by Hunter Shea
I sit back down. I can’t help it. I’m drawn in. I’ve never been so quick to empathize with another person before.
“Have you ever heard of the Orang Pendek?” Henrik asks.
I shake my head. “No, but I have heard of the Montauk Monster and the Dover Demon. Is it like them?”
Austin chimes in. “It’s the Indonesian equivalent to Bigfoot. Only they’re not as big.”
Henrik’s face screws up tight. “But they are strong…and vicious. There were three of them that night, savagely tearing the camp to pieces. My father managed to shoot at one before they swarmed over him. I…I could only stand there and watch them literally tear him apart, limb from limb. I’ll never forget his screams. A sound like that should never come from a human being. His murder seemed to drain them of their bestial fervor. They ran before my mother got hold of me, carrying the pieces of my father with them. We never found them.”
I don’t think I’ve taken a breath.
I want to say, “Your father was drawn and quartered by Indonesian Bigfoots?” But that would sound rude as hell. I know what it’s taking him to tell me his story. I can see the trust in his eyes. In me, he sees one of the few people on this Earth whose knee-jerk reaction won’t be to tell him he’s full of crap.
Even if I hadn’t lived through my own personal hell with a mythical creature, I think I’d still believe him.
Austin breaks the silence. “I promised Henrik that when the time came, if he helped us, we would help him.”
I nervously tap the wet side of my beer bottle.
“So, you want to kill these Orang Pendeks?”
Now there’s a fire in Henrik’s gaze. “I will kill them all. But I’ve always known I can’t do it alone. Nor can you with your pursuit. I think you’ll agree that my assistance in your quest will prove to be invaluable.”
Austin gets up, the back of his head banging off one of my cabinets. He doesn’t seem to notice he just about brained himself. I think we’re all numb just about now.
“Henrik has something he needs to show you, Nat. Let’s get wet!”
We leave the warm, dry comfort of my cramped RV and step into a shower on full blast. My bra is soaked through in three steps. Henrik pushes a button on his key fob and the side door of the minivan slides open.
“Unfortunately, we need to stand outside. I can’t show you if we’re all in the van.”
“Why’s that?” I say.
“I need to be able to lift up the floor.”
Austin stands close behind me while Henrik’s fingers run along a seam on the carpeted floor of the minivan.
“Ah,” he says.
There’s a click, and the second row of seats moves to the back of the minivan on a pair of metal rails. Once they’re tucked away, the floor rises, like a trapdoor in a haunted mansion.
“Your Loch Ness Monster has never seen the likes of this,” Henrik says.
Holy Christ on the cross!
Within the bowels of the girly minivan rests an arsenal that would make Rambo weep.
There are handguns and rifles, something that looks like a grenade launcher, an open box of grenades, and a row of what appears to be small propane tanks.
“Planning on doing a lot of barbecuing while you’re here?” I ask him, pointing at the tanks.
“Depth charges,” he replies. It’s hard to hear him over the pounding rain. “They’ll disorient the beasts as much as they will dismantle them. I’m confident they’ve never encountered anything like it before. The element of surprise, and sheer brute force, are what you’re going to need to eradicate these waters for good.”
“Where did you get all this?”
“I was in the KSK, Germany’s Special Forces Command. I may have retired, but one never loses their special connections.”
I can’t believe what I’m seeing. There’s enough in the minivan to go to war.
Which I guess we are.
“I wasn’t going to let you try to take them down with spear guns and a Dirty Harry special,” Austin says, placing his wet arm over my shoulder.
I don’t need to ask if any of this stuff is legal.
I do wonder how we’ll be able to set off all of these explosives without drawing the unwanted attention of the entire region. But for now, I’m going to assume that my brother and Henrik have thought of this, too.
“I don’t know what to say,” I say, taking it all in.
“I’m hoping when we’re done here, you’ll say, ‘When should we meet in Indonesia?’” Henrik says with a slight smile.
