by Weston Ochse
"You're right. It's probably bound to happen sooner or later. Better to lock it." He handed her a glass of ice tea. "Here, drink this and then tell me why you were out there hollering at the sky."
He went into the bathroom and was gone for several minutes. When he returned, he still limped slightly. He smiled through gritted teeth.
She drank deeply. The tea was sweetened and went down clean and cold.
"Thank you for saving me."
"Wasn't nothing. Damn thing got away from me anyway. Been trying to catch it all day."
"Why was it trying to get me?"
Gerald shrugged. "Not so sure it was trying to get you as much as it was trying to get away from me."
"Where was it when you found it?" she asked.
Gerald stared at her for a moment, as if deciding how he was going to answer her. Finally, he said, "I'd captured it. I thought maybe if I had one to look at, I might not be so damned afraid of it."
"Easy to be afraid of something that isn't supposed to exist."
Gerald took a sip of his iced tea. "I suppose."
"Where'd you keep it? It was in the blue and yellow trailer, wasn't it?"
Gerald blinked several times, then nodded.
"We could tell it was there," Natasha said. "We were too afraid to go inside. Where do you suppose it went?"
"I'm guessing it went back in the water."
"Not the plant?"
Gerald appraised her as he refilled her glass and handed it back to her, gesturing for her to take a seat at the small breakfast table beside the kitchen.
When they were both seated, he spoke. "So you know about the plant, huh?"
She nodded, looking at the old man. For the first time since he'd picked her up, she really noticed the hooks on his hands. Made of stainless steel, they had a utilitarian look to them. She'd always thought of hooks at the end of arms as something scary, a main ingredient for urban mythology about lonely places along the road and serial killers. But the hooks weren't scary at all. What had Veronica said - that he'd lost them in the Korean War? His face was friendly, carved by decades of living. He wasn't a large man, but the combination of his hooks, his piercing blue eyes and his firm jaw made him seem almost larger than life. She felt tears burn her eyes as she wondered about her own grandfather and then, of course, her father.
"Are they really zombies?" she asked.
Gerald stared into his drink. "Not sure what they are. Not sure that calling them something makes them any better or worse. Maybe it would be best if you and your family leave."
"I can't." She barely got the words free. "My father is missing."
He looked at her and shook his head. "Sometimes people go missing around here through no fault of their own."
Natasha opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't. Her worst fear had been voiced by someone who knew more than she did.
"But that doesn't mean it happened to your father," Gerald hastened to add. He leaned down and adjusted his pant leg. It rode up and had caught on a wide white bandage soaked with red.
"You're bleeding," Natasha said.
Gerald shook his head. "It's nothing. I deserve it," he glanced at Natasha. "Anyway, when's the last time you saw your father?"
Natasha told him, then explained about his alcoholism.
To that he smiled. "Believe it or not, that gives us hope. I've seen my share of drunks holed up in these trailers and know which ones are best for that sort of thing."
"So you'll help me?"
"Course I will. Not like I have other things to occupy my time."
Mexican television told the tale of Tropical Storm Hiawatha. It had slammed into Puerto Peñasco, uprooting anchors and sending fishing boats sailing down main streets normally trod by tourists. By the time it left, the death toll was twelve and climbing. Meteorologists predicted that the storm would lose power as it raced inland. Yuma, Arizona should expect winds in excess of seventy miles an hour and five inches of rain. The Salton Sea, half that.
Veronica finished translating the news and switched back on the video tape of old Three Stooges episodes. Metzger stood staring out the window. Natasha and Veronica sagged on the couches, and Derrick sat at the kitchen table, hunched over his papers, transcribing his grandfather's code.
No one laughed at the antics on the television; the show was just on to keep them from dwelling too deeply on the zombies living less than a mile from them.
Natasha had returned less than an hour ago and kept her conversations with Maude and Gerald to herself. She wanted to do something, to get out of Bombay Beach. That Gerald had offered to search for her father was of immense help. The old man knew the town better than anyone, and knew places where people tended to hide. With any luck, they'd be on the road heading away real soon.
