by Wile E Young
Gideon froze and grasped for his gun that he didn’t have.
The mismatched fishmen lurched towards us only to a freeze to rumbling, “Wait!”
Lincoln was reaching toward us with a single hand. The syndactyly had transformed into a thick membrane connecting his fingers, and bony brown scales ran up his arm like an infection. His face was the only thing close to the same, that last little bit of human. Spines had ripped through is clothing that now hung in a fucked up mockery rather than to cover anything.
From the water, one of the half-breeds hauled itself up onto the deck, its skin a dark black and olive green, pasty black hair sticking to its face.
“Never was going to hurt you… Lincoln… but he can’t hold you back…anymore—” Savant Huber smiled wickedly, a long tongue running across his putrid lips, “You’re… coming home… with me now…”
“Like hell!” I shouted. The half-breeds growled at me, but a swift roar from the mercury-stained wretch halted them.
Lincoln stared at his cousin and then at the two of us.
“Don’t kill them… and I’ll go with you willingly…”
“Done.” Savant Huber, or whatever its real name was, sounded almost giddy.
There was a silent pressure that passed over the lake, like the shockwave of an explosion. The half-breeds vanished into the water. the Deep Folk stepped backward into the deepening water, disappearing into the rain. Savant fell backward, letting the river claim him.
All of them gone until Lincoln was alone on the deck. Hhe looked, pained raising one of his hands.
I knew a goodbye when I saw it.
He stepped off into the water, the river closing around him like a long-lost child.
Didn’t cry, didn’t shout. A good Pope boy until the last.
Chapter Twenty-Two
We found Luc’s spell book easily enough, resting next to his clutter of mumbo jumbo.
We had walked in fear the rest of the way down the pier. Can’t blame us for that; I didn’t exactly reckon that the bastard would actually keep his word. Maybe he was worried that Lincoln would come shooting back up to rejoin us if he actually drug us down deep.
The water had come up to our chests and we were practically swimming, holding the book wrapped up in an old hoodie that Gideon pulled out of a closet.
Luc was standing on the shore, his eyes dark, scanning the water. “Saw them go at the end.”
I shoved the book into his arms and stalked past him, unwilling to tell him that wading through the water had taken a lot out of me. Unwilling to let anyone see me squeezing back the tears as my face contorted in rage and sorrow.
I found a nice corner of the diner to curl up in, around the corner closest to the back wall. Let myself go then, tears fell down.
The rest knew better than to come asking.
Composed myself after a couple of minutes, didn’t take long for the rage to overcome the sorrow, and when I walked back around the corner no one cared to comment, something I was grateful for.
Davis was whispering to Misty who was resting her head in her hands. She had come out of her silence and occasionally sipped her tea between the tears.
Didn’t blame her.
Luc and Gideon had spread three old pieces of sketch paper across the table, each one depicting a channel marker. Luc’s sister had known her craft. Each drawing was incredibly detailed, each channel marker subtly different, with moss growing up the ancient wood and each one of the placards revealing a number: 151, 174, 179.
“How many of these did you say your father put up?”
Luc stared, his gaze troubled. “Thirty.”
“Channel marker system only goes up to one fifty,” Gideon muttered. “Going to take a bit to match this to their locations.”
I couldn’t make heads or tails of it. “Hell, those could be anywhere and you know it.”
Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the tinkling bell over the door.
Mose William stood shivering in the door, his jacket and jeans so drenched I thought it was going to blend in with his black skin.
“Mr. Trucker, I’ve got some weary kids ready for some hot meals… spotted your lights still on. Going to come back for the canoes.”
Before Davis could protest, a line of shivering teenagers came in, looked like a church camp by their appearance. Their chaperone was one of those new youth pastors with half of his head shaved; came in last searching for service on his cell phone. “Still can’t get a signal.”
Davis gave me a long-suffering look before smiling at the young man. “Let me fire up the grill. Didn’t expect any folks to be out, Mose.”
