Images flooded my head: their life in the murky wetness, a sharp hook in their mouth...no escape, no breath, the enveloping waters of their home gone, while a bright orb of heat lay upon their sleekness...drying their flesh as a shadow moved over their still form, a mouth gasping for breath... a sharp pain...and then, nothing...
I was floating when strong arms encircled my waist and I was towed to the surface where four faces peered down at me.
“What's going on, Caleb?” Jade asked, her face a pinched mask of worry.
Tiff looked steadily at me. “Did ya have an undead moment?”
I nodded.
“You can let me go now, I'm not gonna take long showers with ya or something.”
Jonesy pushed me away. “Yeah, well, the next time you look like you're drowning I'll sic our boy Terran on ya!”
“What was it?” Tiff asked.
“Fish.”
“Geez, I'm not sensing them...”
“I didn't either until Jade pulled me in.” I gave her a narrowed-eyed look. She wasn't sure how to respond to that because suddenly Gramps' face appeared in the sea of teens, his cigarette jammed precariously between his lips. “Taking a bath, Caleb?”
I blushed, feeling stupid. “No Gramps, Jade pulled me in...”
He turned that stern face to Jade, smoke escaping the sides of his mouth. “She did, did she? Well good for her!” he said, flicking the ash in the water where it floated away to pollute and contaminate. I could hear Mom's ranting all the way from Kent.
The Js widened their eyes at the flagrant environmental contamination but said nothing, knowing where that conversation would lead: exactly nowhere.
“It's time for you to get your dead ass out of there anyway and have some lunch.” Gramps straightened, not seeing his undead pun for a mile, lighting a new cigarette with the old one.
The girls watched him, fascinated. That an adult would disregard his health so much, unbelievable. But I was used to Gramps, he was just him and that was a good thing.
The Js perked up over the mention of a lunch. “What's for lunch, Mr. O’Brien?”
“Mac, John.”
“Yeah, okay, Mac.”
“Same thing as I always fix you guys: hotdogs, and bags of chips and all the pop you can drink.”
Everyone was grinning, mine the biggest. Mom didn't allow me to have pop because it had the Evil Sugar. But when I went to Gramps, he gave me an IV of the stuff, that was fine by me.
I heaved myself out of the lake, dripping all over the deck, the dark splatters of water soaking into the wood.
Sophie huffed past me and the Js, mad for part of the day at least. We trailed after her and Tiff, the pissed girl contingent.
Jade leaned a head into my shoulder and said as we walked, my arm slung comfortably around her, “You could have just asked me to swim, ya know.” She smiled up at me.
“You didn't ask me!” I said, my thumb to my chest.
“Yeah, but it was fair. You had to get wet too!”
Feisty, I dug it!
“Way to get Sophie's attention, Jonester.”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe just ask her out and get it out of your system,” John said.
“Yeah.”
Jade smiled and didn't say anything.
Smart girl.
Jonesy scowled, he wasn't quite getting it with the girl thing yet. I went ahead and said it, “Practice makes perfect, Jonesy.”
“Piss off, Hart.”
“I'm just sayin'”
“Yeah, well don't.”
“Geez, touchy-much!” Jade laughed and Jonesy wasted a scowl on her. Which made her laugh harder.
Jonesy sighed and stalked off toward the wrap around deck (in real wood). It held Gramps BBQ-er. Another illegal item as he used those old-fashioned briquettes that caused more environmental mayhem.
Gramps was busy torching the hell out of the hotdogs, taking them off the grill and mashing the whole group onto a huge platter that had a stainless, fork thing stabbed into the unfortunate center dog. Three bags of chips lay open on top of the picnic table that was clipped on all four sides with these metal clamp-things and the pop bottles lined on end, standing at attention on the red and white checkered tablecloth. A huge fishing weight lay on top of the napkins to keep them from blowing away.
Sophie looked at it curiously, wondering what it was.
Jonesy breezed in to relieve her of her ignorance. “That's for fishing.”
“I know that,” she said.
Oh, well that went well.
Jonesy scowled again, he couldn't win for losing.
