Dead Sea

by Tim Curran

  George felt something shatter inside his head like glass in a faraway room.

  Closer and closer yet. He could see the fog bank through the fissures eaten through her, could see the green marine worms burrowing at her throat. Her eyes were wide and glistening and yellow, a rope of drool hanging from her lips.

  There was something building in George, something raging and sharp and violent: a scream scraping up the back of his throat.

  Your soul… she’s come to suck away your soul.

  Those puckered white fingers reached for him and her mouth opened like a black, seething blowhole.

  And George screamed.

  Screamed until she was gone, dissipated like vapor, and he could hear his voice echoing through the fog, becoming something else and coming back at him like a dozen taunting voices. None of which sounded like his own.

  Then there was a hand on his shoulder shaking him and Gosling was yelling something.

  “What?” George said. “What?”

  “Was is it?” Gosling demanded, his hands on George strong and sure. “What in the fuck is it?”

  Both Cushing and Soltz were staring at him with barely-concealed horror.

  But George couldn’t tell what he saw, because he just wasn’t sure. So, instead, he let go with the first lie his mind produced: “I… I must have fallen asleep, had a nightmare…”

  But they didn’t look like they believed him anymore than he believed himself.

  He only hoped they couldn’t hear what he was hearing. A high, mocking childish giggling from somewhere deep in the fog.

  29

  “Either you’re with me or against me,” Saks said, aiming the Browning in the general direction of Fabrini and Cook and Crycek. “You’re either with me, Menhaus, or you’re with them. What’s it going to be?”

  “Saks,” Menhaus said breathlessly, “come on now.”

  He was directly in-between the opposing sides now. Saks was in the stern and the others were up near the bow and he himself was seated roughly amidships. This is where things got complicated and dangerous. If he went to Saks, the others would never trust him again. And if he stayed with them, Saks would think everything he’d said was bullshit.

  “What I would like, everyone, what I would really like is for all this to stop,” Menhaus told them, trying desperately to sound calm and reasonable, but probably only succeeding in sounding like a scared little boy. Which was pretty much how he felt. “This can’t go on. It just can’t.”

  Saks’s reply to this was to aim the gun directly at Menhaus. There was a deadly gleam in his eye. He looked very much like a man who wanted very badly to hurt someone.

  He’s going to kill me, Menhaus thought.

  “Get your ass over here now,” Saks said, “or get over there with them. If you’re with me, you’ll live to tell the tale. With them… you get the picture, don’t you?”

  Menhaus looked around uncertainly. He was almost wishing those horrible fish would come back, even the big one. Or maybe that something even worse would come sliding out of the mist. At least then, they’d have a common enemy.

  But he supposed they already did: each other.

  “Don’t do it,” Fabrini said. “Don’t go over there. You get involved with that gutless shit, you’re going to be an accomplice to murder. Mine or one of the others. And you don’t want that, do you?”

  No, Menhaus certainly did not want that.

  “Don’t listen to that goatfuck,” Saks said. “He don’t know shit, Menhaus. Besides… look around you. All of you, look right fucking around you. You think we’re adrift in the Gulf of goddamn Mexico here? Well, we ain’t. Where we are there are no laws. It’s survival of the fittest. You come with me, Menhaus, I’ll keep you alive and I just might get your ass out of here. But you stick with them…”

  “He’s talking nonsense,” Cook said. “We can only survive together.”

  But he didn’t understand. Neither did Fabrini. It was the only way. The only possible way to pacify Saks.

  Swallowing, Menhaus went and sat in the seat directly in front of Saks.

  “You cheap fuck,” Fabrini spat.

  Cook said nothing.

  Crycek smiled, then pointed upward… as if that made a lick of sense. Then he nodded, thinking he’d made his point. But like most things with him, it was just too damn abstract.

  They think I’m a traitor, Menhaus thought, but they just don’t get it.

  “That’s the way,” Saks said happily. “Now we can both watch ‘em.”

