Canals

by Everett Powers

  “What’d they say?” Jim asked Fred, yelling across the street through cupped hands. Their road was busy and a steady stream of cars whizzed by.

  “They said turn the lights on and leave them on all night,” Fred called back.

  “See, I told you they thought we were a bunch of stooges! They think we’re so stupid we have to be told to turn the lights on.”

  Their lights had been on for ten minutes and their canals were well lit. Fred stood and looked over the railing into the water. At first he’d been intrigued by their assignment, thinking they might be doing something important, but so far they were batting five hundred; four pairs of jogger/walkers had heeded their warning, but four others had not, and they had been rude. He was used to kids being rude, but adults? Couldn’t they see the city was serious about this?

  His mind wandered and he thought about the state of society in general. People were rude now. No one used turn signals anymore, they just drifted into your lane when they felt like it. No one held doors for others and men didn’t give up their seats to women. When he was young, that was automatic. He blamed women’s lib. And the cell phones: he couldn’t have a meal in a restaurant or watch a movie without two or three of them going off. Worst thing was, the idiots took the calls, yapping at their table as if everyone wanted to hear the details of their pathetic lives, or, if they were at the movies, they would rush out of the theater whispering, as if they were neurosurgeons being summoned to perform emergency brain surgery.

  The country was awash with rude people.

  Fred worked himself into a funk and thought about packing up and going home, or anywhere he wouldn’t have to listen to Jim Waterman complain. Or put up with rude people.

  Instead, he lit a cigarette. People of his generation saw a thing through to the end. If a guy said he was going to do something, he put in his time and finished. He didn’t leave the ballgame in the eighth inning to beat the traffic, he waited until the last pitch was thrown.

  He puffed and heard Jim yell, “I can smell your stinky stick all the way over here, Reese!”

  Fred wished he had brought earplugs, then remembered he had. Gladys made him tote one of those ridiculous kits around wherever he went: Band-Aids and tweezers and gauze and disinfectant and a little tin of Tylenol and ... yes! Ear plugs.

  He popped them in his ears when he was sure Jim wasn’t looking.

  He smiled and puffed. Let the fool talk all he wanted.

  Sister Tanya watched Pastor Keith prance on the stage and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream or run. Pastor Keith wasn’t Pastor Keith tonight, he was someone else.

  The revival started twenty minutes ago when the choir sang an old gospel hymn, one she was unfamiliar with. The congregation had turned around to watch, some even turning their chairs. It was a very lively hymn, she heard someone call it a “negro spiritual.” People clapped and swayed.

  Toward the end of the hymn, Pastor Keith ran onto the stage. He looked disappointed when all he saw were the back of people’s heads, and he shot her a dirty look, as if it was somehow her doing.

  To get the congregation’s attention, he’d moved to the front of the stage, running and skipping back and forth, clapping louder than everyone. A minute later the choir stopped and he launched into his speech, or talk, or sermon; she wasn’t sure what to call it.

  At first she was shocked. It was so unlike Pastor Keith to behave like this, almost crude at times. His sermons were always dignified. He might raise his voice on occasion, when making a point about the evils of pornography or sex or drugs, but it wasn’t his usual style. He’d said many times that the Word of God needn’t be shouted into anyone’s heart; when they heard it preached plain and simple, they would open their hearts and let it in.

  Well, he was certainly trying to shout it in tonight, and jump it in, and run it in, and pray it in. It took her a while to warm to his performance, but soon she was clapping with the congregation, who really seemed to be eating it up, especially the guests.

  The choir sang another hymn and Pastor Keith prayed. At least she thought it was a prayer. She wasn’t sure because he hollered a couple of times. He preached a little more, then did something she’d never seen him do: he called for the speaking in tongues. Theirs was not a Pentecostal or “holly roller” church and she had never heard anyone speak in tongues.

