Flood Plains

by Mark Wheaton

  He tried the key again but got more of the same. The front of the truck was the least submerged part of the vehicle, and by his estimates, Big Time figured the engine block was still above the waterline. That said, he had no idea how much might’ve splashed up from the undercarriage.

  He didn’t have to look in the side mirror to be reminded that he had three others and perhaps more with their hopes pinned to him. That’s when the poltergeist slammed into the truck with such force that it almost knocked the whole thing on its side.

  “Motherfucker!” Big Time shouted as the truck crunched back down.

  He grabbed the key, turned it all the way right, and held it. The engine coughed like an old tractor after a long winter, but Big Time held the key in place. He knew he was in danger of flooding it, but he was going to make this work.

  “Come on!”

  On cue, the engine roared triumphantly to life, black smoke pouring out of its stack.

  “Yes!”

  Big Time gave it some gas, and the engine revved but didn’t stall. Mission motherfuckin’ accomplished. He dropped the parking brake, hit the accelerator, and slowly drove the truck up the ramp and out of the flooded loading dock.

  Chapter 19

  Alan climbed up onto the chunk of floating house he’d commandeered first and, with Mia’s help, pulled Sineada up.

  “We have to hurry!” Sineada said.

  Alan nodded. Behind them, what appeared to be a sheet of viscous tar drooled over Sineada’s roof. He hadn’t encountered any on the ride from the bridge to Sineada’s house and had found that odd. Now, he was facing a tremendous mass of it coming straight at his family and wondered if it had concentrated itself there, knowing how easy it would be to tackle Alan later.

  “Come on, Mia!”

  “Daddy, I can’t!”

  Sineada and Alan could both see that, after a morning full of courage, Mia had finally reached her breaking point. She was crying and crying even as oily tendrils descended into the water from the nearby house.

  Alan leaped off the raft and got behind his daughter.

  “I’m going to count to three and then you’re going to jump and I’m going to lift you into the boat, okay?”

  “Okay…”

  “One…two…”

  Before he got to three, Alan felt the tentacles grabbing at his legs. Even in the cold water, the burning sensation that came on as soon as they were through his shoes and socks and pants was tremendous.

  “Three!”

  Alan bent his knees and lifted Mia up onto the roof. As soon as she was safe, Alan allowed himself to scream.

  Sineada moved Mia aside and grabbed for Alan.

  “Take my hands!”

  Alan did, fighting his way to the roof. The more he came out of the water, the lighter he felt. His left foot was gone, the tar now crawling up towards his knee. His right leg was already dissolved midway up his thigh. As if with acid, flesh had been stripped from bone and bone then dissolved into thin air.

  As soon as he was on the raft, Alan rolled over and over in agony.

  “Gnnnh…”

  “Just hold still,” Sineada said, tearing at her clothes to tie off his wounds.

  The black liquid rose up alongside the raft like a wave frozen seconds before it was to crest. It held itself over the trio, a spider waiting to capsize the makeshift boat and consume those who had just fought so hard to get aboard.

  We didn’t do anything to you. Leave us be. This is my father and my great-grandmother. We were just like you. We will be like you in the not-so-distant future. Please.

  It took Sineada a moment to realize that it was Mia speaking inside her head. The little girl’s head was bent down as if in prayer, her eyes closed.

  Please…please. Please.

  The black tar wasn’t moving. It wasn’t receding, but for once, it wasn’t attacking, either. The pain in Alan’s legs was almost too much to bear, but he was blocking it out. The realization that his daughter was talking directly to this plague even superseded the knowledge that he would never run again.

  Please…

  Just like that, the wall of sludge splashed back into the water as if tossed from a window. Even more so, the black liquid that had continued boring holes in Alan’s leg now exited his body like tears. Blood trailed after it, but there was not a spot of black left behind.

  The receding tendrils looked like witch hair gliding away just below the surface as if attached to some great monster.

  As soon as it was out of sight, Sineada resumed tearing strips from her clothes. Alan was shivering, obviously going into shock.

