Loch

by Paul Zindel

  Loch shrugged as he sat down on the trailer steps. “Randolph just assassinated my bedroom.”

  Sunlight reflected from the back of Cavenger’s balding head as he strolled away from all the shouting and accusations. His small, deep-set eyes stared out toward the lake while Dr. Sam conducted the interrogation. Loch, Zaidee, and Sarah stuck to their story that they had been at the grid feeding an otter and hadn’t wanted Randolph and his men to shoot it.

  “That was no otter,” Randolph kept repeating.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Cavenger said finally. “Whatever it was, we’ll net it on tomorrow’s sweep.” He turned to Dr. Sam. “Let’s go. We have a lot of work to finish at the base.”

  Cavenger put Sarah in the back of the Volvo and got into the front passenger seat. Dr. Sam got behind the wheel and started the engine. He rolled down the window for a parting shot at Randolph. “You stay off my property.”

  “Your property?” Cavenger laughed. “I pay the rents around here.”

  As usual, Dr. Sam said nothing. He just drove off.

  Randolph and his men left right after Dr. Sam and Cavenger, leaving Loch and Zaidee alone at the camp. Zaidee walked out and sat on the rinky-dink dock at the spot where they had put Wee Beastie back into the lake. There was no sign of the creature anywhere. She started to cry. Loch walked over to her and sat down.

  “Don’t, Zaidee,” Loch said. “We’re not going to give up.”

  “They’re going to catch Wee Beastie tomorrow,” Zaidee said. “They’re going to kill him.”

  “No,” Loch said. “There’s got to be something we can do. We have to think of something …”

  “Wee Beastie could still be right out there,” Zaidee said. “Maybe he didn’t swim very far.”

  “He’ll be okay,” Loch said. “I’m sure he’s finding his mother.”

  He hadn’t meant to say the word “mother.” It was a word they both tried to use as little as possible.

  “They’ll trap them all tomorrow,” Zaidee wept. “Wee Beastie will be harpooned or shot or caught in those big metal nets and die.”

  Loch stood and looked out past the shallows to the dark edge of the deep water. By now the shadows of the pines were thrust far out onto the lake as the sun began to drop behind the mountains. “You’re right,” he told Zaidee. “Wee Beastie could still be hanging around. I have to look for him.”

  Zaidee stopped crying. “Are you going out in the boat?”

  “No,” Loch said. He turned and climbed the slope to the U-Haul.

  Zaidee ran after him. “I want to go with you,” she said.

  “You can’t,” Loch said. “If I meet one of the big ones, we’ll … have problems.”

  “Don’t go,” Zaidee pleaded. “The sun’s going down. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I’ll be okay.” Loch opened the combination lock and threw open the heavy metal door of the truck. He jumped up inside and lifted the canvas cover from the Jet Ski. He moved the ski out onto the truck elevator platform and lowered it to the ground. Zaidee helped him push it to the lake.

  “I’ve got to get something,” Zaidee said, heading up to the trailer while Loch fueled the Jet Ski from the boat’s reserve tank. By now the shadows from the mountains themselves began to march on the lake. Only the sky was afire with the stark reds and yellows of sunset.

  Zaidee ran back down as Loch started the Jet Ski. “Here,” she said, thrusting the laptop at him. “This will let you know if he’s around.” Her voice dropped. “If anything’s around.”

  “Great,” Loch said. He flipped the laptop open, turned it on, and strapped it onto the seat behind him. He’d have to twist around to look at it, but it was better than nothing.

  “I want to go with you,” Zaidee said.

  “Not this time,” Loch told her.

  “I could hold the laptop and watch the screen.”

  “You’d be too heavy. I need the speed.”

  Zaidee knew he was right. “Well, you are going to need this,” she said, reaching out to the computer and bringing Crashers up on the screen. “If Wee Beastie sees you, maybe he’ll follow you back.”

  “Maybe,” Loch said, tousling his sister’s hair. He kicked the ski into gear and started away from the dock.

  “Be careful,” Zaidee called after him.

