

  “This is where we do our editing, satellite uplinks, communicate with the networks, that sort of thing,” she said, stalling.

  “Technical stuff, eh?”

  “You bet.”

  “Hey, wasn’t there another feller with you?” asked Gus. He stepped away from the van and started to look around.

  “I’m back,” Tony said, walking out from behind the van. He looked at Gus and said, “Had to use the can. We better shove off.”

  “It was nice to have met you, Gus,” Victoria said, climbing into the back of the van. Tony jumped in behind her. He smiled at Gus then shut the sliding door.

  Bernie got behind the wheel, started the van, and drove off.

  Victoria waved to Gus through the rear windows.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Sean dropped Nell off at the store then drove the golf cart down to the marina. He stormed out on the berth, still angry at Devon.

  Can’t I ever do anything
right in his eyes?

  He hated being the younger brother, always having to take the abuse. He had been responsible and careful driving the boat.

  And what was up with that log? It just seemed to appear out of nowhere. Or, maybe Devon was making it up. Sure, there may have been a log, but had Devon really hit it?

  Maybe Devon just freaked out and blew the ride.

  Yeah, and that is why he was so pissed. Devon just wanted someone to blame because he screwed up. Talk about lame.

  Sean was beginning to feel better already.

  ***

  Max loped around behind the Fallow trailer, sniffed the garbage can, then ran around the front. Barking twice, he scampered off and hid, waiting for Rosie. He took a moment and gave himself a vigorous scratch.

  He was about to wander off to chase a butterfly when Rosie burst out of the doggie door.

  Excited with the arrival of his playmate, Max spun around twice then took off in a strong run. Rosie raced after him. Twenty pounds lighter than Max, Rosie could still keep up with Max.

  They ran for a few minutes, arriving at the beach at Landon Cove.

  Never timid, Max dove into the water. He paddled out a short distance then returned. Rose wagged her tail and jumped in the water. She swam in a circle and came back ashore.

  The golden retriever ran gracefully with his chest thrust out, his feathered tail erect, his powerful legs carrying him majestically up to the campground.

  Max spotted the ashen remains in a campfire pit and rolled in it. He especially enjoyed wallowing on his back, kicking his legs in the air.

  Rose ran up and mimicked Max. Soon, they were both covered in ash from head to tail. Filthy, the dogs darted off.

  They paused for a breather at the chain-link fence that kept campers from wandering into the dam site. Max hunkered down into a burrow he had made beforehand and crawled beneath the fence, leading the way for Rosie.

  The dogs trotted toward the first cave. Max went in about ten feet and began to bark. Each bark echoed back from the dark depths of the cavern. Rosie also barked, her ears perked upright at the sound of the dog answering her back.

  Max and Rosie sprinted for the next cave and went inside. They started barking. The dogs that lived in the cave, but were never seen, replied.

  A loud guttural gasp bellowed from the cave.

  Both dogs retreated, yelping as they ran.

  Max led the way up the hillside toward the dam. Once they were on the summit, Max turned and growled. Rosie nestled up against him.

  Max backed up, watching the cave below.

  He sauntered over to the entrance of the diversion tunnel.

  The mouth of the tunnel was almost twenty feet in diameter; sealed off by an eight-foot wall of sheets of industrial plywood, meant to keep curious intruders out.

  Faded signs: Keep Out, No Trespassing, and Danger Area were posted on the weathered plywood. Tumbleweeds had gathered at the base of the entrance.

  A flurry of quail flew out from the dried brush.

  Max was startled and reared back, losing his footing on the concrete slope of the dam’s base.

  His toenails clicked on the steep cement.

  Unable to get a hold, Max slid down the six-foot concrete precipice, rolled backward, and splashed into the lake.

  Stunned, he paddled through a maze of floating debris drifting on the greenish froth caused by the storm. He frantically pawed at the water unable to see above a jam of logs blocking his vision of the shore.

  The more Max tried to find his way, the further out he went.

  Rosie looked down from the crest of the dam and whined while Max paddled off in the wrong direction.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “So, what did you find?” Victoria asked Tony. They were both sitting on the swivel chairs at the communication console.

  “A mess. Looked like there was a fire. Charred computer equipment, water damage everywhere. It was a regular pigsty. I think it used to be a laboratory. I did find these,” Tony said. He reached under his windbreaker and took out a folded map, a letter, and videotape.

  “I found the letter on a bed in the back. Looked like someone was living in there.”

  “Let me see that,” Victoria said. Tony handed her the letter. “It’s an official correspondence from an investor to a Vernon Murdock,” she said, perusing the letter. She skipped down, then read, “…and it is with deep regret that we must inform you that due to your inability to comply with the agreement stated within our contract, all funds are to be terminated forthwith.”

