by Mark Wheaton
Big Time thought Scott might unleash some kind of tongue-lashing on Muhammad, but he surprised him by simply nodding.
“I’d say we could try and get in a vehicle, but I don’t know what would keep it from getting in there, too. On top of that, I don’t think we can get to the garage.”
Big Time thought about this problem for a moment. Several things occurred to him at once. He turned to Scott, his jaw set in grim determination.
“I know what we can do. It’s gonna be a bitch, but it might be the only way.”
Chapter 17
It was mid-morning when Sineada realized that the pounding had stopped. The sound had become so repetitive that despite its initial menace, Sineada had blocked it out with the rest of the day’s background noise. The torrential rain, the banshee-like wind, and waves of floodwater breaking against the side of the house had simply incorporated the rhythmic beating of the force below into their clockwork tattoo. When one instrument in the orchestra had fallen out, it made little difference to the cacophony.
Mia was huddled in a corner next to a tiny window that looked over the neighbor’s house. Sineada couldn’t tell if she had noticed the cessation of the pounding or not. Her grandmother had once told her that if the wolf at the door was baying, you knew where it was. If it had gone quiet, it was looking for a window.
“Where do you think it went?” Mia asked, as if having heard Sineada’s unasked question.
“I don’t doubt for a moment it’s still down there,” Sineada sighed, again deciding the girl deserved the truth. “Or would be the moment we set foot on the ladder.”
“Are you hearing anything from the spirits?”
“Not since this morning,” Sineada replied, shaking her head. Then she decided to ask the question she’d wanted to ask for hours.
“Has that happened to you before?”
“The voices?” Mia asked. “Yeah, here and there, I guess.”
“For how long?”
“As long as I can remember.”
“Did it scare you?”
“No, because I always knew what it was. Also, I mentioned it to Grandma once when I was really little, and she explained it to me. She told me that you had it, too.”
Good for you, Clara, Sineada thought.
Clara had died of breast cancer two years before Katrina. Sineada had known from the time her daughter was a little girl that she was a frail little thing who probably wouldn’t outlive her. Perhaps that made her over protective when she should’ve just let her do with her life what she wanted. Maybe she’d been selfish.
“Do you have any questions about the voice?” Sineada asked.
“Not really,” Mia shrugged. “It’s there, it’s not there. Sometimes it’s helpful, sometimes it’s a surprise. I tried to use it to cheat on a quiz once, but it tangled up my thoughts so much I couldn’t answer any of the questions. I can’t really control it. I think it’s been happening more lately, just letting me know it’s there.”
“That’s because you’re getting older,” Sineada replied. “You start to realize that intuitions are actually signals for a contact, and you train your mind how to open itself up to it. Or, as some people do, you train your mind how to turn your back on it completely. Some people who don’t have anyone in the family to tell them what it is take pills to make it go away completely.”
“I’d worry that I might miss out on something important or would need it one day.”
That’s my girl, thought Sineada.
Mia hesitated for a moment. Sineada realized there was something she wasn’t sure she could ask.
“What is it?”
“Do you really think you’re going to die today?”
“Could be,” Sineada said, trying not to sound rattled by the question. “Does that scare you?”
“A little. But you’d still be able to talk to me after, right? Maybe even more than we talk now.”
“That’s a good way to look at it,” Sineada replied. “You can never tell what’s going to happen, though.”
That was when the light began to dim in the attic. At first, they thought the clouds had darkened, dulling the little bits of sun that emerged through the storm wall. Now, the attic was going completely black, starting on the far side of the room, as if night had fallen.
Sineada and Mia came to the same realization in the same span of breath. It had made it onto the roof.
• • •
“That’s your plan?” Scott asked, incredulous.
Big Time had led the others to the back of the building and was pointing down to the flooded loading dock.
“You’ve got a better one?”
Backed up against the garage doors at the rear of the factory were four eighteen-wheelers. The dock was on a grade so that the truck would line up to the concrete lip extending out from the building. This allowed forklifts to drive straight into the trailer without having to be elevated or lowered to the proper height. It also meant that the truck trailers were now almost completely submerged. Only the cabs, further up the ramp, were mostly out of the water.
“First off, the flooding’s so bad that it’ll be in the cab in no time, which means it’ll be in the engine, too,” Scott retorted. “On top of that, if the trailer’s filled with water, it’ll be dead weight.”
“I’ve driven a truck. They make them pretty watertight. Not saying it’s perfectly dry in there, but they’re not flooded.”
“All right,” Scott said, shouting over the rain. “Say it’s dry. Say the thing turns over. How the fuck are you going to get down there?”
“Climb. Also, I’ve got an idea.”
Big Time laid out his idea to Zakiyah, Muhammad, and Scott. It was simple, it was plausible, but it was also crazy.
“If you’re wrong, you’re dead,” Scott said.
“I know. But probably so are we all anyway.”
Scott extended his hand and Big Time shook it, then embraced his wiry friend.
“Good luck, dickhead.”