  Loch skimmed slowly across the shallows out onto the black water. He knew it would be light for ten or fifteen minutes more. A breeze was coming down from the north. The wisps of the night fog were already forming in the center of the lake.

  He turned to check the game screen. There were no telltale static lines.

  Farther out the breeze was stronger, whisking off the tops of the waves into streaks of white. He saw a floating log off to his left and another to his right.

  Why so many logs? he thought. Any logs that had been washed out of the log pond during the storm should have all drifted to the south shore by now.

  He kept his speed low, calling around him, “Hey, fellah, it’s all clear now. … Where are you, little fellah?” He put on the ski’s headlight and leaned forward to check the surface ahead. “It’s safe now, Wee Beastie,” he called into the breeze. “All the bad guys are gone—”

  Loch turned sharply to avoid another log. He thought he had missed it entirely, but the motor on the ski stalled. He tried the automatic start. The motor turned over right away, but when he put it into gear it sputtered and stalled again. He knew the symptoms. It meant a branch or weeds were caught in the front intake. Whatever, he’d have to get into the water to clear it. “Nasty,” he moaned as he checked to make certain the ignition was turned off and the motor in neutral.

  There still were no static lines on the laptop as he slid over the side into the dark, cold water.

  The chill of the deep lake was numbing even in summer. He trod water and held on to the ski’s running board to keep his head above the surface. With his right hand he reached around to the front of the ski and blindly felt below the waterline for the clogged intake, as he had done many times before. He located the clog and pulled at it. Part of it came loose, and he lifted it into the headlight to get a good look at it. It was a leafy stem of a water plant. He threw the stem clear and reached back underwater. The rest of the clog seemed less leafy, as though it were soft, thin lake grass attached to a clump. He pulled the clump back and forth, trying to loosen it from the intake. Whatever it was, it was really jammed. Loch had to jump the grip of his left hand from the running board to the front plastic bumper to get the leverage he needed.

  Finally, the clump loosened. It was heavier than he expected, but he floated it to the surface, closer to the blazing light of the headlamp. At first he thought it might be some child’s waterlogged ball caught in the lake grass, but as he lifted it into the light he saw a pair of eyes in a bloated, half-eaten human face staring out at him. The bottom half of the mouth was gone, leaving two gold front teeth to protrude and shine down from the upper slab of bone.

  Loch yelled and threw the grisly head of Jesse Sanderson as far away from him as he could. Then he pulled himself quickly through the water, grasped the running board, and hauled himself back up. He noticed a thick, jagged line, growing larger, cutting across the game screen. He swung himself squarely on the front of the seat and pressed the start button.

  CHUG. CHUGGG. The motor coughed but wouldn’t kick over. He turned the headlight off, letting the full power of the battery go to the starter. It was very dark now. The screen of the laptop glowed eerily behind him. He pressed the start button. The motor gurgled and chugged again.

  Loch smelled gasoline. He had flooded the engine. It would have to sit a second.

  The static line on the laptop filled the screen now.

  Loch heard the sound of water moving in front of him. It was too dark to see, but he felt the ski undulate from what seemed to be a single large wave. He moved his hand to the headlight switch. Battery or no battery, he had to see what had surfaced. He flicked the switch. The light cut
through the night. A huge black mass lay in front of him like a small island. Above it rose the massive head and glaring yellow eyes of the Rogue.

  Loch froze. His heart felt like it was going to explode in his chest. He told himself the creature wouldn’t attack him unless it felt threatened.

  “Hi, big fellah,” Loch found himself muttering as the Rogue moved his snout closer to the front of the ski. “I’m not going to hurt you. …”

  The Rogue nudged the ski and began to open his mouth. Loch couldn’t take his eyes off the huge chasm lined with great pointed daggers. He tried again to convince himself that if he didn’t make any sudden movements, the creature would let him go.

  Then his instincts won out. Loch’s hand crept to the starter button.

  “Now! Now!” Loch yelled, holding the starter button down. The engine roared. In a split second Loch had the ski in gear as the beast’s head pulled back. Loch spun the ski around, flying away just as the beast’s mouth shot forward like the front of a roaring train.

