Parasite Deep

by Shane McKenzie

  Yeah, Gentry. Might want to talk to her first before you start making wedding plans.

  And even though the weekend was set up for him to do just that, to get to know her, to let her get to know him, he would rather avoid the situation all together. Not just because Clyde would be there and would stomp his face into the back of his skull if he caught them talking. Mostly, it was just the pure fear of rejection. Gentry was pretty sure a broken skull from Clyde would hurt a whole hell of a lot less than a broken heart from Emma.

  He slid out of the bedroom, and was about to head past Cheri’s room to the front door, but something caught his eye. Through the sliding glass door that led to the backyard, swirls of smoke drifted up out of the darkness. There was no light on, and the moon wasn’t doing him much help in the illumination department, but there was just enough that he could see the cigarette exhuming the smoke, could see the fingers clamped over the butt like two thin chopsticks, could see the hand they were connected to, hinged lazily at the wrist.

  He didn’t see Clyde, but even if Emma was out there alone, what would he say to her? He was just about to walk away, just pretend like he didn’t see her, when she turned and looked right at him. Eyes red, tears running down from them. She quickly wiped them away, actually looked relieved to see Gentry standing there, even smiled at him.

  What did that bastard do to her?

  He knew Clyde had hit her before, had seen the black and blue evidence on her face, but he was too much of a pussy to do or say anything about it.

  Gentry didn’t know if that smile of hers was an invitation or not, but he strolled toward her anyway. He couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands, so he stuffed them into his pockets, tried not to smile too stupidly as Emma watched him coming. He pulled one hand from his pocket to get the door open, but it was jammed, getting caught up on the gunk build-up over the years, and he felt his face flash red as he was forced to use both hands to slide the door open. He stepped outside, smiled, even waved like a fucking moron.

  “Gentry, right?” Emma said, then used the butt of her cigarette to light a new one. From the light provided by the flame, Gentry thought he saw red marks on her neck—finger-shaped—but he didn’t say anything about it. She held up her pack for him, and though he didn’t really smoke, he accepted one anyway.

  “Yeah,” Gentry said. “You’re Emma, right?” He didn’t know why he said it, and when she furrowed her brow at him and nodded slowly, he wished he would have just stayed in Ben’s room.

  “What are you doing awake? Got a long drive tomorrow.” She offered Gentry her lighter, then blew a cloud of smoke into the air between them.

  “Can’t sleep. Got tired of listening to Ben snore, so figured maybe I’d take a walk or something.”

  “A walk? That sounds good actually.” She stood up, brushed the dead leaves and dirt from her backside. “Where we going?”

  “You’re coming? I mean…you’re coming? With me?” Gentry finally lit his cigarette, and immediately had a coughing fit.

  Emma chuckled, ran her fingertips over her throat once. “I need to get out of here for a while. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Gentry held in his excitement, tried to come off like he didn’t care if she joined him or not, though he didn’t think he was doing a very good job. “It’s cool. What about Clyde? I’m not scared of him or anything, but—”

  “Yeah you are. Most everybody is. Shit, I know I am.” Emma rubbed her neck again, then seemed to catch herself, tried to smile as if that would erase what she just said.

  “Wait…what did he…?”

  “Nothing. Don’t fucking look at me like that, all right? I don’t even know you…” She threw her hands into the air, her cigarette clamped between her lips. Smoke flowed out from her nostrils.

  Gentry didn’t think he was looking at her in any way, at least he didn’t mean to. And she was right. He was scared of Clyde. Even knowing the son of a bitch put his hands on her didn’t fuel him with the courage to do a damn thing about it. His big heroic plan would be nothing more than getting the police involved.

  “I’m sorry,” she said through a budding smile. “My head’s all messed up. We gonna walk or what?”

  Gentry just nodded, motioned for her to follow him with a slight jerk of his head. They walked through the backyard toward the gate, opened it up, then headed toward the sidewalk. Clyde’s car wasn’t there, and Gentry was going to ask her about his whereabouts again, but figured if she felt safe being seen with Gentry walking at night, she must not be expecting him back anytime soon.

