Canals

by Everett Powers

  “Praise the Lord!” the congregation shouted.

  “Brothers and sisters, we have a pool of water before us, water not unlike the River Jordan where our Lord and Savior, the very Jesus Christ that bought us with his blood—”

  “Amen!” yelled the congregation.

  “—went down into the water, just like he went down into the depths of hell for us and yanked our souls back up to God—”

  “Hallelujah!”

  “—so we could receive the baptism of John. Brothers and sisters, let this pool be your spiritual Jordan tonight. Come wash away your sins and show forth a mighty sign that you accept him as your Lord and Savior, your personal Lord and Savior.”

  Pastor Keith took off his jacket and tie and removed his shoes.

  “Who among you is a sinner? Who among you has a broken heart, broken on the cross of the Lamb?”

  Sister Tanya’s heart, while not broken, certainly was pounding. She was picturing Pastor Keith lifting her out of the water, his strong warm hand supporting the small of her back, her blouse clinging to her bosoms, water running down her thighs ... She almost fainted.

  “Who will be baptized tonight, as a sign of their repentance and faith in the Mighty One?” Pastor Keith roared.

  “I will!” shouted a fat man with long red hair. Sister Tanya recognized him as a faithful churchgoer and one of their most generous donors. On any other day she could have recited his name and the amount he had given in each of the last three years, but tonight such facts and figures were buried under a mountain of passion she had never known.

  “Brother!” shouted Pastor Keith. “Come to the pool of Jordan and be washed clean of your sins!”

  The man rushed forward, kicked off his shoes, and stepped into the water with Pastor Keith, who shouted some kind of prayer and dunked him. So enthusiastic was the dunking that a wave of water splashed into the dirt around the pool, making a muddy, slippery mess.

  The fat man shouted “Hallelujah!” and climbed out. A church helper threw a towel over his shoulders and hugged him. The man collected his shoes and walked back to his seat, shivering.

  “Who else will accept the Lord tonight?” Pastor Keith hollered.

  The fat man was a plant and had gotten the ball rolling, as Pastor Keith had hoped he would. Soon there was a small line of sinners waiting to be saved. The choir director received a visual cue and swung his baton, leading the choir through a medley of rocking gospel hymns. Sinner after sinner was dunked until there wasn’t enough water to submerge anyone in.

  His clothes wet, Pastor Keith climbed onto the stage and led the congregation in prayer. He prayed for the sinners everywhere, including the Muslims, Buddhists, Jews, and atheists. He prayed for the sinners in Modesto who hadn’t attended his revival and thus hadn’t had the privilege of having their sins washed away. He prayed for the sinners in the congregation who lacked the courage to give away their sins, prayed for their souls.

  Pastor Keith did not pray for the children; he had something special planned for them.

  “What good is any of this doing?” Baskel said in frustration, drop-kicking his empty soda can across the room. It struck a wall and clanked onto the carpet, spilling sticky warm soda. “We’re nothing more than passive observers.”

  He turned to Jensen and Lawless. “Tell me, what good is any of this doing? You follow this thing, these monsters, across the universe and all you can do is talk without moving your lips and read minds? Don’t you have any useful powers? Why couldn’t you bring a ray gun with you, or a photon torpedo? And stop rubbing his head! I’m sick of all this head-rubbing!”

  Jensen looked up and shocked him: her skin had become white, almost translucent, and her features had changed: her jaw line had straightened and her nose was not so pointed.

  (“The stroking serves a purpose; it stimulates his mind and helps him to see. It will help him to become.”)

  “See what? Become what? You’re not telling me anything!” Baskel paced and waved his arms around. “We got metal-toothed monsters out there tearing the town apart and you’re giving scalp massages and talking about ‘becoming.’ Gimme something useful!”

  (“Your shouting is not serving a purpose and it’s upsetting him.”)

  (“It’s not winged yet, but it will be tomorrow or the day after. We’re not too late.”) Lawless’s voice said to them.

  “So what? That still doesn’t help me,” Baskel said. “ ‘We’re not too late’ doesn’t mean anything because you haven’t done a damn thing, except narrate the slaughtering.”

