Menace From the Deep

by Michael P. Spradlin

  “Who’s hungry?” she asked.

  EMMET AND DR. DOYLE ARRIVED HOME TO FIND THE rest of their shipment delivered and hastily unloaded in their new house. It was a mess, but Dr. Doyle decided they would deal with it later. They managed to shower and change clothes and stop at a bakery for a cake to take to dinner.

  Dr. Geaux lived a couple of miles outside of Florida City in a small development of homes that ran alongside a river. It was a quiet neighborhood with mostly cypress-log homes lining the street. Her house backed up against the river at the end of a cul-de-sac. Emmet finally relaxed when he and his dad arrived there. Like their new home, it was cool inside, with polished wood floors and vaulted ceilings in the main room. The smell of the promised jambalaya wafted over them as they entered.

  Emmet had to admit, he was hungry. After what they’d witnessed in the swamp earlier that day, he lost his appetite. Mostly because of the fear. But the delicious aroma convinced him otherwise. Dr. Geaux took the cake from his dad as they exchanged greetings. They followed her into the kitchen, where the smells were even more tempting: fresh bread baking and something with cinnamon.

  “Have you ever eaten jambalaya, Emmet?”

  “Not that I know of,” Emmet said, instantly on guard, as if Dr. Geaux might be attempting to slip something icky past him. Knowing his luck, they were vegetarians or something. Jambalaya was probably French for “rutabaga.”

  “Then you haven’t lived. What about you, Benton?” Dr. Geaux said.

  “Please, call me Ben. Nobody calls me Benton except for my mother,” Dr. Doyle said.

  “Ben it is,” she said.

  Emmet watched the little back and forth like Apollo (who remained at home, fearlessly guarding their belongings) watched a fly buzz about his head. What was this “Ben” business? Nobody called his dad Ben. It was either Dr. Doyle or usually just Doc.

  Dr. Geaux stood at the stove, adding seasonings to a big cast-iron stockpot.

  “You’re going to love it,” she said. “Jambalaya is a traditional French-Creole dish, and this particular recipe comes from my grandmother.” She scooped up a bit of the jambalaya in the big cooking spoon and turned to offer a taste to Dr. Doyle.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  Dr. Doyle tasted the jambalaya and tried very hard not to look like a puckered-up prune. His face went immediately red and his lips curled and uncurled like a fish out of water. Emmet almost laughed out loud. His dad didn’t care for spicy food. He nodded and made an “OK” sign with his fingers, covering his mouth with his other hand. There was a large gulping sound as he swallowed down the spoonful of fire.

  “That … ah … it’s … I … never … wh …” Dr. Doyle stammered.

  “Too spicy?” Dr. Geaux asked, smiling.

  “No!” Dr. Doyle replied. “Not at all. It’s very good. With a delightful kick.”

  Emmet rolled his eyes.

  “Where’s Calvin?” he asked.

  “Out back, I suspect. In his tree house,” Dr. Geaux said. “Go have a look. Right through the living room.”

  Leaving the kitchen, Emmet wondered what in the world had gotten into his dad. The hallway led to a very spacious living room, two steps down. A large set of French doors opened onto a back patio, and the backyard ran down to the river. In the darkness, he could just make out a stout wire fence encircling the backyard. Seeing the fence made him think of alligators. Thinking of alligators brought forward the memory of … those things who shall not be named … from their adventures in the swamp that afternoon. A memory he was desperately trying to suppress.

  The backyard was a symphony of sounds as insects and frogs took up their nightly chorus and he wondered if he’d ever get used to that. Montana didn’t have as many insects as South Florida and was a lot quieter at night.

  There were three large trees in the backyard, though it was too dark to tell what kind they were. Music came from one of them, and Emmet walked toward it. At the base of it he looked up and could see the outline of what indeed looked to be a small house built into the branches.

  “Calvin? You up there?” Emmet said.

  “Yeah. Come on up,” Calvin said.

  Emmet didn’t see a ladder and he waited, thinking Calvin would maybe lower one down or something. He counted to ten, then twenty, and still nothing happened.

