Loch Ness Revenge

by Hunter Shea

  Leaning back against the RV, I drink from a mug of tepid coffee. “I should have taken what Rob told us and used my head. If the food supply is getting low, which by all indications it’s pretty bad right now, they’re going to go wherever they have to go to feed. Since we know they can live on land, at least for a short period of time, I should have had the foresight to at least have us take watches, knowing we have a damn seven-course meal sitting outside.”

  I can’t help feeling like an idiot. I’d spent all these years dreaming and preparing for a confrontation with the monsters that took our parents from us. But those dreams and plans always included being on the water.

  “The beasts of man’s nightmares have no care for his aspirations or expectations.” He folds up Austin’s booty, agitating a swarm of flies.

  “That’s actually very nice. Where’s it from?”

  He doesn’t put the flipper back on his van. Instead, he sets the tarp next to one of the carcasses. “The Collected Improvisational Works of Henrik Kooper. The latest edition just came out ten seconds ago. Critics are raving.”

  Henrik always seems so in control, so calm, so…Zen. I hope that veneer doesn’t crack later on. I think we’re going to need his steady head as much as his cache of what Austin calls weapons of monster destruction.

  “Tell me, if you weren’t hunting Loch Ness Monsters or Orang Pendeks, what would you be doing?” I toss the dregs of the coffee on the ground and check my watch. It’s just about time for me to get one last and one new task completed.

  “Back home, I do photography. Art house stuff, not family portraits in a mall. I have a couple of works at small galleries. I’ll show you someday.”

  “I’d like that.”

  I’m still astounded by how quickly I’ve come to trust this man. It goes beyond the bond shared by two people who lost someone they loved to a monster. Or does it? Maybe whatever forces thrust us into the impossible are also at work bringing us together.

  ‘Well, me and Eileen have to bop into town for a few. You should try to get as much rest as you can, too.”

  He gives me a slight bow with a flourish of his hands. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “You’ll have plenty to do…later.”

  I hop into my VW Bug and roll down the windows to take advantage of the fresh, dry air while it lasts. As I pull away, I hear Henrik call after me, “Who is Eileen?”

  I’d explain that Eileen is Shania Twain’s real name, but I doubt that will even make things any clearer. I head up the dirt road blasting a little Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under, wishing Austin was in the passenger seat so I could torture him on the drive to town.

  I throw Mrs. Carr off her game when I walk into her shop and immediately ask, “How can I get in touch with Billy Firth?”

  She looks as if I just asked if I can give her an apple cider enema.

  “Oh, dear, the weather is dreadful. Not a good day to rent Billy’s boat.”

  I’m worried that maybe there never was a Billy Firth, or if there was, he’s been dead for several decades, a ghost from Mrs. Carr’s past that refuses to fade away.

  “It’s not raining now. I figured I’d see if he’s willing to part with his boat for a little while.”

  She motions for me to come closer and takes my hands in her own. They feel so fragile and soft as suede. “Only if you promise me you’ll head right back the moment the weather gets unsettled. I don’t want to carry the burden of guilt should something happen to you.”

  I instantly regret coming here. The odds are pretty high that something untoward will happen to me, with or without Billy Firth’s boat. Knowing she’ll feel guilty no matter what makes me feel like a world class ass for opening my big mouth.

  Choking on my lie, I reply, “I promise. I’m no big time lake explorer. I just want to take advantage of things on a day when I’ll have it mostly to myself.”

  The old lady grins, patting my hand. “That’s a good girl. And when you come back, I received a new box of paperbacks yesterday. I’ve set it aside so you can go through it first and see what catches your fancy.”

  She gives me directions to Billy Firth’s place and I thank her profusely, telling her I can’t wait to rummage through the books.

  And now a conundrum. If my plan gets out of hand and we have to light out of the Highlands in a hurry, do I still stop to look at the books and say goodbye to the sweetest woman I’ve ever known at the risk of being caught?

  I look back and she’s waving from the register, even though I know for sure she can’t see me.

