Primordial

by David Wood

  “I suppose I should warn you, our parabolic mics can pick up just about anything you say.” Joanne Slater sidled up to him and propped her elbows on the rail. Her ponytail billowed in the breeze. Aston thought she looked rather like a wind sock. “Not to worry,” Slater said. “We’re not filming at the moment, though I’ve told the team to be ready in an instant in case we find something.” Her team, which consisted of a chubby cameraman named Dave, and Carly, a tiny young woman who wielded her boom mic like a sword, hovered a few paces away, eyes locked on Slater. The only other crew besides Holloway and Joaquin were Olli Makkonen, the ship’s captain, a grizzled, leather-skinned man with bloodshot eyes, and his first mate, Gazsi, a scrawny young man who seemed to wear a perpetual frown at their activities.

  Aston threw Slater a wan smile and a brief bob of his shoulders.

  “At least I finally got a smile out of you. Why are you always such a Gloomy Gus?”

  “I don’t know. Just waiting for this rusty tub to sink on us,” he deadpanned. The boat Holloway had hired, the Merenneito, with its pitted exterior and green ropes, did not inspire confidence. “Besides, I’m not paid to be cheerful. I’m here to ride out the clock while Holloway plays monster hunter, collect my check, and be on my way.”

  “I love your unswerving commitment to the project.” Slater paused, looking out across the lake. “I thought I was prepared for what we’re up against, but this is so much more vast and remote than I imagined. I could almost believe there’s something here.”

  “Oh, there’s something here all right. Salmon, zooplankton, moose, but no lake monster.” He turned and fixed her with a hard look. “Do you actually believe there’s even a remote possibility that such a creature exists?”

  Slater’s eyes fell and she shrugged. “No. I mean, maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Even if there is, what are the odds we’ll find it? This lake is twenty-five miles long, twelve miles wide, and more than six hundred and fifty feet deep in spots. It could hold Loch Ness a dozen times over.”

  “And the spirit award goes to…” Slater forced a smile, glanced away, and took a deep breath. Aston couldn’t help but notice the swell of her breasts against her tight t-shirt as her chest rose, but he hastily looked away. “I know the odds are slim. I want to believe, but the truth is, I’m here for the money just like you, and for the content. Viewers back home eat this sort of thing up.” She made a small circle with her hand that took in the surrounding landscape. “It’s kind of crazy, actually. You find a forbidding locale, feed the viewers a few legends, treat everything like it’s deadly serious, and they don’t seem to care that, week after week, you come up with a whole lot of nothing.”

  “So you don’t care that you’re lying to them?” Aston wasn’t sure why he said that. He had no qualms about lying to people. Still, Slater rubbed him the wrong way, though he could already tell she wasn’t as vapid as he’d initially assumed.

  “I’m not a scientist, I’m an entertainer. You’re the one searching for provable facts. The only thing I do is provide couch potatoes with something to wonder about for an hour, once a week for twenty-two weeks a year.”

  Aston detected a tone of bitterness in her voice, and he turned to face her. She once again leaned on the rail, staring out at the horizon.

  Slater sighed. “It sucks, you know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Producing fluff all the time. Just once I’d like to do something of substance. Find a lost city or a previously-unknown creature. Not for the fame and glory – that’s Holloway’s thing. I’d just like for people to see me as something other than a talking set of boobs.”

  Aston felt his face go red. Slater noticed.

  “Too honest for you?” She smirked at him.

  He shook his head. “No, just realizing I’m guilty as charged.” He swallowed hard. “Sorry about that. I’m just…” He didn’t know what he ‘just’ was.

  “Don’t worry about it. You’re hardly the first.” She folded her arms across her chest as if suddenly conscious of her snug-fitting clothing. “Besides, I’m sold that way by the producers and I play up to it because that’s my job.” She turned her eyes back toward the lake. “So you really don’t think there’s any chance something could be out here?”

  Aston shook his head. “I suppose there could be something unusual, but mundane, like an undiscovered variety of giant eel. I don’t think there’ll be anything along the lines of what Holloway is expecting to find. Even this lake isn’t large enough to support a breeding population of apex predators, and he knows it. He must know it. He’s fooling himself.”

