by H. R. Romero
Once upon a time, an Indian maiden named Sirena wanted very much to be married to an Indian brave, but this Indian brave did not feel for Sirena like she did for him. She would sit by the water every day and watch herself in the reflection of the rippling water. She spoke her wish that the Indian brave would fall madly in love with her.
A magical catfish, swimming in the cold water, overheard her wish and came to the surface to speak with her. He swore to help her to win the love of her heart’s desire. If she would in return, agree to become a mermaid on each full moon for a year and swim with the catfish in the water. Also, she would have to agree to one additional thing…
Rose steals a quick glance at the bronze casting of the catfish, trying to imagine the conversation between it and Sirena before she returns to reading the story. She thinks, Ah, here’s the catch.
If human eyes should ever see her, while she was transfigured into a mermaid, she would have to remain a mermaid forever and stay with the catfish.
“You planned it all, you dirty, old catfish.”
Sirena agreed on the catfish’s terms, and soon she became the young bride of the Indian brave, and on every full moon, she would swim with the catfish as she promised. On the last full moon of the year, she was swimming when a fishing hook snagged her fin and forced her to the shoreline to remove it.
All the while, she pulled and tugged on the hook to remove it from her fin, her husband was watching her from a place amongst the trees. Their eyes met, her heart broke. And the catfish pulled her into the icy water, never to see her true love again. The legend claims the waters of the river flow from the Siren’s tears.
“I recognize you,” Nettle says, startling Rose.
“You recognize me?” What do you mean? Of course, you recognize me. I was across the corridor from you,” says Rose, kicking her feet in the cold water. She can feel the life force of the river seeping directly into her thirsty skin. It waters her and sates her craving for it. Nourishing her, rehydrating and replenishing her strength. She closes her eyes and looks up to the sun. The combination of the water and the sunlight are like a beautiful song playing and buzzing in her ears.
Nettle takes a spot on the boulder, besides Rose, dipping her small feet into the water too. They act like little girls, even best friends out for a peaceful summer afternoon swim. “That’s not what I mean,” says Nettle shaking her head and trailing the tip of her dainty finger across the surface of the water. Her finger makes delicate spirals in the frigid water. “Ivy suspected it. Hawthorne did too. Most of the others knew. We could all tell there was something much different about you than any of the rest of us... the color of your eyes gives it away. Lily was the one to smell it on you first.”
“Smell?” Rose sniffs her hands and then lifting her arm, sniffs at an armpit. This causes Nettle to laugh at her.
“No not like that. You’re not like any of the rest of us. Do you not know what…?”
Before Nettle can finish her thought, something from the other side of the river ripping across the surface of the water and grabs one of her thin legs. She screams and kicks against it. She feels for the creature below the water, but she can’t make it let go. It pulls at her, harder. She screams louder, slapping her hands against the surface of the river until her waterlogged bandages swell and fall heavily from her hands, like soggy party-streamers. Rose pulls at Nettle to keep her from being dragged deeper into the river.
Dr. Valentine, hearing the girls’ cries and screams runs to them. She’s entering the chilly water and wading thigh-deep to the point where Nettle is fighting with the unseen creature. Both girls are in the midst of a tug of war, for Nettle’s life. Dr. Valentine calls to Rose, but Rose is so frightened, she can’t make herself respond. She can only open her mouth, wide, and make pleading groans and screeches.
Major Connors follows closely behind Dr. Valentine, his sidearm is drawn, he’s holding it high in the air to keep it from getting wet.
Nettle’s head disappears under the surface. Rose has her arms wrapped beneath Nettle’s arms, and her hands latch around the girl’s chest, and so when the beast pulls Nettle further into the water, Rose is pulled right along with her.
Dr. Valentine has no choice, she swims out to them. The green men aim their weapons at the point where the thing should be under the flowing water. They can’t fire. There’s not a clear shot, without taking a chance of hitting Dr. Valentine or Rose and Nettle.
The futility of Rose’s attempt to rescue Nettle becomes apparent as the girl’s head disappears a final time beneath the water, but she still has her by one of her slippery hands. The other is flailing about searching for something or someone to grab on to, and that someone is Dr. Valentine.