  Henrik and Austin may just have to go on an Orang Pendek hunt by themselves.

  To my surprise, Billy Firth is alive and well.

  Okay, alive.

  He’s not much older than me, but in sorry shape. He answers the door wearing an oxygen mask. He’s a husky guy, if you define husky as someone weighing close to three bills. I explain that Mrs. Carr said he might have a boat to rent.

  Riding a red scooter, he leads me to the dock behind his house.

  “I don’t have much call for using it myself,” he says, coughing into the plastic mask, fogging it up. “Once my back went, the rest followed. I have a lad who stops by every week to make sure she’s kept clean and running. Not many potential renters coming my way, but I want her ready for when I get out of this scooter. Only a little left to lose before I qualify for the bypass surgery.”

  As the folks over here would say, I’m gobsmacked to see a thirty-foot cigarette boat in pristine condition. It’s yellow as the sun, that orb I haven’t seen in a while, and looks like a water rocket, which it is. Cigarette boats are built for speed.

  Billy says, “She has a fiberglass hull and twin outboard engines that make you feel as if you’re flying over the loch rather than riding on it. You ever driven one before?”

  Since the lies are coming so easily, I say, “Yeah, quite a few times.”

  He pulls the mask away from his face. “You’re from America, aren’t you?”

  “Born and bred. Spent a lot of time in Florida. Cigarette boats were all the rage when I was growing up.”

  Now, I’ve been to Florida once, when my aunt took Austin and me to Disney World. The closest we came to riding in a boat was on the log flume ride.

  “How much for the day if bring it back tomorrow morning?”

  If there is a tomorrow morning. And a boat to bring back.

  He gives me a price that is this side of gouging. It doesn’t take a genius to see he needs the money. Even his scooter looks like it needs a scooter. I almost give him heart failure to add to his woes by telling him I’ll pay double.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ll need someone to bring it to me this morning. I don’t want to leave my car here. Do you think the lad who keeps her shipshape could do it?” I hand him a considerable wad of cash. He holds it in his hand and stares at it.

  “That little bit of service hardly seems worth what you’re paying.”

  I place my hand on his shoulder. It’s doughy and sweaty. “That surgery is expensive. You do what you have to do and get back on your feet.”

  Does one good deed counteract two bald lies?

  I doubt it, but it’ll have to do for now.

  Chapter Twenty

  Austin and Henrik have a breakfast made for Midwestern mommas at a free Vegas buffet waiting for me when I return. Basically, they’ve cooked up everything in the RV. There’s bacon and toast, chicken curry and white rice, a bowl of steaming tomato soup, scrambled eggs, sausage, a wedge salad, rolls, and mushy peas. The whole last meal comparison isn’t lost on me.

  “I thought that pill would knock you out for longer.”

  Austin escorts me to my seat. He’s walking better than before.

  “Nothing can put me down. Henrik is the one who started frying everything up. It was impossible to sleep through the smell of bacon.”

  Henrik waves a spatula. “My apologies, Natalie.”

  “None need
ed. I didn’t realize how hungry I am until I walked in here.” Despite my brain telling me it’s breakfast and I’m supposed to eat breakfast things, I pile the chicken curry on my plate.

  There’s a knock at the door and Austin answers. Fidgety Rob Rayman is right on time.

  “Smells delicious.”

  “Grab a plate and sit down.” I motion for him to take one of the comfy front seats. He can balance the plate on the center console.

  We tear into the food like starved jackals. We grunt, we mmmm and ahhh, but that’s the full extent of our verbal powers.

  Austin eats so many eggs, I know I don’t want to be downwind of him later. “What’s with all the eggs?”

  “Protein. It’s all about protein.”

  It must be at that, because his plate is all meat and eggs.

  Rob, I notice, is all about the carbs. I knew I liked him for a reason.

  Once we finish our gluttony, my stomach so full and tight it’s hard to breathe, I ask Rob, “You have all your stuff?”