At this moment, I can’t say no. Flying across the globe to settle the score with a band of Orang Pendeks (I’ll have to Google them later) seems reasonable, considering what Henrik has brought to my door.
I catch his eye and reply, “Okay. You’re in the gang. Shaggy here can show you where to bunk tonight.”
Austin laughs. “Zoinks.”
Chapter Eleven
With Henrik now on the team, the RV feels smaller. I’m not used to waiting to go to my own bathroom. Or the special smells guys leave behind. My bedroom is a foot and a half from the bathroom, so there’s no escaping it.
The rain is still coming down, but for now, not so much that I expect to see an old man in a robe outside leading pairs of animals away.
Austin and Henrik are awake and dressed in matching black tracksuits.
“Going for a run?” I ask, rubbing some crust from the corners of my eyes with my knuckle.
Henrik tosses a bag at me. I watch it bounce off my chest and fall to the floor.
“Good reflexes,” Austin says.
“I just woke the hell up.”
“So sorry,” Henrik apologizes. “I brought a suit for you, too. Austin gave me your size estimate. I think it will fit.”
I pick up the bag. It’s clear plastic, with a neatly folded, vacuum-packed black track suit inside. “Just because we’re in this together does not mean we’re going to be dressing alike.”
Henrik frowns. “No, no, no, this is not a fashion statement. It’s a matter of comfort and practicality. You see, these tracksuits are completely waterproof. They’re very lightweight and flexible with airtight zippers.”
Austin pulls his zipper up and down rapidly, over and over, working out some tune that I’ll never figure out. “I went outside before. The rain just slides right off. And I’m nice and dry underneath.”
I curl my lip in disgust. “I prefer not to think about what’s going on under your clothes.”
“I thought it would come in handy when we go out today,” Henrik says.
“Today?” I grab a carton of orange juice and take a gulp. Henrik looks squeamish. I know what he’s thinking. I won’t be drinking orange juice or anything from a carton while I’m here. “My big beef bonanza doesn’t get here until tomorrow.”
My brother smiles. “That doesn’t mean we can’t get things started today.”
I’m almost afraid to ask.
“Now?”
“Now is always better than later,” Henrik says. He’s not exactly ordering me to get my ass in gear. He’s just enthusiastic, and going by Austin, it’s contagious.
Those Germans and their efficiency.
“Okay, give me a few minutes. But I think I’ll pass on the waterproof mafia costume.”
Henrik shrugs his shoulders. “I understand. Consider it a gift, thanking you for allowing me into your sacred circle.”
Sacred circle?
I turn my back on the boys. Better enjoy the bathroom while it’s empty and free of bad odors.
The carpeted deck of Vindicta squishes under our feet. It’s a flat deck, so water just runs over the sides. The Loch is pissy today, the chop rocking my boat enough to make walking difficult.
Austin and Henrik have the hoods of their tracksuits up. The only things wet on them, according to my roided out brother, are their faces.
“This is so cool,” Austin says. “I could stay out here all day.”
I, on the ot
her hand, am soaked to the bone. It feels like there’s a swimming pool in my socks. I have to tie my hair back to keep the wet strands from smacking me in the face.
“What’s in the bag, Dad?” I ask Henrik as we pull away from the slip.
He pats the side of a silver briefcase.
“This is something very special. All will be revealed soon.”
All righty.
“Anywhere in particular you want to go?” I ask over the sudden gust of wind that’s brought a lashing sweep of rain with it.
“I was thinking of somewhere in the vicinity of Urquhart Castle,” Henrik replies.
“Urquhart Castle? That’s miles away,” I say.
The crumbling castle is probably the most famous landmark on Loch Ness. The old, picturesque ruin squats on the northwestern shore. I read that it was built in the 13th century, standing for four hundred years until it was finally left to rot around the 17th century. Only sections of the façade remain. It also happens to be one of the favored spots to set up camp and search for the Loch Ness Monster. I guess history and monsters make good bedfellows.