  “But what about the picture? The last one in Sweeney’s camera?”

  “It’s a fake.” Slater raised an eyebrow and he hurried on. “A teenager with free software and his mother’s computer could create a convincing monster photograph. It would be child’s play for someone with Holloway’s resources, and you can’t tell me he’s above doing that.”

  “What would be the point of faking evidence just to take us on a fruitless expedition?”

  “Oh, I don’t think he considers it pointless at all. He’s a true believer. He wants us to believe.” He grinned. “Perhaps he suspects that some of our group are only here for the money. And maybe he’s the kind who thinks if we all believe hard enough, something will happen.”

  The roar of the engine subsided and the boat slowed.

  Slater grinned. “Come on. It’s show time.”

  * * *

  They made their way to the cabin where Holloway waited. The man was a bundle of nervous energy, pacing to and fro, fidgeting, and talking incessantly. He smirked at Slater and Aston when they entered. “Glad you could join us.”

  “What’s his problem?” Aston muttered.

  “The local police superintendent, a guy named Paavoe Rinne, shook him down just before we set sail. I don’t know how much Holloway had to pay the guy.”

  Holloway rounded on them and his dark countenance brightened. “Ah, the cameraman’s here. We can get started.” He cast an approving glance at Dave, who gave him a thumbs-up from behind the lens.

  “Watch out,” Aston said in a voice so low that only Slater could hear. “I think he’s in love.”

  She cocked her head. “With Dave?”

  “With the camera.”

  Slater giggled. “I don’t know. He looks more like a boom man to me.”

  Aston covered his laugh with a loud cough. Unfortunately for him, Carly chose that moment to swing the boom in his direction, and the sight of the phallic microphone made him guffaw.

  “Are you all right? Not coming down with a cold, I hope?” Holloway asked.

  “Right as rain. I’ve just never been that comfortable on camera. I laugh when I’m nervous.”

  Slater interceded suggesting Aston, Holloway, and Laine move out onto the bow. Makkonen and Gaszi watched with hooded eyes from the helm as they left.

  Slater arrayed the three men in what she deemed the ideal positions, Aston and Laine either side of Holloway. Then she set her own people before stepping into the middle of the shot.

  Dave counted down from five with his fingers, and then pointed to Slater. As if flipping a switch, she adopted a look of intense concentration. “What is this place?” she asked Laine.

  “This is Sweeney’s last known location, give or take. Unfortunately, the man who found his equipment didn’t make note of the exact spot.”

  Slater looked out at the dark expanse of shoreline and gave a small shake of her head. “It’s going to be like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack, isn’t it?”

  “Not necessarily,” Holloway said. “We’ve got a couple of tricks up our sleeve.” He looked straight at the camera and smiled.

  “Cut!” Slater called. “We can use that, but I need you,” she looked at Holloway, “to avoid looking directly into the camer
a. Okay?”

  “Sure,” Holloway agreed. He clapped twice and called for Joaquin, who seemed to melt out of the shadows. The way the man moved was uncanny.

  “The drone is ready, boss.” He held up a remote control. “Just give me the word.”

  “Give us five minutes to get set and then we’ll start,” Slater said.

  They gathered back in the cabin where Laine took a seat in front of a video display and Slater sat Aston in front of the sonar and underwater video monitors. Holloway stood just out of camera range. Aston couldn’t deny that, despite the Merenneito’s drab exterior, the man had invested in some decent equipment. The gear mounted on the gunwales that he had yet to investigate intrigued him too. The large, brand new harpoon gun was obvious and a little unnerving, but the other major addition looked to be a giant motorized net, and that only made Aston laugh.

  “Joaquin is going to take the drone up and down the shore, looking for wallows like the one Sweeney photographed,” Slater said. “Laine will watch the feed from the drone, while you and I keep an eye on the others.”

  “Make sure not to blink,” Holloway said. “We don’t want to miss anything.”

