by Michael Ford
“Help me get it to the water,” he said.
They lifted one end of the trailer together and rolled it down toward the water’s edge, then let the boat slide on its rollers into the water with less of a splash than a sickly squelch. It sent a thick ripple out into the lake. Kobi waited for it to settle.
“Do you know how to get it started?” asked Asha.
“It won’t,” said Kobi. “Any gas in the tank must have gone bad years ago.”
You can do this. Treading cautiously, but trying to look unafraid, he waded into the shallows, pausing every few steps to scan for movement. The water was clammy around his ankles. He climbed into the boat and opened one of the side compartments beneath the seats. His senses screamed at him to get out of the water. The first compartment contained cushions, but the one opposite had two oars.
Asha, still standing on the shore, had her hands on the stern. “Kobi,” she said, jutting her chin toward the water. “I can feel something. Out there.”
He paused. “What?”
“I don’t know.”
“An animal?”
“Maybe.” She frowned as if trying to order her own thoughts. “It’s like . . . It wants us to come to it.”
Kobi swallowed. The truth was, Kobi could sense something too even though he had no telepathic powers. The strange panicky terror. It went through his whole body, tingling his skin, making his heartbeat explode in fits of palpitations he couldn’t stop, no matter how much he tried to calm himself.
“I can go on alone,” he said again. “You’ve taken me this far.” The words wavered at the thought of being on his own: suddenly it seemed so much worse. I have to. We have no choice.
Asha shook her head. “We have more Horizon. We can go with you.” Fionn nodded quickly.
“You’re all sick,” he said. “It’s only going to get worse.”
“He’s kinda right,” said Yaeko. She held up her hands. “Just saying.” She coughed into one hand, louder than before. “That wasn’t fake.”
Fionn was already climbing into the boat. “Kobi needs us.”
“I’m going too,” said Asha, boarding. “You can stay here, Yaeko, but you’ll be on your own.”
Yaeko hugged herself. “Well, that sounds great.” She put her hands on the edge of the boat and swung a leg over. “Guess I’m coming.”
“If we run into trouble, we can turn back,” said Kobi. He surveyed the dead water. As long as whatever’s out there lets us.
He took one oar, and Asha the second. They pushed off. Dipping the oars into the thick scum, they paddled, slow and steady, across the water. Kobi kept his eyes on the surface, looking for any sign of movement. Asha was staring out ahead, through the pall of slithering mist. Kobi had the odd, illogical impression that they were rowing toward nothingness or an abyss of some sort, a dark emptiness that expanded and contracted like some massive, living, malevolent thing. His eyes struggled to focus on any landmark—it made him dizzy and left him blinking. Each time he dipped the paddle into the water, it was swallowed by blackness. Yaeko rubbed her temples, and Kobi realized he had a headache too. Was the Waste making him ill? How was that possible? I’m supposed to be immune.
The mist thickened, closing over them and blocking off any view of the shore from which they’d set out. There was no clear sight on the island ahead either, and for a few seconds Kobi felt lost, directionless, and his heart beat faster. Then, just as the claustrophobia reached an unbearable pitch and he was thinking about turning back, the mist opened up again, delivering a glimpse of their destination. Just a dark, shallow, featureless landmass. He paddled more urgently. Above the swish of his oar in the water, he heard one of the others whisper but couldn’t make out the words.
“What?” he asked.
“Huh?” said Asha.
The whispering sound started again, but this time it came from somewhere to their left.
“I heard it too,” said Yaeko quietly. “A voice. I don’t like this.”
They looked at one another as the hushed words—or maybe they weren’t words, more a sigh—drifted across the lake.
“Hello?” called Asha. “Who’s there?”
But there was no reply.
“I feel sick,” said Yaeko. Kobi struggled to focus on her, his vision swimming.
“I feel weird too,” said Asha.
Fionn suddenly retched, grabbing the side of the boat and throwing up over the side. Asha dropped her oar and went to him. “We need another dose of Horizon,” she said grimly.