  “What agreement?” Tony asked.

  “It doesn’t say. Where did you find the tape?”

  “It was still in the VCR. The recorder looked thrashed, but the tape might still work. Let’s take a look.” Tony slipped the tape inside one of the video players on the console and punched rewind.

  “So, what’s the map of?” Victoria asked.

  “It’s a topography map, I know that.”

  Victoria opened up the map and spread it out on the narrow workspace reserved for note taking and the keyboards.

  “Looks like Murdock marked it up,” she said, tracing her finger along the black ink drawn on the map. “It’s a route from the hatchery to some lake. Lake Recluse. Ever hear of it?”

  “No.”

  The VCR made a clunking sound. The tape had rewound.

  “Let’s see what we have here,” Tony said, hitting the play button.

  The monitor screen went static with a snowy pattern. They watched for a few minutes with anticipation, but the picture remained the same.

  “Probably ruined from the fire,” Tony said, but left the tape running.

  Victoria looked out the windshield and saw that they were on the freeway.

  Suddenly, there was a loud explosion and the van rocked. Bernie fought to keep the van on the road and then pulled off to the shoulder.

  “Flat tire,” he said, and climbed out to take a look.

  “Oh, this is great. Just great!” Victoria said.

  The sliding door opened.

  “Let me through so I can get the jack,” Bernie said. Victoria and Tony cleared a path. Bernie rummaged in the back and came crawling back with a tire iron and the jack.

  “You two mind getting out,” he said, stepping out of the van.

  Victoria and Tony got out and stood by the opened door.

  “Hey, look,” Tony said.

  Victoria glanced over at the monitor. The static picture had disappeared, revealing a man standing on the catwalk inside the Quonset hut. Below him was the concrete extension that connected to the exterior pond.

  “That must be Murdock,” Tony said, stepping up to get a closer look at the screen.

  “What’s he looking at?” Victoria could see the cloudy water in the extension.

  Then her eyes started playing tricks on her. There was something in the water—and it was huge.

  “What the hell is that?” she said.

  “I’d say that was one big-ass fish.”

  The screen went fuzzy again.

  “Play that back,” Victoria said. Tony reached in and pressed rewind.

  “We need to get to that lake,” Victoria said. “Bernie, what’s the holdup?”

  Bernie came around from the back of the van.

  “I’ve got some bad news,” he said.

  “What? There’s no spare?” Victoria asked.

  “Oh, there’s a spare all right, but it’s flatter than the tire that just blew. We passed a service station about a mile back,” Bernie said. “I’ll walk the spare back and get it fixed. I’m sure I can get a lift back. Shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

  “You do that,” Victoria said then turned to Tony. “Let’s look at that tape again.”

  ***

  Professor Stone swept the leaves on his patio. He looked in the washtub expecting carp, but the basin was empty.

  “Rosie! Here snookums. Come to Momma,” called Liz, strolling down the road.

  �
��Ran off again, has she?” Professor Stone said, leaning on the porch railing.

  “I don’t know what gets into her,” Liz said.

  “Don’t fret. She’ll be back before you know it.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Looks like we’re going to get some more rain,” Professor Stone said, glancing up at the inclement sky. A slight wind picked up, disturbing the small pile of leaves.

  “I hate for her to be out in this weather.”

  “She’ll be fine. You better get back inside.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Thank you, Jonathan.” Liz walked back in the direction of her trailer.

  “Bye, Liz.”

  Professor Stone took his broom and scooted the remaining pile of leaves off the deck.

  He was about to go back inside when a truck pulled up. He wondered when was the last time the owner had bothered to wash it. The driver climbed out.

  “Professor,” Jess Murdock said.

  “Oh my lord. Jess. It’s been a long time. How are you?”

  Jess said she was fine and explained the reason for her visit.

  “Please, come inside.”

  Jess sat down at the kitchen table and placed the bag down in front of her.

  “I haven’t seen your brother.”

  “Then perhaps you can help me with this.” Jess pulled a thick book from the bag.

  She handed the book to Professor Stone.

  At first, the professor thought it was an accountant’s ledger.

  “Before you try to make heads or tails out of it, I need to tell you some things,” Jess said.

  Professor Stone listened as Jess started her story. While she talked, his eyes kept drifting to the front cover of the book in his hands, and the words: The Silurid Result.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The rain had diminished to a light drizzle for the time being.

  Vernon sat cross-legged under a rigged lean-to fashioned from a tarp tied to a tree to stay dry, warming himself by a small campfire.

  Behind him was his truck.

  The front grill was buried into the ground, the hood buckled. The windshield had been completely smashed out. He vaguely remembered skidding off the road to avoid hitting a deer and careening down through the trees in the dark.