Veronica sighed, went to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water and drank it down. When she was finished, she returned to the living room, shaking her head. "This is all just so damned far-fetched, you know?"
"Straight out of a movie," Natasha said.
"Or a comic book," Derrick added.
"So what would a comic book hero do?" Veronica asked.
"He would -"
"Or she," Natasha interrupted.
"He, or she, would go to the source. They'd find out where the zombies are, blow up the lab - the lunar outpost, the stronghold, wherever the zombies were - he or she would go there, kill all the bad guys and save the world."
"And what would happen to the hero?"
"He'd live on to the next issue."
Veronica sighed. "Remind me to come back as a comic book hero in my next life."
"Better watch what you're wishing for. You might come back as Howard the Duck," Metzger said.
Derrick laughed. "That's funny."
Veronica didn't understand the reference, and stared at Derrick, but he was steadfastly ignoring her, instead working diligently on his decoding and transcription.
Natasha snapped to a sitting position. It took a moment for her to speak, but when she did, her words were low and clipped. "You're all being childish. People have been killed, for God's sake." She glared at everyone. "Tell me, what are we going to do when night comes? We going to read comic books? We going to watch television? We're sitting ducks in here."
Everyone exchanged glances.
Metzger was the first to break the silence. "You're right, Natasha's right. But we can't go anywhere without your father."
"But that doesn't mean we have to sit around like a bunch of idiots," she said.
Metzger turned to Veronica, "Do you think your Auntie and Uncle would come if you told them the truth?"
She shook her head. "They wouldn't believe me if I swore on a bible. It's just too -" she struggled for a word.
"Crazy?" Derrick offered.
"Yeah. Crazy."
So if we can't leave, then what shall we do?" Metzger asked the room.
Everyone watched Moe beat the shit out of Shemp and Larry with an axe handle. No one laughed.
"What if we had one to show them - your aunt and uncle, the town, everyone?" Derrick suddenly asked. "What if we blew this whole thing out of the water by getting a zombie and showing it to the world?"
"And how are we going to do that, little man?" Metzger asked, turning from the window.
Derrick made a face at the comment, but continued. "Remember the zombie in the trailer? The one I was afraid to go into?"
Metzger snapped his fingers, his face brightening. "That's right. We almost forgot about that."
Natasha shook her head. "I think that one's gone."
All eyes went to her.
"What do you mean?" Veronica asked.
Natasha sighed, then told them what had happened, and about Gerald.
"You mean you almost got eaten by a zombie and you didn't think it was important enough to tell us about?" Derrick asked, his mouth agape.
"It was a far cry from being eaten. It didn't even get near me, really," Natasha said.
"What do you think this
guy Gerald was doing with the zombie?" Metzger asked.
Natasha shrugged. "I don't know. Whatever it was, he wasn't happy about it."
Veronica shook her head. "Then that's that. Scratch one more idea."
"Wait," Derrick said. "My idea isn't dead. My grandpa had all the information here. He just didn't have enough time to put it all together. According to this, right before there was any significant event, there were strange green flashes in the water. They were quick, but if you were looking right at them, you could see them plain as can be."
"I wonder what the flashes are?" Natasha murmured.
"It says that the flashes were always preceded by earthquake swarms," Derrick added.
"We had those earthquakes a few days ago," Natasha said.
He nodded. "And then the big zombie attack along the road. Do you know what I think? I think the flashes are some sort of power release, like a bleed-off. When the power builds too much, then they have to release it in the form of light energy."
Veronica's eyes widened. "How the hell can you know that? What school did you go to?"
"The Robert Heinlein and Iain M. Banks school of science fiction."
"The what?"
"Also don't forget Marvel and DC comics. Tolkien. Star Trek. Star Wars. Watchmen."
Veronica clapped her hands and laughed. "Oh my God. You're a nerd."
