Flesh

by Laura Bickle

  Carefully, I advance upon the trailer. The water line is halfway up my rain boots. Water and wind whip around my shoulders as I press my ear to the cold, wet steel door. Rain rattles on the metal roof. I know all about flash floods, about how water can creep up in minutes, and how water can create the illusion of movement.

  But I swear that there’s something moving inside. There’s scraping, groaning. I jump back, hearing a sharp blow from inside. A dent blisters the skin of the trailer, flexing outward.

  “Shit.”

  I look down, thinking that it would be best to move the trailer off the property. But I’m guessing that’s unlikely, since the tires have sunk into the wet mush.

  I retreat, closing the back door to the Body Shop and locking it. I rush upstairs, running immediately into Gramma. “We’ve got a problem.”

  “We have more than one.” Gramma’s mouth twists. “I just got a call from Kathy Jacobs. The creek just broke over the bank five miles upstream and a whole lot of water’s coming our way.”

  I turn back the way I came, as if I can visualize the creek beyond the walls of the house. Maybe it’s too late for sandbags…a puddle is forming on the floor of the parlor, dark as coffee and spreading. The creek must be pushing against the wall.

  Gramma turns me back around by the shoulders to face her. “Get a bag. Throw anything you want to keep in it. Get Amanda and be back down here in five minutes.”

  I scramble upstairs, my rain boots slamming against the stairs, calling for Amanda. I burst into my room.

  “What’s wrong?” She’s sitting up in bed, blinking.

  “Flood’s coming. We have to leave.” I grab my book bag, stuffing my laptop and sneakers into it. I pick up the journal from the museum. I cast about my room, trying to figure out what I think is valuable. I reach into my pocket, finding the catfish charm there.

  The generator squeals and falls silent. The little power we have is officially gone.

  Amanda struggles into a pair of my shoes. Jesus, I wonder if she’s growing fins, but I don’t ask. I thrust a coat with a hood at her and follow her down the stairs. Gramma’s waiting on the first-floor landing for us, holding two shopping bags and shining a flashlight up the steps to light our way. She’s wearing a yellow rain slicker with rubber ducks printed on it, and a puddle is deepening around her rain boots. Lothar is on the second step, whining and nipping at the water.

  “Where are we going?” I gasp.

  “To the road. Garth is there with the hearse…he can’t make it down the driveway.”

  Amanda grabs the shopping bags from Gramma and turns to the door. I snatch Lothar and follow them out. I lock the door behind me, hoping to God that the water isn’t as bad as she’s expecting.

  A torrent of rain strikes me in the face, blowing back my hood, and I struggle to hold the wriggling dog. Cold water swirls around my ankles. Gramma clings to my arm and Amanda’s, and together, we slosh through the water to the waiting headlights on the road.

  I’ve seen all kinds of stuff on the Weather Channel about how you shouldn’t try to walk or drive in even a few inches of moving water because it’ll knock you on your ass and sweep you away. I believe it. I can feel the water pulling at my ankles, and Gramma loses her footing more than once.

  I glance back at the dark house. Water is licking the outside wall, and I see the swollen creek sucking at the semi-trailer. It turns, pushed by the water, floating. It twists free of the tractor. With a metallic groan, the trailer goes down its side. The back door flops open. I am terrified at the thought of what could be inside, now released.

  “Go!” I shout at Amanda.

  We start to run, sweeping Gramma off her feet. We reach the upper edge of the driveway and the road on higher ground as the trailer gets pulled away, downstream.

  The back door of the hearse is open. I dump the dog inside, push Gramma in. Amanda and I scramble in afterward.

  “We’re in! Go!” I shout at Garth.

  He starts forward with excruciating slowness, the windshield wipers pounding on the glass.

  Amanda squeaks. Gramma turns her flashlight toward her.

  And then I realize that we aren’t alone in the back of the hearse.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I REMEMBER THAT GARTH WAS on a body run, so I would entirely expect there to be a body back here. But there’s only a deflated, unzipped body bag. And a shape curled up, dressed in black.

  Gramma shines the light on it.

