Danielle is standing below me on the swim platform with the shotgun aimed at the water in front of the Sea Nymph, which is beginning to drift away from the yacht. It’s still close enough to jump the gap, but it won’t be for much longer.
“I’ve got them.” Danielle says, a steely confidence in her voice.
“You can’t have both of them,” Stella says.
“Everybody needs to get off!” I yell.
“Did you find keys?” Tom calls up to me.
“No, but we’ll figure it out. Just get—”
Danielle fires the first round into the water, but I can’t see any result of the shot other than the explosive blast of water shooting straight into the sky. I wait for the air to clear, but I still see nothing.
I look out to the bridge of crabs in the distance, to judge their reaction to the firing, but they seem unfazed.
“Where did they go?” James asks no one in particular. “I can’t see them anymore.”
I lean over the railing of the cockpit and look as deeply into the water as my eyes will allow, but I can’t see them either. It is possible, I suppose, that Danielle hit one of them with the shot—which would explain why that one is no longer visible—but she certainly didn’t hit both.
“You all need to get off,” I repeat. “If you don’t do it now you’ll have to jump in and swim. At least there are plenty of towels and clothes on board if that’s your choice.”
“Swim?” Stella questions.
“Or get off right this second. I know what my decision would be.”
Tom and Stella both heed my call and less than thirty seconds later they’re both aboard the Answered Prayer, standing beside Danielle.
As before, however, James is lingering.
“James, let’s go!” Stella calls. “What are you waiting for?”
He backs slowly from the front of the motor boat, keeping his eyes peeled for the swimmers, and then finally turns his attention to the stern and Danielle, Tom and Stella standing on the Answered Prayer. He hesitates though, noting the distance the boat has drifted from the yacht. “What? What happened?”
“Can you make it, James?” Tom asks, nodding as he does, imparting the power of suggestion.
“I don’t want to miss. It’s too far.”
“Jump in and swim then. It’s one second and then we’ll pull you out.”
“No way,” James answers, leaving little doubt about his willingness to plunge into the icy Maripo River. “I’ll just pull the boat closer.”
I consider this actually the better decision, one I’d resisted earlier for fear of the motor noise drawing more of the crabs to us.
James makes his way to sit on the stern seat and fire up the Nymph, and as he grabs the tiller of the motor, something reaches up the side of the hull and over the gunwale, grabbing his hand.
I don’t believe it at first, a trick of my eyes maybe, but now I can see that what has gripped him at the wrist is another hand, one very similar to his own, only much whiter. He tries to scream but the sound catches in his throat, and within seconds, he’s over the side of the Sea Nymph and beneath the water.
“Get him!” Stella screams.
James’ face bobs back above the surface, for just a moment, and it’s the fear in his eyes that lets me know he’s still alive. But it’s only a matter of time.
“Danielle,” I call down, my voice is calm but with urgency.
“I see him, Dominic. But if I hit James, that’s not really going to help the situation.”
I watch as Danielle adjusts her aim slightly, raising the shotgun first to her left and then to the right, up and then back down a hair, trying to calibrate every fraction of the impending shot, the anxiety that she may kill an innocent man hanging across her face.
But she can’t pull the trigger, and soon James is back down beneath the surface. Danielle lowers the gun with a huff.
“Dammit,” I whisper, and without another thought, I hop over the side of the cockpit wall and drop down, feet first, into the river. I can hear the calls to stop from Danielle and Tom as I fall—Stella, I assume, is in a state of shock—and the pleas continue as I rise to the surface, the frigid water pressing on my chest like concrete. I think again of my ill-fated reunion with Sharon and the pleas from my companions for me not to enter my home.
I begin swimming towards the spot where I last saw James, and thoughts of my own death emerge for the first time since my meeting with my wife earlier in the day.
But drowning and freezing to death are only two of the possibilities; I also consider that an attack could occur at any moment by one of the two crabs, shark-like, exploding from the depths of the river and ripping me in half at the torso. I now expect such an attack, in fact.