  What happened next shocked her: a man jumped up and began babbling in a language she’d never heard. She stared at him. Pastor Keith stared at him. The congregation turned in their seats so they could stare.

  Pastor Keith caught on fire. He leapt off the stage, almost landing in Morris Simpson’s lap, and ran to the man, shaking and pumping his hand, calling out for more speaking in tongues. Another man jumped up and began babbling. Pastor Keith ran back to the stage and began shouting and yelling. A woman in the front stood and babbled, followed by another in the back. Soon there were five, six, seven, eight babblers, all going at the same time. Then she heard bleating, like a sheep — was it a man? a woman? a child? she couldn’t tell — and then mooing.

  She placed her hands over her ears, feeling that everyone, or maybe just her, had gone mad. She waited for Pastor Keith to put an end to this lunacy but he only encouraged it. He fell to his knees and hollered another prayer.

  When Sister Tanya felt the sudden urge to cluck like a chicken, she ran out of the tent and kept running until she was halfway to the church. She kept her hands over her ears and gulped in air, trying to calm herself. She didn’t know if she was terrified or thrilled, if she should go back in or go home. Her heart raced and she placed a hand over it, willing it to slow.

  Then, not understanding why anything was happening the way it was, she closed her eyes and began caressing her breast. She’d never felt like this before; so alive, so electric. She pulsated in places she couldn’t ever remembering pulsating in. Her heart fluttered.

  She dropped her hand and ran back to the tent. Whatever Pastor Keith was whipping up in there, she was sure she wanted more of it.

  Jensen opened the door and let Baskel in. His eyes were immediately drawn to the Lazy Boy recliner that sat in the middle of her living room.

  “Odd time to rearrange furniture, isn’t it?”

  “Actually, that’s new,” Jensen said, closing the door. “I just bought it off a neighbor.”

  Lawless came in from the kitchen carrying a glass of water. “Hello, Detective.”

  “Hey,” Baskel said back, staring at the chair. Something strange was going on. For one thing, they both seemed relaxed, way too relaxed considering the circumstances.

  “You guys got things going?” Lawless asked him.

  “Yeah, everything’s going as planned so far.” Baskel sat on the couch. “Captain told me to find you, see if you had anything going on.”

  “They don’t need you down at HQ?” Jensen asked. She was looking out the front window.

  Baskel shook his head. “No. How many guys do they need staring at the radio? Captain’s going to handle all the moving-guys-around stuff, and Hawley and Jabowski are there, and about twenty other people. They’ve got it covered.”

  Lawless finished his water and sat in the recliner.

  “It’s time,” Baskel heard Jensen say, to Lawless he presumed. He hoped she wasn’t talking to him because he had no idea what it was time for, and just what kind of messed up thing was happening here, anyway? His skin crawled with goose bumps.

  Jensen got a chair from the kitchen and moved it to the side of the recliner, by Lawless’s head. She sat, took his right hand in hers and began running her fingers through his hair, stroking.

  “What are you guys doing?” Baskel finally asked.

  “Getting ready,” he heard Jensen say.

  Then he heard Lawless say, “I’m going out to the monster, to see where it’s at, what it’s up to.”

  Baskel frowned. “I thought you couldn’t do that.”

  “I’m pretty sure I can now.”

  Then Baske
l got it, the thing going on that was weird.

  He jumped up and said, “What the hell is happening here?”

  (“I told you, we’re getting ready to go out to the monster.”) he heard Lawless say. Or did he?

  “Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” Baskel yelled, pointing at Lawless. “You didn’t open your mouth when you said that.”

  Baskel slapped his forehead. “You’re ventriloquists? Both of you? Damn!” He smiled and rubbed his chin. “The fun never ends here, does it? This morning I could have sworn Lawless was reading my mind.”

  (“I was.”)

  Baskel grinned even wider. “Damn, you’re good. I can’t see your throat move at all.”