  Lawless continued,

  (“It needs to feed its young so they can change as well. It’s good that you’re moving your volunteers away from the canals. At least they will be safer.”)

  “What do you mean, safer? It can’t get them if they’re not by the canals, right?”

  (“It grew legs for a reason. If it can’t find the prey it needs by the canals it will go on land to find it.”)

  “Oh, thank you, that’s the best news I’ve had all night. Now no one’s safe, is that what you’re telling me? First you say it can’t be killed and now you’re telling me it’s going to be crawling around on land.”

  (“We never said they can’t be killed. We said your kind can’t kill them. Our kind found a way.”)

  “You did? How? If you can kill it, what are you waiting for?”

  (“I can’t remember how.”)

  “You forgot how to kill them?”

  (“No. I just haven’t remembered yet.”)

  The feeding frenzy had been spontaneous, all seven creatures unable to control their fury. How dare the prey hide from them in its metal machine? They tore it to pieces, pulled the insolent prey apart and devoured it.

  They now hunted as a pack, the young ones’ confidence bolstered by their successes. The prey was soft, weak, easy to dominate and destroy; it’s flesh and psychic emanations nourished and strengthened them. They grew at an alarming rate: each was two feet longer than when they had left the lair.

  She was pleased with the young ones progress. Their savagery impressed her but she knew they needed to feed through the entire period of darkness if they were to make the necessary changes in their bodies when the planet’s sun was bright and hot. She must find more prey.

  She was growing impatient; there were too few prey by the waterways and there was too much light. They needed to leave the waterway.

  She slowed her pace and began searching for a high concentration of prey in the dwellings next to the waterway. There were many prey nearby, but she wanted the dwelling with the most prey, for she had six hungry young to feed.

  Sensing something, she made a vibration at her young and leapt out of the water.

  Rod Pennyworth had been looking forward to this night for months, a night with his buds, a night of debauchery and drunkenness where not only did no one leave sober, no one left at all. Anyone who began the night at his house would finish it there.

  Rod loved hanging with the guys, doing stuff they could do only when their women weren’t around: drinking excessive quantities of alcohol, eating heart-stopping gut-fattening colon-clogging food, and looking at naked women. Isn’t that what every guy did when his woman was otherwise occupied? Rod thought so.

  Tonight was Dermit Griswold’s bachelor party, but the occasion wasn’t important to Rod. What was important was what they were going to do. Although he loved it all — the drinking, football, gambling, softball in the summer and basketball in the winter, car and gun shows, barbecues — his favorite guy-thing were parties with strippers. Any bachelor party worth attending had to have a stripper.

  Most guys were okay with porn, but not Rod. Why look at a television screen when you could have the real deal, bumping and grinding right there in your own living room? Maybe the stripper would let you touch her, maybe she wouldn’t, but at least there was a chance. There was no chance of getting any action with a dvd.

  Strippers were easy to hire, just look in the Yellow Page
s. On slow nights or weekdays, he could get agencies to drop their price to beat a competitor’s quote. He could get one on an hour’s notice, like Pay-Per-View; he’d done it several times.

  Dermit’s party had started as usual, with good one hundred percent blue agave tequila, mixed drinks, beer on tap, and more tequila. Rod paced himself, didn’t want to be shit-faced when the stripper arrived; you can’t fully appreciate the show if you’re seeing double and you can’t get it up if you need to, if the opportunity presents itself.

  He pushed the groom, though, made sure he was so wasted he would never remember what he did. That way everyone could lie, make up stuff and get him in trouble. It was great fun.

  When they were half ripped, Rod brought out the embarrassing stuff: photos of the groom drunk off his ass doing something incredibly stupid; stories of chicks he might have laid if he’d had the balls; ugly chicks he did lay but later wished he hadn’t; dropped passes; missed free throws; and all the other stupid, dumbass things he’d ever said and did, and some he didn’t.

  They were at the bar doing shots when the doorbell rang at eleven, right on time.

