As the slimy appendages were severed, spraying dark red blood, they began to lose their hold on Buford’s body. The wound on his chest bled profusely, and Bernie pressed his hand against it to stop the bleeding as he struggled to pull Buford away from Otis.
With a final hard tug, Bernie fell backward, Buford landing on top of him. In the same moment, Otis had lost his hold on the side of the ship, gurgled as he dropped off. A soft, weak whimper oozed from Buford’s lips as more blood bubbled out. Deep scoops of flesh had been ripped from his face and head, his neck and torso. The blood just kept pouring out of him, and though Bernie tried, he didn’t have enough hands to try and stop the bleeding.
“I got you. Just h-hang on. I got you.”
One of the fishing poles snapped as whatever had a hold of the hook and bait finally won the battle. Two of the other poles stood straight up, and Bernie figured the fish had either wiggled loose or cut the line with their teeth.
The severed tentacles on the deck floor had stopped their thrashing, and they lay lifeless in puddles of blood.
There was a series of thumping sounds, then two pale hands gripped the edge, the knuckles covered in the hard barnacle shells. Otis pulled himself up, shrieked at Bernie and Buford.
An eruption of water just behind Otis, as if a cannonball had been shot out of it into the air.
Something hit the boat so hard, the front tipped as if it would dive straight down into the sea.
A massive gray shape was visible for only a second. Bernie saw a giant tail rise up, and in that same instant, Otis roared, reached out a hand as if Bernie would help him, and then he was gone in an explosion of water.
Bernie jumped to his feet and rushed over, glared over the edge. What looked like a whale, Sperm Whale maybe, its back alive with the thrashing of the barnacles’ tentacles. The damn creatures had made a city for themselves on the back of the whale, who had Otis snapped down in its massive mouth, crushing him like a garbage compactor. With a splash of its tail, it dove into the water and was gone.
Oh Jesus no.
The wood on the front of the boat was splintered, broken pieces floating just in front of them. Water rushed in, and as Bernie watched this happen, the boat began to sink lower and lower into the sea.
Buford lay on his back, no longer breathing or moving. Tiny masses of shell had already began growing over his skin. The wound on his chest was smothered by the budding crustaceans, clogging the opened flesh and stemming the blood flow.
Johnny was climbing to his feet, gripping the rail. The puncture wound on the side of his head was already alive with the movement of the barnacles’ tentacles, as if they were repairing the damage. Yet Johnny seemed unbalanced, and he stumbled as he tried to lunge for Bernie, crashed back down to his stomach and rolled to the side as the boat groaned and sank deeper. Water sprayed over the sides and wood snapped.
Gotta call somebody. Gotta get help!
Bernie made a dash for the stairs that led to the ship’s wheelhouse, and just as he was about to place his foot on the step, something seized his other ankle, dragged him backward with a strong yank.
Buford’s eyes were still shut, but his right hand had a vice grip on Bernie’s ankle, squeezing so hard Bernie thought he felt the bone splinter.
“Let me go, goddamnit!” Bernie tried to shake Buford’s hand off, but when he couldn’t get him loose, he stomped down on Buford’s arm with his free foot, slamming his boot like he was trying to put out a fire.
What had to be hundreds of the black tendrils snaked out from Buford’s back, lifted him up. He still had a hard grip on Bernie’s ankle, and the quick, sudden elevation threw Bernie onto his back, his foot still in the air.
Buford’s face was alive with movement as the tiny crab-like creatures burrowed themselves into his flesh. Once buried, the spindly legs worked fast, tapping the edges of the tattered flesh that surrounded them like typing fingers. Before Bernie’s eyes, the hard shell of the barnacle was formed, and this happened all over Buford’s face, his chest, all across his body.
Buford’s eyes burst open, bloodshot, already starting to glaze over. Wriggling threads snaked from his tear ducts.
Water poured over the sides onto the deck now, splashing over Bernie’s face, choking him, stinging his eyes with its saltiness. It did nothing to cool the searing burn across his skin, seemed only to intensify it.
