Canals

by Everett Powers

  Closing his eyes, he tried to clear his mind, telling himself not to worry, that they had done everything they could. The monster might even go away on its own, disappear as suddenly as it had appeared. Why not? Its very presence proved that anything could happen.

  He relaxed and felt his mind drift to Lawless and Jensen. What an odd pair they were. When he’d been at Jensen’s apartment that morning, he could have sworn Lawless had been reading his mind. He made a mental note to call Lawless as soon as he woke up. He didn’t want him disappearing again, not tonight.

  As he dozed off, a leg muscle twitched and startled him awake for a second. He laid his head back and fell asleep immediately, his last conscious thought a memory of a movie he’d seen with his kids: workers tunneling in England had unearthed fire-breathing dragons who took over the world, burning cities to the ground and torching anyone caught out in the open.

  The movie morphed into a dream. The skies over Modesto were filled with flying reptilian creatures, like in the movie, except the creatures didn’t breathe fire, they swooped down and ate whomever they could, gobbling up people by the dozens and hundreds, cutting them with their silver teeth. One came after him and he hid in a building, sure the creature couldn’t follow him inside. He heard a loud crunching noise, dust filled the air and he saw the creature biting through a cement wall, coming after him. He ran deeper into the building but the creature kept after him, biting its way through walls and doors. The building went on forever, and the creature kept chasing him forever.

  He slept, but not well. When his beeping watch woke him an hour later, he would not be able to cleanse his mind of the frightful images from the dream, and they would haunt him all night.

  Jensen drove through town, somehow knowing where to go but not why. They were hungry and needed to eat before night fell.

  Instead of stopping at a restaurant, she followed her instincts and drove downtown to the parking garage behind City Center, to the top where there was nothing but the sky above them.

  She took his hand and spoke with her mind,

  (“We need to energize. Come.”)

  She led him to the westernmost wall, facing the setting sun. Holding hands, they turned and looked directly into the sun. The instant the sunlight struck their eyes their pupils became silver collection discs that captured and stored the sun’s energy.

  They remained there until the sun disappeared behind the hotel.

  Officer Howard’s new partner, Curt Wendover, was driving him mad; he hadn’t shut up for more than five minutes. He missed Stoveson. They understood and respected each other, and neither liked idle chit-chat, which seemed to be what Wendover was all about.

  Wendover badgered Howard for more than an hour for a detailed account of his battle with the monster: did it do this, why didn’t he do that, did it smell or make any noise. Howard only grunted, hoping Wendover would get the hint and shut up. He never did.

  They patrolled an area in north Modesto between Sisk and Bangs on the west and McHenry on the east; four miles wide and two miles deep. Lateral No. 6 ran through their territory so they had geeks and geezers to check on. Chatty Wendover was pompous and rude to them, which made Howard despise him all the more.

  Turning east off Dale onto Bangs, Howard saw a gigantic white tent set up behind a church not thirty yards from Lateral No. 6.

  The hairs on the back of his neck sprung to attention, and he said, “Is there a circus in town?”

  Wendover looked at the tent. “Behind a church? I never heard of a church having a circus. Maybe it’s a revival.”

  “A what?”

  “You know, a revival: hell-fire and brimstone, Jesus saves, hallelujah and pass the plate.”

  Howard stopped the car across the canal from the tent and stared at it. “They’re way too close to the canal. Let’s go see what’s going on.”

  The church’s parking lot was packed, so they dumped the car in a handicap spot near the front and made their way around back of the main buildings to the field the tent stood in.

  The closer Howard got to the canal, the worse he felt. He could not shake the feeling that the whole bunch of them, whatever they were up to, should get in their cars and go home. Perspiration beaded on his upper lip and he wiped it away.

  Fifty feet from the tent they could hear the low growl and hum of a crowd. People milled around the tent’s opening, chatting and smiling, excited about something. Two women with name tags and were pointing into the tent, telling people where to sit.

  Howard approached one and said, forcing a smile, “What’s going on here tonight?”