  “Calvin?” Emmet said again.

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you say I could come up?” Emmet asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, how?”

  He heard Calvin moving around up above. Then he saw the outline of his head appear in the floor of the tree house as dim light filtered through from the interior. It was still plenty dark, though.

  “How what?” Calvin asked.

  “How do I get up there? A ladder? I don’t see one,” Emmet said.

  “No, you have to climb. Use the branches,” Calvin said, as if that explained everything.

  Emmet shook his head in disbelief and thought for a moment about just going back inside the house. But a part of him thought the tree house was kind of neat. And he thought he might like to see it. Calvin was turning out to be pretty interesting. He could repair a boat engine with a paper clip, fight off those you-know-whats with a match, and apparently lived in a tree. Emmet could not afford to pass that up.

  The first branch was just about head high, so he grasped it and worked his way up into the tree. It wasn’t easy, being that this was his first time and it was almost pitch-black out. Slowly, he picked his way through the branches until he reached a square door in the floor of the house. Pushing up on it, he was able to stand up and crawl inside.

  “Howdy,” Calvin said. He sprawled on a beanbag chair in the far corner. Emmet lowered the hatch closed and stood upright. The structure was about six feet square and eight feet high. The walls were wood halfway up, then screened in above that and open on all four sides. There was a small table in one corner with some books and a lantern sitting on it, the mantle turned down so it gave off a very soft glow. Where Calvin sat, there was a small shelf attached to the wall near his head, holding a small docking station for a music player.

  “Hey,” Emmet said. “I got to say, this is pretty cool.”

  “Thanks. I like it up here. Especially in the winter months, when it’s cooler.”

  Calvin was quiet. Not much for conversation, it seemed. Emmet was struggling to try to chat him up.

  “Weird day, huh?” he said.

  “I guess,” Calvin said.

  Emmet nearly flipped out. He guessed! Almost eaten alive by prehistoric whatevers and he guessed! Breathe, Emmet, he told himself. Don’t alienate anyone on your first day.

  “Yeah … uh … I guess you don’t have a day like this very often. Where you meet someone and a couple hours later you go on your first airboat ride and you’re almost eaten by a couple of dinosaurs somebody thawed out of the ice somewhere. Then after that you’re at their house for jambalaya and discover they live in a tree house and listen to hip-hop,” Emmet said. “At least I hope that’s not every day.”

  “I don’t live here. It’s just where I spend a lot of time. And hip-hop relaxes me. What do you mean, dinosaurs? Those things weren’t dinosaurs,” Calvin said.

  “What? Oh, nothing, really. My dad and I were talking about those critters that attacked us today. The one they examined in the lab has avian and reptile DNA, and my dad said it’s almost like whoever bred this thing was trying to create an ancient common ancestor of the alligator and bird. I forget what he called it, the archtarapixalator or something. Honestly, when he’s in full-on ‘science guy’ mode, I breeze out sometimes,” Emmet said.

  Calvin sat up, the low light showing his face to be interested now.

  “Archaeopteryx?” he asked.

  “What?” Emmet answered, confused.

  “The ancient creature your dad mentioned. Was it the archaeopteryx?”

  “I dunno,” Emmet said. “Could be. It sounded sort of like that.” />
  “Hmm,” Calvin said, lying back in the beanbag.

  “What is it?” Emmet asked, telling himself he would not in the least be surprised if Calvin said he held a PhD in paleontology.

  “Supposedly, it’s the common ancestor of birds and crocodiles. Some scientists believe that birds are descended from reptiles and the archaeopteryx is where the split occurred. One branch of the family tree went on to develop feathers and flight and the other became crocodiles, alligators, and other reptiles,” Calvin said.

  Emmet paused a second, waiting for Calvin to mention his paleontology degree, but he went silent again. He lay there on the beanbag, completely still, looking up at the roof. He was a riddle to Emmet.

  “I don’t know about that,” Emmet said. “I think we studied it in school once. Maybe. Or it could be I’ve heard my dad talk about it before. But he and your mom seem to agree that somebody has ‘created’ those … whatever things … artificially.”