The sight of Fionn made Kobi’s own stomach lurch. Yaeko dished out more syringes, and they injected themselves. He thought of his conversation with Johanna about his powers, how he had believed he had a connection with the Waste, like he needed it. Shouldn’t the Waste be making me stronger? Kobi wondered if he should take the Horizon. Maybe I was wrong. Is the Waste so strong here, it’s getting to me too? Or is this something else . . . ? A warning? But Kobi felt himself pulled onward, like the crippling weight affecting him was also some kind of magnetic pull. He found his thoughts were slow and confused. I need to go on. I need to go on.
Kobi wasn’t sure how long they’d been rowing. Had it been ten minutes or an hour? How much farther could it be? “We should be close,” he said, and his voice sounded odd in his ears. He was half trying to convince himself. He could barely talk from panic. Every second was a battle with the creeping, gnawing waves of fear that rippled down his shoulder blades, as if the waves were a physical force originating from somewhere outside him. Calling. Warning. But somehow intoxicating.
Yaeko moaned. “We have to turn back,” she said. “My head’s pounding. I feel really sick.”
Kobi heard himself agree, but he only rowed harder. Something was drawing him toward the island. He dipped the oar again and dragged them closer.
“Kobi,” said Asha. “I think she’s right. There’s something in the air. I think it’s this mist.”
Her voice sounded distant, and though Kobi heard her words, they didn’t make sense to him, as if they were in another language. There was another voice speaking to him, and it urged him to come to the island. It welcomed him.
“Kobi?” Fionn, his voice clearer, spoke his name. “Kobi, what’s wrong?”
Kobi turned to see all three of them looking in his direction. Yaeko could barely hold herself upright, and Asha’s lips were moving, but no sounds were coming out.
“I’ve got to keep going,” he said. He dipped the oar again.
“No,” said Fionn. “I was wrong, Kobi! Listen. We can’t make it out here! Take us back.” A pause. “He’s not listening. We’ve got to stop him.”
He’s talking about me!
Asha reached for him and took hold of the paddle, but Kobi ripped it free. The boat rocked as he fell down beside the wheel. The other three were looking at him, afraid. What was wrong with them?
Asha grabbed the paddle again, as did Fionn. “Give it to us!” said Fionn. “You’re not thinking straight.”
But the island was calling. And it was close. Kobi looked at his companions, then went to the edge of the boat.
“What are you doing?” said Asha.
I have to go to it. I have to.
He heard Asha call out his name as he jumped over the side, plunging into the black, rotting abyss. The cold shock of the water left him reeling, and sudden darkness closed over him. Splashing to the surface, he twisted, looking for the boat, but it was gone. The mist kept him from seeing anything. It curled around him, forming animal-like shapes or the tendrils of Chokers. They reached into his mouth, ears, down his throat. Somewhere Asha was calling his voice, shrill and terrified. The panic sharpened his senses. Why had he jumped? It was crazy. Black algae weighed down his arms, filled his nostrils with its rancid stench. Which way was the boat? He could still hear Asha but not clearly. There was another presence, a wordless voice—the dread itself entering his head, pulling him, urging him on.
I have to go to the voice, thought Kobi.
Lifting his arms through the heavy algae, his heart feeling like it wanted to burst from his chest, Kobi swam, trying to keep the water from sloshing into his mouth. He saw the island dimly, a smudge of gray rising out of the water, and adjusted his course. He could make it. Part of him worried about the others, but that part was drowned out by his own instinct for survival, by the magnetic fear calling to him.
The Waste. That’s what it is. The Waste itself. It knows me. It remembers me.
The water swelled not far ahead, a large wave, rippling out like something was just beneath the surface. Terror screamed in his ears. Kobi glided to a stop, barely daring to kick out and disturb the black lake around him. Something broke the surface. His heart seemed to stop for a moment, his entire rib cage clenching over it like a fist. It was a tall black fin, cutting like a gleaming knife. And he knew, suddenly, where he was. Back in the past. Back in the water. Kobi was just nine years old again, lost, alone. And it was coming for him.
“Dad!” he called out. “I need you! Help me.”