But then some type of primal optimism buoys me, quite literally almost, and I remain hopeful that if Danielle took out the first of the diving crabs, and if the second one is still preoccupied trying to kill James, I should have an unmolested path to him. I have no idea what my plan will be if I actually find him, but that’s a problem for future Dominic.
I break into a true swimmer’s stroke now, alternating my breaths intermittently, turning my face to the icy water for two strokes, and then back out for two more. I move steadily like this for what feels like a mile, but must be ten yards or less, and then, as I’m looking off to the side during one of my breaths, I see it, the crab bridge that had been formed so uniformly and altruistically has broken apart. And the bodies that had created it are all swimming towards me.
I’m only a few yards from the Sea Nymph now—which gives me plenty of time to arrive and be out of the water before the horde of swimming crabs arrives—but my mission isn’t to swim to the Sea Nymph, it’s to save James.
I reach the boat and stop on the far side, grabbing the top edge for a desperate moment of rest. I can feel the early effects of hypothermia setting in now, and my coat now feels like an x-ray vest, the kind they lay across you at the dentist when they check for cavities. It’s doing me more harm than good now, so I work it off me and lift it over the edge of the boat and drop it inside.
“Can you see him anywhere?” I ask breathlessly to the group, all of whom are standing on the swim platform, watching me with a mix of wonder and concern.
“Get out of there, Dominic,” Danielle says softly, shaking her head. “They’re coming.”
“Do you see him!”
“No, but he’s got to be...wait.” Stella points to the front of the Nymph, and I turn to see that one of the crabs has James by the hair and is pulling him away from the boat, swimming with him in tow back towards the bridge.
It’s a hopeless scenario for me; there is no way for me to catch up to him. “Shoot him!” I scream, not taking my eyes from the white abductor.
And with perhaps only a second’s pause following my words, I hear the blast of the shotgun behind me.
A geyser of red water erupts into the air, followed by flying bits of white, wet flesh. I blink a droplet from my eyes, considering that perhaps the bead of water has clouded my vision and the prism has created the illusion of colors. But the color comes in clear now. It’s blood. She did it. Danielle did it. She pulled off the impossible shot and saved James. At least for the moment.
The water spray and last bits of the crab’s body splatter to the surface, and I look over at Danielle with what must appear to her like love in my eyes, though the feeling I’m experiencing is closer to awe. “You got him.”
“I got one of them,” Danielle replies soberly.
But that one shot was perfect, fatal, and within seconds James has surfaced, his nose barely breaching the water line. He looks scared and tired, but by all indications, he’s okay, offering further proof of Danielle’s acumen with the weapon. If her shot had hit James anywhere on his body, from the distance he is from the boat currently, he would be on his way down to the riverbed.
I swim ploddingly towards James, a flounder’s stroke, no longer putting my face beneath the water, ga
sping for each breath the whole way. When I finally reach him, it takes every bit of my strength to grab him from behind, under the armpits, and pull him towards me. I make a few desperate, one-arm backstrokes towards the Sea Nymph, but I’m quickly fading.
Another blast from Danielle, and I know that one was to keep the horde of crabs at bay.
“Are you okay?” I ask James, my voice almost inaudible with exhaustion.
James nods. “I think so.”
“Can you swim? To the yacht?”
He closes his eyes and nods again, stifling some deep emotion that, given the circumstances, would be out of place were he to release it now.
“Go then. I need you to do this, James. I can’t carry you anymore or we’ll both drown.”
I release James and give him a last gentle shove forward, and then I follow in his wake a second later, watching his progress. For the first few seconds, it looks like he’s going to give up and sink beneath the surface, but he catches his stride, and I can see a newfound hope in his stroke. He listens to my instructions and swims past the Sea Nymph and towards the cruiser.
I am almost completely spent now, freezing and tired, now in the full grip of hypothermia, and by the time I reach the Sea Nymph, I can’t swim anymore. I look up and see that James has made it to the yacht and the group is pulling him aboard the Answered Prayer. Ah, the magic of youth, I think to myself, and I crack a tiny smile.