  Calvin nodded. “Seems like that would cost a fortune, though. Who would have that kind of money?”

  “I guess being rich doesn’t keep you from being crazy. Somebody with the money, maybe also had the knowledge. Or enough of both to get by, and thought they’d try and see what they could cook up in a lab. My dad says normal folks are breeding all kinds of weird stuff as it is already. Doesn’t take much of a leap to think somebody might try mixing some DNA in a test tube and see what grows out of it.”

  Calvin might have blinked and nodded, but in the darkness, Emmet couldn’t be sure.

  Emmet changed the subject. “This is a pretty cool tree house. Did you build it?”

  “Yeah. My dad and I. When I was little. We worked on it all one summer. He taught me about tools and building and fixing things. He could make just about anything out of lumber or sticks or bricks or spare auto parts lying around. I like coming up here where I can think,” Calvin explained.

  Emmet had more questions, but given that he knew Calvin’s dad passed away, he didn’t want to bring up any bad memories.

  “How long do you think it is until dinner?” Calvin asked.

  “I don’t know. Your mom let my dad taste the jambalaya and he nearly passed out. From the looks of it, it’s pretty spicy,” Emmet said.

  “It is,” Calvin said. “She puts about six different kinds of pepper in it, and the sausage is already hot. Maybe we better go save your dad. Get him a glass of milk or something.” Calvin stood and opened the trapdoor in the floor, then scrambled through it on his way down the tree.

  “Why milk?” Emmet asked as Calvin disappeared below him.

  “Milk is what you drink with spicy food to cut the heat. Water just makes it worse,” Calvin said, in a manner that implied this was very common knowledge.

  “Oh,” Emmet said. “I didn’t know that.” He shrugged himself through the trapdoor and began a careful descent down the tree, all the while wondering what else Calvin knew that he didn’t. So far, it seemed like a lot.

  Emmet thought the whole dinner was weird. The adults talked about all kinds of things. Recipes, the jambalaya, baseball (Dr. Geaux was a Cubs fan, while Dr. Doyle followed the Orioles) and it was all so strange to Emmet. He didn’t remember his dad talking that much with his mom at dinner. He assumed they must have, but couldn’t recall it.

  And Calvin was certainly not much for small talk. But the conversation between the two adults appeared to freak him out a little, too. His eyes darted back and forth around the table as they talked, almost like he could see the words in the air or something. Emmet was pretty sure he’d never met a boat-piloting, gator-fighting, hip-hop-listening kid like Calvin before.

  They ended up staying till almost midnight, and might have stayed longer if Emmet hadn’t practically yawned at the top of his lungs five times. Finally, Dr. Doyle caught the hint.

  “I guess it’s late,” he said, glancing at his watch.

  Calvin and Emmet were sitting in the living room, unenthusiastically playing video games. Emmet was kind of enjoying the fact that Calvin’s mom actually talking to a man was freaking Calvin out a little. But then he remembered it was his dad she was talking to, and that made him feel weird. He jumped up, so as not to miss the chance to get out of there.

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” he said. “Thank you for dinner, Dr. Geaux.”

  “You’re welcome, Emmet. You’re both welcome,” she said.

  Dr. Doyle and Dr. Geaux started talking again, and Emmet thought he might fall asleep standing up. Finally they were in the truck, and the next thing Emmet knew he woke up in bed in his new house in a whole new state, surrounded by ferocious, hungry critters.

  DR. DOYLE AND EMMET SPENT THE NEXT DAY, SUNDAY, unpacking all of their household goods. It was hard, hot work, and Emmet despaired, realizing the heat was only going to get worse as the spring and summer progressed. He didn’t know if he could survive it. As he worked, he imagined all the different methods he and Apollo could use to return to Montana on their own.

  He’d come up with thirty-seven different ways so far. His favorite required a bus trip to Disney World, where he would find a car with Montana license plates and let them tow him back by secretly hooking his skateboard to the bumper. He pictured Apollo in a tiny helmet and goggles and chuckled. Maybe it would come to that.