  “Every last recording device. And that’s a lot.” He keeps dabbing at his forehead with his napkin, blotting out a spot only he can see.

  “Good. You’ll need all of it. You’re going to be our eyes on the land, but we’re going to have to make sure you’re protected.”

  “Protected?” Some crumbs fall from the corners of his mouth onto his lap.

  I explain what happened last night. He keeps licking his lips. I can’t tell if he’s excited, nervous or if it simply means nothing.

  To ease any fears, I add, “Look, I’m sure you’ll be fine. They came here because they wanted what’s outside. It’ll all be in the water later, so they’ll have no need to head for dry land.”

  I leave out my theory that they may have been there to hurt or eat us rather than stealing a cowhide or two. A lie of omission. I’m on a roll today.

  Henrik hands Rob what looks an awful lot like an Uzi. I’ve seen enough Rambo and Bruce Willis movies to know.

  Rob visibly recoils. “I’m a pacifist.”

  Henrik puts the Uzi in his lap. “If one of those creatures approaches you, I guarantee you’ll change your moral stance.”

  “But I’ve never even held a gun before. It’s really heavy.”

  “The good news for you is this is not a gun. All you need to do is pull the trigger and hold it down. The bullets will handle the rest. The creatures are too big to miss.”

  Austin clasps his hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair. “Even if you’re firing practically blind in the dark. Once you’ve digested a little bit, I’ll show you.”

  Rob looks understandably confused.

  “I…I thought I’m just here to take pictures. I already have reservations about your intentions. I didn’t plan on being part of a small army.”

  It looks like every nerve in his body is crawling to make a break. Poor guy. Maybe I shouldn’t have let him in on everything. But it’s too late now. I take the seat next to him and rest a hand on his lap. I can feel his muscles twitching.

  “We just want you to be safe. Those things are wild animals. It’s impossible to get inside their heads and know what they’re going to do, how they’ll react. So we just have to prepare for the worst. My parents had a bomb shelter under our house growing up. It was fully stocked with enough food and water, board games, and medical supplies to last several months. It scared me as a kid, because a bomb shelter meant there was the possibility of bombs dropping from the sky. But they never did, and eventually, the food went bad and the water evaporated.”

  Henrik scowls. “You should always rotate supplies and buy new when necessary.”

  I can’t help shaking my head at him. “Anyway, the point is, a little prep work never hurt anyone. And ninety-nine percent of the time, you’ll never even use the stuff.”

  Rob looks down at the Uzi like it’s a hungry honey badger. “How can I operate my cameras and carry this thing around at the same time?”

  Henrik produces a leather strap from his pocket. “With this.”

  The rain has returned, plinking on the RVs hull. I can also hear the hum of what can only be my special delivery. “I’ll be right back.”

  I change into the waterproof jogging suit. When Henrik sees me, his face lights up with approval. “Don’t say a word,” I warn him, exiting the RV.

  Billy’s helper is wearing a dirty yellow slicker. A friend followed him over in a small Sunray. The kid barely speaks, just asks, “You know what you’re doing?”

  I lie yet again. “Of course. Thanks for the door to door service.” I slip him a very nice tip. He doesn’t even look at it. Just shoves it in his pocket and jumps into the Sunray.

  “What have we got here?” Austin startles me. He’s also in his waterproof suit.

  “An escape pod if we need it.”

  Henrik comes up on the other side of me. In his black suit, we look like the Blue Man Group before makeup. “You’re going to tow that?”

  I hand him the keys. “You’re going to drive it.”

  “But I don’t know how to drive a boat.”

  I pat his arm as I walk past him, back to the RV where Rob is waiting just inside the open door. “You will after today.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  We spend a quarter of an hour going over a map of Loch Ness. I explain to Rob where we plan to set our trap and point out the best and safest spots to position his equipment. He keeps giving the Uzi furtive glances, as if he’s waiting for it to come alive and demand he lay waste to something…anything.