“Makes a good weight for things.” Gramps stated, squirting water onto the flames to keep them low. God, was that gray water? Geez.
I thought about the memories dead fish and wasn't sure that I wanted to talk about fishing right now.
Jonesy gave up trying to get back in Sophie's good graces and dove into the food instead. Piling his plate with four hot dogs and a half bag of the chips he grabbed the first of the pop when Gramps said, “Why don't you let the girls dish up first, eh?” Without even turning.
Gramps was performing the BBQ dance, swiveling his hips, he danced in front of the circular thing, taming the flames and spearing the dogs. I guess that was a skill.
“Don't you have to register those now?” John asked Gramps, pointing to the BBQ-er.
“Yes, you do, no, I did not.”
Don't ask John, don't ask.
He asked.
“Why not?”
“Well, mainly, it's because they told me I had to.”
The girls turned to him, interested in what he had to say because Gramps was just that way. Interesting.
“All these hot-shot government types spewing their lies around and all the sheep in the country thinking that they know everything. Let them come on my property and try to enforce any of those bleeding heart laws, I'll give them all something to think about.”
Don't ask, don't ask.
Jonesy asked.
“Well, I think I'd start with the kneecaps, and eventually work my way up to the...”
“Gramps?”
He turned his head to me. “Maybe my friends aren't ready for The Solution yet.”
“I'm ready,” Jonesy said.
“Me too.” John echoed.
Brother.
Just then, there was a huge clatter as a dilapidated car drove up, had to be Bry.
He cranked open the door, which squealed in protest. Saved by Bry. I did a mental forehead-wipe.
“Hey guys,” Bry said moving into range of Gramps.
“Hello, Mr. Weller.”
“Hi Mac, how's it goin'?”
“Fair to middling...”
Bry raised his eyebrows and I translated old-guy-speak, “Average.”
“Oh, right, I gotcha.” He said, plopping down next to Tiff and wading right into the food with typical teen boy gusto.
Tiff gave him The Look. Apparently, she had a special one reserved just for sibling interaction. “Ya gonna be okay?”
“Yeah,” wolf-slurp-gulp, “just need to fuel up, didn't have anything at work,” he said, his cheek already distended with a half a hotdog.
Gramps was wiping his hands off on a cloth dishtowel he always kept stuffed in his back pocket. “You kids get enough to eat here?”
He looked at the girls, who all had one hotdog each, except Sophie, she seemed to actually eat food, with two on her plate.
The boys nodded, cognizant of food showing if they spoke.
Then Jade chimed in, “Do you have diet?” She pointed to the pop.
“No. I don't like that crap in the house. Very suspicious, replacing honest-to-God sugar with that fake stuff.”
Jade slowly lowered her hand and shrugged, she grabbed a Coke instead. Like she needed diet pop. Brother.
“And you...” Gramps pointed at Jade, “don't need anything with the word diet associated with it.”
“Right, ah, but I don't want
to get fat,” she stated with her girl-logic.
“I wouldn't worry about that. How much do you weigh anyhow?”
Oh my God, I couldn't believe Gramps asked that question! The boys physically paled and John started choking on his hot dog while Jonesy pounded his back to help unstick the lodged morsel.
Jade sat there for a second, balancing the Dreaded Weight Question with the fact that A) he was an old guy and maybe didn't know he stepped in it and B) that every boy there would then know what she weighed.
“Probably a buck five, I'd bet,” Bry said.
I slapped my forehead, I guess he was clueless too, no wonder he didn't have a girlfriend!
“Actually, I weigh around that.” Jade said as neutrally as possible but Tiff wasn't neutral.
“You never ask a girl what she weighs. It's just, ugh!”
“Yeah,” Sophie said.
Gramps looked perplexed.
John, who was breathing again thanks to Jonesy's enthusiasm, answered, “All girls think they're fat and asking about weight just points out this issue.” He spread his hands wide as if to say, simple, huh?
Well, not really.
“That doesn't make any sense. She's obviously skinnier than a rail, look at her.”