  Saks and Fabrini engaged in a staring contest. It lasted only a few minutes. The hatred between them was like a pall hanging in the air and it smelled of raw meat and gunpowder.

  Saks smiled. “Well, I guess you boys are fucked,” he said.

  Cook and Fabrini just stared, waiting for the bullets.

  But as usual, Crycek looked like he was waiting for something else entirely.

  “Which one of you should I kill first?” Saks said. “Which one?”

  “Kill me,” Fabrini rasped, “you fucking pussy.”

  “It’s not that simple, Fagbrini. Not that simple at all.” He patted Menhaus on the shoulder. “In fact, I’m going to let my pal here decide.”

  “No,” Menhaus said flatly. “I won’t.”

  “Yes, you will. If you don’t, I’ll kill you.”

  The barrel of the gun was shoved into Menhaus’ spine. It was death and he knew it was death. He’d thought he could join Saks and pacify him. Keep him from killing the others, but it wasn’t that simple. He’d simply underestimated the twisted, sadistic turn of Saks’s madness. The man was so far gone now he just didn’t realize how crazy he was. Right and wrong had become vague concepts. And maybe, just maybe Saks wasn’t so crazy as Menhaus might have thought. Maybe he’d planned it this way all along. He only wanted Menhaus on his side because it fit into his plans. He had an unwilling participant now in murder.

  “Well, old buddy, which one?” Saks asked, almost lighthearted.

  Menhaus had no saliva left. Yet, he attempted to lick his lips. “This is insane, Saks. We’ll go to prison for this.”

  Saks started laughing. “Christ, Menhaus! Look around! You see any fucking cops or jails or judges? No, we do what we want here. Frontier justice, eh?” The gun was pressed deeper into his back. “Now decide.”

  Fabrini and Cook maintained their cold, hateful stares. Menhaus admired the both of them like he’d never admired anyone ever in his life. They were men. Real men. Real human beings. Scared shitless inside, but facing death bravely. Neither of them would ever stoop to doing what he did. They’d die first.

  But they don’t understand, they just don’t understand. I did this to save them, I really did…

  And he was right: they didn’t understand. They thought he was weak and selfish and empty inside. That’s what they thought and Menhaus knew there wasn’t a damn thing he could say to change their minds.

  “Well?” Saks said.

  “I guess Cook is the one,” Menhaus said in airless voice.

  Cook just stared, unblinking.

  Crycek started tittering. “All the little puppets in a row,” he said in a dry, ragged voice. “Doing what they’re told to do. You’re all so fucking stupid, every one of you. And especially you, Saks, you’re the dumbest little puppet of all. He’s out there, watching and listening, getting stronger as we get weaker. Only it isn’t a him, it’s a they, a them. Them ones hiding in the fog, they’re the ones that pull your strings and make you dance and you, you silly fucking little man, you let them! You let them! They own your mind, they make you walk and talk and hate and kill… you’re the stupidest one of all! The stupidest!”

  “Shut your goddamn hole!” Saks ordered him, pulling the gun out of Menhaus’ back and aiming it right at Crycek’s staring face. Right at that sallow mask with the crooked, lunatic grin.

  But Crycek just shook his head. “I don’t have to shut up and I won’t shut up! They already own you, but my mind is
my own. They can’t get in my head because I won’t let them in there, won’t let them get fat sitting in their web sucking the juices of my mind dry!” He pressed the tips of his fingers to his temples. “I make my own decisions, do you hear? Not you and not them!”

  “You’re goddamn nuts,” Saks told him.

  But Crycek assured him that he was completely in control of his faculties. He dared Saks to shoot him, because he didn’t honestly believe that those bullets would kill him. “It might look like they did and it might look like I die… but will I? Or is it just something they’ve planted in your little mind? Is that even a gun you hold, Saks?” He started giggling afresh, wiping spit off his chin with the back of his hand. “Think about it, Saks! Go ahead, think about what I say! This might be your last chance! For all you know, for all you really know, you might be alone right now. Lost in this hungry fog all alone… and you just think we’re here. We might have all gone down with the ship… just ghosts, memories. C’mon, Saks, close your eyes, when you open them we won’t be here… ghosts..”

