The Saltwater Marathon (A Novella)

by Chateau, Jonathan

  He nods, and does as I ask.

  But there’s not much weight on the desk. Plus, the piece of crap is made out of press wood. It probably weights about thirty pounds. Pedro and I lean against it now, putting both of our bodies into it, but whatever’s on the other side is strong as hell. It rams against the door again, the shockwave travels through the door, through the table, into our bodies–

  And I slip.

  “Bryan, get back up!”

  Too late.

  Can’t get to my feet fast enough.

  The door blasts open.

  The table rockets backwards.

  Pedro is thrown against the back wall.

  I stumble backwards and slam into something soft–

  Stacy.

  We hear that piercing shrill again.

  Then several black ropes shoot into the room, and latch onto the person closest to the door–

  Trevor.

  At the ends of these ropes are steel hooks as big as talons. They’re dug into Trevor’s body pulling his skin forward like it were made of taffy.

  “JESUS!” Pedro screams behind us.

  Something steps into the room now – it’s that same dark figure we saw in the video – six feet tall, dressed in an all-black wetsuit, wearing that gas mask head gear. On the mask, a circular mouthpiece, like an old intercom speaker.

  The black ropes are anchored to its chest and when they tighten Trevor is yanked to his feet.

  Something emerges from behind the thing’s head – but it’s not black – more a faded green, like kelp. It’s translucent and ribbed like a vacuum hose – and at the end, a ring of ... well…

  Teeth.

  It rises up like a scorpion’s tail, and dives down, attaching itself to Trevor’s neck.

  Pedro charges at the thing, but with the reflexes of a cat, it whips one of those ropes free and smacks him across the face.

  Meanwhile, the vacuum tube jiggles as fluid slides up from Trevor’s neck and disappears behind the thing’s back. His arms flail about like some marionette trying to escape its master. He seems suspended in animation, twitching erratically…

  And shriveling.

  It’s as if the hose were sucking the air out of him – or worse – the water.

  The thing makes that shrill scream sound again, the ropes go limp, and Trevor’s withered body slumps to the floor. His eyeballs reduced to two black pits. His skin gray and folded.

  The black ropes retract into its chest, the thing takes another step into the room. No one says a word – frozen in place by our own individual levels of fear.

  For a moment, the thing studies each one of us, as if deciding which one to dehydrate next–

  A chair goes flying – smacks it in the head. It recoils and shrieks.

  “Fuck you, pendejo!”

  And Pedro is already charging again, this time pushing the table towards the thing like a battering ram. He nails it, slamming into the thing’s waist. It buckles over top of the table, spreading its arms, bracing the impact. The ropes slide all around. Looks like there’s a pile of black racer snakes gone loose.

  Pedro picks up my computer monitor and swats it across its head.

  Another shriek and then the black ropes come to life as if electrified – they shoot out in all directions, swiping mindlessly, slicing inches from Pedro’s body, as he continue to pummel the life out of its head – but the monitor makes for a terrible weapon – it’s disintegrating by the second.

  As I watch Pedro beat the shit out of this creature, I’m half frozen in awe.

  Half in terror.

  Then the monitor falls apart. One of the hooks that had been dancing around Pedro like some cobra finally strikes. It connects with the side of his neck. He screams, and grabs the hook, and tries to yank it back out.

  “HELP!” he shouts as another hook lodges in his shoulder. “FUCKING HELP ME!”

  Jesus, what do I do?

  I need a weapon, or something sharp.

  Then I remember the scissors.

  I pull them from my pocket, lunge forward, raise them above my head, and with one swipe, sink them into the side of the thing’s neck. It shrieks again – but this time in a higher pitch than before.

  The ropes go limp as it brings its hands to its neck in a vain attempt to hold back the fluid that’s now spurting out – and it’s not blood.

  It actually has no color.

  And it smells kind of like–

  The creature goes nuts, whipping its body about. It rips the scissors out of its neck and lets out a violent scream.