And that’s when he felt it. It almost tickled at first, those tiny critters crawling over his flesh. Once the digging began, only torture was left. They were mostly on his face and neck, though he started to feel them scuttling across his torso, down to his groin and thighs.
They burrowed into him, eating their way deeper. He could feel each one as it settled into the wound, began constructing the hard shell that would house it. No matter how hard Bernie thrashed, he couldn’t shake them loose, could only pray for death to take him as he was infested like a log full of termites.
Bernie kicked, fought off Buford as hard as he could, but couldn’t free himself. The water rose as the wooden ship creaked and sunk, was already at ear-level when Buford lifted Bernie into the air. The tentacles from Buford’s chest plunged into Bernie’s skin, ripping away chunks of flesh even as the other barnacles were making his body their home.
“Nooooo!”
Fish started to flow over into the boat, flopping around and splashing in the still shallow water. Barnacles covered each one of them, black appendages frenzying.
Something gray leapt into the air, slammed into the staircase that led to the control room. Black blood burst from the shiny, rubbery body. The dolphin’s face and head were completely infested with barnacles, and as it thrashed around on the metal stairs, opening new gashes along its body, its mouth opened and a gurgled, gruff sound flowed out. From its blowhole, tentacles crept out and flailed.
It wasn’t until the water soaked into his hair that Bernie realized everything but the captain’s room was now submerged. The sea seemed to boil all around them as bubbles surfaced from the sinking ship below.
And in every direction it seemed, dorsal fins and tales cut the water’s surface, circling them, barnacles clinging to the wet fish hide.
Something grabbed Bernie from behind, and he tried to scream in response, but couldn’t get a sound past the gurgling blood and salt water in his throat. Johnny wrapped one arm around Bernie’s torso, and the tentacles that swirled from the stump of his other arm chewed through Bernie’s jeans, slid slowly down his legs. Most of them sank into the soft flesh of his upper thighs, but a couple found another way in, shoving into his asshole deeper and deeper, then quickly ripping out again once they had claimed their prize.
Bernie was ready to die. He was completely under water now, could see the hordes of infected sea life circling the ship which now plunged quickly into the dark depths of the Gulf.
It was hard to see much, but he could tell that some of the animals fought each other, thrashing and taking bites out of one another’s bodies, clouding the sea with blood and black inky fluid.
Just fuckin’ kill me already. Fuckin’ take me!
He didn’t know if he preferred being eaten alive to drowning, but right now, he just wanted it over as fast as possible. Sharks and whales and dolphins and all other kinds of fish darted past, some inches away.
And then suddenly, as quick as a blink, Bernie was less concerned with his own life and more concerned with ending something else’s. He was overcome with a hurricane of violent urges. Something had to die at his hands, and it had to happen now!
Buford was the closest, and he reached for him, dug his fingers into the old man’s ruined face, ripping away chunks of meat, scraping his cuticles across bone.
He was only minutely aware that he was drowning, that if he didn’t go up for air, he would die. He was too concerned with killing to care.
Buford slipped from his grasp, and just as the tentacles burst from his body and paddled him through the water faster than he could ever dream of swimming, som
ething caught hold of his leg, dug its teeth in, dragged him down.
Bernie thrashed his leg from left to right until the bone snapped. It was too dark for him to see what creature had hold of him, but he yanked his leg one last time, detaching it, then dove toward the beast.
He would kill that fucking thing if it was the last thing he did.
—4—
Gentry woke up to Ben lightly slapping him in the face. He stood over him, already fully dressed, a wide smile on his face.
“You ready to do this?” Ben said.
Gentry sat up, wiped the hard balls of mucus from the corners of his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Time to get the fuck up and get your shit ready. As soon as Cobb and Manuel get here, we’re gone.” He held out his hand, and Gentry took it, was hauled to his feet.
“Where’s Clyde and Emma?” Gentry nearly shoved Ben out of his way so he could go check on Emma, make sure Clyde didn’t do anything to her last night, but calmed himself down, took a deep breath.
“Shit, I don’t know. In Clyde’s room probably. We’re not waiting for them. They wanna come, they can come on their own. Why the fuck do you care anyway?”