“Come on, Dom,” I hear a female voice call, and at this point I can’t tell if it’s Danielle or Stella. It’s a sign, perhaps, that I’m beginning to lose my faculties.
I can’t swim to the yacht, I simply don’t have the strength to make another stroke, but I have to find the power, somehow, to pull myself into the Sea Nymph. Simply freezing to death without trying is unacceptable.
I grip the gunwale with both hands and bob my body down three feet or so into the water and then pop back up, lifting my torso out of the water just enough that I can flop my upper body over the side. I grip my pants with my right hand and pull my right leg up to the gunwale, catching the edge of the hull with the top of my foot, barely hooking the toe of my shoe on the inside of the hull. I’m now straddling the gunwale, my left leg still hanging over the side of the hull, and with a final scream, I pull my body up and flop my left leg over. I’m now lying flat on my back at the bottom of the boat.
“Dominic, they’re coming!”
The words sound like they’ve come from inside of a dream, but I recognize the voices and it brings me back to the moment.
They’re coming.
I force myself to sit up, the icy water dripping from my hair and shoulders, puddling around me in the bottom of the boat. I’m shivering so badly now that I can barely keep my balance, even when sitting. The water that saturates my clothes is smothering, choking the breath from my lungs, but I fight the sensation, and, in spite of myself, knowing what I’m likely to see when I open my eyes, I turn back toward the horde that I assume is still approaching.
Before I look, however, I note from somewhere deep in my mind that there haven’t been any more gunshots, and I take this as a good sign. But it could just mean they’ve dived too deep, yet another indicator that they’re learning on the fly, that they’re acquiring the skills necessary to survive in this new world that they now govern.
Or maybe Danielle is just out of shots.
I open my eyes and scan the water for the oncoming gang of white crabs, but now I can’t see even one. “Where are they?” I whisper, hoping to convey the question to the group on the Answered Prayer, a group that is steadily drifting away from me. I try again, louder this time, but my teeth are chattering to the point that I can’t hold my mouth open long enough to form a word.
“Dom!”
The call of my name sounds distant, and I look up to see that the idling Sea Nymph has now drifted at least thirty yards away from the cruiser. But the crabs are still nowhere to be seen, and I recognize that perhaps a window of opportunity has opened for me. Without another thought, I crawl over to the outboard motor and climb up to the stern seat. I’m so cold that I can’t bring my right hand to the throttle, so I use my left hand to guide it there, finally landing my fingers on the thick handle. I push the throttle forward slightly and the boat starts to move forward, away from the cruiser.
I grab the tiller and swing the boat out a few yards and then start to turn it, steering the boat back towards the cruiser, my shivering so bad that I have to readjust the course by the second.
But I get into a groove and I’m headed toward the yacht now, slowly, fearing that my lack of control with the steering might lead me directly into the yacht’s hull. Only ten yards or so now from the cruiser, I throttle back and let the boat’s momentum drift me towards the yacht.
And then they appear.
I first see the dome of a bald white head rising from beneath the water, followed by the thing’s shoulders and chest. And then a face appears, breaching the surface like some marine humanoid, corpse-like in its appearance, with only its eyes showing signs of life. Wet, blinking orbs of black.
Three more crabs follow, appearing beside the first on both sides, then a dozen more, and soon there is a procession of crabs lined up almost shoulder to shoulder, treading water, dividing the river between the Sea Nymph and the Answered Prayer. There have to be thirty bodies separating us. Maybe more.
I look up desperately to my companions who are all still standing on the swim platform, staring at the water, mesmerized by the scene of division below them.
“Jesus, God,” James says.
The crabs are all facing in my direction, with their backs to the cruiser, but there’s no guarantee they won’t be turning to them soon. “Gggggett....uuuupstairs,” I say, closing my eyes and motioning with my head for the group to flee to the upper deck of the boat.
“How are you going to get on?” Danielle asks. There is despair in her voice.