Big Time nodded and walked over to the edge of the building. A window ledge stood seven feet below, and the idea was to lower himself as far as he could and, hopefully, drop down onto this. From there, he’d secure his position and then lower himself down again, push himself away from the wall, and land on the roof of one of the tractor trailers.
Easier said than done.
He sat and swept both his legs over the edge before letting his weight do the work for him. The rain had decided that this was the moment to pick up. It hammered at his fingers, though Muhammad and Scott were holding his wrists. Big Time knew if he slipped, however, they’d be able to do little. The wind was blowing, too, and his sopping-wet shirt was pressed against his already frigid skin. His teeth chattered and he forced himself not to shiver. One wrong move and he was dead seven different ways.
“Your feet are about four inches off the ledge,” Scott called. “Can you bend your toes down and feel the ground?”
Big Time did as Scott suggested. Although he couldn’t see it, his toes scraped first the glass window and then the ledge itself.
“I think I’ve got it.”
Big Time eased himself down until his feet were as close to the ledge as possible. He took a deep breath, leaned against the window, and let go of the roof. He landed as if he had baby-hopped off a step, except the step he landed on was as slick as ice. He slipped backwards but managed to regain his balance by throwing himself forward against the glass. He placed his hands flat and took a breath to make sure he wasn’t going to crack right through the window and into the factory.
As he regained his composure, he saw tendrils of thin sludge break off from the air conditioner-and-skylight-focused main body and skirt across the ceiling towards him.
“Gotta make this fast,” he called back to the roof but doubted anyone could hear him over the storm.
He squatted down on the ledge, turned, and brought himself into a seated position. If he dropped himself down like he had from the roof, it would be about a ten-f
oot drop into eight feet of water, which he thought he could handle. He knew there was a chance he’d land bad, fall too heavy and sink, smacking into concrete or any other obstacle that had washed in, but he was going to be careful. He was envisioning a nice, clear lane to drop into between two trucks and was trying to will that into existence when he suddenly slid forward.
At first, he thought it had been the same thing that shoved Elmer into the water but soon realized it was just the slick window ledge. He scrambled to regain his balance, but the weight of his legs pulled him right over. At the last second, he had the presence of mind to shove himself away from the building.
When he hit the water, the frigid water was bad enough, but then he smacked his arm into the wheel well of one of the trucks, snapping it clean.
“FUCK!”
“Big Time! What happened?”
Big Time fought to get upright but found himself with nothing to stand on. His arm throbbing with pain, he struggled to get farther up the ramp to a place where his feet would touch concrete.
“I think I broke my arm,” he yelled when the water was finally only up to his chin. Explosions of pain followed as he tested it again. “Yeah, it’s toast. Shit.”
Over by the skylight, Zakiyah’s eyes went wide. A thick tendril of black had separated from the vertical worm and was sliding through the water towards the garage doors at the back of the factory. She jumped to her feet and ran over to the edge.
“It’s coming right at you!”
Big Time had only just heard these words when something impacted with the nearest garage door, smacking it so hard it bent the metal. Big Time wheeled around and made his way to the nearest truck cab. Reaching out for the door, he immediately realized there was one thing he hadn’t accounted for.
The cab door was locked.
As the second thunderous impact reverberated from the garage door, Big Time just shook his head.
“Can’t even make this easy on me, huh, Lord?”
Chapter 18
Across town, Sineada’s mind was racing as fast as Big Time’s. The attic was almost completely dark, and she knew that the liquid was likely invading every break and pore in the roof to get to them.
There really was only one option.
“Mia. Down the ladder.”
Sineada could just make out Mia’s face in the darkness. She was clearly terrified, frozen in her fear.
Now, Mia. We don’t have time.
This startled the little girl, and she got to her feet. The attic door was hard to lower from inside the attic, but the two of them put all their weight on it. It finally broke free, and Mia pushed it down the rest of the way.
Immediately, water sloshed up into the attic from below. The floodwaters were now almost up to the ceiling.
“It’s deep!” Mia protested.
“You won’t be in it long. Just swim to the front door and out of the house. Just get as far away as possible.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be right behind you,” Sineada said, knowing it was a lie. “I’m not going to die in my own attic. Day’s not over yet.”
Mia nodded and lowered herself into the water.
“Come on, Abuela.”
Sineada knew the water was going to be a shock to her system even before her feet sank into its cold. She couldn’t swim but thought she could at least float after Mia. At least until the little girl got out the front door. The old woman had no illusions about getting away from the monster now seeping into the attic but was still surprised when she was bashed from behind by the poltergeist force. It sent her awkwardly forward and into the water with a great splash.
“Oh, Lord,” she cried, struggling to tread water.
“Sineada!” Mia yelled from halfway down the hall.
“Keep going! Don’t look back!”
But even as she said this, Mia had begun swimming back towards her.
“No! Mia, go back!”
That’s when a new voice echoed through the house.
“Mia? Mrs. Araujo? Are you in here?”
“Daddy!” Mia cried, turning back to the front of the house.