  The woman, whose name tag read “Sister Tonya”, answered, “We’re having an old-time revival, officer. Care to stay and get yourself saved?” She beamed at him.

  “A revival, huh?” He strained to keep the smile going while he looked into the tent. He was amazed at how many people it held, so he asked, “How many folks are you expecting?”

  “Pastor Keith says the tent will hold five hundred. I think we’re already at four-fifty, not including the choir.” Howard’s eyebrows arched and his smile disappeared. Sister Tonya saw his expression and put her hand to her mouth, thinking she might’ve just made a huge mistake. What if there was some kind of ordinance about how many people a tent could hold, and they were way over the limit? What if the policemen gave them a ticket, or, horrors of horrors, canceled the revival altogether? She knew how long Pastor Keith had been planning this evening and how much it meant to him. If it got canceled because of her big mouth ...

  Howard said, “Where is Pastor Keith? I assume he’s in charge?”

  She nodded and felt even worse. Pastor Keith had said he wasn’t to be disturbed for any reason before the revival started because he needed the time to pray.

  “Actually, Pastor Keith left strict instructions not to be disturbed for any reason before the revival, so if you gentlemen have a card or a phone number he could reach you at I’m sure—”

  Wendover cut her off: “Excuse me, ma’am, but we’re here on a matter of extreme urgency and if you don’t want us to shut you down right now, I suggest you tell us where we can find the pastor.”

  She folded. “He’s outside, on the other side of the tent. This won’t take long, will it? The revival’s supposed to start in ten minutes.”

  “Not long at all, ma’am,” Howard said. “Thank you for your help.”

  She watched them walk away and began wringing her hands.

  Howard and Wendover rounded the tent and saw a man of medium build pacing back and forth, with his hands clasped behind his back and his head down. He was lost in thought and didn’t see the officers, so when Howard said, “Pastor Keith?” he jumped and spun around, fire in his eyes, ready to bite someone’s head off.

  “I thought I gave —” When he saw he was talking to policemen, not church helpers, his jaw snapped shut. “I’m sorry, officers. You gave me a start. Can I help you with something?”

  “You’ve got a revival going on tonight?” Howard tried to sound casual, hoping to calm the pastor, whom they’d obviously disturbed and upset. His eyes immediately went to the canal, which he could now clearly see, running through the back of the church’s property.

  “Yes,” the pastor replied, making no effort to hide his displeasure. “We checked and I’m sure this doesn’t violate any city ordinances, so is there a problem?”

  Might as well get right to the point. “Are you aware, sir, that there’s a city-wide alert tonight regarding the canals?”

  “No I wasn’t. So what?”

  “Everyone’s supposed to stay away from the canals until the crisis is over. I’m concerned your tent is too close to the canal over there.” Howard pointed.

  The pastor looked toward the canal and stared, trying to comprehend why the policeman had broken his concentration. How long would it take to get focused again?

  “Why could you possibly be worried about the tent being this close to the canal? No one’s going to fall in, if that�
��s what you’re worried about.”

  No, but you might be torn to pieces.

  Howard said, “You’ve obviously not been reading the papers or listening to the radio lately, have you, Pastor?”

  “No, as a matter of fact I’ve been quite busy preparing for the very revival you’re now delaying the start of, Officer.”

  “Eleven people have been killed by the canals this week, Pastor. Seeing as how you’ve got a canal running through the back of your property, and you being so concerned about your congregation and all, I would think you’d be all over this.”

  “Well it’s a good thing you’re on the job then, Officer. I feel safe now and I’m sure my congregation does too.”

  They squared off like boxers.

  Sister Tanya poked her head around the corner, was about to call out when she saw the policeman and Pastor Keith in a face-off. She shut her mouth and disappeared.

  The pastor saw her and it made him realize he had become unnecessarily, and perhaps rudely, upset, which was very unpastor-like of him. He sighed and said, “I’m sorry for losing my patience, officers. What would you have me do? What would make you happy?”