  While it’s busy freaking out, I help Pedro yank the two hooks out of his skin, and we make for the far wall.

  “Ohmygod,” Stacy says, cupping her mouth with her hands, “ohmygod, ohmygod.”

  The thing shakes uncontrollably as it steps backwards, hands still pressed against its wound, the fluid spraying out all over the place. It retreats back into the store.

  “You ok?” I ask Pedro, who’s cupping his neck as well. Blood slips between his fingers.

  He shakes his head yes. “I don’t think he got my jugular.”

  Stacy cringes as she asks, “how do you know it’s a ‘he’?”

  “He. It. I don’t know what the fuck it is,” he says. “All I know is that I’m lucky he didn’t clip a vein.”

  No one says anything for a moment, and we’re rewarded with eerie silence.

  “You think it’s dead?” Stacy asks, her voice cracking.

  I exchange glances with Pedro, gesturing that we should take a look.

  We creep towards the door and I snatch my scissors up from off the floor, ready in case the ropes come flying at us. But as we peek around the threshold, nothing swipes our faces.

  The store is still.

  The only noise we hear is not the whistling of the ropes, but the sound of splashing.

  We both look down and find ourselves standing in a puddle. A few feet away, the wet suit lies in a twisted bundle, like a used towel. The web of black ropes are strewn about. Sitting atop it, the creepy gas mask stares back at us.

  “Looks pretty dead to me,” Pedro says.

  He’s right.

  It isn’t moving, but I’ve got my trusty scissors ready in case it gets cute.

  Pedro kicks at the shriveled suit.

  No response.

  “Guess you popped the juice out of it,” he says with a chuckle.

  I kneel down, touch the fluid, and rub it between my fingers. It’s not sticky, or gooey, or any other weird consistency I would’ve expected it to be.

  “It ain’t juice.”

  “Then what is it?”

  I smell it. “I think it’s seawater,” I say looking up at him.

  That snarl forms on Pedro’s face. His eyes get huge again. “Look,” he says, backing up.

  I flinch, half expecting to find a rope headed for my face – but I see what Pedro’s looking at – the gas mask is moving, twitching as if something inside were trying to get free.

  I glance back at Pedro and all he does is shrug.

  Guess it’s my turn to show some balls.

  Using the scissors I lift up the gas mask. There’s a quivering, translucent glob underneath, shivering like an animated slab of cranberry sauce.

  But it’s not cranberry.

  “What is that shit?” Pedro asks me.

  “Well… it kind of looks like a jellyfish.”

  “What kind is it?”

  “I don’t watch Animal Planet, man. I have no clue.” I kick aside the gas mask and stab the jellyfish with the scissors. The quivering stops. Clear fluid empties out of it and it flattens like a deflated balloon. “And I’m not taking any chances either.” As I slide the jellyfish away a dozen long tentacles emerge from inside the suit. “I tell you what… this thing’s got some reach.”

  “Maybe it’s not a jellyfish,” Stacy says under her breath.

  “What?” I ask. “Sure looks like one.”

  “Are you sure?”

&
nbsp; “Um,” I say scratching my chin, “growing up in Florida, I’ve had my share of getting stung by jellyfish.” I point at the glob on the floor. “That’s a jellyfish.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Well what else would it be then?”

  Stacy kneels closer, studies it. “It could be a siphonophore.”

  “A what?” Pedro asks as he leans over her shoulder.

  “A siphonophore.” She snatches a pen from the counter and inspects the creature. “They resemble jellyfish, but they’re not jellyfish. Related but very different.”

  I shake my head. “Looks like a damn jellyfish to me.”

  “Right, but a jellyfish is a single animal.” She pokes it with the pen and more fluid oozes out. “Siphonophores are made up of a colony of animals known as zooids. And each zooid has its own specialized function. Which in a way makes sense.”