Gentry shrugged. “Just wondering. Hoping maybe Clyde wouldn’t show up or something, you know?”
Ben nodded and smiled. “I bet he doesn’t even come. He just wanted to piss me off and fuck with me, but when it comes down to it, he’ll stay here. He doesn’t even like fishing.”
Gentry already had his bag packed, but he rifled through it to find his toothbrush. “What, and you do?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I guess my whole family before my dad loved it, right? Maybe it’s in my blood or something. Maybe I’ll be really good at it, you know? A natural.”
“Could be,” Gentry said, then shouldered past Ben toward the bathroom. “I’ll just be a minute. You hungry?”
“I already ate. Get you a quick bowl of cereal or something, and later, we can stop, get something hot to eat. Cool? I wanna get the fuck outta here already.”
Gentry just nodded, trudged his way out of the room and down the hall toward the bathroom. He figured Ben wanted to slip out and get on the road before Clyde had a chance to see them, and Gentry didn’t blame him. Sleep still fogged his mind, and he yawned, stretched, rubbed his palm across his face. He stopped outside of Clyde’s room, checked to his left and right to make sure nobody was around, then pressed his ear to the door. Holding his breath, he listened, but heard nothing.
The door opened up, and he nearly stumbled into the room. He caught himself on the doorframe, his face inches away from Emma’s chest. She wore a pink spaghetti strap shirt with no bra, her nipples slightly erect and pressing up against the fabric.
Gentry gasped, pushed away from her. “Um…I wasn’t, I mean…”
She stepped out and eased the door shut, then smiled at him. “Really? What were you hoping to hear, us bumping uglies in there?”
“What? No, it’s not—”
“I’m just messing with you. But…what were you doing?”
Gentry studied her face for a second, searching for bruises or cuts, but didn’t see anything. She had dark circles around her eyes like she hadn’t slept much, but she seemed to be in good spirits.
Gentry decided the best move was to come clean. “Just worried about you. Clyde seemed, I don’t know, off last night. Even more so than usual.”
She bit her lip, squinted slightly as if reliving last night’s events in her mind. “He was on that shit again. That fucking crystal shit. I know it sounds fucked up, but I like him better when he’s on it than when he’s not. It’s when he’s off it that he can get…never mind. It’s too early for that shit, and I didn’t sleep very much.”
“Yeah, all right. Where’s Clyde now? Passed out?” Gentry was hoping she’d say he was, that after everything, they would be staying home. Gentry had no idea the guy was doing hard drugs, but he wasn’t really surprised.
“He didn’t sleep. He went out to get us coffee and donuts. He’ll probably sleep in the car on the way out.” She rolled her eyes. “This trip promises to be eventful. You ever meet their uncle? The fisherman?”
“No. Ben never mentioned him before he told me about this trip. I don’t think their dad talked much about his side of the family.”
Gentry didn’t mean to, but his eyes coasted back to her hard nipples, which seemed to have only grown in size. When he looked back up at her, she was smiling, one eyebrow cocked.
She patted him on the shoulder. “I have to pee.”
“Yeah. Cool. I mean…sorry.” Gentry moved out of her way, and she strutted off, looked over her shoulder once at him before entering the bathroom and shutting the door.
Gentry had to pee too, but figured he could hold it. The only other option was to ask Cheri if he could use the bathroom in her room, which he had done many times before. But the room gave him the creeps now, covered in photographs of her dead husband, old family portraits. Everyone smiling, everyone happy. Everyone alive. It was like ghosts glaring out of the glass, trapped in infinity.
Gentry had never experienced death, Ben’s dad being the first person he had ever known to die. He was sad, especially at first, but now, everything just seemed strange. Off. Even though Clyde was fucked up last night, what he said was right. These people were like family to Gentry, and he only wished he could do more to help them.
Cheri was sitting on the couch when Gentry strolled into the living room. She held a piece of burnt toast in one hand, no bites taken out of it. She held a cup of coffee in the other. Her eyes were blank as she stared at the wall, and she didn’t seem to notice Gentry as he walked past.
