Parasite Deep

by Shane McKenzie

  Manuel’s screams stopped suddenly, as if a sock had been stuffed into his mouth. His body had been shaking, thrashing, but it went still then.

  “Manuel?” Cobb shook him. “Manuel, talk to me!”

  Where the tiny creatures had dug into him were now covered in a pale shell-like material, spread across his face in an almost beehive pattern. The shell seemed to grow, expand across his skin as Cobb watched, covering Manuel’s eyes, his nose, everything but his mouth and chin. Manuel’s lips twitched, teeth clicked.

  Cobb felt a tickling sensation in his palm before the pain hit. The miniature crustaceans scurried across his skin like fleas, instantly scooping out chunks of flesh for their nests to settle into.

  “Fuck!” Cobb kicked his feet, scooted backward away from Manuel whose face looked like it had grown a thick, pale fungus. The shells now attached to his skin opened and closed again and again. Clicking, always clicking.

  Manuel’s arm stumps had ceased spewing blood. Where there was ragged, exposed meat before was now covered in clusters of the shells.

  Barnacles? Those are the same fucking barnacles on that fish…that killed the sheriff!

  Cobb whimpered as he tried to scrape the creatures off his palm with the fingernails of his other hand, but they were latched on tight, anchored deep inside of his flesh. As he worked his nails under the shell and pulled, blood flowed and hot pain ignited, forcing him to hiss and pull away.

  Black tendrils snaked out from Manuel’s arms, wiggled in the air, seemed to be reaching out for Cobb.

  Then Manuel sat up, turned his head slowly to face Cobb. His mouth, now the only thing Cobb could see on Manuel’s face that wasn’t infested with barnacles, opened slightly. Black fluid and frothy seawater spilled out, and he struggled to rise to his feet, gurgling and choking.

  “Manuel…you’ll be okay. We’re all gonna be okay…”

  But Manuel didn’t seem to hear or understand him. He slid his feet across the deck as he shuffled toward Cobb, the barnacles on his face now opened up, the dark tentacles swirling out of them like snakes on medusa’s head.

  “It’s me…it’s Cobb.” He said this as he backed away from his friend, trying to ignore the deepening agony in his hand.

  “Clyde!”

  Emma’s scream startled Cobb, and he flinched, turned to see what was happening, just in time to watch Uncle Pete toss Clyde overboard. There was a splash, then a symphony of more splashes, violent and heavy.

  “Guys!” Cobb had his eyes on Manuel again, had his own hand curled into a tight fist. “Fucking help me!”

  For the first time, Cobb noticed the activity in the water, watching it over Manuel’s shoulder.

  Dorsal fins sliced across the surface. Tails rose up and slapped back down. The colossal backs of beasts bobbed on the surface, the flesh littered with barnacles that rapidly snapped open and shut, blowholes spraying seawater into the air.

  Manuel groaned again, a strained painful mutter. And then he bared his teeth and pounced.

  —9—

  Uncle Pete looked over the edge after Clyde hit the water, droplets from the splashes jumping up and wetting his face and shirt.

  Emma wailed, her forehead pressed against the deck as she sobbed.

  For a moment, just a brief second, Gentry felt jealous. Even after Clyde threatened to kill her, toss her overboard into the ocean, she still mourned him. Still wept for him, still seemed to love him.

  Ben was on his feet, facing his uncle, didn’t seem like he knew what to do next. His bottom lip trembled, fists curling and uncurling. As the boat bobbed on the water, Ben stumbled some, but always kept his eyes on Uncle Pete.

  “No wonder my dad left,” Ben finally said, his voice surprisingly steady and firm. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”

  “Your daddy left because he’s a fuckin’ pussy, that’s what he is. Or was. And he raised two pussy, piece of shit boys before he checked out, too. Just another couple of worthless, spoiled panty wastes.” Uncle Pete used the bloody blade of his filet knife to point at Ben as he spoke. He pulled a new hand-rolled cigarette from behind his ear, stuffed it between his lips. After lighting it, blowing a puff of smoke into the dense, salty air, he dashed forward, grabbed Emma by the ankle, yanked her backward.

  “Guys!”