  “SHUT UP!” Saks roared, unable to listen to that droning, insane voice any more. He could feel Crycek up there, in his head, like dirty fingers sorting around, making him think things and feel things, filling his mind with lies and doubts. “YOU BETTER SHUT THE FUCK UP IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU!”

  But Crycek just giggled. “Can you feel them, Saks? Can you feel them up there draining you dry? Sucking your mind away?”

  Saks was trying to sort it out, because none of it was true. It couldn’t be true. It was all madness what Crycek was saying. There was nothing out in that fog, no devil, no evil presence that ate minds. And… and in the boat, Cook and Fabrini and Crycek were there. They were not ghosts, because if they were ghosts that would mean that Saks himself was the crazy one. Talking to shadows. It would mean that he was by himself out there, that he was totally alone…

  So Saks did what came natural to him.

  He pulled the trigger on the Browning. The shot rang out and the bullet passed harmlessly over Crycek’s head. And that shut him up. It didn’t wipe that smirk off his face, but it sure as hell shut him up. The others weren’t saying much either, just staring with those sweaty, sooty faces. Accusing faces.

  Finally, Fabrini said, “Nice try, Crycek. It almost worked.”

  But you could see from the look on Crycek’s face that it had not been a ruse. He believed everything he had said.

  “Next one goes right between your eyes, Crycek.” Saks had calmed now, but still looked a little confused. He put the gun back on Menhaus. “Okay… you said Cook and Cook it’s gonna be. You sure now?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Saks raised the gun and took aim.

  And then Menhaus made his move.

  30

  It happened fast.

  As Saks took aim Menhaus moved with a speed he’d thought abandoned him years ago. Saks hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t even remotely expected it. He probably just assumed Menhaus would curl up and pout. And that was his mistake. Menhaus threw his body against Saks, upsetting his aim and knocking him into the gunwale. The gun went off, but the bullet went into the sky. And then Menhaus had his hands on it, struggling against Saks. Saks kicked him in the stomach, in the thigh, but he would not let go.

  By then, Cook and Fabrini were at his side.

  Fabrini punched Saks in the face about four or five times while Cook and Menhaus wrestled the gun away.

  The fight gone out of him, Saks let it go and sunk to the deck plating. Used up and empty, all the hot air gone now like somebody had bled him empty.

  He did not look at them or even speak.

  Cook took the gun to the bow where it would be out of harm’s way.

  Fabrini took the knife from Saks’s boot while Menhaus held him.

  It was all over very quickly.

  “There,” Fabrini said, giving Saks a good kick in the ribs. “There you are, asshole. What’re you going to do now?”

  Saks just stared at him, his face smeared with blood.

  “I’m going to kill you,” Saks said and dove at him.

  31

  The three of them managed to put down Saks’s latest rebellion without too much trouble. But they knew now that he was too far gone to reason with. He had to be tied up. They used Fabrini’s belt. They knotted his arms behind his back and threaded the belt through an oarlock, knotting it again. At last, Saks was harmless. He wouldn’t hurt them or himself now.

  But it was pathetic, Cook thought, having to do something like that in the first place.

  What was it all coming to?

  “At least, at least now we can breathe, now we can relax,” Menhaus said, still not sounding so sure of it. “We can figure out things.. . maybe get out of here.”

  “There’s no getting out,” Crycek said. “Not yet, maybe not ever. We’re drifting… can’t you feel it? We’re being drawn deeper into this place.”

  He had a point and nobody dismissed it. Where before the weeds had been in isolated little patches and clumps drifting about, now there were great banks of them. The water was still open for the most part, but the islands of weed were so huge you couldn’t see where they ended. They just faded off into the mist like headlands. And they were massive and thick, steaming and verdant and stinking of jungle swamps.

  “He’s right, you know. Crycek. We’re all going to die,” Saks said almost cheerfully. “Each and every one of us. Look at those weeds.. . sooner or later they’re gonna snare us up and that’ll be all she wrote.”