  Loch’s eyes fixed on the lights of the trailer and dock as he gave the ski full throttle. He heard sounds behind him but didn’t dare look back. He was still a few hundred yards from shore. He saw himself bearing down on a log and jerked the ski to the left to avoid hitting it.

  Now he was close enough to see Zaidee on the pier. “Hurry!” she was screaming. “It’s after you!”

  A hundred yards to go.

  Loch leaned his body forward and low to cut the wind resistance.

  “Faster!” Zaidee called out to him.

  A big log lay directly in front of him. There was no way he could avoid it. He braced himself and held the ski straight. The ski hit and was airborne. Loch stayed on and landed the ski back in the water. He was in the shallows now.

  Zaidee screamed, “It’s still coming!”

  Loch turned, staring back with terror to see the creature erupting with a great roar from the water, the thrust from its powerful fins sending it hurtling toward Loch. Loch looked for a weapon—the laptop!—grabbed it, and threw it. The beast’s teeth snapped closed, exploding the screen and case, which came whizzing back over his head.

  “Oh my God,” Zaidee cried, running off the pier as fast as her legs would carry her.

  Loch shot up on the shore with the ski, leaped off, and ran up the slope with Zaidee.

  It took them a long while to realize that the beast had stopped, and that it had returned to the deep.

  Loch collapsed on the ground. Near him he found the shattered case of the laptop. He picked the case up and ran his fingers along the jagged edges made by the Rogue’s teeth.

  “This is a megabyte,” he told Zaidee. “A real megabyte.”

  11

  NIGHT

  Zaidee was asleep by the time Dr. Sam got home. Loch had decided not to tell her about finding Jesse Sanderson’s head in the lake. He knew she’d been through enough to give her nightmares for a very long time as it was. Nor would he tell his father about Jesse. There was no need, just yet, for others to know what had happened to the town drunk who swaggered around Lake Alban with a shotgun. The beasts were already hated enough.

  By midnight a half-moon had risen over the mountains, and the dangers of the lake faded before its vast beauty. Loch waited up for his father, staring out the window at the sweep of stars that lay suspended in the dark velvet of the northern sky. Only the fragile cries from distant loons broke the silence of the night.

  “What the hell was going on today?” Dr. Sam wanted to know when he came in, his face drawn. He grabbed a bottle of beer and swung into the dining nook next to Loch. “Why didn’t you tell me what you’d found?”

  “You were too busy.”

  “Don’t throw that back in my face.”

  “We found what I drew—a young plesiosaur,” Loch said. “That’s what we tried to tell you yesterday.”

  “A juvenile?”

  “Yes.”

  Dr. Sam took a sip of his beer. He let the fact sink in, imagining for a moment what he would have done if he had known. “Well, you heard Cavenger. It doesn’t make any difference now.”

  Loch got right to what was on his mind. “He’s going to kill them, isn’t he?”

  “He’s hoping to take one alive.”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “I—”

  “Dad, special equipment would have to be built to take any of the big creatures alive,” Loch said. “Cavenger wouldn’t spend the time—or the money—to do it right. All he’s got on The Revelation are guns and harpoons. And any young ones are going to die in the nets. You know that!”

  “I don’t know that—”

  Loch hit his fist on the table. “Dad, you do!”

  “Don’t wake Zaidee,” Dr. Sam said.

  “I need to talk to you,” Loch said, getting up and going outside. Dr. Sam took his beer and went out after him. He caught up to him walking down to the lake.

  “The creature I found was frightened and scraped and terrified,” Loch went on. “Zaidee and I went into the water with him, and he began to trust us. He’s not some kind of stupid fake out of one of Cavenger’s lousy magazines. He’s real. He’s alive. Dad, he’s very smart.”

  “Loch, it’s a prehistoric beast—”

  “I’m telling you they’re all more than just a pack of monsters. The little one makes sounds, like a kind of music. He cries and feels pain. All these creatures, they’re just trying to stay alive and be left alone. Life doesn’t mean anything to Cavenger, but it’s got to mean something to you, Dad. It’s got to!”