  Gentry heard Cobb calling from behind him, but he didn’t have time to worry about that as he sprang forward. He tried to wrap his fingers around Emma’s hand as she was dragged away from him, but his nails scraped across wood instead, and Uncle Pete reached down, grabbed a hold of her hair, jerked her to her feet by it. Then his knife was pressed against her throat, the pale, smooth skin nearly parting around the sharp metal.

  “Please!” Gentry was on his knees, both hands out. “You don’t have to hurt her. She doesn’t have anything to do with this shit!”

  “Oh,” Uncle Pete said through a thundercloud of smoke, smiling with the cigarette clamped between his teeth. “You’re all a part of this now. Every last one of you.”

  “Fucking help me!”

  “Looks like the fun’s already started, boys.” Uncle Pete pointed past Gentry and Ben with his knife, nodded his head.

  Ben had already turned toward the commotion, and he inched sideways toward Gentry until their shoulders were pressed tightly against each other.

  Cobb ran over, nearly tackled them both to the ground. He had one hand squeezed into a fist, holding it against his chest, the other hand quivering as it pointed at Manuel.

  “All over him, man,” Cobb said, his words whispery and high-pitched. “Those fucking b-barnacles. The ones I saw b-before. I fucking told you!”

  “What the fuck.” Ben shook his head, whined. “What the fuck do we do?”

  “The water,” Cobb said. “Look in the fucking water, man.”

  “Holy fuck…” Gentry’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the mayhem in the sea. So many fins and so much splashing, Gentry couldn’t tell the fish apart. A giant gray head emerged, mouth wide open and full of rows upon rows of razor, arrowhead-shaped daggers. Tentacles writhed from between the teeth, the barnacles spread across the creamy flesh below the mouth. The shark snapped its jaws, almost as if displaying its power, and from behind it, a tall, black fin rose up.

  The Killer Whale was only visible for a second as it snapped its jaws around the shark, nearly severing it in half. The water clouded with blood, and the whale dove, taking its prize along with it.

  “Fucking do something!” Cobb screamed.

  Manuel moved slow, sloppy, as if he had forgotten how to use his legs. Where his arms used to be seemed to have grown tentacles similar to the ones in the shark’s mouth, and they swirled and writhed against one another like battling eels. Manuel’s face was hidden behind a mask of shell, his jaw moving from side to side, teeth scraping across each other. Gentry couldn’t tell how he could see at all.

  This was his friend. One of his best friends. He knew that. In time, if he ever had the chance, he would cry over him. He would miss him. But right then, the thing shambling toward him was not Manuel. It was some kind of monster instead, something that couldn’t possibly be real. A clicking, dripping, writhing nightmare.

  Cut up squid lay scattered across the deck, some of it stained with Manuel’s blood. The metal bucket the bait had been sitting in rolled back and forth just in front of them. As Gentry noticed it, Ben was already wrapping his fingers around the handle.

  “Ahhhh!” Ben swung the bucket upward, caught Manuel under the chin.

  Manuel stumbled back, gurgled and spat black fluid from between his puffy lips. The tendrils reached out as if to grab hold of Ben.

  Ben screamed again, ran at Manuel with the bucket in front of him, holding it with both hands. He hit Manuel in the chest with it, kept pushing, driving him back. The boat swayed, and Ben slid for a second, but kept that bucket between him and the thrashing tentacles. The tips of the appendages fanned out, each one shaped like an ice cream scoop. They slammed into the bu
cket, making a scraping, pinging sound as they hit it.

  Then Manuel, and the bucket, went over the side, splashed into the water.

  “Fuck…oh fuck me,” Cobb muttered.

  Gentry gasped, quickly spun back around to face Uncle Pete, who had already begun dragging Emma back toward the stairs that led to the wheelhouse.

  “Gentry!” Emma screamed through the fence of saliva crisscrossed between her lips. Her eyes were pink and wide, and as Uncle Pete pulled on her again, she lost her footing, cried out as he kept pulling her, dragging her kicking legs across the wet wood of the deck

  “You boys have fun now,” Uncle Pete said, shoving Emma into the stairs in front of him. He pressed the tip of the knife between her shoulder blades. “Walk, you little bitch.”

  Gentry could only watch as Emma was led up the stairs, then shoved into the wheelhouse and out of Gentry’s sight.

  “Please don’t do this. You don’t have to do this!” Gentry said.