  “Shut the hell up,” Fabrini said.

  “You better shoot me if you want to shut me up,” Saks told him.

  It looked like Fabrini was indeed considering it.

  “Maybe… maybe some day the weeds will part and this lifeboat’ll drift out same way we drifted in… except there’ll be five skeletons in it. It’s happened before. A whole ship one time.. . went missing three years, then it just showed up one day and-”

  “Want me to gag him?” Fabrini asked.

  Cook seemed to be in charge now. He was the most level-headed one of the bunch. “I don’t know. We’ll leave it up to Saks. Why do you say, dumb ass, do we have to gag you or are you gonna be a good boy?”

  Saks went quiet, but you couldn’t wipe the look of grim certainty off his face or erase the mad dog glare of insanity from his eyes. These were constants. Things the others had to pretend they weren’t seeing. But it was no simple matter to look lunacy in the eye and ignore its ramifications. To know, deep down, that under the right conditions, it could take anyone, anytime.

  And no one knew this better than Cook.

  Nobody in the world.

  He’d felt it that day he’d killed his father. The blinding, white-hot, ice-cold slow burn that was true madness, whether temporary or permanent. And until you experienced it, tasted it, filled your belly with it, you could never appreciate it or how ugly it all really was. Because once you’d tasted it, you never got that awful flavor out of your mouth.

  Cook didn’t like the idea of being in charge. He would have preferred a very democratic sort of leadership, a council made up of him and Fabrini and Menhaus. Maybe even Crycek because now and then he made sense. But it wasn’t going to be that way. Surely Fabrini was tougher and more physically able than he. Menhaus had been around more, had more experience. And Crycek… if he wasn’t so loopy.. . he was an experienced sailor. Yet, they seemed to be looking to Cook for leadership. He seemed to have the final say whether he liked it or not.

  But all he really wanted was to sleep.

  He was dead tired… yet he didn’t dare close his eyes. He had to watch Saks and watch him close. If trouble was going to come, it would come from his direction.

  At least, that’s what Cook was thinking.

  And then something hit the boat.

  And then hit it again.

  32

  Soltz was pretty certain about it. “I know what I heard,” he told Gosling and the others.
“It was a gunshot. My hearing is more acute than yours. I know what I heard.”

  George had heard something, too. They all had. A sort of muted cracking in the distance. It could have been a gunshot… but it could have been a lot of other things, too.

  “Maybe we ought to get on that radio,” Cushing suggested. “See what we can pick up… somebody might have been trying to signal us.”

  Gosling considered it. George knew very well what he was thinking, how he didn’t like the idea of listening to that static. It got to a man and particularly when you had that odious sense that it was not just static, but something alive and aware.

  “That’s what we should do,” Soltz said.

  Gosling looked to George and he just shrugged. What else could he do?

  Gosling went up to the bow where all the survival equipment was stowed in waterproof, zippered compartments. He took out the VHF and began to set it up.

  George stayed by the doorway, watching.

  The others went with Gosling and George just sat there, thinking, thinking about what he’d seen coming out of the fog earlier. Even now, it left him with a dread sense of horror. Something like that, it got under your skin and stayed there like mites. The image of that horrible little girl… he couldn’t shake it nor the idea of what she might have done to him.

  He knew it wasn’t a hallucination. She had been there, all right. But where did that leave him… believing in ghosts?

  No, absolutely not, he told himself, I do not believe in ghosts and spooks. I didn’t believe in them before I was lost in this terrible place and I don’t believe in them now.

  But if she hadn’t been a ghost, then what?

  This is what George had been threading through the reels of his brain ever since it happened. She had been dressed in what he thought was 19 ^th century clothing. He figured he wasn’t too far off there. He rather doubted that if it was all a hallucination, that his mind would have conjured up such convincing antique fashions. And it had been convincing… her hair, her dress, everything. He’d been around and around on this and he kept coming back to the same thing: the little girl was not a ghost, not really, it was just something else pretending to be the ghost of a little girl.