  The next hour crept past like the wait in a doctor’s office, becoming more frustrating as more of nothing continued to happen. Aston watched the monitors as instructed, keeping a serious expression on his face for the sake of the camera. Beats dealing with Chang, but that didn’t make the monotony any more bearable. He wasn’t an impatient man by nature, but the futility of the task made it difficult for him to approach the work with the requisite degree of professionalism. Ah well, that’s why you’re getting paid, you whiney dickhead.

  Makkonen lounged near the helm, casually interested, but young Gazsi made an exit as soon as possible, disappearing below, his frown deepening to a scowl as he went. Aston wondered what the kid’s problem was.

  The motion of the boat and the dull thrumming of the engine ticking over threatened to lull him to sleep, broken only by Holloway’s all too frequent exclamations every time the faintest shadow appeared on the screen. Each time, Laine would reply with a single shake of his head.

  “Drone battery is running low,” Joaquin reported via walkie-talkie from the deck. “We’ve got about another ten minutes tops, and half of that needs to be coming back.”

  “Push on,” Holloway insisted. “Go as far as you can. Land out there on the shore and we’ll go pick it up.”

  “Can’t land it, boss. It’ll damage the camera. But I’ll keep going a little longer.”

  “Ollie can chug us along in pursuit a little, maybe?” Aston suggested. “Catch up, buy us a couple more minutes.”

  Holloway nodded and Makkonen stood, nudged the engine up a notch and they moved along slowly. The drone flew on, sending back more pictures of featureless lake edges.

  Just as Aston was ready to bang his head against the sonar monitor, Laine suddenly barked an order into the tiny mic clipped to his lapel. “Right there, Joaquin. Take her down closer.”

  Holloway and Slater hurried to flank Laine, while Dave brought the camera in close. Aston turned away from the monitors before him and craned his neck to see past Slater.

  As Joaquin brought the drone down, a dark shape filled the screen. “Focus,” Laine said, and the image resolved into the unmistakable shape of a wallow—and a massive one at that.

  The words escaped Aston before he knew it. “Bloody hell. I don’t believe it.”

  Chapter 7

  It took about ten minutes to maneuver the boat around to the location where the drone had spotted the wallow. Joaquin flew the bright white, four-rotored device back to meet them along the way and skillfully hovered it over the deck before reaching up and plucking it from the air. He checked the camera suspended beneath and smiled to himself. He was clearly an expert with the thing and Aston wondered where, and more importantly, why, the big bodyguard had developed those skills.

  As Joaquin took the drone below to plug it in for a recharge, Olli Makkonen leaned out from the cabin, his reddened eyes squinting against the daylight. “I’m not taking her in any closer. It’s deep here, but the shore shallows very quickly. We don’t want to run aground.”

  The boat slowed, the engines cut, and a heavy silence blanketed them. The captain wandered to the stern and casually dropped anchor, while Gazsi reappeared to loiter in the bridge. His frown remained, but a nervous energy animated him more than before.

  Joaquin emerged again and said, “I’ll ferry you. It’ll take a couple of trips.” He lowered a tin dinghy from one side and clambered down into it. “Go to the dive platform,” he said as he yanked the starter and the dinghy’s tiny outboard fired into buzzing life.

  He ferried first Holloway, Slater, and Laine to the lake shore, then came back for Aston, Dave and Carly. Aston helped him drag the small boat up onto the stones and mud while Slater did a piece to camera and Holloway hopped impatiently from foot to foot.

  Slater approached them, camera trained on her back. “So, what next?” she asked Aston in her TV voice.

  Aston found himself momentarily off guard. “Oh, er, well, I guess…” He drew a deep breath. Pull it together, for Christ’s sake! “The drone spotted the hollow a few yards that way. First thing we do is get a closer look.”

  He strode purposefully past Dave, making the cameraman stagger slightly as he hurried back to keep Aston in the shot. He let the others tag behind as he approached the deep, wide indentation. As he reached the edge of it, he paused and shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he muttered.

  “Louder, please,” Slater called out.