"If that's what you call people in L.A. who actually read something besides the sides of milk cartons and wanted posters in the post offices, then yes, I'm a nerd."
"Bill Gates was a nerd and now he's one of the richest men in the world," Metzger put in.
Derrick shot Metzger a thank you look.
"But all this is from comics, books and movies," Veronica pointed out. "It can't really work, can it?"
"Why not? The best science fiction uses some science to make it look real, otherwise it's too far-fetched to believe. I've learned more about science from those things than I have in school," Derrick said. "Anyway, it's just a theory."
"But it's as good a theory as anyone's," Metzger said, again returning to the window. "Hey, the weather is picking up outside. This storm looks like it's going to dump on us soon."
"How soon?" Natasha asked.
Metzger shook his head. "Don't ask me. I'm not the weatherman. I run from zombies for a living."
"We have an hour or two before the worst of it arrives," Veronica said.
"We need to find out," Natasha said, coming to a decision. She swung her legs onto the floor. "We need proof." She thought about Gerald and the zombie that he'd been chasing. If only he'd been able to capture the creature, she wouldn't have to suggest what she was about to suggest.
"And how do you figure we're going to get that? Just walk up to the zombie factory, bang on the door, and ask to see the zombies?" Veronica asked, sarcasm twisting her lips.
"Not necessarily." Natasha turned to Veronica. "I saw some dive tanks at the Duvall's. Do you know if they use them?"
Veronica nodded.
Light twinkled in Natasha's eyes. "You do know how to dive, don't you, living all those years in Florida?"
Metzger stared at her with the beginnings of terror as he figured out her idea. He nodded reluctantly. "Yeah."
"Good. Then you can go down there and see what the lights are about."
"Go down where?"
"In the water." She told them about the map she'd seen Rico going over with the off-limits area right beside the quay. They all agreed that if there was to be some sort of underwater entrance, or exit, it would be there.
"You're volunteering me to dive into the water and look for zombies?"
She nodded.
"Might as well ask me to put my head in a lion's mouth."
"They have two sets of tanks," Veronica said.
Natasha shook her head at Veronica, but the other girl didn't listen. Instead, she repeated herself.
"So they have two pairs," Metzger said with macabre glee. "Then you can join me, can't you Natasha?"
"I don't know how to use them."
"Oh, it'll be easy."
"But maybe we should -"
"No buts, Natasha. You're right. We do need to check." To Derrick, he said, "We'll need the two of you onshore to make sure nothing comes in after us. Think you can handle it?"
An hour later found Derrick sitting on an overturned barrel at the edge of the Salton Sea, near the quay that ran to the desalination plant. Behind him the sump pump growled angrily as it fought to keep the water out of the streets. The sky was a mat of grey steel, and the wind blew offshore, raising white caps on the waves.
Veronica sat beside him. She held a speargun across her lap. The combination of the L.A. Lakers basketball jersey and basketball shoes, her wild hair, her mocha skin and the weapon made her look like a gangbanger from the Jonny Quest cartoon.
Derrick had the urge to kiss her, but he'd never kissed a girl before. Her lips were only a foot away from his. All he had to do was lean over and do it.
What's the worst that could happen? he asked himself. Eyeing the glint of sunlight off the wickedly-barbed tip of the spear, he had his answer.
But looking out at his sister and Metzger with their SCUBA gear on, wading through the dead fish and seaweed, he had a feeling that this was going to be his only chance. This could be the end of things, and if it really was going to be the end, he didn't want to go out without having kissed a girl. After all, didn't all the heroes in his comics, books and movies kiss the girl? Then why shouldn't he?
So he leaned over and kissed her square on the lips.
And to his great surprise, Veronica kissed him back.
When they finished, Derrick stared out at his sister as she fully submerged, with the biggest shit-eating grin that ever graced a teenaged boy's face. He never once looked at Veronica, but could feel the heat of her gaze.
"You're gonna be something else someday," was all she said.