Mose clasped his hands together. “Thank you, Davis. Didn’t think we were going to be out there that long. I’ll owe you one.”
The kids filed past us, taking a wide birth around Luc and Gideon. The Cajun hoodoo man eyed each one darkly before going back to staring at the sketches.
“Hey, Grady.”
“Mose,” I said as warmly as I could under the circumstances, shaking the man’s head. “Hell of a storm.”
The tour guide nodded his head loose, drops shaking out of his white hair and onto his equally snowy beard. “Been out camping the past few days, right there where Oxbow meets Alligator Bayou. Never let up once, no sir.”
Mose was a little older than me and had lived his life on the border of perpetual poverty. He didn’t really seem to mind it though, an easy life on the lake being his only goal in life. Easier to live free when you don’t want.
We’d fished a couple of times together. My pop would have turned circles if he had seen me fraternizing with a black man, but even when we were kids back in the seventies, we hadn’t seen color.
Things were better on that front nowadays, no thanks to the backwoods holdouts who judged a man on how he looked rather than how he worked. Fucking idiots.
Mose glanced past me at Gideon and Luc, shaking hands with the young fishermen and squinting his eyes at Luc, who was ignoring him, snapping his finger when he finally realized who was standing in front of him. “Well hot damn, son. You’re Jean Phillipe’s boy, right?”
Luc looked up, startled, staring at the old tour guide with newfound respect. “You knew my dad?”
Mose smiled. “Most certainly did. Your pa made the best damn crawfish etouffee in the South.”
They drifted off into old memories of the Robichaude clan before their deaths, Mose telling old anecdotes of Bastienne and Cyprien canoeing with him, his momma Felicite once kissing Mose on the cheek for showing his siblings the best fishing holes.
“Hell of a woman your momma, beautiful like a sunset.”
Ain’t going to lie: it hurt me something fierce, made me miss Renee and Sammie Jo and happier times.
Banished it from my mind. Had the next few years to drink and reminisce before I shuffled off the mortal coil. My grandson needed rescuing. I could wallow later.
“Man those were good times. I was awfully sad when I learnt what happened to them.”
Luc nodded his head. “Yeah.” Nothing more needed to be said.
Wandered over and gripped his shoulder. The Cajun hoodoo man nodded gratefully and went back to examining the three pieces of sketch paper, no doubt wracking his brain for any clues that his sister might have left.
Mose wandered closer. “What are you working on… oh.”
I looked up at him. Wasn’t often Mose was surprised by anything on this lake. He’d been out on it more than anybody I knew.
“A lot of folks been scratching their heads at those old posts for years. I know your daddy put them up, Luc. Helped him on a few of them, in fact.”
All of us looked sharply everything around us seemed to go quiet as Mose sighed. “Never could figure the reason why he went about—” He noticed our expressions.
“Do you know where these are?” I asked, reaching out to grip his arm.
Mose looked taken aback by how serious I was. Probably saw the look of grim worry in my eyes. �
�Sure I know where they are, made a map a few years back.”
My grip on his arm tightened. “Show us.”
****
It was maybe a five-minute drive to Mose’ place. Davis stayed behind to serve the kids, putting Misty up in his back office to let her grieve in her own way.
Mose lived in a modest cabin that he had built years ago with his own two hands; a tin roof that thundered like mini drums under the rain. What passed as a driveway was nothing but a muddy path.
The water splashed as Mose ushered us inside. The man was old school, even older than me. Never did hook up to the utilities instead preferring to boil his own water, keep himself warm with a fire… he lived damn ruggedly.
It was cold and dark inside, and Mose disappeared into the blackness while the three of us stood in the doorway.
A candle lit in the blackness and Mose’ face appeared like the grim reaper himself, his white hair and beard casting shadows that reminded me of a painted-on skull.