  “You could make sure your congregation exits directly to the church or the parking lot, and that absolutely no one walks out here by the canal.”

  “I’ll make sure that happens. Is there anything else?”

  “Yes,” Howard said. He could at least try. “You could reschedule the revival and send everyone home.”

  The pastor smiled but didn’t say anything and Howard knew he was barking into the wind. He could call into HQ and get the authority to shut the revival down, something inside screamed for him to do just that, but what were the odds the creature would attack such a large group, especially if no one came out here by the canal?

  So he said, “Well, have a good one,” and they left.

  The pastor returned to his pacing.

  Their timing could not have been worse. The revival should be starting right now and he had been ready, ready to knock their socks off. Then the cops show up and break his concentration. Over what? Keep the kids away from the canal? What kind of idiots do they take us for? Of course the parents in my congregation won’t let their kids play by the canal.

  He couldn’t help being mad at the policemen. He’d prepared a dynamic start for the revival, but now, thanks to those two nosey cops, he’d lost his momentum and was too upset to go on.

  He looked at his watch and got an idea.

  He fetched Sister Tanya and told her to have the choir sing one of their hymns, the rowdiest one; he’ll jump in and start the revival just as they finish.

  This will work. He’ll get a few minutes to regain his momentum and the hymn will get the congregation clapping and swaying.

  He paced furiously; three minutes to showtime.

  Baskel, Captain Bozeman, and several other detectives sat around a table at police headquarters. Each had a copy of the roster: who was where and doing what. The coffee pot was gurgling, spitting out high-octane brew that was guzzled as fast as it was made.

  Baskel looked at the bottom of the page, where it read “Detective Daniel Lawless and Deputy Sandra Jensen” followed by a “?”. The question mark meant they were floaters and weren’t expected to follow any specific route.

  No one had heard from them since they left the station that afternoon. Big surprise. Baskel picked up the phone, hit redial, and hung up at Lawless’s voicemail prompt, dialed Lawless’s home and Jensen’s apartment numbers and got the same result.

  Captain Bozeman watched Baskel go through the routine again and said, “Dave, we’ve got things under control here. Why don’t you go find them?”

  “You sure?”

  “Sure I’m sure. How many people do you think we need sitting around this table? Make sure you take a radio, though. We don’t want any cell phone batteries dying again.”

  Baskel nodded, said as he left, “I’ll let you know when I find them,” and picked up a radio on the way out.

  Outside, the crowd of news people had thinned. He hoped they had the good sense to go back to their hotels or to a bar, afraid some would have the bad sense to do something really stupid, like stake out a canal.

  The sun set as he made his way to Jensen’s apartment. His dream haunted him; he found himself looking at the darkening sky and scanning the horizon for flying monsters. He felt like a kid again, scared of the dark. He could almost feel the monster coming out of its hidey-hole to do its business, the business of terrorizing and eating people.

  He tried Lawless’s cell phone again but wasn’t listening when the voicemail came on. He thought about their preparations: it’d felt good to plan and mark up the map, move assets around; do something. But now, driving in his car while scanning the skies for flying dragons, he had a terrible feeling it wasn’t enough: they needed Lawless and his goofy visions.

  And maybe even that wouldn’t be enough.

  His eyes scanned the near-dark sky.

  The creature woke from its slumber of change, terrified by its hunger. It raced through the canal, holding its new legs flat against its body for greater speed.

  It sensed life and leapt out of the canal, its new legs extending. The planet’s star was still lighting the sky, but not enough to harm it. It spied the prey it had sensed, standing on four legs fifty feet away. The prey saw the creature and made a vibration with their mouths. Several of them began moving, making the vibration while they plodded, their heavy bodies sagging and swaying side to side.

  Driven half-mad by hunger, the creature sprinted to the closest prey, its new legs carrying its heavy body as if it had been born with them. They were exactly the length the creature needed: any longer they would slow it down in the water, any shorter they would be useless on land. Each foot had three toes capped with a six-inch nail made of the same metal-like material as its teeth.