Dr. Valentine dives for Nettle, and in the heat of the moment, thoughtlessly extends her arm to take hold of the child’s swinging hand. Instant shockwaves rip through her brain which presses and pounds against the interior of her brain case. The grey matter threatens to escape from her eye sockets and ear canals, as the pressure builds in her head. Screaming, intolerable pain. Blinding agony wrapping around and then grinding, every nerve-ending in her body to a pulp. She freezes as tetany seizes and locks her muscles, trapping them in a steely and fiery-grip.
She falls backward, stiff as a board, into Major Connors’s arms. He’s popping off rounds; two, four, six bullets, into the water. Nettle is launched from under the water, held high in a writhing, suction-covered tentacle. Another muscular appendage, and another, and another rise from the churning river like gargantuan earthworms. They fasten onto Nettle and wriggle tight around her ankles and arms and wrists. They tighten more and pull. Her small frame separates into bloody sections. Grabbing, winding, probing, the tentacles slap and part the surface. The major pulls Dr. Valentine towards the bank, and relative safety, Rose follows, and the green men unanimously declare open season on the river-demon.
It undulates in the deep water. Slow and ominous it reveals itself. Bullets are sinking into its pruney, once-human exterior. It howls and gurgles in pain as bullets sink into it rubbery hide. It scuttles toward the bank, and once out of the river, it moves with surprising speed, attacking the men on the shoreline, starting with the closest and working through the line. Those who find themselves caught up in its twirling arms are quickly drawn and quartered as if they were nothing more than cornhusk dolls.
The Major calls for a retreat, but besides Dr. Valentine, Dr. Shaw, Rose, and Sergeant Hollander, there’s no one left alive.
Once at a safe distance, Connors lobs a grenade at the monster, but it disappears back from where it came, leaving the grenade behind, to explode harmlessly on the shoreline.
Dr. Valentine’s in bad shape. She’s screaming. Consciousness slips from her, and she goes slack in the major’s arms. He lifts her limp body and carries her back to the inn. Sneering at Dr. Shaw as he passes. Dr. Shaw’s hiding behind a cottonwood tree.
Connors collapses on the front porch of the inn, falling on top of Dr. Valentine. She reaches for him deliriously, as he leaves her and runs into the building. Rose falls to her knees beside her, reaching out to her, causing Dr. Valentine to scream louder and pull away. She’s hallucinating and saying odd things, rambling incoherently.
Connors returns with a syringe in his hand, He pops the plastic top off the needle, with his teeth, spitting it out on the porch. He jabs the hypodermic needle into Dr. Valentine’s thigh, she doesn’t even flinch. The morphine does little to silence the finger-gnawing pain, tearing its way through her failing body. Nettle’s venom is eating her from the inside out. Prying her bones apart to dissolve the marrow within. The toxin overcomes her. She falls into a never-ending pit, spinning head over heels, over and over, until the world passes away, leaving her clinging to life.
Tonight will be a long night for everyone, especially Rose, who has come to love Dr. Valentine like the mother she can’t remember.
Chapter Sixteen
“All concerns of men go wrong when they wish to cu
re evil with evil.”
-Sophocles
Thirteen days have passed since Salado and the death of Nettle and most of the green men. Dr. Valentine is well enough to travel, again. Rose never strays far from her side. They’re all cooped up in the Flying Fish, once again.
Major Connors has been on the radio, tirelessly, calling to Fort Worth to “Come in.” But, they never do “Come in,” and the major uses words which aren’t nice words at all, and as the day goes by, the major practices the words until he gets very good at saying them. Pretty soon he’s saying them without even having to take a breath between each one, which impresses Rose.
“Fort Worth, Last Command, come in. This is Major Creighton Connors out of Camp Able on route to you, over.” He steals a glance at the map. “Must still be too far out, or the signals not getting through, or there’s no one there to hear it.”