  It’s Rafe.

  I almost don’t recognize him, with his face scrubbed clean of makeup. He looks really young. And there’s such an expression of confusion on his face as he gazes upon Amanda.

  Admittedly, Amanda isn’t at her best. The torrent has blown the corpse makeup right off her face, and she’s staring at him, black-eyed, dripping wet, and the color of an avocado.

  But it doesn’t matter.

  “It’s true,” Rafe says. “What Garth said…you’re alive.”

  Amanda bursts into tears and launches herself into his arms. They huddle together in a tight knot, whispering things that I can’t hear but very much want to.

  I crawl to the front of the hearse, leaning into the squeaky front seat. “Garth…tell me that you didn’t break his house arrest! The cops will be looking for him.”

  “Well, not right away,” Garth confesses. “There’s probably nobody checking his ankle bracelet coordinates right this minute.”

  “Jesus, Garth!” I’m unwilling to get the poor kid into any more trouble than he was already in.

  Garth shrugs. “I went to pick up a body, but the flood stopped me from getting to the jail. His house was on the way back, and water was up to the front doorknob. Trust me, the cops have bigger issues to worry about right now. And we could use the manpower”

  “The flood. Yeah.”

  “Not just the flood. There are bodies popping up all over the place, walking around. The Sheriff declared a state of emergency and has ordered everyone to barricade themselves on higher ground. The jail is on Second Street—low ground—and they were getting ready to evacuate.”

  A figure crosses in front of the hearse—an old man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and shorts. It has to be one of the retirees from the bus wreck. The tractor trailer full of bodies must have capsized in the creek.

  Garth slams on the brakes, fishtails the hearse. I slide forward, whacking my chin on the dashboard. The old man opens his mouth and snarls at us, his face full of shark teeth.

  My brother guns the engine, hitting the old man with a squishing sound. I guess that’s one way to do it. The man bounces off the windshield, cracking it, and vanishes into darkness. Garth lowers his head and accelerates down the dark, swampy road.

  “It’s go time. We’ve gotta get the plan going now,” he says.

  I nod, tasting blood inside my cheek. Fear for my parents boils up in my throat. We have to stop the Devourers now. “We have to.”

  He hands me his cell phone and I dial the Carltons.

  Renee picks up on the first ring. “Hello?”

  “Are you guys ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’ll be there in a minute.” I hang up.

  Garth shuts off his headlights as he turns the car down the driveway to the Carltons’ house. Their house is dark, too, like ours. But they’re on slightly higher ground, and their yard is still dry. Two dark figures slide out the back door, running for the hearse. I squish up next to Garth and open the door for Renee and Ryan. Renee and Ryan pile in on top of me in the front seat and slam the door.

  Garth backs up, peels out onto the road, and heads south.

  My heart is pounding. I look at Renee, who’s sitting on my lap. “Thank you,” I say. “Thank you for coming.”

  Renee grins at me. “How could I miss this? This is the most excitement I’ve had…like…ever.”

  Ryan worms out from behind Renee and crawls to the back of the hearse. He and Renee are dressed for business in their dad’s camo gear and car
rying backpacks.

  “Holy crap. You guys look like survivalists!”

  “Like I said, the most excitement ever,” Renee smiles. “But we sure as hell don’t want to get caught.”

  “Whoa. The dead girl really is alive,” Ryan exclaims as he crawls into the back.

  “Lemme see.” Renee sticks her head into the back, turning on her flashlight. “Wow.”

  “That’s rude!” Gramma announces.

  Lothar wriggles up to the front, overjoyed to see Renee. He washes the rain off her face with doggy kisses, sending her tumbling into the floorboards with wriggling dog.

  “He missed you,” I say. “So did I.”

  I can’t tell for sure in the dark, but it seems like Renee is smiling again.

  I click on the radio, but get nothing but static. I’m guessing that the local radio station got zapped with the power outage and the flood. I’m hoping they haven’t been overrun with Devourers. I shut it off and use the last of the juice in Garth’s cell phone to call Gem and Liz.