  “I’m going to tie off your legs.”

  The finality of this filled Alan with panic.

  “No, please,” he begged in his weakened state, raising a hand to push her away.

  “If there was any other way, I’d try it.”

  She looped one strip of cloth under Alan’s left leg, a few inches above where it had been severed. She pulled it tight as tears sprang into Alan’s eyes, the pain overwhelming. The problem was, she couldn’t pull it tight enough.

  “Mia. I need you.”

  The little girl came over and took the end of the cloth.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

  “It’s okay, baby,” he struggled to say. “Just get it over with. It’s going to be okay.”

  But he could tell that she knew something he didn’t, something that was repeating itself behind her eyes: No, it’s not…

  • • •

  The trio of survivors on the roof of Building Four hurried to the spot closest to the pedestrian skyway as Big Time brought the rig around from the loading dock. Big Time’s flight had done little to draw away the attention of the sludge creeping towards the skylight and compressors. The farther it got from water, however, the more sluggish it was, as if feeling the effects of dividing its energy.

  Getting onto the roof of the skyway wasn’t easy, as the architect had given the skyways rounded edges, making it look futuristic. It also meant that, when Scott jumped down onto it, he had to immediately plant his feet, as there was nothing to grab if he slipped.

  “Shit!” Scott cried as he leaped, only to land perfectly square.

  He hesitated for a moment, checked his stance, and knew he was stable.

  “Okay, Muhammad.”

  Muhammad was hardly an athlete and even a little overweight. Though it was only six feet down to the skyway, he still carefully lowered himself off the roof feet-first. Unfortunately, his arms weren’t even strong enough to hold him for the required second to get his bearings, and he fell backwards.

  Luckily, Scott had anticipated this and caught him.

  “Careful, you dipshit!” Scott yelled.

  Muhammad finally regained his balance, only to realize he’d accidentally kicked one of Scott’s shoes off the skyway and into the floodwaters below.

  “Fucking great,” Scott crowed.

  “Why did you take your shoes off in the first place?” Muhammad asked.

  “To catch your fat ass. I had no tread. Barefoot, you get some grip at least.”

  It made sense. It also just made Muhammad feel worse.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Fuck yourself,” Scott snapped. “Zakiyah? You ready?”

  She wasn’t, but she lowered herself down anyway. Muhammad moved in to help, but Scott shooed him away.

  “Get back.”

  At the same time Scott was securing Zakiyah, the sound of Big Time’s eighteen-wheeler echoed up from the side of the building.

  “Jesus. Look at that!”

  Zakiyah was pointing at the mass of black tentacles swarming around the truck as it drove. One of the sludge worms rose from water as if to attack the driver’s-side door, only to have it open and a burst of flame kick out at it. The flames shuddered through the worm in a chain reaction, igniting every inch that was above water. It flopped back down into the waves, giving Big Time a few seconds of peace as he churned his way through the water
to the skyway.

  In the cab, Big Time struggled with the wheel. The truck handled like shit, a man staggering through oatmeal. Still, it was like being in a battleship, seemingly impregnable to the elements outside. As he pulled under the skyway, he waved to Scott.

  “Come on down!” he cried, though no one could hear him.

  There were thuds as the trio landed on the back of the rig. Big Time slid over to the passenger side, shook the can of WD-40, opened the door, and blasted the nearest sludge worm with flame. As it sank back into the water, Scott leaped onto the cab’s roof and swung inside, Dukes of Hazzard-style.

  “My man!” Scott said, hugging Big Time.

  When his friend grimaced in pain, Scott eyed his arm.

  “Broken?”

  “Pretty sure, yeah.”

  “Well, shit. Least you’re alive.”

  Muhammad appeared next and helped Zakiyah into the cab as well. Once everyone was in, Big Time put the truck back into gear and rolled forward.

  As they moved away from the factory, everyone experienced spasms of relief. The hurricane may have been pounding around them, the floodwaters rising, and the monstrous sludge worms patrolling not far behind, but for the moment, they were safe.