  And here you are, Gentry. With your dream girl. Your best friend’s brother’s girlfriend.

  What are you going to do about it?

  He had no idea. As they began walking, neither of them saying anything, Gentry had to fight the urge to look over his shoulder.

  —2—

  Otis pulled back on the pole, reeled as fast as his hand would go, then pulled again. The line squealed as the fish fought back, nearly bending the pole in half. The moon was full and bright like an anglerfish’s lure hanging over them.

  “Whoo!” Otis pressed his boot against the boat’s rail, cackled as he fought the fish, which promised to be a beast from how hard it was tugging. Red maybe, or a Thresher.

  “Get him, Otis,” Johnny said, holding the gaff with both hands, peering over the side of the boat into the churning sea. “Get his ass up here so I can give him a new asshole!”

  “I got him. I got his ass.”

  The haul that night had already been a good one. Better than they had had for nearly a year. When Pete gave them the coordinates, said he found a new sweet spot, Otis decided he and Johnny better check it out first before taking any paying customers out, see if the salty son of a bitch was fucking with them or had really found something worthwhile. Colliding currents, he had said. Pushing the nutrients and phytoplankton up from the bottom, attracting smaller fish, sardines mostly, which in turn brought in all the big boys. A feeding frenzy.

  “If it’s so damn good, why you tellin’ me about it?” Otis had said.

  “I’m done,” Pete had said. “I’m parkin’ the boat for good this time. I figure if I ain’t gonna use it, somebody might as well.”

  Otis didn’t believe that. The Nances had dominated the fishing business in Palacios for generations, and Pete was no older than Otis was. No reason to quit now, unless the guy was just sick of the life. Which Otis had seen in the past, but not from the Nance family. Just didn’t make any damn sense. He figured maybe Pete was sending them on a wild goose chase just to fuck with the competition. It seemed petty and childish, but who knows. Otis almost didn’t go, but after putting a lot of thought to it, and talking with Johnny about it, they figured checking it out wouldn’t hurt nothing.

  Pete had been dead on. The fish were taking every piece of bait they threw out there, and before long, they’d have more fish than they’d know what to do with. The waters were choppy, rough. The collision of currents caused chaos in the sea, like an underwater storm. Otis had damn near lost his footing, stumbled right over the side a few times, but he was getting his legs under him now.

  “What’s that all over their skin there?” Johnny had said after bringing in the first few catches.

  “Barnacles,” Otis had said, fingering the clusters of hard shell. “I think.” Each fish, regardless of species, was infested with what looked like barnacles, though they were none like Otis had ever seen or heard of. “Don’t make no difference to me. Barnacles or not. Hell, these sons of bitches could have the clap as far as I give a shit.”

  Otis’s shoulders ached and burned, and he thought about handing the pole over to Johnny, let him finish fighting whatever monster was on the other end of that line, but decided against it. He might be getting older, but damnit, he would be goddamned if he was going to show it.

  “See him yet?” Otis grunted through his clenched teeth.

  Johnny’s eyes darted as he stared over the side into the water, an
d he was already shaking his head. Then he smiled, pointed. “There’s our monster, right there. Looks like you got you a Thresher the size of my dick. And let me tell you, Otis, that’s a keeper size right there.”

  Otis couldn’t help but laugh, then yanked back on the pole and reeled in the slack as fast as he could. “Well hook his ass, would you?”

  “Little further. One more should do you.” Johnny had the gaff over the side now, his red face beaded with perspiration, bottom lip clamped under his teeth.

  “Fucker put up a fight, boy,” Otis said as he pulled back again.

  “There we go. Hold it right—”

  Something hit the boat so hard just then, it threw Otis off his feet. The pole slipped from his hands and went overboard. The waves bounced the boat around like they were playing keep away with it, and Otis slid around the deck on his back, reaching out for something to grab.