  “We’ll all die out here,” Ben said. “You too.”

  “Me and sugar plum here, we’re gonna wait nice and cozy. If the fish don’t get you first,” he said as he backed into the room. “You’ll tear each other apart.”

  —10—

  “You all right?” Knock, knock, knock!

  Cobb stared at his reflection in the tiny, mirror-finished sheet of metal hanging over the sink in the cramped restroom. He splashed water into his face with his good hand, gasping, running his tongue shakily over his lips, which tasted like salty seawater.

  “Cobb!” Gentry said, and pounded on the door again. “Come on, man. We need to stick together out here. We need a plan!”

  “Just-just a second…”

  Since running his palm across Manuel’s face, he could feel them on him. Digging, scraping, burrowing, settling. The barnacle shells now fused to his skin made it impossible to flex his fingers, curl his hand. It was like wearing a glove made out of stone, and he pulled his hand out of his pocket and stared as the barnacles winked and clicked.

  What does this mean? Will I turn into something like Manuel?

  Oh fuck, Manuel. Goddamnit!

  It took everything Cobb had not to scream out as the pain pulsed and throbbed from within him. He could feel the critters moving inside of him, their bodies rubbing against bone.

  “Cobb, get the fuck out here already!” Ben’s voice was deep, gruff. The bottom of the door shook, and Cobb figured Ben had just kicked it.

  “I’m coming. I’m c-coming.” Cobb had grabbed his sweatshirt, still stinking with Manuel’s bile, and pulled it back on, ignoring the congealing slime on the front of it. He lifted the sleeve, nearly screamed when he saw that the barnacles had worked their way up his arm, already past his elbow. The ones closest to his armpit were still constructing their shells, tapping their spindly legs against his open, scooped out flesh. It felt like someone had pressed a lit cigar against his skin, held it there until his flesh was cooked, then stippled the charred wound with needle pricks.

  “Fuck,” he whispered, then took a deep breath, lowered his sleeve. “I’ll be fine. Everything’s gonna work out okay.”

  Cobb opened the door, his infested hand deep in his pocket. The pain in his chest ignited when he pushed the door out, and he winced, nearly pulled his hand out of his pocket to clutch his ribs.

  Gentry and Ben stood just in front of the door, looking frustrated at first, but when they stared into his face, their scowls loosened a bit.

  “Cobb,” Gentry said. “I’m sorry about…Manuel. He—”

  “Barnacles,” Ben said. “That’s what that shit was all over him, wasn’t it? The shit you were trying to tell us about?”

  The feeling came over him out of nowhere. The sizzling pain in his hand and arm seemed to fade away. And the agony was replaced by a potent need to kill something. Rip it apart. Let the blood flow over him like a warm liquid blanket.

  Gentry and Ben were saying something to him, their mouths moving, heads nodding. But Cobb couldn’t hear a word they were saying over the high-pitched squeal vibrating in his brain.

  Something writhed within his pocket, scraped against the stiff fabric. He glanced down, only minutely aware of his friends’ muffled voices as they talked and talked. His jeans were torn open, and out of the rip wiggled black, thin tentacles.

  I’ll kill them both. I’ll kill everyone on this fucking boat. I’ll…

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  “Cobb?”

  Cobb was shoved in the shoulder, and his pain came screaming back to reality, pushing his murderous rage back into the shadows of his mind.

  “What?”

  “Focus, motherfucker! We don’t have time for this shit!” Ben’s face was dark red, and he held both hands out in front of him as if ready to strangle Cobb.

  Something collided with the boat, tipped it to the left so that all three boys’ feet slid across the floor.

  “What the fuck!” Ben was on his back, and he slammed his fist into the wall behind him. “What the fuck is this!”

  “You see all those fish out there? Fucking sharks…and whales. I saw a fucking Killer Whale! How the fuck is this even possible? Why are they attacking us like this?” Gentry shook his head, nostrils flaring.

  “The barnacles. Get inside them.” Cobb strolled toward the door, opened it, stared out at the vast ocean surrounding them, boiling with vicious beasts and razor-mouthed fish.

  “Get the fuck away from the door!” Ben said.

  “And Manuel,” Gentry said. “Holy shit. Those fucking things were all over him, man. And…did you see…did you see those tentacles? Oh Jesus…”

  Cobb stepped out onto the deck, smiled as the ocean spray coated his face.