  When he and his father finally opened the last box it was well after dark and Emmet was exhausted. His body clock was completely out of whack with the time change, the long drive, and the almost being eaten. Now he was thinking about school tomorrow. Bad enough being the new kid. New kid in the middle of the year was an even worse experience. He’d almost rather venture back into the swamp and look for those … no, he wouldn’t.

  Monday morning he was jumpy as a cat. He was attending the same middle school as Calvin, so at least he would know someone. His dad was going to drive him to school so he didn’t have to ride the bus with a bunch of strangers the first day. This was the second time Emmet enrolled at a new school without his mom there to help him through it. At least in Montana he’d started at the beginning of the year. But no matter where they moved or how difficult it was for him, she’d always made it easier. In order to not deal with it, he stalled and lingered over breakfast.

  “Emmet, I know this is probably the last thing you want to do. And really, I wish …” Dr. Doyle’s words trailed off and his voice cracked, and for a moment Emmet thought he saw tears in his father’s eyes, but pulled himself together, as if realizing this wasn’t about him.

  “I wish your mom were here because I know it’s hard on you, moving around so much, and always being the new kid. Your mom had a way about her. She understood things. When stuff like this happened, she always knew the right things to say to make you feel better. I … I’m not … good at that like she was. I just want you to know, I’ll do whatever I can to make it easy on you. I promise.” Dr. Doyle looked at Emmet and winked.

  It made Emmet feel a little better. Not completely; even at twelve, he understood that his mom and dad were different people. Parents weren’t the same. When his mom was alive he knew they both loved him, but they were just different. His mom was a free spirit who liked loud music, the outdoors, and art. His dad was a scientist, thoughtful and measured, and a little more buttoned down. It wasn’t his dad’s fault his mom died, and he knew it wasn’t his dad’s idea to be transferred to the Everglades. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier.

  “Thanks, Dad,” he said. “I suppose I’ll get used to it. There’s only a few months of school left, anyway.”

  Dr. Doyle nodded. “Thanks for being so understanding. But, Emmet, in order for you to be the new kid in school you actually have to be in the school. So we need to pick up the pace, or we’re going to be late. After work, I’m going to —” He was interrupted by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway.

  Dr. Doyle went to the front door. “It’s Rosa … Dr. Geaux and Calvin,” he said.

  Emmet heard the car doors slam and his dad inviting them in. D
r. Geaux was dressed in a National Park Service uniform and Calvin was wearing khaki cargo shorts and a purple polo shirt. He was also carrying what might have been the biggest book bag Emmet had ever seen strapped to his back. No doubt he carried an inflatable airboat, a cello, and a collapsible tree house inside it. Emmet thought that if Calvin ever fell over onto his back, he might never get up.

  “This is a pleasant surprise,” Dr. Doyle said, smiling. It was a goofy smile, Emmet thought. His dad just met Dr. Geaux, and any time he was around her he got all weird. Emmet couldn’t figure it out, but it bugged him.

  “Good morning to both of you,” she said. “I thought since it was Emmet’s first day, Calvin and I could give him a lift. I know the principal and the office staff at the school very well. We do a lot of Field and Environmental Club activities for the district at the park. This way Calvin can show him the ropes. You know, the important stuff, like where the boys’ room is, the cafeteria, and whatnot.”

  “That’s very nice of you,” Dr. Doyle said. “Emmet, what do you think? Want to ride with them, or shall I drive you?”

  Emmet shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess.”

  “Perfect,” Dr. Geaux said. “I also came over this morning because I needed to make sure we’re all on the same page regarding what happened Saturday. We can’t let anyone but the four of us, and my two rangers, know what we’ve found. There was another story in the morning papers about alligators migrating out of the Glades. A fifteen-footer showed up outside a day-care-center fence in Homestead. Sent the parents into a frenzy, and people are asking more questions. I suspect I’ll have a stack of messages from the news media when I get to the office. I just want to make sure we zip our lips until we figure out who is behind this.”