We all looked at Jade. Yeah, she was pretty small.
Gramps shrugged, starting to scrape off the grill. “No diets! Men like women with a little meat on their bones!”
“Amen to that,” Jonesy said, putting his foot in it. It was well known in boy circles that Jonesy was a booty man.
Sophie looked at him and smiled. He grinned right back. All was forgiven.
Huh, I guess he was practicing after all.
****
Bry had been late because he had to work during the summer. Us gonna be freshman had it good as nobody gets to work before sixteen anymore. (Gramps had a LOT to say over that.) Bry worked, as he called it, as a “landscape gopher.” He ran around doing all kinds of gardening crap for rich people.
We all cleaned up our plates and put them in Gramps' sink.
“Where's the gray water thingy?” Sophie asked.
Gramps' standard response to everything, “Grandfathered.”
“Ah, okay. So, where do I?” She looked around in confusion.
I took the plate from her and stopped up the drain and began running the hot water, which churned out about sixty gallons per second, steaming as it landed against the white porcelain. I then added soap and bubbles formed.
The Js followed suit since they knew their way around the house better. They scraped their plates right into the trashcan as Tiff said, “Wow, no separator. How does he get away with that?”
“Grandfathered,” the Js said in unison.
Gramps barked out a laugh and nodded at them, good thinking.
Bry took a real look around the house, noticing all the non-sanctioned stuff.
“Well,” Gramps responded, “I take all my trash to the Kent Separator and give them my, I-don't-give-a-tree-hugging-damn-card, and they have to suck it up and take my trash,” he said with a grin.
The girls gasped, the Js grinned and a big smile started to form on Bry's face.
Brother.
“So, let me get this straight,” Bry said, looking around. “You don't believe in saving the environment?”
Gramps planted his hands on his hips and I was eerily reminded of Mom, who had a similar stance right before she was gonna Make Her Point. “It's the principle Bryan, that these tree-hugging liberals and bleeding heart types aren't going to tell my old ass what to do. It rubs me the wrong way.”
No, really?
Gramps had a way with his delivery, he and Jonesy got along marvelously.
Huh.
Bry was dying to swim after a hot day in the sun battling the plants so we took off to unearth Gramps' canoes. He had two biggies, one orange and the other blue. We piled into them, two guys in each one and had canoe fights for two hours. Jonesy would hit the flat end of the oar, skimming the water's surface and the arc of water would catch Bry in the face. Jonesy, a natural athlete, was so consistent with this maneuver that Bry leaped out of the canoe. Tipping me out in the process, as he swam to Jonesy, who in a state of panic jumped out of the canoe and headed for shore.
Bry tipped the Js' canoe, effectively drowning John (who was guilty by association) and swam with a vengeance for Jonesy. His muscles bunched and worked and Jonesy's terror at getting nailed made him speedy. In the end, Bry caught him and gave him a few hundred dunkings.
Gramps strolled up and said diplomatically to Jonesy, “Better say 'uncle' or Bryan here is going to feed you to the fish.”
“Uncle!” Jonesy screamed.
The girls giggled at Jonesy's girl-like squeal. Which, of course, made us all turn to them and triangulating their position, we all swam after them like bees to honey. They thought they were safe in the water! They squealed as we approached, laughing so hard they weren't making good headway. As we got to them, I could hear Gramps' laughter in the background, just another summer day at the lake with a bunch of energetic teenagers.
He didn't know the half of it.
CHAPTER TWO
We straggled out of the lake like a pack of drowned rats, heading to the munched up pile of beach towels and started drying off.
“I need to take off soon. Who's gonna need a ride?” Bry asked.
We all looked at each other. Mom was gonna pick me up in an hour and I figured that Bry didn't have the room for us all and I said that.
“Nah, I can stuff the whole crew in there.”
We looked speculatively at the car, not sure if it could hold us.
Not sure if it could make it.
“Thanks, but it might be a hassle and there aren't enough restraints,” I said.
Bry shrugged. “Okay, suit yourself.”