  Garth sticks to the ridge roads—they’re higher than the others. We stop at the gas station on the edge of town. A security gate has been drawn across the entrance to the store, and the gas pumps are still. A gas light buzzes overhead, illuminating raindrops as they fall.

  “Oh my god. Wait a minute. Does anybody have any money?” Amanda squeals. She presses her hands against the window, staring at the gas station with as much excitement as a dog in a drive-through.

  Gramma fishes in her massive purse and gives Amanda a five. Amanda digs her way out of the back and runs to the vending machines. From the car, I can see that there’s a Coke machine and a live bait vending machine, but there’s no electricity illuminating them. Clearly frustrated, Amanda pounds on the bait machine to no avail. In a flash of inspiration, she grabs a brick and proceeds to beat the hell out of the machine. The plastic and metal cracks open under her assault.

  It occurs to me that she is much stronger than I gave her credit for. Or getting stronger.

  Amanda reaches into the machine and comes up with a Styrofoam container of night crawlers. She tucks into it greedily, heedless of us watching.

  “Oh.” Rafe stares at her.

  Gramma is laughing silently. “If you value your tonsils, you may want to lay off the tongue hockey with that one, son.”

  Garth glares at his watch. “Are they coming?”

  “They said they were,” I reply. I lean out the window, suddenly inspired. “Hey, Amanda…can you get us a couple of those?” I point to the propane tanks in their locked cage.

  Amanda turns, wiping her mouth. “Sure.” She advances upon it, breaking the padlock with the brick. “How many do you want?”

  “As many as you think we can fit back in here.”

  Rafe continues to stare. “Holy shit, man. She’s like Wonder Woman.”

  A couple of familiar figures sprint across the street into the pool of light. I recognize the black clothes and Gem’s pink hair. Liz and Gem pile into the back of the hearse with the rest of the gang, squealing with joy when they see Rafe. Amanda grabs some more worms and joins them. Lothar squiggles off my lap to go snatch a worm from Amanda.

  “Everybody in?” Garth calls.

  A chorus of affirmatives rings back, and he pulls out of the parking lot.

  Taking the ridge roads, it takes forever to wind our way to the dam. Rain beats on the windshield, drowning out much of our planning. Not that there’s much left.

  The dam has to come down.

  Garth pulls the hearse up to the closed construction gate at the dam. It’s just a piece of metal chained to a tree.

  “Dude, take it out,” Ryan calls from the back.

  Garth hesitates. I totally get that. He’s spent his whole life washing this car.

  “You already ran a guy down,” I remind him, pointing at the trickle of water leaking through the fresh crack in the windshield.

  He sighs. But he puts it in gear and shoves the shiny bumper against the metal. The barrier gives way with a shriek. Garth noses the car inside the gate, out of sight of the main road, and down a winding gravel access road to the work site.

  The headlights illuminate the dam construction site. It’s not much. Just a whole bunch of mud, gravel, and earth-moving equipment. They look like toys to me.

  “Team huddle.” Garth leans to the crowded back of the hearse. Rain pounds the top of the hearse, almost drowning out his words. “There are three machines out there. Renee, Ryan…do you think you can drive those things?”

  Ryan peers out the window. “If I can drive a combine, I’m pretty sure I can figure out how to run that bulldozer.”

  “Dad rented one of those front-end loaders when he was leveling out some ground for the new barn,” Renee agrees. “I admit it made awesome donuts.”

  “Cool. I’ll go with you guys and we can see if we can create a weak point in the dam, somewhere we can get the water to come over.”

  “With this rain, that won’t be hard,” Gem observes

  “And try not to drown,” Gramma warns from the back.

  We all look at her.

  She spreads her hands. “I’m technically the adult here. Technically. So I think I should lead the fire team.”

  I blink at her. “The fire team?”

  “The lookouts. The armed escorts.”

  “No,” Garth and I say in unison. “Your heart!”

  “If my heart hasn’t exploded before now, it ain’t gonna,” she insists. Gramma rustles inside her shopping bags. She has six cans of hair spray and lighters. She holds one of each up. “Beautician’s flamethrower. In case the Devourers turn up.”