  Its head remained level as it ran; its six-foot-long neck flexing and extending to absorb what little up-and-down movement its body made. Its prey watched it with stupid eyes, making their vibrations but failing miserably to escape. With its jaw full extended, the monster struck one of the creatures, biting off a large chunk. It swallowed and bit again. Gaining immediate strength from the prey’s life-force, it fought off the urge to reject the foul flesh, so accustomed had it become to its preferred prey.

  It killed and ate five of the creatures before returning to the canal, confident it had sufficient energy to last until it could hunt with its young.

  When she reached her lair and the young clamored to be fed, she did not give up her meal. She made a vibration and commanded them to come. She had eight young but only six came forward, nipping aggressively at her new legs and at each other. She looked them over, nipped back, and felt satisfied these were ready to hunt. They were only half grown but the prey on this planet were weak and these would have no difficulty taking them.

  The other two young hung back, unsure of themselves. They were smaller and more timid than their six aggressive siblings. She killed them both. She could not have them weakening the gene pool at such a critical time.

  She made a vibration, instructing the strong six to bite their dead siblings. They obeyed, rushing and biting, tearing. Each one recoiled at the taste of their kind’s flesh and she was satisfied they had learned the most valuable lesson they would ever be taught: they must never look at others of their kind as prey, no matter how hungry they were.

  She made a vibration and swam out of the lair. The young followed, hungry, eager to hunt their own prey, to feed.

  “Unit one-zero-four, come in.”

  Buddy jumped when the radio crackled. Randy heard it too and looked down at his waist. Failing to see the radio clipped to his belt, his head snapped up and he glared at Buddy.

  “You took the radio!”

  Buddy shrugged, picked the radio up and started pressing buttons.

  Randy raced across the street, shouting, “Lemme get it! Lemme get it!”

/>   Too late, Buddy thought, finding the Send button.

  “Yeah, uh. This is unit one-oh-four. Come in.” Buddy grinned from ear to ear. It was the first time he’d actually talked into a police radio, when it wasn’t just practice, that is.

  “You’re not supposed to say ‘oh,’ idiot! You’re supposed to say ‘zero!’” Randy skidded to a stop in front of Buddy and reached for the radio. “Here. Let me do it.”

  “No way, Rand. I got it. You get to do the next one.”

  The radio crackled: “This is the light check, unit one-zero-four. All lights should be on and should stay on until sunrise. Over.”

  Buddy grinned, but didn’t know what to say.

  “Gimme the radio,” Randy pleaded, hopping from foot to foot. “You’re supposed to answer.”

  “What do I say?” Buddy asked, holding the radio out of Randy’s reach.

  “Gimme it! I’ll do it! Come on, you’re blowing it!” Randy stopped hopping and started shaking his hands, juking his body up and down, flexing his knees.

  Buddy pressed the Send button. “Roger that. We’re turning on the lights right now.” He smiled at Randy, then thought and pressed the button again and said, “Over.”

  That was it. He’d handled his first real police call. He was still grinning when he handed the radio to Randy, who scowled and stared at it, willing it to crackle again.

  “Thanks a lot, numbnuts,” Randy muttered, scuffing back across the road.

  Buddy reached into a grocery bag full of snacks and pulled out a donut. He took a bite, chewed, and washed it down with a hit of Pepsi. He finished the donut and started in on another one. White powdered sugar dusted his lips and chin and sprinkled over his jeans. He slurped more Pepsi and grabbed a handful of chips.

  Randy was leaning against the canal railing, still staring at the radio. It was almost dark and Buddy had trouble seeing Randy’s sad face, somewhat spoiling his fun. He should have thought to bring a flashlight.

  Both boys concentrated on what they held in their hands, junk food and a radio, and forgot about their lights. Their canal lay in darkness, lit only by the moon, what little starlight filtered through the Valley smog, and a streetlight half a block away.