  What in the fucking hell was that?

  He grabbed hold of a leg on his cutting table, managed to haul himself to his feet. Water sloshed around as more waves showered the deck and threatened to tip them over.

  “Johnny, you all…?”

  Otis stopped short when he realized he stood alone. He ran to the spot where Johnny had been standing only moments before, but his deckhand was gone.

  “Johnny! Johnny!” Otis hung over the side as far as he dared, peered out into the water, but saw nothing but the violent thrashing sea surrounding him.

  “Oh fuck me. No, no, no.”

  Otis started toward the wheelhouse, was going to get on the radio, call this in, get some help out as fast as they could get there. But just before he planted his foot on the first step, he heard him.

  “Otis! Otis, fucking help…help me!”

  It was faint and distant, but the urgency was loud and clear.

  “Johnny! Where are you?”

  Though the moon was bright, Otis couldn’t spot his deckhand, just blackness all around him.

  Whatever had hit the boat before hit it again, and Otis flew forward into the stairs, cracked his forehead and shin against the edge of the metal steps. Black spots danced at the edge of his vision, and he tasted blood as he groaned, forced himself back to his feet. If he was going to save Johnny, every second counted, and he stumbled across the deck until he found the life preserver mounted on the wall.

  “I’m comin’, Johnny! Hold on!”

  Otis didn’t have a clue which end of the boat to look, so he stopped, tried to hear past the hissing and crashing of the waves.

  “Otis!”

  Stern!

  Otis rushed toward the rear of the boat, searched the boiling sea for his friend. He didn’t see Johnny, but what he did catch sight of made his jaw hang slack. The life preserver nearly slipped from his hands as he watched the dorsal fins cut the top of the water like triangular razor blades. At least five of them.

  Dolphins?

  It was because he had been watching the dolphins that he spotted Johnny. Maybe two hundred yards in front of them, another one hundred yards from the boat.

  Johnny waved his arms, tried to scream or call out, but his head was swallowed by a wave, and when he surfaced again, he was coughing and choking.

  The dolphins were closing the distance fast, and Otis couldn’t help but be momentarily puzzled by their behavior. Were they actually heading for Johnny, or was this a coincidence? Could this be one of those Disney moments when someone was in trouble and a dolphin came along and saved their life?

  Otis wasn’t going to wait around and find out. He could tell Johnny wasn’t aware of the dolphins coming toward him from the rear.

  Otis cupped his hands over his mouth. “Hang on!”

  He flung the float as hard as he could, and it spun through the air like a Frisbee, landed maybe twenty yards in front of Johnny, who had already begun swimming frantically toward it.

  He’s gonna make it, Otis thought. He’s gonna be all right.

  Otis had the rope wrapped around both fists, and as soon as he saw Johnny grab a hold of that float, he was going to haul him in as hard and fast as his old bones would let him. Hopefully faster than those goddamn dolphins could swim.

  Johnny wrapped his arms around the float. The dolphins were a good fifty yards back, but gaining on him fast.

  Otis started pulling, hand over hand, growling as he worked.

  Even from the distance, he could see the look of relief on Johnny’s face.

  When the black fin rose up out of the water, just in front of Johnny, he and Otis screamed at the same time. A geyser of water sprayed from the blowhole, misted into the air. The massive black tail swung up and crashed down again, nearly slapping Johnny on top of his head. It hit just beside him, missing him by maybe a foot. Before the giant splash of water from the tail’s impact made it impossible for Otis to see Johnny anymore, he saw his friend get launched backward, losing his grip on the float.

  What in God’s name was that?

  Just then, the boat rumbled as something else rammed it. Otis nearly fell sideways, would have flipped right over the side if he hadn’t been holding that rope.

  “Fucking mother of God!”

  He regained his footing the best he could, gasping, whimpering now. He caught sight of Johnny wailing and splashing in the open sea seconds before the group of dolphins reached him. The first one sprung out of the water, mouth wide, and landed right on top of him. The others attacked from all sides. Fins and tails splashed, an occasional arm would break the surface.

