SLClimer - Rumours of the Grotesque

by Rumours of the Grotesque (v1. 0) [lit]

  Paul thought of Angie back at the University. What was she doing? He wished he could have been there to go to the wedding of their friends Rachel and Sam, but research called. Sometimes she didn't understand the gravity of the situation, but he couldn't expect his girlfriend to have the same passion for the Black Sea Tiger Mussel that he had.

  "Hey!” Rob shouted from on deck. “Come help me with this net!"

  "Sure.” Paul welcomed the reprieve from his thoughts about Angie and went to help his friend.

  "Let's get this in the water and drag the bottom before that squall hits us.” He pointed to the western sky. “It doesn't look friendly."

  Paul snapped his yellow slicker closed around his neck as the wind bit into him. In the east, the bright sun of spring lit the water, but in the west was the looming reminder that spring on the lakes could be deadly. Rob and Paul positioned the net over the edge and let the weights drag it beneath the moderate waves. Next, they went back into the cabin, which was nothing more than canvas awning stretched over an aluminum frame.

  Paul turned on the depth finder and began to jot notes on a pad of paper. “Man, I'm freezing my ass off. There's nothing out here."

  "Yeah, I know.” Rob lit a cigarette and also wrote something in a notebook. “I think we should head on in before the weather deteriorates any more. Three days on this boat and I'm about ready to puke."

  "The last known position of the mussel was offshore in Sarnia, Ontario. It's still too cold for them to migrate this far north this early."

  "They're pretty aggressive.” Rob exhaled, and smoke curled into the air.

  Paul looked at the depth finder. “Hey I think we have something. It looks like a muskie or a pike."

  "Is it near the net?"

  "I don't think it's moving. It could be in the net, but with all the waves I don't know how fast the net is sinking. I wonder if it's dead or something.” Paul made note of the image on the screen.

  Rob looked out the cabin window. “There's definitely something in the net. I'll go pull it in."

  "Right.” Paul returned his eyes to the depth finder screen.

  The wind ripped through the cabin as Rob stepped outside. Paul looked to the western sky to see the squall line getting closer and closer. The shore was so far away that it couldn't be seen, just miles of frigid fresh water. Maybe it was a good idea to head back to the docks. The mussels weren't going anywhere fast if they were out here. He turned his back to the cabin door and made a few more weather and conditional observations.

  A large swell tossed the boat, rocking it wickedly from side to side.

  As he turned his eyes to the depth finder again, an unusual blob had appeared on the screen. It was larger than the big lake fish, and the mass seemed oddly distributed. It wasn't moving either and was stationary by the smaller image.

  "What the hell is that?” Paul asked rhetorically. “Rob, come look at this.” He studied the screen for nearly a minute before calling to his partner again. “Rob, I said come look at this."

  Paul looked up from the monitor and scanned the deck of the small research vessel. Rob didn't appear to be on deck nor was he near the uninflated starboard lifeboat.

  A sense of dread rushed his body, slamming into him like a truck. Rob wasn't on deck and there was a new blip on the screen. The big wave that had just hit the boat must have knocked him off-balance.

  "Oh, shit!” Paul screamed and scrambled out into the cold wind. “Rob! Rob!"

  Damn, he must have slipped or something. Paul desperately looked over the rail of their vessel. There was no sign of his friend in the lashing swells. The net, however, was taut. Maybe he had become tangled in the net. Frantically, he grabbed handfuls of nylon and began to pull it in.

  Something was in it. He prayed it wasn't too late. The water was so cold; if Rob had stopped breathing it may not be too late. Memories of tales of people that were trapped under ice or in freezing water flooded his brain. They survived because of the cold, he thought as he pulled in more net. It was on the news all the time in the winter.

  As the net reached the surface, Paul recognized the familiar slicker Rob had been wearing only a few minutes before. With heightened intensity, he pulled in the net fist over hand. Paul's back and arm muscles burned from pulling for Rob wasn't the only thing in the net. There was a large muskie also entangled, just as he suspected from the image on the depth finder.

  "Rob, hang on!” Paul stretched out and snatched his friend's limp cold body from the water.

  He was so heavy and sodden. The skin of his face was already losing its color, and no breath entered his lungs. A few hearty pulls on Rob and on the net, and his friend and the muskie tumbled onto the boat deck.

  "Jesus, Rob!” Paul put Rob on his side and pressed against his back.

  Water poured from his mouth and nose. Once Paul felt it was clear enough, he positioned Rob flat on his back and prepared to give him CPR. First, Paul checked to make sure Rob hadn't started breathing on his own, then for a pulse. He had neither. Rob was so cold.

  Shoving a finger in Rob's mouth, Paul checked the airway for any blockage. He was surprised when his finger came in contact with what felt like a quarter-sized stone.

  "What the hell...” He knelt closer and peered past Rob's blue lips.

  The familiar hinged shell of a mussel was firmly entrenched in Rob's mouth. It was latched securely to the man's teeth by the strong natural glue secreted by mussels. Knowing that he had to get the airway clear, Paul pushed and pulled at the mussel. It wasn't about to budge. He was running out of time.