  Aston cleared his throat. Playing to the camera was going to take some getting used to. “This is bigger than anything I’ve seen before,” he said in a firm voice. “Wallows are usually made by large mammals beside bodies of water. They’re used for cooling down, maybe getting a nice coating of mud for temperature regulation and protection from mosquitoes and other biting insects, that sort of thing. I have no real idea why there’s one in this climate. And one this size? It’s staggering.” He turned to Holloway. “Got a tape measure?”

  “Most certainly.” The billionaire dug in the many pockets of his khaki pants, eventually found one, and handed it over.

  Aston gave the man the loose end and walked around the wallow, paying out tape as he went. “A typical wallow would be at most two or three meters across,” he said as he went about his work. “This one is…” He crouched directly across from Holloway. “Over twelve meters,” he breathed. “That’s bloody insane.”

  “How big?” Slater asked.

  “Over twelve meters,” Aston snapped, annoyed at the mystery of it. “About forty feet. It makes no sense, something this size.” He paused. “We should consider the possibility that it’s not actually a wallow at all.” He ignored Holloway’s sudden dour expression. “It could be something else.”

  “It’s got to be seven feet deep, at least,” Laine said. He sounded almost proud, as if he’d made the thing himself. Maybe he had, Aston mused. And the Finn had switched to using imperial measurements, no doubt to make things easier on the Americans. It rubbed against Aston’s accurate scientific sensibilities, but as Holloway was in charge, it made sense.

  “You were absolutely convinced it was a wallow when you first saw the pictures,” Holloway reminded him.

  “And I still am.” Aston hated making the admission. “But this goes against every scientific bone in my body. It’s mystifying.”

  “So what could make something this size?” Slater asked.

  Aston shrugged. “The world’s largest water buffalo? An elephant on freaking steroids?”

  “Neither of those things live in Finland, Mister Aston,” Holloway said with a smile.

  “I am well aware of that,” Aston said, keenly aware of the camera.

  “So what then?” Slater asked again.
“For real.”

  Aston stood, tossed the tape measure back across the deep indentation. Holloway caught it clumsily and the tape whickered back in. “I have no idea,” Aston said. “I honestly can’t even speculate. And, as a scientist, it would be reckless to do so.”

  Dave moved around the area, getting shots from all angles, as Holloway and Laine snapped dozens of stills. Aston had them help him make and record a full set of accurate measurements.

  After a half hour of documentation he said, “We have all we’re going to get here. Let’s look further afield.”

  Laine led the way, confident in the uncertain environment, and Aston, Slater and Holloway followed in a ragged line. Dave and Carly brought up the rear, capturing everything. Joaquin elected to stay with the dinghy and they left him sitting on a rock, statue-still as though he had been there for decades and would comfortably remain there for centuries more.

  As Laine stoically trudged the shoreline, Holloway jabbered incessantly about the wallow, what could have made it, and how rare such a thing must be. He wondered if there were more around and if maybe more than one creature made them or used them. Aston couldn’t deny his curiosity, the thought that even one thing big enough to make that indentation might possibly be around was staggering. He had looked closely while measuring, desperately seeking some sign the wallow was man-made, some extended gag by Holloway to go along with his faked photographs. The man certainly had the resources to take them all for a giant prank, the mother of all candid camera shows. But nothing about the giant dent had shown anything but authenticity.

  He glanced at Slater walking beside him and saw her eyes narrowed, her brow slightly furrowed. She looked nervous as she picked her way between the rocks and trod carefully on the slippery mud.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She flashed him a grin. “Sure. Just a little unused to the terrain. I really don’t want to fall on my ass in this!” She flicked at the slimy mud with the toe of one boot.

  Aston smiled and nodded, but thought she was hiding a deeper anxiety. The back of his neck tickled, discomfort made his stomach tight. He glanced once over his shoulder, caught Dave’s raised eyebrow and gave the cameraman a friendly nod. He looked past Dave and Carly to the tree line some forty-odd feet from the water’s edge, undulating randomly back and forth. He felt as though they were being watched.