Dr. Shaw is given the task of changing the dressing on Dr. Valentine’s wounded hand. Rose doesn’t like it, because she’s been able to take care of her just fine on her own, without Dr. Shaw’s help. She’s also been gaining more freedom than she’s had since they left Camp Able.
Eventually, Dr. Valentine’s able to prop herself up on one of the ambulance berths and manages to talk above a whisper. It’s the first time she’s been able to speak since the accident. Rose is relieved.
Major Connors passes Dr. Valentine a bottle of some dark and strong-smelling liquid. Whatever’s in it makes her voice come out in slow motion, and the things she says are funny. And the liquid also makes her sleep a lot too. Rose decides whatever’s in the bottle must be good medicine to make her feel so much better.
The windows on the old ambulance are all rolled down as far as they can be rolled because the summer days are tremendously hot in Texas and it’s stifling inside. Static comes through the sunbaked speakers of the radio. No one has answered the major’s calls, so he's stopped calling out as often as he did in the beginning. But all at once he sits straight up in his seat, cocks his head to one side and listens for a few drawn out moments.
He grabs the microphone from the dash, holding it, he waits anxiously. At first, the sounds were entirely inaudible to everyone but him. But now, everyone can hear the voice clearly, as it comes through. “…rt Worth Last Command respond. Repeat, this is Fort Worth Last Command Base, respond. Over.”
Major Connors is more excited than Rose has ever seen him be about anything. He presses the button on the side of the mic, “This is Major Connors, Commanding Officer of Camp Able in route to Fort Worth, Last Command Base.”
“God Almighty, I don’t believe my ears. Connors! You old dog. This is Collier.”
“Collier? My God, what are you doing in Fort Worth?”
“Well, it’s Colonel Collier now, and it’s a long story.”
“This is impossible. I find you during the apocalypse, and you outrank me? Now I know this is a nightmare.”
“Just in the right place at the right time, I guess. What’s your position?”
“At best guess, two to three days out from Last Command. Do you have any intel on the terrain or enemy movement between… where are we?” says Connors looking at the map, “Waco and you?”
“Negative. I don’t send men out that far anymore. Just don’t have them to send. I’m down to 13 men and one fat genius.”
“That must be the guy we’re coming to see,” says Connors.
“Yup, that’s the guy. I heard you were looking for someone who might have some insight on some kids. I didn’t know you were coming, but I’m sure glad you are it’ll be good to see you again, Connors.”
“It’ll be good to see you again too, sir” Connors chuckles.
“Your visit is timely, Creighton.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. A few nights ago, we got an odd message from a satellite base we set up in Dallas, a while back. The transmission was cut off, so I don’t know whether it was trouble brewing or not. I sent out a couple men, all we could spare, but haven’t heard hide nor hair from them. I hate to do this to you Creighton….”
“You want us to make a side-trip?”
“Affirmative. I’m really sorry to have to do this to you, Connors, but if you could drive by and wave at the base, that would be great. And tell, O’Riley, I said to send us a bottle of the good stuff.”
“O’Riley? You don’t mean Miles O’Riley?”
“The one and only.”
“I’ll be a son-of-a…. I haven’t seen him since… hey, that reminds me, he still owes me ten dollars.”
“Look, Collier. I mean colonel, I’ve never been one to argue with a superior…”
“The hell you ain’t never, ha, ha,”
“Well, usually, I’ve never… but we’re in no position to make a side trip. With all due respect, I have an injured person. She’s in need of medical attention ASAP. I have one soldier with me, a kid, and a coward, and Dallas takes us way off course.”
Shaw looks as if he could cut Connors in half with his glare, but he goes back to changing Dr. Valentine’s bandages after Connors catches him looking at him.
Static fills the speakers again. Rose thinks they’ve lost the signal, but then the colonel’s voice comes back loud and clear.
“I understand, but there are also civilians there, and we need to make sure they’re as safe as they can be, within reason. There’re some crates there too, and we need those pretty badly. Last I know of the crates they were stored in warehouse number six. They’re marked with my name, and there should be three of them. It would be of special interest to me if you can bring those back, intact.”