“We have plenty of time,” Austin says. “Did you have other plans for today?”
I want to come back with something biting and sarcastic, but he’s right. My only plan today was to sit down and finish Sphere, maybe take a nap. I thought it would be best to marshal my strength for the days to come.
I turn the wheel and give Vindicta some gas. “Urquhart Castle it is.”
It takes a while to get there, the storm swelling and ebbing. There’s no real overhead protection on a pontoon boat, save a retractable canvas cover I can put up that covers a small portion of the boat. I’m wetter than a mermaid, secretly regretting I didn’t wear the tracksuit.
You can normally spot the castle from a pretty good distance, but visibility is in the sub-suck range today. I spy what looks like the outline in the distance.
“We’re here…I think.”
I cut the engine and Vindicta sways with the motion of the Loch.
The hazy, ruined ramparts of Urquhart Castle loom ahead of us. It sits on a wide spit of land like a lone sentry. I guess this is why so many people have come here to look not just for Nessie, but to absorb the full beauty of Loch Ness and the surrounding glen. Without the rain and fog, it’s really quite beautiful.
Today, it just looks ominous. The water of the Loch looks black as oil. Anything can be down there. I try not to let my imagination run wild.
“Then it’s time for this,” Henrik says, unlocking the clasps on the mysterious briefcase. When he opens it, I see a black box nestled in a foam cutout. He pries it out and attaches a wire to a connector on top of the box. The spool of wire ends in what appears to be a little buoy.
“What does that toy do?” Austin asks. He has to raise his voice to be heard over the pounding rain. Water drips off the tip of his nose.
“Hopefully, it gets the beasts hungry.”
That little box doesn’t look all that appetizing.
“I hate to tell you, but these things don’t eat cast offs from Radio Shack,” I say, hands on my hips, daydreaming about dry clothes.
Henrik fiddles with a couple of dials on the face of the box. There’s a loud burst of sound that makes Austin and I jump. It sounds like a wounded duck.
The unnerving sound seems to satisfy Henrik. He then carefully lowers it into the water. He unspools the wire. I estimate it must be ten or fifteen feet long. The buoy bobs on the Loch’s surface.
“What was that sound?” Austin asks. We’re all watching the little buoy like expectant fathers.
“That was the distress cry of a Merganser duck,” Henrik says, beaming with pride.
“A Merganser duck?” Austin says.
“Yes.”
I would be just as confused as my brother if I hadn’t been living here for the past five years.
“You know those black ducks we see everywhere?” I say to him.
A light goes on in his head. “Oh, that’s what those things are called. I thought a duck was just a duck.”
I joke, “If it quacks like a duck…”
Henrik says, “As I’m sure you both know, Merganser ducks have been mistaken innumerable times for the monster. Because of their black heads and necks, when they swim on the water, especially when it’s dark, they can be mistaken for the rising head of the creature – at least by overzealous or overly imaginative Nessie enthusiasts. I’m also sure that they provide a valuable food source for whatever lives down there. To a predator, nothing sounds more appetizing than wounded prey.”
A look of concern washes over Austin’s face. “That’s all well and good, Henrik. But what if it works? We didn’t bring any of the big guns on board!”
It’s funny how my twin brother has taken to calling him Henrik now. Shows who wears the pants in the family. Or jeans, for the most part.
He’s also right. I even left my .44 behind. The only thing I have onboard is a spear gun, and that’s not going to do much.
“All we need is contained in the device.”
I have to keep Vindicta moving so the buoy doesn’t float out of our sights.
“I have one more question,” I say. “Why did we have to come all the way out here?”
When Henrik sits down, water squishes from the seat’s cushion with a loud squelch. “I know how popular this location is…for people. Which means it would be quite unpopular for the creatures. If we can lure them here, to a place I’m betting they avoid, it proves the efficacy of the device.”