  • • •

  As soon as they’d left Austin in their news van, Kenneth and Gloria found themselves in a deluge. The entire southeastern section of the state was being pummeled by rain showers brought inland by Hurricane Eliza.

  A few more miles towards the Gulf, and they discovered that Kenneth had been right about the difficulty of getting into the city. Roadblocks had been set up on the highways leading out of Houston to allow both lanes to become westbound-only as evacuation routes. But the reporter’s assumption that there would be plenty of empty one-lane farm roads ignored by other travelers was also correct. The only problem with the farm roads, as Gloria repeatedly pointed out, was their tendencies to flood from just the slightest bit of rain.

  “Oof! Careful!”

  Gloria bounced up in her seat for the umpteenth time as what had looked like a “puddle” had turned out to be much deeper.

  “I’m being careful, but there aren’t a lot of alternatives,” Kenneth replied, creeping the van along at twenty miles per hour. “We pull off onto the shoulder, and we’ll get stuck in the mud. What’s the next major intersection?”

  “Looks like something labeled FM 2920 up there somewhere that takes us into North Houston,” Gloria said, checking the GPS. “Should we try that?”

  “If we get stuck out here, we’ll not only miss the story, we’ll also be a laughingstock”

  “We wouldn’t have to tell anybody.”

  “Definitely. We’re probably past the roadblocks by now. If we get stuck out here, we’ll not only miss the story, but I’d be your personal laughingstock for the next year. That’s almost worse.”

  “Then you’d better get us out of this.”

  Kenneth’s hand went to the radio, only to be reminded that they hadn’t gotten any kind of signal for awhile. Their cell phones were dead, too, but Gloria had had the foresight to download onto her laptop a map showing the projected route of the hurricane. They knew it could’ve unexpectedly turned at any point, but they relied on the map to choose their route regardless.

  “Oh, my God,” Gloria exclaimed. “Is that it?”

  Kenneth slowed the van. Up ahead, the white clouds churned in front of a purple-gray sky. Walls of rain seemingly misted down from the sky, though both reporters could tell this was an optical illusion. The rain must have been coming down in sheets. Kenneth had purposely dropped south a bit so they’d be approaching the storm at its west wall, which in theory meant less devastating winds. The speed at which the clouds were moving suggested that if this was “less devastating,” whatever was at the front of the storm must be cataclysmic.

  “Pretty spectacular, isn’t it?”

  “Spectacular” wasn’t the word Gloria would’ve chosen. Terrifying. Massive. Foreboding. Yes, these were closer to how she felt as she stared at the monster through the windshield.

  “Are we really driving into that?” Gloria asked.

  “When you’re in it, it’s just like driving through a really bad rainstorm. Also, it’s already slowing down. By the time we get there, it might be downgraded to a Category 2.”

  “But that’s still a hurricane.”

  “I’m not saying it’ll be a walk in the park, but it looks far worse than it actually is.”

  Gloria wasn’t sure she believed him. As her boss drove on ahead, she actually began to pray they’d get stuck in some ditch or sinkhole.

  Chapter 20

  The National Hurricane Center was the first institution to become significantly worried about Galveston.

  “We’re getting readings back from our hardened equipment just fine, but there’s nothing from our monitoring staff on-site,” went a report to the Coast Guard.

  “We’re not getting anything, either,” replied the Coast Guard. “We’re considering a landing.”

  Despite the heavy cloud cover, infrared satellite photos revealed that flooding associated with Eliza was significant, with much of Houston and its outlying areas underwater. Emergency services that had been mobilized in Travis County outside the storm’s path were readied for deployment as soon as the governor authorized their release. The problem was, the storm was proving to be a peculiar bird.

  It had washed across Galveston and crept over Houston, slowing as it reached the city. All of this was easily anticipated hurricane behavior. Only, once it was over the most populated areas, it came to a complete standstill, which hurricanes sometimes did as well, only this one wasn’t losing wind speed in the process. It wasn’t dissipating. What threw the meteorologists was that a hurricane drew its energy from the warm waters it passed over on the ocean. Dry land was a storm-killer. The only way it could exhibit this kind of behavior was if it had found a new energy source.