Gramps was picking up around the lake's edge where the concrete met the water. Back a million years ago when Gramps was a “young stud,” as he always explained, he had a super-fast jet boat and used to water ski. I couldn't wrap my mind around that.
“You kids coming next weekend?” Gramps asked, bending over to get a towel off the grass.
He shot me a look in question, but Jonesy was the one that answered, “Hell yeah!” He did a fist-pump.
Gramps said, “Language infidel.”
Jonesy said, “Ah, right, sorry.”
John and I smiled. Only Gramps could truly put Jonesy in his place.
“I want to. Dumb school starts in two weeks and then summer's over,” I said with true dejection.
John said, “It's not going to be that bad. We're finally freshmen and you can get some training.”
Yeah, training.
Zombies: sit, stay, roll-over, play dead. Perfect.
Jade put her arm around my waist, her flesh warm against the damp band of my swim trunks, squeezing my side. I half-turned, pressing her body into mine.
Bry yelled, “Tiff, come on.”
Tiff was running around, trying to collect all her crap (for a guy-ish acting girl she sure had an ass-load of gear).
“Hold on to your trunks, ya pain.”
Bry sighed and walked over to his car, turning to Gramps he said, “Thanks, Mac.”
Gramps gave him a smile. “Anytime.”
Just then, a car full of kids came slinking past Gramps' front gate, swung open to accommodate Bry's car. Slowing to a crawl, I squinted, trying to recognize the driver.
It was Carson Hamilton.
My sworn enemy, the jerk-off that had given me a truckload of crap last year and finally declared an uneasy truce. I narrowed my eyes into slits. What the hell did he want?
“Hey isn't that...” Bry started.
“Yeah,” Tiff answered.
“This can't be good,” John said.
“What are those dickheads doing here?” Jonesy said.
Gramps walked up giving Jonesy The Look again but was distracted by the honking.
It was Brett, leaning over
the top of Carson, palm flattened out on the steering column, laying on the horn with his body.
“What in the Sam Hill is going on here?” Gramps asked rhetorically, throwing the towel down, hitching up his pants and striding over to the car.
Oh crap, this was going to get bad. Gramps had less of a filter than Jonesy.
I jogged to keep up with Gramps and just as we got to the car, Carson yelled, “Having fun with the fags and sluts, Caleb?” Then Brett gave the middle finger salute to Gramps and I.
Gramps leaned forward, a vein pulsating in his forehead. Oh, wow...
Carson tramped his foot down on the accelerator, peeling out where the asphalt met the driveway. Gravel sprayed up under the tires as they spun off, two or three hands waving out of the car. All with strategic fingers splayed.
Guess which ones?
Jade walked up behind Gramps and I, her beach towel clutched tightly around her. “I thought they said they wouldn't bug us.”
“Well, that's a long time for those morons to have 'bully-amnesia',” John said.
“It's been what? A whole two months?” Bry asked.
“Two and half,” I said.
“Who was that carload of assholes?” Gramps asked, lighting a fresh cigarette that bobbed distractingly as he spoke.
“Some creeps from our school losers,” Sophie said.
“Why would they be here, though?” Tiff asked logically.
“I don't know, but it can't be good,” I said.
Gramps turned, shielding his eyes from the fading sun. “They have people out here in Driftwood Point?”
I didn't think so. Hell, it was thirty minutes from Kent, well out of the range of cruising territory.
Bry snapped his fingers. “Wait a sec,” palming his chin, “isn't Carson a freshman? What's his dumb ass doing driving?”
Good point.
“You guys didn't know? He was held back.” Sophie said.
Figures.
The Js nodded and Jonesy asked, “He's how old then?”
Tiff rolled her eyes. “Gee, I wonder Jones? Sixteen maybe?”
She had him there. Ya had to be sixteen to drive. Mama and daddy must've paid for that special summer driving course.
“That makes sense, I mean, his parents probably heat the house with bundles of cash thrown into the fireplace,” Bry said.
The Death Series, Books 1-3 (Dark Dystopian Paranormal Romance): Death Whispers, Death Speaks, and Death Inception Page 32