  Bursting from his position by Rob, Paul rushed into the cabin and frantically searched for anything to wrench the creature free. He grabbed a pair of pliers and went back to the deck. By now, the squall line had reached the ship, and icy rain began to pound the boat.

  Paul reached in and clamped down on the mussel. With all his strength, he yanked. Rob's tooth gave way before the mussel's adhesive and popped out of his dead mouth. After realizing the airway was clear, Paul began to administer CPR.

  For ten minutes in the pouring rain, Paul tried to revive Rob. Rain and tears mixed, both icy cold. This was a horrible, unbelievable nightmare. Breath after breath, chest compression after chest compression until he thought he'd broken Rob's ribcage. Soon, he gave up on Rob and went into the cabin.

  Picking up the radio handset, Paul adjusted the frequency and put out a call to the Coast Guard. “Tawas Point Coast Guard, this is research vesselLovely Wench , S.O.S."

  A few seconds of static was soon cut by a voice: “Go aheadLovely Wench ."

  "My friend fell overboard and I pulled him out. He's not breathing and I tried CPR."

  "What is your location?"

  Paul glanced at a few instruments and then rattled off a set of coordinates. He was freezing from being in the rain. His fingers were sluggish, and he found it hard to think. Even breathing was a difficult task.

  "Affirmative,Lovely Wench . Can you head into port?"

  "Yes, the boat is still able.” Paul fired up the engines and turned the wheel toward the west. “I'll be heading towards Tawas Point."

  "A helicopter will be deployed as soon as possible. The squall has almost passed the landing pad."

  "Thanks,” Paul began to cry. “I don't know what else to do. What do I do?"

  The dispatcher remained calm. “Leave him in the cold if possible. He'll have a better chance. Do you copy?"

  "Yes, I copy."

  Suddenly, the boat began to slow down. It dropped by a few knots as rain pummeled the cabin. Maybe it was the wind that was slowing the forward motion; it was so stiff. The engine coughed a few times, and the boat lurched against the swells.

  "There's something wrong with the engines. The boat is slowing down."

  "The helicopter is leaving the pad now."

  "Good.” Paul gunned the engine, but it completely stopped. “It just died."

  "It won't be much longer. An ambulance will be waiting for you when you
get here."

  Paul didn't hear the last words of the dispatcher. The rain slacked off a little, and for the first time he got a good look at the muskie in the net. At first he thought it was cancerous or mutated because of pollution or something, but the lumps and folds were too familiar.

  "What the..."

  Mussels. The muskie was covered in layers of mussels. Mussels were secured to its fins, face, body, tail. And more mussels were attached to the mussels glued to the fish. Paul had to see it for himself.

  There was no species of mussel that attached to tissue. They colonized rocky outcroppings, shipwrecks and boat bottoms, but not flesh. Paul pulled his hood over his head and went out into the rain. Behind the squall line, the sun was breaking through and the sky was swiftly clearing.

  He rushed to the fish and examined the shells of the mussel. He knew every species in the Great Lakes, foreign and native, and this wasn't anything he'd seen before. They ranged in size from a nickel to a quarter, like the one he pulled from Rob's mouth a few minutes ago. He glanced at his friend's corpse on the deck. There were more mussels on Rob, creatures that he didn't notice before. They covered his ears and were clamped to the fingers of his hands.

  Leaning in for a more thorough inspection, Paul noticed the unique coloring of the shells. They resembled a few tropical species, but not the Black Sea Tiger Mussel. These were creatures he'd never seen before.

  Just as Paul reached out to pull off a mussel, the boat suddenly lurched in the waves. Paul tumbled onto the deck and nearly over the edge. He quickly regained his footing and looked over the rails to see what had caused the boat to pitch so violently. A series of waves splashed up over the deck.

  That's when Paul noticed the boat was sitting deeper in the water than before. The waves hadn't grown, in fact they were subsiding as the squall passed. The boat must be taking on water. Paul rushed into the cabin and started the bilge pumps, but they sounded dry. He went starboard and peered over the side. No water came from the bilge outlet.

  Then, he noticed something disturbing. Just below the waterline, he recognized the mass of shells coating the hull. Layer upon layer of the alien mussels were making the boat heavier, and it was sinking. There were thousands—hundreds of thousands. The hull was nearly unrecognizable under the coating of shells.

  The waves were now licking the deck, and the surface of the lake was rapidly consuming the boat. In a matter of minutes, theLovely Wench wouldn't be able to float because of the mussels, and he would meet the same hideous fate as the muskie and Rob.

  A large wave punched the boat, sending icy spray high into the air. Paul took it squarely in the face, and it burned like flames. Water was creeping up the sides of theLovely Wench ; she was about to dip beneath the waves.

  Paul ran to the rubber raft and pulled the inflation cord. Air rapidly filled the boat. He looked to Rob, momentarily considering pulling him into the lifeboat with him. There was no time; the boat was now taking on water over the hull. Rob was dead, there was nothing he could do about it, and he had to survive.