  He watched Jensen stroke Lawless’s hair for a minute, then said, starting to feel uncomfortable again, “I get it, you got the chair so you wouldn’t have to lay on the floor when you got one of your visions. You could have just laid on the couch or the bed, you know. You didn’t have to go to the trouble and expense of buying a piece of furniture just for this.”

  He felt like he was making small talk.

  After another minute, he said, “So what gives? You going to tell me why you’re doing it this way or are you going to make guess all night?”

  (“It’s a ritual, Detective. It has a purpose.”) Jensen’s voice told him.

  “Okay. You going to do that all night?”

  (“As long as it takes. Whatever he needs.”)

  “No, I meant throw your voice like that. You going to do that all night? Doesn’t it strain your throat?”

  (“I’m not throwing my voice, Detective. We don’t need our mouths to communicate.”)

  “What?”

  (“Put your hands over your ears.”) It was Lawless’s voice he heard this time, inside his head. (“Go ahead. Push in hard so you can’t hear.”)

  Baskel felt stupid, but did it anyway.

  (“You can still hear me, can’t you?”)

  Baskel’s eyes got big. He jammed an index finger into each ear, waited until he was sure he couldn’t hear anything, and said, “Say something again.”

  (“You hear my voice because I’m bypassing your sensory organs, projecting my thoughts directly into the auditory center of your brain.”)

  Baskel got up and turned on the television and then stuck his fingers in his ears again. “Say something again!”

  (“We found communicating this way conserved energy and helped to unite our kind. Imagine what your planet would be like without language barriers.”)

  Baskel dropped his hands and thought, My planet? He slumped on the couch, sure he losing his mind.

  (“You’re not crazy. It’s just new, that’s all.”) Jensen’s voice said.

  Baskel leaned against the couch and closed his eyes. So you can read minds! he thought, testing them.

  (“Yours, yes. We can shield our thoughts from each other when we want to, but I’m afraid your mind is an open book to us.”) Jensen said.

  Baskel started to say something when Lawless’s voice shouted in his head,

  (“She’s on the move! She’s coming into town!”)

  He sat up and grabbed his radio, pressed a button and said, “Captain, you there?”

  The radio crackled and he heard, “I hear you, Detective. What is it?”

  He remembered he was supposed to be cautious with his language. “We, uh ... Detective Lawless has something, uh ... coming in, sir.”

  “Does he have a location?”

  “No, sir. He just started.”

  “Let me know as soon as he gets a location.”

  “Right,” Baskel said, setting the radio down. He stood and took his jacket and tie off, sat again and looked at Jensen and Lawless: they were in a world of their own.

  (“Remember to control it. You must not let the creature know you’re there or it will block you again.”)

  (“I’m stronger now. Perhaps I can penetrate its block.”)

  (“You’re not that strong yet. You must still exercise control.”)

  (“When will I be strong enough?”)

  (“Soon. What do you see?”)

  (“Nothing. Only blackness. If I went in deeper I could see its thoughts, what it’s up to.”)

  (“No, you mustn’t do that yet. We can only use its eyes until your power is full.”)

  (“But humans will be killed and it will be our fault.”)

  (“Better a few lose their lives than their species lose control of their planet and be hunted to extinction. You know the Evil Species wants only one thing.”)

  (“Yes. It wants to devour all living creatures on this planet, even if it means its own kind will eventually starve.”)

  (“And it is the fault of our kind that the Evil Species is here.”) She stroked his hair and squeezed his hand.

  (“What of the other planets we led the Evil Species to?”)

  (“Others like us have been assigned to those planets. We can only save this one.”)

  A moment passed before he thought,

  (“What of our kind, on our planet? Are they all gone now?”)

  To herself she thought, Yes, they are all gone, but to him,

  (“We will never know. The doorway was destroyed after we passed through.”)

  (“What of the machine they used to send this one here? Will it be destroyed as well?”)

  (“No. But this one cannot return if it is killed and the machine cannot be used again if this one does not return.”)