  As I watch her prod the jellyfish with such focus, I realize that she probably spends a lot of time alone at the campus library.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, think about it,” she says, “it’s a suit full of saltwater and in its head is a collection of zooids that directs the motor movements and carries out cognitive functions.” She then points out the tentacles. “And those zooids that control the tentacles do all of the heavy lifting. Literally. They physically coordinate the creature’s movement.”

  “How the hell do you know all this, chica?” Pedro asks in awe. “You studying to be a marine biologist or something?”

  “Close. I’m actually a biology major… who just so happens to watch a lot of Animal Planet too.”

  “And they’ve had shows on there about jellyfish puppeteers?” I ask.

  “No, but they have had shows about siphonophores discovered on the ocean floor… specifically the Gulf of Mexico.”

  “And they never mentioned this particular species?”

  “Think about it. The ocean’s pretty big. Like seventy percent of the earth big. There’s bound to be a lot of undiscovered animals floating around down there–”

  Deep within the belly of the mall, we hear a woman scream.

  Followed by that shrill scream again.

  The three of us exchange glances.

  Realization hits.

  There’s definitely more than one of these things out there.

  “Ok, discovery time is over. We need to get moving,” I say as I step inside my office one last time. I grab my car keys, cell phone, and throw on my Nikes.

  “The hell you doing? Changing shoes?” Pedro asks, cocking his head to the side.

  “Yeah. These babies have gotten me through a lot. Besides, something tells me we’re going to be running soon.”

  Pedro digs out his necklace. On it is a big gold cross. “In times of need, I pray to a higher power,” he says as he holds it up and kisses it. “I wouldn’t put my faith in a pair of sneakers,”

  “Well they’ve been my only source of salvation,” I say as I tighten the laces. “Besides, I broke number seven on God’s top ten list of no-no’s, so I’m not so sure he’s going to bail me out on this one–”

  Another shrill scream. This time it sounds closer.

  “I wonder how many more of these things are out there.” Stacy’s voice is starting to crack again.

  “Who knows?” I say. “At least the power is still on, so we don’t have to move around in total darkness.”

  As the words escape my lips, the power goes out.

  The emergency lights kick on – which in my store, aren’t many.

  Pedro looks at the lights, then at me. “Anything else you feel like jinxing?”

  I’m about to retort with something smart – but the whirring roar of an engine cuts me off. Sounds like the world’s largest vacuum cleaner.

  “What’s that?” Stacy asks.

  “Maybe those siphonophores got driving permits,” I say.

  As engine draws closer, Stacy’s question is answered.

  Chapter 3

  Out in the mall, something dark and thin – thin as a surfboard and about as long – floats by. On its underside, several blue-green lights cast eerie cones of light. The beams of light cut back and forth the way cop’s spotlights do when searching for a criminal. It’s also dragging something–

  Tentacles.

  At least a hundred of them.

  Pedro lets out a little groan and I share in his fear.

  “W-w-what are we going to do?” Stacy is on the verge of crying, her tone shakier by the second… and getting louder. “With those things out there? What-what-what are we–”

  Pedro grabs her, covers her mouth. “Shh… calm down, chica.”

  One of the blue-green lights suddenly cuts a path into the store–

  We all duck and press our backs against one of the sales racks.

  The beam of light dances just above our heads, tracing a slow and steady line horizontally across the store.

  I’m suddenly having a hard time controlling my breathing. Fear is starting to take over. I know I’m not alone in this, because Stacy and Pedro’s breathing is just as shallow, just as rapid as mine.

  They sound like they’ve been running marathons themselves.

  I’m suddenly struck with blinding sharp pain. It shoots from my eyeball to the back of my head. I bring my fingers to my temples and grit my teeth.

  “Another migraine?” Pedro whispers.

  I nod.

  “Well shake it off and stay focused, man. We’ve got bigger problems than a fucking headache.”

  Stay focused?

  Kind of hard to do when you feel like you’ve got a screwdriver being shoved into your eye socket.

  Followed by a voice.

  Her voice.

  Come join me.