  The water was cloudy with blood as the animals destroyed each other, attacking and killing anything that moved around them. Not eating each other. Just killing, ripping apart. The meat belonged to the barnacles. Cobb watched the bloody water get splashed around by the thrashing of tails and barnacle-encased bodies, saw floating bits of meat being scooped up by the black threads emerging from the shells.

  More bodies slammed into the boat, scraping their rough hides across the wooden planks. The boat was just a huge animal to them, a mountain of floating meat to be torn apart and consumed.

  Arms wrapped around Cobb from behind, pulled him backward until he was inside of the cabin again, the door slammed and Gentry glared at him, gasping, his chest inflating and deflating.

  “He’s gone,” Ben said, spinning Cobb around to face him. “He was one of my best friends too, man. And I promise you, that motherfucker up there won’t get away with this shit. But right now, we have to focus. We have to stick together.”

  “If he fucking hurts Emma,” Gentry said, his back still pressed against the door. “If he hurts her, I’ll kill him. I swear to God I will.”

  “He knew,” Ben said, the muscles in his jaw flexing and bulging. “When Cobb was trying to tell us what he saw, Uncle Pete knew.”

  Cobb stared at Ben’s face as he talked, and he wanted nothing more than to peel the skin off it, shove his fist past those lips and teeth so sounds would stop coming out.

  No! I’m still me! These fucking things can’t…they won’t make me…

  Cobb shoved past Ben and jogged toward the restroom again, slammed the door and locked it. He pulled his shirt off, tossed it aside.

  As the tentacles writhed and swirled from his hand, arm, and shoulder, Cobb stared at his reflection, tried to force the violent thoughts from his head, but when the pounding on the door started again, Cobb floated away into nothingness, swallowed up by the blackness.

  Only his need to mutilate was left.

  ***

  “Look at ’em out there,” Uncle Pete said past the cigarette dangling from his mouth. He ran a match across the table, lit the cigarette. He took a puff, spat bits of tobacco from his lip, then faced Emma who was just below him, hands tied to the steering wheel by thick rope that bit into her skin l
ike insect jaws. “Beautiful, ain’t they?”

  “Fuck you,” Emma said, ignoring the pain in her wrists and hands as she fought her restraints. “You killed him. You fuckin’ killed him…”

  “Mmm hmm.” Uncle Pete nodded his head and puffed on his cigarette, eyes still on the ocean outside. “Did that hurt your feelin’s, little lady?”

  “Fuck you, asshole!” She bared her teeth and screamed as she pulled.

  Uncle Pete looked down at her then, blew twin plumes of smoke from his nostrils. “Pretty girl like you ought not to talk that way. I don’t like that, you hear me?”

  Emma laughed through her cries. “Suck a dead dog’s dick, motherfucker.”

  Uncle Pete spat into his palm, put his cigarette out on it, then with the same hand, he reached down and seized Emma by the hair, yanked her up to her feet.

  There was a tearing sound at her scalp, and though she was already crying, more tears flowed from her eyes. She hissed and yelped. The steering wheel spun as she went from sitting to standing, the quick motion nearly breaking her wrists.

  Uncle Pete got behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and chest, put his mouth so close to her ear that each breath flowed down Emma’s ear canal. She was overcome with the scent of body odor and cigarette smoke.

  She tried to kick him, wiggle her way out of his arms, but his grip tightened, flattening her breasts against her ribs, squeezing the air from her lungs.

  One hand pulled away from her body, grabbed her chin hard, forced her to look straight out the window.

  “Amazin’, idn’t it?”

  Fish and massive sea mammals filled the water in every direction. Their pale bodies, some gleaming silver, darted under the surface chaotically. The water boiled with their constant thrashing, clouds of red bursting out as they ripped each other to pieces. A couple of dolphins swam by, diving in and out of the water, but not in the graceful way she had seen in movies and on TV. They moved almost drunkenly, hitting the water sideways or belly-flopping. As one dolphin hit the water, the other dove back out of it. Before it could land again, a shark exploded out of the sea, mouth wide open, teeth jutting from pink gums. In that quick instant, Emma saw those fucking tentacle things wiggling around its mouth and in its gums, the same things that were all over Manuel.