“Good morning,” Gentry said, and she jumped so hard that she spilled her coffee in her lap, crushed the crust of her toast, the dry bread bits dusting her clothes.
“Shit! Goddamn fucking shit!” She sighed, glared at Gentry and flared her nostrils. “Can you get me a goddamn towel, Gentry?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” Gentry rushed into the kitchen, grabbed the roll of paper towels. Just as he handed them to Cheri, the front door opened up and Clyde stepped in.
For getting no sleep, the guy looked lively. He held a pink box with four cups of coffee on top of that inside of a cup holder. He used his foot to shut the door, then smiled wide at Gentry and his mother.
“What up, Gench? Mom? You guys hungry?”
It wasn’t until Clyde walked over, kissed his mom on the head that Gentry could see how dilated his pupils were.
“Grab these coffees, will you? One of those is for you.”
Gentry did, and Clyde reached over and pulled one of the cups from the cardboard holder, handed it to Cheri.
“Here, Mom. Decaf, black. And I got you some cinnamon twists in here.”
Cheri took one look at Clyde, wrinkled her nose, then burst into tears. In the next instant, she was on her feet, shuffling toward her room. The door slammed just as she started to wail.
“I know she’s sad or whatever. But that fuckin’ shit right there’s startin’ to piss me off. Like it’s my motherfuckin’ fault he got cancer or some shit.” Clyde had been staring at Cheri’s reverberating door, and when he turned to see Gentry standing there, he sort of flinched like he forgot he wasn’t alone. He reached out, grabbed the coffees from Gentry’s hands, and threw them across the room. They slammed into the wall and exploded, throwing hot brown liquid all over the place. He did the same with the donut box, stared at Gentry like he was going to hit him, then stormed off toward his room.
“Fuck all you people!”
By the time Clyde had made it down the hall to his room, Ben was already standing there, his eyes darting from Clyde to Gentry.
“The fuck you lookin’ at, faggot?” Clyde shoved Ben in the chest as he passed, then stepped into his room and slammed the door.
“Fuck you too, asshole!” Ben screamed at the door, then quickly walked away from it. He carried his bags, and when he got to the living room, he let them d
rop from his hands. “Jesus. What happened?”
“Honestly, I have no idea.” Gentry filled Ben in, Ben shaking his head and staring at the mess. “Something else too. I talked to Emma. She said he didn’t sleep last night. Was fucked up on crystal, she said. What the fuck is crystal?”
“Meth,” Ben said. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “He told me about it. Said he could sell it, help the family out. I told him he was fucking stupid. He wouldn’t listen to me. Now he’s on the shit. My mom already knows.”
“Damn.”
“Fuck him. He tried to pretend like he was doing it for us, but it was for him. Just like everything else he does. I fucking hate him. I do. I wish he would just fucking die already.”
Gentry didn’t know what to say, so he stepped away from Ben and started cleaning up the mess. Just as his bladder reminded him how full it was, the bathroom door crept open and Emma stepped out wearing a twisted towel over her head. It was clear she had heard everything, and she gave Gentry a look that seemed to be begging for help.
“What—” she started.
“Your fucking boyfriend is an asshole, that’s what. Why don’t the two of you just fucking disappear? Just fucking go away, leave me and my mom alone.”
“Ben, come on, man.” Gentry had just tossed the donuts and cups into the trash, wiped his hands off on the back of his jeans as he approached his friend.
“No, fuck her. She’s not all innocent like she pretends to be.” He turned back toward Emma who was wiping tears away. “I hate him. I hate you too. Get the fuck out of our lives.”
Gentry tried to calm Ben by placing his hands on his shoulders, but Ben shrugged them off, grabbed his bags off the floor, and stomped out of the house. Slammed the door so hard a few pictures fell down. One of them was of Ben and Clyde when they were kids, both sitting in front of the Christmas tree surrounded by torn wrapping paper. Both smiling gap-toothed smiles.
By the time Gentry had turned toward Emma, she was already opening Clyde’s door. She wasn’t halfway in before a hand darted out, grabbed her by the arm, and yanked her inside. The door slammed.
Parasite Deep Page 6