I shake my head. “I...I’ll bbbeee fine. Just fffffind the kkkeys and...” I take a deep breath and steady my thoughts and my voice. “They’re fffocused on mme now. I don’t know why, bbbut it’s a good thing. I’ll lllead them away from here.”
The boat has continued to drift forward and I’m now only about ten feet from the cruiser, with the crabs maybe five feet from me. Another minute or two and they’ll be able to grab the gunwale and board the boat. I have to go now.
“Wait,” Tom says, and I see him rush from the swim platform and up the stairs toward the cockpit. In what couldn’t have been more than twenty seconds, he returns with a large plastic bag, sealed flat, about the size of a pizza box. “Catch.”
Tom grabs the corner of the bag and flings it like an Olympic hammer thrower across the span of water. The bag clips the front nose of the Sea Nymph and tumbles inside. I look down and see that it’s a vacuum-sealed package of what appears to be towels and blankets.
“You gotta strip down, Dom. Get outta them clothes. Pants too. You’re gonna freeze to death if you don’t get dry. There should be a spare jacket in there, but you’re gonna have to dry out them pants somehow before putting ‘em back on.”
I nod my thanks to Tom, and I feel like I want to cry. That toss has likely saved my life.
I unzip the bag immediately and take out a blanket, wrapping it around my shoulders. I’ll strip naked later. I need this blanket now.
I sit back down on the seat and wrap the blanket tight, and then, knowing my time is up, I grab the tiller and turn the throttle just a hair, just enough to start it floating off in the opposite direction of the Answered Prayer.
I barely move the boat to start—I just want to make sure the crabs behind me follow, and as I turn back toward them, I can see that they’ve started their encroachment. I look up and catch the eyes of Tom, and then Danielle, and I nod solemnly.
I continue to lead the crabs slowly, making sure not to rush, knowing that once I’m far enough away from the cruiser, I’ll speed off into the distance and leave these white bastards in
the middle of the river to drown.
Chapter 3
I reach the bank on the opposite side of the Maripo River Bridge, several miles east of where the Answered Prayer sits anchored, and I pull the Sea Nymph up beside a pier that juts out from a riverside seafood restaurant called the Clam Bake. It’s one of the more notable restaurants in the area—known more for its atmosphere than its food—but today it looks like it was abandoned some time during the middle of the last century. A rope sits limply atop the pier and I grab it, using my other hand to steady the boat against one of the pilings. I tie the thin rope to the cleat hitch of the boat, creating a knot that I’m sure sends sailors rolling in their graves. But I have more pressing matters than Boy Scout knots, and the only thing I can think about now is getting dry. I can no longer feel my fingers. Or toes. Or any part of my body, really.
I crawl atop the pier with the effort of a dying soldier, collapsing onto the wooden planks in exhaustion. The blanket wrapped around my shoulders is now completely soaked, clinging to me like some desperate starfish, and certainly doing nothing other than weighing me down at this point.
My entire body is numb, and the thought of taking off my clothes and exposing myself to the elements further seems insane. But Tom was right, it’s what I need to do. Some parts of my body may already be dead, irreparable, but I’ll die for sure if I don’t get dry soon.
And there isn’t much time to waste. I led the crabs away from the group, but I have to get back to the yacht as quickly as possible. Unless they can find a spare set of keys, my friends (it’s the first time I’ve thought of them this way) will have no way of getting off the water. They have enough shelter and supplies to keep warm for the time being, but that won’t last forever, and there’s no guarantee they’re safe from the rest of the monsters still perched atop the bridge.
Thankfully, the crabs—the ones prohibiting me from boarding the yacht—fell for my pied piper routine and followed me for what must have been, by my calculations, at least a mile and a half. They eventually tired and began to lag behind, and then they stopped entirely before disappearing beneath the surface. I have no way of knowing for sure if they drowned—I suppose they could have swum under water and made their way to shore—but in any case, I feel confident my friends are safe from those particular beasts for now.
The Melting (They Came With The Snow #2) Page 5