  “Okay guys, the stripper’s here. Everyone take a seat.”

  Dermit stumbled to his assigned seat and plopped down with a stupid grin on his face. He mumbled something about his fiancée killing him if she ever found out. Everyone told him to shut up.

  Dermit’s seat was purposely positioned off to the side so the stripper had plenty of space in the center of the room to do her routine, but still have room to maneuver around his chair, sticking her boobs and butt, or whatever, into his face.

  Rod opened the door and let the stripper and her bodyguard in. She was blond, not naturally, by the looks of her black roots, and pretty enough to do. She wore a coat so he couldn’t tell how big her boobs were, but caught a whiff of weed on their clothes and wasn’t sure what he thought about that. Stoned strippers could go either way; they could be extra nice or extra lethargic. He preferred drunk strippers: alcohol was more reliable at loosening inhibitions.

  She says Call me Misty and Rod says Sure. Whatever. The big and ugly bodyguard said he would not wait outside in the car. Rod scowled but didn’t argue. He had a rule not to mess with guys who looked like they could kick his ass.

  He dug a wad of cash out of his pocket, three hundred, and gave it to Misty. She counted it and put it in her bag, which she gave to Big and Ugly.

  “What’s the groom’s name?”

  “Dermit,” Rod said, pointing and grinning. Now that the business had been taken care of, it was time to party.

  Big and Ugly stuck a fat finger in Rod’s face. “No one lays a hand on her unless she says so.”

  Rod tried to look insulted, which wasn’t hard because he was. “I know the rules, dude.”

  “It’ll cost you extra, too, dude,” said Big and Ugly.

  Rod nodded and smiled. That the bodyguard had brought the subject up meant it was possible, even likely. Touching often led to other things, which led to even more things, and pretty soon they could have the makings of a real fun time. He turned his back to Misty and gave his boys a lewd grin and a thumbs up.

  Misty set up her boom box and Big and Ugly crossed his arms and stared down the drunks. The music came on, loud and jazzy, and Misty started her routine. The guys hooted and whistled as she pranced around the room. Rod had seen better, but Misty wasn’t half bad.

  The song changed and Misty starting taking off clothes, tossing most of them at Dermit. The guys hooted louder and Misty got bolder. She was down to her bra and over-panties — Rod knew Misty wore something smaller underneath — when she stood behind Dermit and pulled his head back, trapping it between her boobs, which, Rod noted with great satisfaction, were nice and big.

  Even Big and Ugly was getting worked up, staring at Misty like everyone else, smiling and licking his lips. Must be a new guy, Rod thought. Old guys got bored, having seen it too many times.

  Misty hopped around a while longer before removing her bra and laying it over Dermit’s head. She went around the room shaking her boobs, lingering in front of each guy. She lingered longer in front of Rod, the money-man. Their eyes met. He grinned and nodded, holding up two fingers. She smiled and nodded back, the deal done. She would get another two hundred for anything extra she was willing to do, on top of whatever tips she could get out of the other guys. Strippers could make hundreds in tips if they were real friendly.

  A minute later the over-panties came off and Misty was ninety-eight percent naked. She gave Big and Ugly a nod and he changed the song. Slow music filled the room and she began gyrating on Dermit’s lap, juicing him up.

  The scene was hot and Rod was excited, as he was sure everyone else was, even Misty.

  Then two things happened: Dermit passed out and fell forward, his face smacking Misty’s mostly-bare ass, and something came crashing through the patio door.

  The laugh Rod meant to let out at the sight of Dermit’s face hitting Misty’s ass became a shriek when a black monster with giant silver teeth landed on his dining table, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

  The monster leapt at the closest guy, Howie Levy, Rod’s least favorite friend, and cut Howie in half with its silver teeth. With Howie’s intestines hanging out of its mouth, it leapt at the next guy, Pat Tanszilla, who was too drunk to move. The monster bit off Pat’s legs. His chair flipped backward and he screamed.