  Despite the conflicting theories about what this energy source could be, everyone agreed that it was unlike any storm system they’d previously encountered.

  The Coast Guard dispatched the lone Hamilton-class cutter in the area, the Van Ness, from its storm port of Baton Rouge to Galveston. Upon arrival, it immediately reported that the Galveston Island Causeway had been destroyed by the hurricane, which surprised many. The bridge arced a hundred feet over the water and was specifically designed to withstand winds even greater than what Eliza brought. The consensus was that the collapse wasn’t caused by wind or rain but by the collapse of one or more pylons. It was assumed they must have been taking a beating from any number of heavy or sunken objects dredged up in the Intercoastal Waterway by the storm.

  It was now being decided if sailors from the Van Ness could attempt a landing on Galveston Island itself. The ruined piers and likelihood of newly treacherous submersibles sunk just below the surface meant docking the cutter was out. However, a lieutenant had outlined a plan involving the ship’s Zodiacs that could ferry sailors directly onto the beaches.

  The ship’s captain weighed this idea but felt the boats were too exposed and an attempt too dangerous under current sea conditions. When this changed, they would reassess.

  The lieutenant protested but was told in no uncertain terms that the ship had sighted no immediate signs of emergency or distress coming from the island, so why risk men? They could be interfering unnecessarily with the work of the local civic government.

  The fact that they hadn’t seen any signs of life at all didn’t set off any alarm bells.

  • • •

  Alan’s pain was excruciating, far worse than anything he’d felt before. He kept waiting to pass out from shock but never did. What made it worse was that there was no telling when it would ebb. There was no hospital he could be taken to, much less a drugstore where he could tank up on ibuprofen or, better yet, codeine.

  “I’m sorry, Alan,” said Sineada. “There’s just not a lot I can do for you.”

  Alan
nodded, gritting his teeth. The raft hadn’t gone far from Sineada’s place, and he even imagined swimming back in there to raid her medicine cabinets. Except, he knew just how dangerous that might prove to be.

  Mia was near-hysterics. She’d been crying uncontrollably since the monstrous, tentacled creature slithered away. The tears streaming down her face, mixing with the rain splashing against it, gave her a mask of anguish. Alan hated seeing his daughter so distraught.

  Sineada tried to pray. She wasn’t addressing any God. She didn’t believe that was what prayer was for. No, she was looking for the answers inside herself. How could she help Alan? What was she missing?

  That’s when it hit her. She was reminded of something she’d heard once about people who could commune with the spirits. Something that she had tried to do as a younger woman, only to discover it was outside her realm of abilities.

  Mia, she surmised, might be a different story.

  “Mia, come here a moment,” she said softly.

  As if surprised to hear her name, Mia wiped her eyes and rose. The upturned roof was unsteady in the water, so she had to get her balance before moving next to Sineada.

  “Take your father’s hand, but look into his eyes. You’re going to go in there and calm his nerves.”

  Alan shook his head.

  “What’re you doing to her?”

  “Just relax,” Sineada whispered. She turned back to Mia. “Right now, your daddy’s body is screaming out. You’re going to get in there and shush ’em on down, ease the pain of all those nerve endings. Can you do that?”

  Mia stared at her, bewildered.

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Five minutes ago, did you think you could stop that thing by screaming your thoughts at it?”

  “No, but…”

  “I didn’t think so. We don’t know what you can do, but it’s worth trying, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yeah.” A whisper.

  “Now, take his hand.”

  Mia did, wrapping the fingers of his right hand in hers.

  “I’m sorry about your legs, Daddy.”

  “It’s okay. I can take of myself.”

  Alan didn’t think this would do any good, but he was determined to manifest some kind of reaction. He knew how helpless his daughter must feel. This might give her some strength.