The water felt nasty, like olive oil mixed with fish guts. Natasha knew she was going to stink when she got out of it. And she didn't like the way the mask enclosed her in its claustrophobic embrace, stealing her peripheral vision. In fact, she hated the whole enterprise and couldn't believe she'd been talked into joining Metzger.
He swam a little forward and to her right. The idea was to hug the shoreline along the quay until they found some indication of something man-made. The water wasn't very deep; her gauge read twelve feet. Off to her left the sea was deeper, but the slope was gradual. In fact, it was shallow enough that light from the sky above filtered through the water and provided enough illumination to guide them.
They'd found the SCUBA gear at the Duvall's place right where Natasha had last seen it. The tanks had been recently filled, the date scribbled on a sticker on the side of each one. Metzger said everything was in good working order, so with a quick lesson on how to use the equipment, he guided her into the water.
Now she swam next to him, her flippers doing most of the work, her hands out in front of her. She felt clunky. Her legs didn't move as smoothly as they could, and certainly not as smoothly as Metzger's. His long, bare legs swished slowly back and forth. He'd removed all of his clothes except his underwear. She'd kept her underwear on too, and a T-shirt.
A layer of bird and fish bones, probably from the multiple die-offs over the years, made the sand-covered bottom look like a battlefield where the dead numbered in the thousands. Visibility in the dark green water was reduced to about ten feet. She could just make out Metzger's head as he swam beside her, but there was nothing else except darker water beyond, where the shadows lay.
They swam for a minute or two before they encountered something. The sand gave way to a squared corner of concrete. They stopped and reached down to touch it. One edge of the concrete ran parallel with the quay. The other ran straight into the sea.
They followed the edge along the quay for a while, but it kept going far out of sight. They backtracked and began to follow the other edge out to sea. Natasha noticed t
hat the depth of the water was still relatively shallow, no more than twenty feet. She also noted that the expanse of concrete, larger than multiple football fields as far as she could tell, was devoid of bone or other detritus. It was as if someone, or something, kept the surface clean.
Metzger tapped her on the arm. He pointed towards the middle of the concrete expanse. Natasha nodded and gestured for him to lead.
They swam languidly. Here and there she could feel the swells above as the wind from Tropical Storm Hiawatha ripped the surface. She wondered how Veronica and her brother were doing. Leaving them topside with the speargun was the best they could do, but the weapon was for monsters. If Hopkins were to arrive with soldiers, what could they actually do?
Beneath Natasha, the concrete remained clean of debris. If it hadn't existed on the bottom of the murky sea she would have thought of it as a parking lot. A shadow appeared in the distance, and she touched Metzger's leg. He nodded without turning, indicating that he'd seen it too. They swam slowly, minds racing at the possibilities of what the murk might unveil.
But what they eventually saw didn't make a lot of sense. Four thick chains covered in moss and algae were piled on the concrete. Each chain was attached to an immense eyebolt embedded in the cement, and beside this was a metal box with a blinking red light. Beneath the light was a circular hole, but Natasha couldn't figure out what belonged there.
Metzger reached down and hefted the chains. By his ponderous movements, Natasha could tell that their weight was considerable.
They stared at the box and chains for a few more moments, then moved on, trying to maintain their original heading. Soon other shadows appeared, each one a dozen or so feet apart. The next one they swam to was virtually identical to the one they'd just left. The only exception was that the chains didn't have as much algae, and a nozzled hose ran from the mysterious hole inset beneath the curiously blinking red light.
They moved on to the next shadow and stopped dead. The use to which the chains and nozzle had been purposed was no longer a mystery. For in front of them was one of the zombies, bound at the wrists and ankles by the chains, the hose running from the box into a metal pucker on the back of its neck.
Thankfully it faced the other direction, but that did little to still Natasha's hammering heart. Its skin was mottled green. Here and there she could see bone, along the spine, on the left hip and right shoulder blade. The zombie couldn't stand up straight. The chains pulled it down so it was almost on all fours.