  All of sudden everyone was yelling and running, frantic to find an exit. Rod flattened himself against the wall and Big and Ugly, who was supposed to be looking after Misty, disappeared out the front door. The monster swung its long tail across the floor, taking legs out from under Misty and four guys. It jumped on Misty and bit a leg off. She screamed and flung her arms in front of her face. It bit her arms off.

  Guys got up screaming, only to run into each other and fall down again. The monster jumped on one and ripped open his stomach with a long silver nail that popped out of one of its six feet. The guy screamed and guts sprung out of the gash. It went after another guy, knocking him down and biting off a leg.

  Rod ran along the wall, away from the monster to the broken glass door. Outside, he slipped and fell, cutting himself on shards of glass. He got up to run but felt a sharp pain in his leg, lost his balance and fell onto the patio. His leg stung like crazy. Looking down to check it out, he saw he was missing a foot.

  Screaming, he looked up into the face of something that looked like a smaller version of the monster he’d just run away from, except that it didn’t have any legs. Its face was covered with blood — My blood! Then, as if two weren’t bad enough, five more of the things came sliding across the lawn.

  Rod did get lucky that night, though not in the way he had hoped. The little monsters had yet to learn that eating their prey piece-by-piece was more satisfying that devouring it quickly: Rod died in seconds.

  After eating Rod, the smaller creatures crawled into the house where the big one with legs was waiting. Also waiting, though not willingly, were Misty and the boys; they would play a tragic role in tonight’s lesson.

  The vibrations their prey made with the holes in their heads did not bother the creatures, they couldn’t hear the screams. Neither were they bothered when the vibrations brought more prey. It would prove instructive for them all.

  Delbert and Susan Morely had lived next door to Rod Pennyworth for four years. They loved their house, liked the location, the big shady trees lining the street, but they hated Pennyworth.

  “He’s a shiftless bum!” Delbert had told Susan the day Pennyworth moved in. He’d been looking out his bedroom window on the second floor into Pennyworth’s backyard, where a loud party was taking place at eight-thirty in the evening.

  “A worthless piece of crud!”

  Pennyworth had to be trained “Like a man trains a dog” about what quiet time meant. If there was loud music, yelling, or laughter coming out of Pennyworth’s house or yard after ten, Delbert called the cops. It had taken six m
onths and eleven 9 1 1 calls for Pennyworth to finally get it.

  Pennyworth retaliated by making all kinds of extra racket before ten, but Delbert didn’t care. He purchased two pairs of Bose Noise-Canceling headphones, at three hundred bucks a pop, that shut the noise out even when they weren’t plugged into a stereo. They came out of their storage cases any time Pennyworth cranked the music or started hollering, and stayed on until ten. When they came off, the neighborhood had damn well better be quiet or Delbert called the cops.

  Now, after two-and-a-half years of relative quiet, the screaming started again.

  Delbert jumped out of bed and ran to his window in time to see a dark compact car speed away from Pennyworth’s house. Nothing unusual about that, cars were always coming and going on the weekends. Even now there were four or five parked in Pennyworth’s driveway and in front of his house.

  “What’s that idiot up to? Doesn’t he know what time it is? It’s almost midnight!”

  It wasn’t even eleven-thirty but Susan knew this wasn’t a good time to tell Delbert he was exaggerating again.

  “Bring me the phone, Suzie. I’m calling the cops. Criminy! Do you hear that screaming? What’s he doing in there, having one of those sex orgies?”

  “Get the phone yourself, Delbert. I’m tired.”

  Then she heard the screaming, too, and it was loud. She grabbed the phone and joined Delbert at the window.

  She handed him the phone. “It sounds terrible, Delbert, like someone’s being killed.”

  Delbert’s hands were shaking as he dialed. The screaming continued and Susan pulled her nightgown tight around her neck.

  “Hello,” Delbert said as someone picked up at the other end. “I want to report terrible screaming coming out of the house at twenty-two forty-five ... What’s that? Well good. I hope they hurry. It sounds like someone’s getting hurt in there. Yes, yes. We’ll stay inside.”

  He clicked off. “The cops are already on the way. Someone else called it in.” He looked across the street. “Must have been Luther.”