“I’ll be stoking the fire; map’s buried under one of these piles of junk.”
The cabin was pretty sparse. An old green chair with a hole in one of the armrests, a moth eaten bed on a pair of ratty old bedframes that didn’t match, stone foundation that lay bare beneath our feet and had probably been the only thing that Mose hadn’t cobbled together in his home. A few handmade shelves held some books, fishing poles on hooks nailed into the walls, ancient stove and table.
Luc began searching the bookshelves as I helped Mose gather some firewood from the small iron rack next to the old stove. Soon a warm orange glow bounced off the small interior, the flames eagerly licking at the dry wood and providing a little more light.
Gideon and Luc had pulled out stacks of old newspaper clippings, journals, and any other knick knacks what looked like it could contain a map.
“Don’t have a TV, so I tend to write a lot. Apologies for the chicken scratch,” Mose said as he stretched his fingers toward the fire, letting the warmth flood through his skin and bring a little life back into them.
“You got some mystical thing you can do to find the map easy?”
Luc looked at me with the long-suffering look of someone who had been asked that same question one too many times and it wasn’t funny on the first one. “Might be able to conjure something give time and the proper ingredients. Don’t have them now though unless you’re willing to swim back to Gideon’s houseboat, Mr. Pope.”
I let the smart aleck remark slide as I grabbed the nearest journal and began combing through it.
Mose had lived a storied life. Wrote about me a few times. Glad to see that he didn’t have a low opinion of me. Didn’t find a map though.
Probably half an hour passed in that dark hole before Gideon turned a page in a large scrapbook. “Think this is it.”
All of us immediately stopped what we were doing to crowd around Gideon; Mose had lit a lantern that he sat next to the younger man on the table.
The map was an old rendering, at least a decade maybe more, newer divisions and houses around the lake not marked yet. Jotted black lines marked the channels and occasionally intersected with a red dot. Next to that dot written in black scrawl were numbers: 151, 152, 153, et cetera.
“Instincts are right on the money, Gideon.” I muttered as Luc looked up at Mose.
“Sir, do you mind if we borrow this?”
Mose smiled. “Mr. Robichaude, as far as I’m concerned it belongs to you anyway. Owe your family a lot.”
Luc nodded gratefully and carefully folded the map and put it away. Gideon’s keys jangled in his pocket. “Think I’ll go start the car.”
Mose looked on, curious. “What did y’all say that you were needing this for?”
I patted the old man’s shoulder. “Trust me on this one Mose: you don’t want to know.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
We geared up for cold weather. Sure the humidity was climbing and creating fog banks, but if you’ve ever spent time under an April shower in the South then you know how fast it can go from pleasant to fuck all freezing.
Gideon volunteered the Minute Mother for our travel. Made sense really seeing as Luc’s ingredients were on it along with a fine collection of fire arms.
“Think I’m going to sit this one out boys.”
Couldn’t believe the words I was hearing coming out of Davis Trucker’s mouth.
The teenagers ate all around us, oblivious to the things in the lake. We had returned expecting him ready to arm up and cast off, but instead he looked each of us with an even gaze.
“I’ve patched you up, given all of you shelter, but I’ve seen enough war, death, and strange things to last a lifetime. If I go out there with you I’m not coming back.” He sighed and ran a hand across his bald head. “I’m not doing that to Helen, I just can’t…”
My temper reached a boiling point and I reached out, poking two hard fingers into his chest. “Coward. You’re a fucking coward…” I hissed the words, all of my venom and anger in that whisper. “I thought more of you, Davis Trucker. Thought you were a man of courage—”
With speed that belied a man of his size, he wrapped a hand around my wrist, holding it firm, those deadpan eyes as hard as stone. “Never mistake me for a coward, Grady Pope. I have a life, a wife, and I’ve done what I can to help.” He looked at Gideon, Luc, and me in turn. “Maybe if I was like the rest of you and didn’t have people who relied on me, I’d help out. But as it is… I wish you all the best of luck.”