Major Connors buries his head in his hand, massaging his face harder than Rose would have thought possible without breaking his cheekbones. “Consider it done. Connors out.”
“Connors, it’s good to know you’re alive.”
“Yeah,” It takes everything Connors has, to say, “You too, sir.”
The major’s not happy. He throws the mic into the windshield and practices his bad words some more. He’s pretty much perfected them. He looks over his shoulder into the back of the ambulance where Dr. Valentine is swaying from drinking too much of the good medicine. Rose smiles at him. She’s surprised because instead of trying to shoot her, he returns a forced smile. She doesn’t know what to do with this now that it happened, so she leans back and rests next to one thoroughly medicated, Dr. Valentine, who falls into the side of the Flying Fish, head first and begins to snore.
Chapter Seventeen
“Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light.”
-Hellen Keller
Something hits the outside of the ambulance, rocking it with a jolt. The Fish veers to the right, but Sergeant Hollander has things well under control. Rose falls onto Dr. Valentine who rolls out of the berth and onto the floor. Tires screech and hot rubber vaporizes, leaving black smoke to billow above the road behind them.
“What happened?” cries Dr. Valentine. She’s groggy, weaving like a sailboat in a hurricane, but she’s more like the Dr. Valentine Rose remembers.
“I think we hit something,” says Connors.
“No, something hit us,” says Sergeant Hollander. “I think we might’a blew a tire. We gotta pull over and fix it.”
“There,” says Connors, pointing to an abandoned gas station, about a quarter of a mile ahead. “Maybe we can find some food and fuel.”
“And I wouldn’t mind taking a piss,” adds Dr. Shaw.
The Flying Fish closes the distance between them and the station. It limps along like an old man, to a park bench. It rolls into the deserted lot. The gravel crackles and pops beneath the tires as they slow to a stop.
Two, unassuming, fuel pumps grace the exterior drive. Red and blue, plastic flags many torn away, clap in the hot breeze. The smell of rain looms in the air and grey clouds build in the distance. Rose feels a strange drunkenness coming on; she’s an addict for a good storm, and it’s been too long since her last fix. Her mo
uth and lips feel even drier now because she’s been teased with the rainy smell.
“We need to get the tire changed before those thunderheads up there turn loose on us,” says Connors, pointing west.
Rounding the rear fender of the ambulance the men gather around the flat tire and stare at it without saying a word. The tire yawns, a hole gapes in the side-wall.
“Strange spot to have a blowout,” says Dr. Shaw. “You’d think if we ran over something the damage would be on the treads, not the sidewall; at least you’d think so, anyhow. Right?”
“Like I said,” says Hollander. “we didn’t hit anything, something hit us.”
On closer inspection, they find an evil-looking chunk of steel buried in the rubber. It’s been hammer-forged and sharpened into an effective spearhead. A small part of a splintered shaft is still fixed to the end of it. “This is no accident. This is by design,” Connors says, eyeballing the horizon. “Someone threw this thing and blew the tire.”
“Let’s change it quickly then,” says Dr. Shaw, walking towards a dead tree to urinate. “This place gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“Right… as soon as you’re done watering the lawn, make yourself useful, and go tell Dr. Valentine and Rose that I said to stay inside, and keep the doors locked until we’re finished here. And hey, don’t wander off, we’re hitting the road as soon as the last lug’s tight. You got it, Shaw?”
“Yeah, Yeah,” says Shaw.
Shaw shakes it, zips it up, and returns to the Fish, where he finds Dr. Valentine cradling her injured hand, her eyes are half-closed. Rose is sitting across from her. When Dr. Shaw pokes his head inside, Rose glowers at him. He sees her but ignores the look. He knows well enough how the thing feels about him. “The Major thinks it’s better if you two hold up in here for now. They’re fixing the tire, and we’ll be getting on our way again.”
Rose is still glaring at Dr. Shaw. Dr. Valentine says nothing and nods her head. She puts the medicine-bottle to her lips. Frowning she turns it upside down and shakes it. The top of the bottle rattles on the chain which is attached to the bottle. Bone dry. Shaw closes the door. Rose locks it from inside.