The creature from the deep had come to take him. The fin sliced toward Kobi, slipping beneath the surface as it headed in his direction. All Kobi could do was tread water, waiting, his legs dangling and exposed. The predator could snatch him under at any moment. A gap in the mist opened up, and the island shore was close—maybe thirty yards away. He might not get another chance.
He screamed and thrashed, windmilling his arms, kicking his legs, heaving a wake through the clogging algae.
The voice that had called to him was gone, replaced with a howling, screeching echo from the water itself. The orca’s call, like a siren. Others answered, and on his right Kobi saw two more fins slicing up. A pod. They’re everywhere.
They were converging toward him at a leisurely pace, playing with him.
Only twenty yards to shore, but there was no chance he could make it. He spotted another swell to his left; there were more. A body rose above the waterline, a hulking mass of scarred black flesh. It turned quite suddenly, striking out toward him. Kobi stopped swimming, transfixed, staring at his own death. Kobi saw a head half above the water. Gleaming yellow eyes. A pink-gummed mouth more elongated than a natural orca’s—almost like a crocodile’s—and gaping yards wide, lined with hundreds of teeth bigger than him. A stink of rottenness. Kobi threw his arms in front of his face, bracing for the massive jaws to crush his body.
13
THEY NEVER CAME. AS Kobi lowered his arms, the killer whale was gone, and the water was still. Completely still. A shiver wracked his limbs. There were no fins. No sounds. No danger.
I imagined all of it.
The realization cleared his mind a little. Slowly, the screeching panic left him, leaving only the same dull fear as before, spreading into his mind and clouding his thoughts.
Was it testing me? Whatever is calling me?
He was able to swim again, the last few yards, toward the shore. Soon he could put down his feet into the sludge of the lake bed. He dragged himself onto swampy land, rolled over onto his back. For a moment he lay there. The headache was gone, his mind clear.
I made it, but what about the others?
He stood up, feet sinking to ankle depth in the mud. “Asha?” he called. “Fionn?
No one replied. He called again, and again, until his voice was hoarse. He told himself they’d be okay. Prayed they didn’t come any nearer. If they’d returned to the mainland, they might be all right. If they’re hurt, it’s my fault. I kept rowing. Why? Why did I do it?
The guilt fell away. All he felt was the presence of the island, dark and foreboding, at his back.
“I’m alone,” he whispered into the wind, which was humid, rippling his damp clothes as if searching him. “You were right, Dad. I had to come here by myself.”
He trudged up the shoreline, sinking with each stride as the ground sucked at his feet. The mist here was just as thick, and each time he stepped, more of it seemed to rise from the mud. Every so often, he would trip on a root—they threaded through the mud, pale as bones, only to emerge in stubby, twisted trees that reached inland with skeletal branches as if blasted by an invisible wind.
The stunted forest thickened, with trees intertwined or sprouting up alone only for their branches to join another trunk high above, giving the impression that the whole forest was one giant entangled morass. In some places, from the corner of his eye, Kobi thought he even saw roots twitch or jerk, tightening their grip on the earth or folding over one another in a sinister embrace. He stepped with care, trying to stay clear, and stranger sights appeared through the mist. Here, farther from the water, the trees weren’t completely dead. Some had leaves, rustling in a breeze he couldn’t feel. Before his eyes the leaves swelled on their stems before blackening and falling to the ground. More replaced them, growing, then wilting as he watched. There were flowers too, flashes of color, growing from vines that tangled around the branches. Their petals trembled, then curled over and floated to the swampland, where they were swallowed. Fungi swelled, then burst, showing the fibers of their innards before crumbling to dust.
As he pushed deeper, among the rapid cycles of nature, the voices came again. Whispers at first, which came from the trees. He couldn’t make out the words, but they were at once comforting and exhilarating, filling his chest with a feeling of belonging. You belong here. This place is yours. Stay with us. Be with us. He breathed deeply, letting the Waste fill his lungs, almost sensing it in his blood pumping to every part of him. He’d never felt more alive. Ahead a strange round ball of leafy material swelled like a tumor from the slimy earth. Kobi stared at it. Suddenly it exploded, sending a cloud of spores into the air in a violent gust. Kobi held up a hand, but the spores covered his face, entering his nose and mouth, and for a second his vision swam with strange colors, and the voice screamed in his ear.