He released my wrist and my anger roiled in my chest. I balled my fist, ready to make him pay, when Luc’s hand lightly patted my shoulder.
“Mr. Trucker thank you for what you’ve done, sincerely. If I was you I’d be doing the same thing.” Luc chuckled darkly. “Not sure that we all shouldn’t, but I ask only this of you: that if we don’t come back, you’ll get as many people as you can to leave Uncertain in the rear view.”
Davis nodded his head. “You’ve got my word on that.”
“Good enough,” Luc said, tipping a small finger in salute. “Thank you for all your help my friend.”
Davis grunted. “Best of luck to you boys.”
****
He at least gave us food to take with us when we hit the river. “Least I could do,” he said, my ass...
My temper practically boiled the water as we waded out to the Minute Mother. The river was nearly up to the diner door now and we were still about thirty yards before we began swimming the rest of the way.
I was near wheezing when Gideon hauled me up the railing, Luc coming behind me. My throat still hadn’t healed. Despite my bravado and a lifetime outdoors, I knew I was pushing my body to the limits.
“Grady, do you know how to drive a houseboat?” Luc asked when we had sequestered ourselves inside and out of the rain. I nodded.
“Good, then I’m going to ask you to drive while Gideon assists me with some things.” He glanced apologetically at Gideon. “That is with your permission of course.”
Gideon held up his hands. “Let him go ahead. As long as he’s not plowing us into trees I guess it doesn’t really matter.”
“Where’s the console at?”
Gideon pointed outside. “Under the awning right there. Can’t miss it.”
Luc quickly swept up Gideon, pointing out various ingredients that he had stowed around the interior that he needed for his conjuring. I let myself out quick. Could barely do math let alone whatever hoodoo he was cooking up. Maybe Luc had known that and asked that I go to the one place I knew that I could excel.
The houseboat console was a pretty plain thing. Chipped wood from too much time under the sun running up the sides, bits of black mold clinging to the steel levers, and pollen both old and new covered the buttons in a thin layer of yellow dust.
The awning was just good enough to keep the water out of my face, the beating rain echoing the continuous thumping of my heart. I reached out with a cupped hand, letting the cool liquid trickle in and tickle the pores of
my skin.
After I had caught enough, I poured it over the console washing the pollen off and onto the green shag carpet. No use battling allergies along with the hypothermia I was no doubt acquiring.
Maybe this was the end of the road. Hell, I’d be happy if it was.
I keyed the ignition and the motor on the rear of the houseboat gurgled to life. Hauled up the anchors and cast off the mooring line. The current immediately began taking us, drifting slowly away from the receding shore and towards the big lake.
I swung us in a slow circle. Fucking thing was like handling a bus and I strained to keep us on a steady course.
Didn’t feel completely at ease until I saw the channel marker. It was easy after that. We had quite a ways to go to get to our destination, a remote area on the northern side of the lake called Fishnet Gap.
****
Even when there’s a flood some people just don’t know when to quit. I had taken Government Ditch slow; couldn’t afford to be knocking into the trees and putting holes in the hull before we had made it anywhere.
This unnatural flooding might have been a blessing in disguise. Normally I wouldn’t have dared trying to take a houseboat down the channel. Fishing boats sure, but this giant whore wouldn’t have made it to the first fork before bottoming out.
Still, the looks of surprise on the gator hunters faces brought a smile to my face.
Saw at least six boats, each of them stringing up drop lines baited with bloody entrails of various animals. Amateurs. Thought they could catch a gator by just baiting a hook with no regards to territory hunting patterns. They were out to make a quick buck rather than a living.
Prayed for their souls if the game wardens got ahold of them. I laughed a little at that sentiment; a man-eating alligator seemed so trivial now in comparison to what was beneath this lake.
In the end I just hoped that these men would make it off the river in one piece.