  She knew that he knew all of this already, but he seemed to draw some comfort from hearing the answers again. And she would do whatever she needed to do to make him stronger.

  (“Can you go out to its next prey?”)

  (“Yes. I’m sure I can do that.”)

  They communicated only to each other and would communicate to Detective Baskel only when they had information they thought he could use to save a life or two, but nothing he or the other humans did would have any bearing on the outcome of this battle.

  Jim Waterman was used to being ignored.

  “Alright then,” he hollered across the street, “you old fool, don’t listen to me. Smoke yourself into a grave for all I care. You know every one of those things you suck into your lungs takes minutes off your life! Minutes! Did you hear that, Reese?”

  Fred didn’t answer, but Jim was sure the old man must have heard him. Hell, half the town must of heard him.

  “Try to do someone a favor,” he grumbled under his breath as he turned to face the canal. He would have to make nice with the old man soon; he was getting hungry and his food was locked up in the truck, and Fred had the keys. He scowled at the water. He hadn’t thought he would be here this late, thought they would have come to their senses by now, seen the idiocy of guarding a canal and gone home.

  He groused to himself and thought about the beer he might be sipping right now, and the John Wayne western he might find on the satellite. There were chicken wings in the freezer he could pop in the toaster oven; in thirty minutes, he could have something going.

  His portable light flickered. He looked at it and cursed.

  “Reese probably knew this one was broken and gave it to me on purpose,” he grumbled out loud, in case Fred was listening. He went to check the light, thinking all it needed was a swift kick or two.

  (“I see a canal and a portable light. The light flickered and I’m walking over to the battery, kicking it.”)

  Baskel heard this and shot up off the couch, pressing the button on the radio. “It’s going after one of the geeks or geezers,” he shouted into the radio.

  “Where?” said the radio.

  “Not sure yet.”

  (“What do you see?”)

  (“Just the battery. He’s still kicking it.”)

  (“What is he wearing?”)

  Lawless hesitated,

  (“Loafers. Old man shoes. Cheap brand.”)

  Jensen glanced at Baskel, who pressed the button again. “Geezer. One of the geezers.”

  “We’ll put out a wa
rning to all the volunteers to immediately move away from the water,” the radio said back.

  After a few moments, the radio crackled to life again. “Anything else?”

  Baskel looked at Jensen.

  (“What else do you see?”)

  (“The light stopped flickering. I’m walking back to the canal railing.”)

  “All volunteer personnel are to move fifty feet away from the canals immediately,” the radio clipped to Fred Reese’s belt said.

  Fred had another cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, and he held a fishing rod in his right hand, at least in his mind’s eye. He didn’t ordinarily smoke so much, but because he knew it really bothered Jim, he kept one going. He mostly just let them burn down; no need to inhale to get Jim’s goat.

  He knew he’d have to remove the earplugs sooner or later, but right now later sounded better than sooner. He cast out with his imaginary rod.

  Jim heard the radio crackle but was too far away to make out the words and too stubborn to cross the street to find out. “He’s wearing the damn thing, let him answer it.”

  The light flickered again: Jim walked back to the battery, kicked it, walked back to the railing and heard the radio again, turned his head to yell at Fred and walked into the thin stand holding the light, knocking it over the railing. He reaches and catches the stand but a bolt pops off and the light falls and is dangling two feet above the water, held only by the wire attaching it to the battery. He grabs for the wire, hears glass breaking followed by a brief blinding flash, then everything is black but the yellow-orange circle of light in the center of his vision where the bursting bulb has seared his retinas. He swears and gropes for the wire.

  “Is he moving away from the canal?” Baskel asked Jensen, or Lawless; he wasn’t sure who he was talking to anymore.

  (“No. The light flickered again and he’s kicking the battery again.”)

  “Damnit,” He pressed the radio button. “Our guy’s not moving away from the canal. Can we get them all to radio in so we know who’s not responding?”