  I hear it clear as a phone conversation. I look to Pedro wondering if he heard it as well.

  He frowns in response. “What?” he says, the corners of his mouth drooping downward.

  Nope.

  Just me.

  Come join me, Bryan.

  Jesus.

  I am going crazy.

  Just like Sirena. Her death has become my curse.

  Her death should’ve meant I was free to pursue Carmela. Free to climb the corporate ladder. Free to be free.

  But I’m far from that.

  Instead I’ve become a prisoner of my own regret–

  Pedro elbows me in the chest. Scowls. The words stay focused painted all over his face. He points towards the blue-green light as it pauses above the cash register counter, just inches away from where we are hiding.

  Thankfully the pain in my head subsides. The impending migraine seems to float away just as quickly as it tried to surface.

  Maybe the fear or the impending dread chased it away.

  I feel a ripple of goose bumps coming to life as the sound of the engine moves inside the store.

  Stacy looks like she wants to scream, but Pedro cups his hand around her mouth. He turns to me and whispers, “now what?”

  I look around the room. I wish I had a gun hidden in the backroom. But we’re a video game store for God’s sake. Why would I ever have needed such a thing?

  Oh yeah, for when the aliens show up.

  Or the jellyfish people.

  The blue-green light moves falls onto a fire extinguisher just off to our right. Then slides across the wall stopping at a cardboard figurine, guns drawn, advertising the next edition of a futuristic spy game.

  “Well?” Pedro asks again.

  The whir of the engine is coming up the left set of shelves. The blue-green lights cut everywhere now.

  I gesture towards the set of shelves on the right, we start to crawl, just as the engine is right on top of us–

  Stacy drops her cell phone. It makes a clattering sound and the blue-green lights lock onto it.

  “Oh God!” she screams as she breaks herself free from Pedro.

  We barely make it around the corner of the shelves. I turn back in time to see the ship loomin
g above. It’s shaped like an almond, but it’s not a nut, or a spaceship.

  It’s some sort of flying sand dollar.

  At the center of its belly is a mouthpiece just like the one on the jellyfish man. From it comes that piercing signature scream of theirs, followed by several blue-green lights locking on the three of us.

  The ship lowers itself and lets off another piercing shriek, followed by an explosion of tentacles. They encircle us like some blanket of doom.

  Another blinding blast of pain pierces my brain. I wince.

  Come find me, Bryan.

  The ship lets out another wail.

  Then I hear Sirena’s voice again, I miss you.

  I’m cold without you.

  Several of those nasty vacuum hoses emerge.

  I know you can hear me.

  Pedro grabs Stacy, covers her with his hairy arms, shielding her from what’s about to come next.

  Bryan, I’m hidden from the world but not from you.

  Amidst this chaos, our impending death, I’m hearing her voice crystal clear.

  I’ve returned to the place from which I was born…

  Maybe I’m having a God moment.

  From the place we were all born.

  Maybe this is some spiritual ESP connection between her and I that I was never aware of.

  Follow me to the water, and I will show you the truth.

  Maybe she’s still alive.

  Maybe she didn’t die after all, but faked her death in order to teach me a lesson. To have me realize how much I loved her.

  Or maybe she is dead, and this ghostly voice is leading me to the body so I can finally get some closure.

  Or maybe between the grief, the stress, and the hangover, I’ve finally cracked.

  You know where to find me, Bryan.

  There’s only one way to know.

  The curtain of tentacles surround us, quivering like a wall of snakes getting ready to strike–

  I snatch the fire extinguisher off the wall.

  Pop the pin.

  Roll onto my back.

  Shove the spray nozzle into its mouthpiece, pull the trigger, and pump the entire contents inside. Then I take the extinguisher and hammer at the mouthpiece until it’s flat with rest of its body.

  The thing goes ape shit.

  It pulls away, and whips about from side to side, shrieking as it blasts through the front windows, zig-zags its way back into the mall, slams into the side of the escalator on the far side of the hall, crumples and drops to the ground.