  The storm’s intensity rises, which is perfect. The worst is predicted to settle over the loch in the late afternoon. The worse the weather gets, the less innocent bystanders that will be out and about. I have a sneaking suspicion this is going to get very, very ugly. The only person I want chronicling it is Rob. At least with him, we’ll have some control over the content that’s released. The last thing I want are our faces on the most wanted list. I’m sure there’s some law on the books about killing an unknown beloved species, no matter how deadly they are.

  Unless we discover later that the essential oil of a Loch Ness Monster cures baldness or improves erections. Then it’s open season on Nessie.

  Rob asks if he can have the map, reluctantly picks up the Uzi, and heads to his car.

  Austin and Henrik look tired, but ready to roll.

  “Let’s prep the bait and get them loaded on Vindicta.”

  Another good thing about the rain – it’s keeping the flies off the cows. There are too many for me to come up with amusing names. Bait will do just fine today.

  In the long storage area at the back of the RV, I have yards of chains and orange buoys. We haul it all out, some of the chains tangling together even though I did everything I could when I put them there to make sure that didn’t happen. It’s like Christmas lights, or as they say on this side of the Atlantic, fairy lights.

  “That is going to make a lot of floaters,” Austin says. He’s trying hard to mask his limp, but I can tell he’s still in pain. I’m tempted to tell him to stay ashore and watch Rob’s back. But I know there’s nothing I can do keep him off the loch. He’s waited just as long as I have for this. Only difference is, he decided to have a life during the wait. Although I can’t complain about the life of leisure I’ve led. Aside from obsessing over the monsters and waking up with night terrors every night, I did read a lot and watched a ton of movies. I’m pretty caught up on the classics and oldies.

  “All the better to bring them to the surface, my pretty.” I can get the meat ready, but I can’t carry it to Vindicta. That’s all Austin and Henrik.

  “I hope I don’t hit into your boat,” Henrik says. Vindicta is sitting so low in the water from the extra weight of the weapons and now cow corpses, I can barely see the pontoons.

  “You and me both.”

  I tell them they have to load a few of the cows onto the cigarette boat to lighten the load. My little impromptu addition to the plan is already paying
dividends.

  The rain is pissing in a non-stop stream, the boats are loaded, and it’s finally time. Now that it’s here, I go numb for a moment. I know Austin is saying something to me, but I can’t make out a word. It feels like I’m having an out of body experience, though I’m not floating somewhere looking at us from above. Every limb is dead weight, my brain unable to formulate the commands to get them to move.

  I am looking at the water, waves lapping into a froth at the shore, the rain poking thousands of little holes into the surface.

  For a moment, I see my parents, the coiled body of the monster constricting their helpless bodies. They’re calling out for me. The look of terror on their faces stops my heart.

  “Don’t let it take us!” my mother pleads.

  I can’t move. I can’t speak. Not even enough to tell them I love them one final time.

  The creature gives one last squeeze and everything that’s supposed to be inside a person comes rocketing out of every orifice. It pulls them down into the murk, a crimson oil slick the only thing left in the wake of the attack.

  And just like that, it ends. I can feel the rain splashing my face, the lubricated sheen of cow fat on my hands.

  “…you want, I can drive the cigarette boat. I’ve been behind the wheel of a few speedboats when I was down in Mexico.”

  Austin must sense my temporary slip from reality because he grabs onto my shoulders.

  “You all right? You look like you were about to pass out there.”

  I shake it off. The nightmare, the memory, must know it’s coming to an end. It’s invaded my waking life, taking one more crack at my sanity.

  I feel the heat of my tears spring like a tapped well. I’m hoping Austin can’t see them through the steady stream of rain cascading down my face.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just got a little light headed for a sec. Must be the methane from the cows.”

  Austin scratches his head. “I’m pretty sure they need to be alive and flatulating up a storm for that to happen.”

  I look up at his face, this twin brother who has come back a different man on the outside, but is still the lovable lunkhead on the inside, and I ask him to hug me. He sweeps me off my feet in a bear hug to end all bear hugs.