Austin squints against a gust of rain that slaps him full in the face. He says, “Where on Earth did you get a recording of a hurt Merganser duck?”
Henrik’s face sours and he breaks our gaze. “It’s homemade. It’s not something I’d like to talk about.”
I shoot Austin a look. Up until now, I’ve liked Henrik. He’s been polite, intelligent, honest and the bearer of an incredible arsenal. And if I’m being honest with myself, a tad attractive. I’m not usually into slim, neat guys, but I’m also in no position lately to be picky.
But he also tortured a duck.
I don’t know how to process this little tidbit of information.
I don’t have time, because Austin shouts, “Look. The buoy just took off!”
It sure did. The little thing scampers away from our port side, moving at a decent clip. It could be a fish has it. There are some big salmon around. But would a salmon have a hankering for duck?
“Follow it, Nat!” Austin says, moving to the front of the boat.
“Really? I wasn’t sure what to do.”
I keep the buoy as close as I feel comfortable. I’m grateful it’s not attached to the boat. At least we won’t be upended this time.
Henrik takes something else out of the briefcase. It’s as small as a car key fob. He holds it between his thumb and index finger.
“Almost,” he says.
“Almost what?” Austin says.
The buoy is moving faster now. Whatever has it wants to beat feet.
It dips under the water and is gone.
“Shite,” I exclaim, allowing for a little of the local color to bleed into my frustration.
“Perfect,” Henrik says. He presses a red button on the fob. I expect to hear the little beep beep of a car door opening. He counts down on his fingers. “Five, four, three, two, one. Stop the boat!”
I throttle back and put the engine in neutral.
“What’s going on?” I say.
“That wasn’t just a playback machine. It was also a very powerful electrical charger. I just activated the charge. If one of your lake monsters has it in their mouth, it should momentarily incapacitate it.”
Austin and Henrik scan the water. I can barely see around them.
“You just electrocuted a Loch Ness Monster?” Austin says, clearly impressed by the technology.
So far, all I know that it can really do is play back the sound of a poor duck that Henrik bludgeoned. I’m not as
impressed.
“We shall see,” Henrik says.
“Or not,” I add. I’ve been here a long time. It’s made me a bit of a pessimist.
We wait for what seems an eternity, me trying to keep Vindicta in the same general area, fighting the current, fighting the wind, fighting the damn rain.
“I see it!” Austin points ahead.
Even though it’s the afternoon, I click my handheld spotlight on to get a better look.
I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
Chapter Twelve
Bubbles rise and pop at the surface. It’s not quite like the moment before Godzilla rises from the deep – it lacks the visual drama – but I find myself holding my breath.
“Now we see the results of the shock,” Henrik says. “It was either too little, just enough, or too much. I’ll take the two latter over the former.”
“We want it to be juuuust right,” I joke, but it’s a nervous quip.
“Goldilocks of the Loch,” Austin says, though I can tell he’s just as tense as I am.
For a brief moment, the weather gods smile on us and the rain slows to a drizzle.
And then we see it.
The shape just breaks the top of the turbulent water. It’s long, maybe twelve feet or more, but I can’t make out any specific details. The waves do their damnedest to push it back under.
“Nat, get us closer,” Austin says. He’s grabbing for the gaffer pole.
“You’re not pulling that aboard if it’s still alive,” I say. If that thing wakes up and starts thrashing around, we’re fucked. I don’t enjoy the idea of trying to swim home from here. If it doesn’t eat us first.
He levels the pole toward me. There’s a sizeable steel hook on the end.
“Trust me, I’ll make sure it’s dead,” he says.
“We could tether it to the side of the boat,” Henrik adds. “When we get back, we’ll have time to study it, really get to know what we’re up against.”
Austin stands at the ready with the steel rod. He looks like an Olympic pole-vaulter, ready for his shot at the gold. I’m still not too keen on getting this close without any assurance that it’s departed from the land of the living. Henrik dips into the briefcase and takes out a taser.