  Rafe makes a low whistle. “Sweet, Mrs. Sulliven. With those and the propane canisters, nobody’s gonna get near us.”

  Gem grins. “Liz and I brought a little surprise from the chemistry lab, too.”

  She digs into her pocket and comes up with a wadded mass of shopping bags.

  “What’s that?” Rafe asks.

  “Potassium. If it comes into contact with water, it’s supposed to explode in a really cool way.”

  Rafe nods, seeming impressed. “Niiiice.”

  “Science nerds, for the win.” Gem gives a thumbs-up.

  My brow knits. “I, uh, hope you triple-bagged that.”

  Gem gives me a dirty look. “Oh, I did better than that. I bagged it five times.”

  We divide up the goodies. Garth raises his voice above the rain. “Gramma, Liz, and Gem will be the lookouts and run interference in case the Devourers come. And I’m pretty sure they’re around…this is Bob’s home territory, within spitting distance of the mill. Amanda, Rafe, and Charlie will go to see if Amanda can contact Catfish Bob and tell him what we’re doing. If he knows that we’re killing the dam, maybe he’ll call the whole thing off. Assuming that he has any influence over the Devourers at all.” He takes a deep breath. “Any questions?”

  There are none, just the doing. We pile out of the hearse and into the deluge. I try to slam the car door on Lothar. “You need to stay in the car,” I insist.

  He’s having none of it. He slides out into the mud with his chest puffed out. I try to catch him, and he scuttles under the hearse.

  Garth’s team makes way toward the earth movers. The headlights of the hearse are picking up some kind of movement at the edge of the construction site.

  “Incoming!” I shout, pointing.

  Gramma and the Goth girls are on it. Gramma hauls ass with a surprising degree of speed to the edge of the clearing. With my flashlight beam, I pick out the soggy form of an elderly woman in a pink pant suit, snarling at them. Behind her are more—a pair of old men holding golf clubs and a woman in what looks like a floral muumuu. They must be some of the retirees from the bus. Tongues of flame lick out from Gramma’s hairspray flamethrowers. Lothar gleefully plunges into the fray, yapping his head off.

  Heart pounding, I sweep my flashlight to the top of the dam. I can make out the corner of the ruined tractor traile
r, hung up in some trees at the top of the dam. It must have floated downstream, fast. This flood is stronger than I ever imagined.

  “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Rafe repeats to himself like a mantra.

  I catch Amanda’s arm. “We’ve gotta find Bob. Get him to call off the attack.”

  Amanda’s hair is plastered to her scalp, and her eyes are wide and dark. “I don’t know if he’ll listen to me…or even if he has any control over them!”

  “I know but, you have to try.” I give her a reassuring squeeze, even though I’m just as terrified as she is, even though my anxiety feels unbearable. I have to power through, and so does she. “You can do this, Amanda.”

  I haul her down toward the mill. Wet honeysuckle branches lash at us as we make our way to the broken little bridge connecting ground to the hulk of the mill. Rafe follows, clutching his can of hairspray. In the distance, I hear engines gunning. And then an explosion. A propane tank sails through the air like a comet.

  I crouch on the bridge, holding Amanda’s hand, staring at the black water. “Talk to him!”

  Amanda reaches out toward the water. Her voice is small and tremulous, and I can barely hear it over the storm. “It’s me…Are you there? Please…We’re trying to help you. My friends and I…we’re trying to tear down the dam for you.”

  Rain shatters the surface of the water, but I see no sign of a fish the size of a Toyota moving beneath.

  Someone screams behind us, and something else explodes. I see more shapes converging from the forest, figures with gray hair and pale hands. One of the yellow front-loaders is ripping away at the dam. I feel the grind of the earth moving equipment thrumming through the soles of my boots. The bridge creaks, and something splinters with a loud crack.

  The retirement crew has found us. What looks like an entire mahjong league of women is advancing. Rain has fogged their glasses so much that I don’t know how they can see what they’re doing. Teeth have sprouted behind dentures and chew the air in anticipation.