  “Johnny!”

  Otis started hauling in the float again, hoping to give it another toss, maybe give Johnny a chance. But Johnny went under, the water around him cloudy with blood. The dolphins splashed and screeched as they tore him apart.

  “No, goddamnit!”

  Everything was silent except for the roaring of the ocean. Otis searched in all directions, his panic mounting by the second.

  Then, like a ghost emerging from the shadows, Johnny broke the surface, sucked in a lungful of air. His face was covered in blood, chunks of it torn away, and as he splashed around, Otis could see that one of his arms was missing, the stump ragged and bleeding with tattered skin flaps hanging from the edges.

  Otis braced himself for the dolphins to take Johnny back under, to end it. But they didn’t come. The float was only a few feet in front of Johnny, and he saw it, tried to wriggle his way toward it.

  Come on, buddy. You can make it. Please.

  Movement from just below Otis caught his eye. A massive shadow, at the least the size of his boat if not bigger, cut through the water like a giant torpedo.

  It hit the boat, and all Otis could do was bellow as he tumbled over the edge. As Otis went under, he tried to scream and got a belly full of sea water for it. The salt stung his eyes and nasal passages.

  He was only under for maybe a minute, and for every one of those sixty seconds, he had expected whatever it was that hit the boat to take him into its jaws, chew him to pieces before swallowing him down.

  His head broke the surface, and he breathed and coughed, immediately checked all around him for fins or splashing. Just ahead of him was Johnny, now clinging to the life preserver, moaning and saying something Otis couldn’t make out.

  A slick black body rose up, the dorsal fin like a wide, dark machete. Water erupted from the blowhole a moment before Otis realized he was looking at a Killer Whale.

  Johnny shrieked from behind the great beast.

  Something moved on the surface of the whale’s skin, thrashed around like snakes. Long, thin flagellum. The whale’s body was covered in clusters of barnacles, spread across the black and white flesh like a fungus. The whip-like appendages sprouted from tiny openings on the barnacles and flailed chaotically.

  Then the whale was back under the water, and Otis locked eyes with Johnny just the moment before another Killer Whale exploded up and out of the Gulf, snapped its jaws over Johnny and took him under in a spray of salt water and blood.

  Otis wanted to call
out for his friend, but the panic building inside of him kept any words from forming. He swam toward the boat, gasping, sobbing.

  The rope!

  It dangled down from the deck into the water, and though Otis didn’t know if he had the strength to haul himself up, he grabbed hold of it anyway.

  Another fin. Gray. Covered in barnacles, the thin tentacles wiggling. It passed just in front of his face, and at the same moment, something big and rough scraped across his legs.

  A scream tore from his throat, and he picked up his feet, actually kicked off of the giant fish. He worked his arms and legs as fast as they would go, scooting inch by agonizing inch back up that rope.

  He chanced a look down, and just to his left, that massive shadow sped toward the boat again. When it hit, the reverberations knocked Otis loose from the rope.

  He felt the teeth before he heard the splash of the Great White leaping for him. The jaws closed over his side as he fell from the rope, twisting in the air, and then he was under again.

  The teeth tore into him as he was pulled deeper and deeper into the sea, and he could only hope that he would drown before he had to feel himself being eaten alive.

  ***

  Cobb checked his cell phone again, Manuel sitting in the passenger seat with his arms crossed.

  “Still nothing?” Manuel pulled his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it, started running his thumb across the screen. “There’s gotta be someone else we can call, right?”

  Cobb pulled the tip of his index finger out of his belly button, sniffed it. “We already called everyone we know. If we go out to Ben’s uncle’s house with no weed, it’s going to suck rhinoceros cock. Have you ever seen a rhino’s cock? Big as my leg with horns all across it.”

  “That’s fuckin’ gross, dude.” Manuel said, glaring at Cobb through his thick glasses. His eyes looked tiny behind them, like roasted almonds pressed into his face.