  “You and Zaidee mean something to me—”

  “Then don’t just stand by and let him slaughter them and stuff them for some stupid museum. This lake has a great treasure! It’s more than gold, don’t you know that? Don’t you?”

  “Son,” Dr. Sam said, “I don’t know why you’re trying to defend these beasts. I know I’ve moved you and Zaidee around a lot … you haven’t had the chance to have many friends—”

  Loch raised his voice. “Don’t, Dad! You’re not hearing what I’m telling you. Please don’t say anything dumb now—”

  “What kind of a thing is that to say?” Dr. Sam asked, confused.

  Loch turned and started to walk away but then spun to face his father. “Zaidee and I are supposed to look up to you, but we don’t. We don’t because it’s almost like you don’t exist anymore, like you’ve given yourself away piece by piece.” Loch trembled as he pointed out at the lake. “We saved one of them. I’m telling you they have feelings and intelligence. At least take the time to know what we know. You think you won’t be able to learn anything from them. You’re wrong—”

  “Look, you’re a kid …”

  “Dad, some fantastic and mind-blowing creatures are trapped out there and you’re just standing by, helping to destroy them.”

  “I only work for Cavenger,” Dr. Sam said.

  “But you’re the grown-ups!” Loch found himself shouting now. “You’re supposed to do what’s right!”

  Dr. Sam looked out at the lake. “Loch, I’m sorry,” he said finally, and started back up the slope to the trailer.

  Loch ran after him and stopped him. “You have the codes for the grid. You could open it. The creatures could go back where they came from.”

  “I can’t do that,” Dr. Sam said.

  “You can.”

  “No.”

  “What you’re saying is you won’t.”

  “You’re out of line, son.”

  Loch curled his fingers into a fist. Dr. Sam saw it as well as the look in his son’s eyes. Dr. Sam turned away and opened the trailer door. He went inside, leaving Loch alone in the night.

  Dr. Sam had to leave for the base before dawn. Loch and Zaidee were still sleeping in their rooms, so he scrawled them a note:

  Good morning!

  Please take care of yourselves and stay out

  of trouble until I get back. I’ll make it all

  up to
you. I promise. Camping. A dozen

  new computer games. Swim with dolphins

  A real vacation. You name it.

  Love, Dad

  The guard was waiting at the encampment gate when Dr. Sam arrived.

  “Today’s the day,” the guard said. Dr. Sam saw the excitement in the guard’s eyes.

  “Right,” Dr. Sam said, then drove on through. He parked near the dock, got out, and headed for The Revelation. The thrill of the hunt charged the air as fleet crews and personnel scurried everywhere. The water taxis skimmed between the dock and skiffs like water beetles. A few of the lighter, oldest boats had been replaced in the search formation by the converted PT and a pair of twenty-six-foot metal-hull patrol boats hauled overland from Lake Champlain. The highest security surrounded an army truck delivering a long gray crate to the yacht. Dr. Sam followed the crate up the gangplank.

  Cavenger was waiting for the crate in the control room. “Here’s what we’ve been waiting for,” he said as the crew set the crate down against the far wall.

  The mood in the control room was confident as Emilio and Randolph unpacked several pieces of heavy-duty artillery. In addition to upgraded electronics systems, the yacht now carried a half dozen automatic guns, a grenade launcher, and several explosive-tip spear guns.

  Dr. Sam checked the ammunition supply. “You’ve got enough explosives aboard to blow up half the lake.”

  “We’ll use what we have to,” Cavenger said.

  Emilio checked the sights on the grenade launcher. “I was certified on this launcher in the army.”

  “When?” Dr. Sam asked. “Twenty years ago?”

  Randolph slid a clip into an automatic rifle. “It’s like riding a bike,” he said. “Just like riding a bike.”

  Loch had heard his father get up that morning and stumble around the trailer to fix his coffee and toast. Loch wanted to get up, go out to the dining nook, and apologize to his dad for his outburst the night before. Instead, he lay on his bed staring at the remains of the cryptids and the sunlight streaming in through the bullet holes in the wall.