You’re with us now.
His foot snagged, and he tried to pull it up, but it was held fast. Looking down, he saw a root had fully encircled his ankle. As he tugged again, it slithered farther around his lower leg, doubling the loop.
You’re with us now, Kobi.
“No!” he said. He kicked at the root, then pulled out the Swiss army knife from his buttoned pocket and hacked as close to his foot as he dared, and the blade bit into the white fibrous flesh of the root. It recoiled, but then it tightened and suddenly jerked his foot into the ground, so he sank to his knee. Kobi flailed for balance, crashed down on the other knee as a second white tendril climbed up to his waist. He tried to swing the knife, but something had his wrist too. As it squeezed, he dropped the blade. The power of the white roots was unyielding and astonishing, dragging his arm toward the ground.
Don’t fight us. Let us take you.
The voice was calm, but the sensation was anything but. The ground had turned more liquid, and he sank farther, up to his chest.
“Help!” he yelled though he knew no one could hear. “Help me!”
More tendrils of pale wood, knotty and covered in dirt, climbed his torso, encircled his neck. The pressure, when it came, cut off his air at once. He still had one arm free, and he slid a finger between the root and his skin. He managed to pry the root away long enough to draw a breath, but another snaking root took that hand too.
“Help!” he choked as the water bubbled up around his neck. More delicate roots were sprouting, exploring his face like fingers, brushing his eyes. He wanted to scream, but his mouth was going under.
Just as he swallowed a clot of choking mud, a shape appeared through the mist—a human shape and a point of flickering orange light.
“Dad!” Kobi called, a shard of hope penetrating through the confusion clouding his mind. “I’m over here. Pull me out!”
But as the figure approached, Kobi saw it wore a biohazard suit. His whole body jerked with horror.
CLAWS.
They’d found him. He scrambled one last time but knowing he could never get free. The CLAWS agent lifted something metallic. Gun-shaped. A jet o
f flame lit up the air, directed right toward him.
He woke screaming, throwing up his arms. Everything was too bright, and he had to clamp his eyes closed. His mouth felt gritty. But slowly he managed to squint into the light.
And nothing made sense.
He was lying in a comfortable single bed with metal posts, on linen as white as fresh snow. The room around him was a child’s bedroom, with shelves of picture books and wooden models of trains and cars. On a shelf, a one-eyed teddy bear sat slumped at an angle. Beside the bed on a small table, there was an old-fashioned alarm clock and a family photograph. A man and a woman holding a baby on a beach somewhere and a little boy of about seven kicking sand.
A breeze tickled the thin curtains. The smells of flowers and fresh-cut grass reached Kobi’s nose.
It must be a dream, he thought, or another hallucination.
At least it was a nice one.
He pushed the blanket off his legs and climbed out of bed. He was wearing sweatpants and a crisp blue T-shirt, too big for him. “Seattle Seahawks,” Kobi muttered, peering down at the logo of the bird.
Just beneath his elbow, a clean bandage was neatly fastened, but it didn’t hurt. His bare feet met worn wooden floorboards. It all felt so real, and he realized the horrible taste in his mouth was the earth that had almost suffocated him back on the island. The memory of the figure in the biohazard suit returned. Or had that all been part of the hallucination too?
His ankle was sore, and the skin was covered in faint red welts where the roots had gripped him. So that had been real, at least. If it hadn’t healed yet, it couldn’t have been long ago. How had he gotten here so quickly? And where were his friends?
CLAWS must have taken me here, he realized, looking around. Wherever here is. And why? Why wouldn’t they just kill me? Is this all some trick to make me feel comfortable, to get information out of me?
Kobi could finally think clearly. His head felt light. The fogginess had vanished, and the terror constricting his chest had lifted, leaving a lightness. I must have been taken away from the island. How long have I been out?