Suddenly, Alan, dressed head to toe in his orange prison jumpsuit with “Harris County D.O.C.” stamped on the back, appeared at the end of the hall, up to his neck in floodwater. Sineada saw him looking past her and into the attic with widening eyes.
“Move, now!”
Sineada and Mia flattened themselves as best they could against the wall as Alan swam directly for the attic door. He slammed it shut just as the poltergeist force smacked into it, shaking the house.
“That’ll hold it for about fifteen seconds,” Alan said. “Let’s get moving.”
Sineada nodded and allowed Alan to carry her down the hall and out of the house. When they were outside, the velocity of the wind surprised Sineada. It hadn’t felt this strong inside the house, but now they were out in the storm, powerless in its thrall.
“There!” Alan said, indicating what appeared to be a makeshift raft made out of the upside-down roof of a detached garage.
“How did you find us?” Sineada finally managed to say.
Alan looked at her querulously for a moment but then glanced over at Mia. Sineada knew what he was implying but was still amazed. Who knew what other amazing gifts her great-granddaughter didn’t share with her abuela?
• • •
Big Time knew he was out of time, but he tried the cab door one last time anyway. Still locked.
“Hell’s bells,” he whispered.
Swiveling around in the water, he tried the passenger side door on the truck right next to him, but it was also locked. The pounding on the garage door was only getting louder as the metal began to give way. Big Time knew it was only seconds before the sludge worm got through.
As there were two trucks on either side of him, he knew the odds were even as to whether he’d find an unlocked door if he cut left or cut right. He also knew that if he chose wrong, there’d be no do-overs.
He cut left, came around the truck with the locked passenger side door, and tried the driver’s side door.
Locked.
As he turned to check the passenger door on the third truck, he heard the garage door finally give way. It splashed down into the flooded loading dock, sending waves under the trucks.
“It’s coming!” Zakiyah cried from the roof. “Get out of there!”
He grabbed the passenger door handle. Also locked.
“Shit!”
Out of options, Big Time scampered up the short ladder to the truck’s cab. He grabbed the smokestack and tried to lift himself out of the water and onto the roof of the cab. With only one arm, this proved near impossible until he got stable footing on the air brake hose. Launching himself upwards, he half-climbed, half-jumped out of the water and caught the side of the cab’s air dam.
“Gotcha!”
He was completely out of the water but saw three of the sludge worm tendrils cutting through the muck straight for him. He scrambled over the air dam until he was wholly on top of the cab, six feet out of the water.
It did no good.
As soon as the sludge worms reached the truck, the attendant poltergeist force hit him at chest-level, crushing all of the air out of his chest and throwing him in the water for the second time in as many minutes. It was shallow where he landed, which helped him get back to his feet. The first thing he saw were the tendrils of black coming up from under the tractor trailer to finish him off.
Still dazed, he turned and, believing it to be his last act, tried the driver’s side door of the truck he’d just tumbled off.
When it opened, his entire body reacted on instinct. Throwing it wide, Big Time launched himself in just as the first sludge worm lunged for him. He rolled over on the seat but found his right leg being tugged backwards. One of the tendrils had his foot and was already eating through his shoe.
That’s when he shot a hand under the seat, pulled out an aerosol can of WD-40, and f
lipped Scott’s lighter out of his pocket. The lighter flicked to life on the first try, and Big Time hit the button on the can.
Fire flashed through the cab, burning Big Time’s fingers but also his pants leg and shoe. The real damage, however, was to the sludge worm. Whereas the aerosol propellant ignited and was gone the second it burned off, the flames only had to touch the tentacle attached to Big Time’s foot to set it ablaze.
The tendril recoiled immediately, freeing itself from Big Time’s foot and sinking back into the water. The big man didn’t think twice before reaching over and slamming the cab door shut. He flopped back down on the seat, breathing heavily but not ready to assess his pain as he awaited his fate. A second later, the invisible force that had tackled him off the cab roof began banging on the side of the cab with such ferocity that it rose off its wheels on one side. When it came back down, it kicked up waves of water that splashed high on the window and windshield.
After three or four of these attacks, Big Time figured he was momentarily safe and brought himself into a seated position. His arm was broken, his fingers and a strip of flesh on his leg were scorched, but it didn’t look like the sludge had gotten through his shoe, though the sole was almost completely burned away.
He was alive and safe. He’d escaped the sludge worms three times now.
No. He’d escaped twice, but he’d beaten them once.
The battering against the cab grew stronger, but the safety-glass windows refused to shatter. Big Time took one more deep breath, reached into the console between the seats, and popped four of the ever-present Advil he knew drivers kept there in case they’d accidentally overdone it on the ephedrine. Having had to drive these rigs one or twice, generally just to rearrange them in the loading dock, Big Time knew the keys would be in the dashboard ashtray. He plucked them out, inserted them in the ignition, and waited for the little red bulb on the diesel’s dash to glow to life, indicating the battery was warmed up.
It took only a second, but now was the moment of truth. He turned the key the rest of the way, and the engine sputtered and chugged but didn’t turn over.
“Fuck.”