  Climbing into the boat just as the weight of the mussels pulled theLovely Wench beneath Lake Huron's bitter surface, Paul felt his heart beating like a galloping horse. There was nothing but water between him and the mussels. It wouldn't be long before they used their primitive water jet propulsion nozzles and found his lifeboat.

  In the distance, the blades of the helicopter cut the air. The throbbing chopper closed in on the helpless survivor. Paul knelt in the boat, afraid to move, too cold to think. The lake swallowed the last visible piece of theLovely Wench , another prize to add to Huron's collection of wrecks.

  High above him, the helicopter leveled off, lowered as close to the surface as it could safely get, and a diver in protective rubber leapt into the water. The rescuer swam vigorously toward Paul, and he towed a rope with a leather strap on it. The rope looked like an umbilical cord stretching high into the helicopter's open door.

  "Hold on, we've almost got you,” the diver said. “C'mon, I need you to slip this harness under your arms and behind your back."

  Obediently, the nearly frozen Paul did as he was told. He also slipped from the rubber boat and into the water for what seemed like just a moment. The frigid water cut him, but he soon became numb from the cold. He thought he felt something on his leg, something like a leech or an insect sting. But the water stole all feeling from his extremities.

  The world was a confusing blur, and the severely cold water made it hard to think of what to do. The rope suddenly grew taut, and he began to rise up toward the helicopter's door. Other arms reached out from above to take him in.

  Just as he was safely aboard, he heard the screams of the diver over the throbbing din of the chopper blades. The mussels had found him. Then Paul lapsed into unconsciousness.

  * * * *

  "Angie?” Paul opened his eyes and saw his girlfriend at his bedside. “How long have I been out?"

  "Three days. You're at Lakeshore Community Hospital.” She lovingly stroked his hair. “Your parents are outside in the waiting room. Do you want me to get them?"

  "Mom and dad? Why are they here?” Paul was confused. “Sure, I'd love to see them."

  Angie returned with his parents. They were tired from keeping vigil over their son, and Paul was still unclear about what all had gone on.

  "How do you feel?” his mother asked and looked upon him with kind eyes.

  "I'm okay,” Paul replied. “Can someone fill me in on what happened? What about the boat? And Rob?"

  "Do you remember what happened out on the lake?” his father asked.

  "Yes, perfectly. I remember discovering a new type of mussel that swamped our boat and killed Rob. Have they recovered his body or the boat yet?"

  "Not yet, the Coast Guard is still investigating."

  "Then why are you all acting so weird? I feel fine. Just a little weak from the exposure, that's all."

  He could see the lake from his hospital room window. The windows were open, and a warm spring breeze was rattling the blinds.

  Paul tried to lift himself up. His father helped him to a sitting position in the bed. His stomach growled and he was thirsty, but Paul was more interested in news about his discovery.

  "Son, I hate to be the one to tell you this...” his father's eyes were swelling with tears, “...but you were in the water a long time...."

  Paul feared the next few words and tried to anticipate them. “Hypothermia? Frostbite?"

  "Paul, they had to remove your left leg from the knee down and your right foot.” The sentence was so difficult for his father to say, it nearly tore the man apart.

  "What?” Paul whispered with disbelief. “But I can feel them, I can...” He reached down to where his lower left leg used to be. “I swear I can feel my leg, mom."

  "I know you can, baby.” She was now crying.

  "It wasn't the cold, son,” Dad said. “They were covered with those mussel things you found."

  "The mussels?” Paul echoed. “And the diver who saved me?"

  His dad shook his head.

  "Where are they now? Do they know?"

  "The entire lake has been quarantined. Two ore carriers have sunk, and they think it was the mussels. They're going to do a massive kill on the lake."

  "They can't!” They'll kill everything!"

  "It's too late,” Angie said. “The EPA started poisoning the lake yesterday. It'll be dead by the weekend."

  "They'll have to kill all the lakes, then. It'll be the only way to stop them. I've never seen anything that aggressive.” He wiped tears from his eyes.

  Paul looked out the window to the glistening blue water of the lake, saying a prayer as She began to die. So many millennia of storms and surf, all destroyed in the wink of a geologic eye. Soon all her sisters would be dead, too.

  "They don't know what they're doing,” Paul whispered. “They're being reactionary. We don't know anything about these mussels. We don't know if they're feeding on other animals
or what. There is probably a natural predator for them. Was there any evidence that they ate my skin?"

  "Paul!” His mother was shocked.

  But the scientist in him persevered. “These are questions we have to ask."

  "These are questions you don't have to ask anymore,” his father added. “You need to recover."

  "It's too late, Paul. Even the water intakes in the lake and the Detroit River have been shut down. There's a ban on outside watering and flushing toilets. They're importing drinking water from Chicago and Grand Rapids.” Angie touched him, hoping to comfort his pain. “Everyone's afraid, Paul. Huron is dead. If the others go, no telling what's going to happen."