Black Water

by Jon Fore

  “We can’t stay here, Abby. There was something else in the water, something I…we do not want to know about it. We need to leave.”

  He released her and began to draw her down the mountain, trailing her by a reluctant arm. She began to stumble after him, not quit done crying herself out. “Where are we going now? Do you even know where we are?”

  “We are on the west side of the mountain. We need to make our way back to the east, to where the car is, where Brighton can call for help.”

  “Why? You killed her, remember?”

  “Abby… There will be questions; we need to file a police report, get all this documented.”

  “They can’t do anything now. You shot her, remember?”

  Ethan did not reply, but continued to pull her along like a spoiled child mid-tantrum. He was exhausted—every fiber of his body throbbed in weariness, and his feet ached in a way he had never known. However, he knew the sun would not be in the sky much longer and he had to get them both as far away as he could before it set. For some reason, he was sure the thing that was crawling from the water was waiting for darkness.

  Abby began to try to use her cane again, and Ethan eased the pace just enough to allow her. The ankle had pretty much gone numb, but it felt squishy and gritty. She was not sure what kind of damage she was doing, but abhorred the idea of being crippled. She could not imagine herself as a photojournalist with a gimp foot.

  The thought shocked her. Two people, people her age had died in there, and she was still forward looking, concerned about her future. They were both dead and gone, their futures ending with them. She suddenly felt ashamed at her own selfishness.

  The loss that hurt most was Madison. They had known each other for three years: Madison, the young, full-of-life girl, and Abby, the caring, ever-watchful mother figure. Madison had taught her much about living and enjoying life, and Abby taught Madison responsibility, making her study for the nonspecific classes she was taking in college.

  Abby knew that Madison had been more than corrupted, she had been ruined, body and soul, and there would have been no saving her, even if she had somehow brought her out of there. Why she had attacked Ethan so, she was not sure. She did know that he was there and available for her to vent her rage, and anyone cold enough to shoot a dear friend, even in that condition was a real bastard, and as soon as they were out of here she was going to break up with him. She never wanted to see him again…or remember this horrible weekend.

  The ground became more level and more wild. Trees were thick in every direction: some almost bald, others coated in fine green needles. Nevertheless, it cut their sight down to only a few yards, and they had to snake their way through the thick underbrush. Abby could feel the desperation in Ethan and began to feel the same as the sun descended toward the horizon.

  Ethan led her to the left and around the base of the mountain. She was not sure why he went this way but hoped he knew what he was doing—he was the one with hiking experience, after all. She had never spent the night in the woods until they came here, more or less attempted to navigate them.

  The forest floor was thick with fallen leaves, and the smell of their decay was comforting in an odd way; it was more of a proper decay than what they had so recently escaped. The refuse did manage to hide the smaller rocks, making their travel more difficult. Ethan discovered the pitfalls first and did his best to steer Abby from them.

  The hidden stones and roots more than once twisted Abby’s foot painfully, but Ethan would not let up. The further the sun sank, the faster he wanted to move. Deep inside Abby, there rose a desire as strong as his, and so she did not complain or object. The sun had begun to disappear behind the horizon, just a sliver, and time was racing past them. Abby knew something awful was going to happen and like in a dream, she was helpless to escape it and helpless to give up her escape.

  “What are we going to do when it is dark, Ethan? We can’t keep going in the dark, can we?”

  “I don’t know, but we are going to try. Do you feel it?”

  “Yeah, we are about to be hunted, aren’t we?”

  “It feels like it, huh?”

  The sun had almost made good its abandonment of the sky when the mountain curbed sharply to the left. Abby found it hard to catch her breath, and her ankle was demanding attention, trying to argue with her to stop and rest. Ethan, as well, was breathing heavily, but fear set his face like a mask comfortably embracing determination. Then the sun fell from sight, and the sky grew a deep, pale purple.

  From a distance, and around a major portion of the mountain, came the screeching roar of something bent to the hunt. It was not the deep rumbling roar of a jungle cat, but the voice of many women, screaming through their deaths but with violent intent. It made the blood run cold through Abby’s veins, and Ethan literally screamed a short burst of fright.

  “We really got to move now, Abby—like run! Come on!”

  He yanked on her arm and began to drag her before she got her feet moving. Her ankle exploded in pain, a deep-inside bone pain with every step, and she began to sob again. Her desire to live, the drive for self-preservation was waning, and the uncomfortable idea of giving up began to swamp her mind. She did not want to end up like Madison, but the pain was near unbearable, even as horrified as she was.

  The screeching sound came again, and this time the forest animals began to cry out as well, but they in fear and warning. Something was walking the forest this night and the forest loathed its passing. Whatever this creature was, the animals here knew and feared it, their brethren broken and ruined in the passages of the prison.

  “Ethan?” Abby finally asked, having reached the very end of her endurance.

  “No, Abby!” he shouted and pulled her harder.

  “Ethan, please…” She fell in spite of herself. The ground rushed up to her like something from a movie, and the wind rushed from her in a gasping sound.

  Ethan grabbed her, hauled her up before she could even draw breath, and heaved her over his shoulder. He continued on, pushing harder but moving slower.

  The thing’s enraged call came again. This time, it was much too close and there were very few animals brave enough to answer it.

  The rhythmic pounding of Ethan’s shoulder into her midriff made it difficult for her to catch her breath again, but she did not care. Abby had crossed that line, had given way to her hopelessness, and the fight fled from her. She had simply given up. Again, she recalled the Lord’s Prayer and began to recite it quietly to herself.

  Ethan slowed to a walk, both because of the dense forest and his own exhaustion. He did not show signs of giving up, but his breath began to take voice, and grunts of strain escaped him with every step. He started to use the trees around him to steady his footing, certain he was close to collapsing.

  Suddenly, a weight lifted from him, and he stumbled forward. Abby screamed horrifically, as if a nightmare she knew was not true suddenly appeared before her. He spun, and in the defuse light of deep dusk, he saw the hunter. A number of segmented legs suspended a large bulbous body above the ground. The torso of a man rose from the spider-like body, the flesh glossy and black as coal. Its arms were insect like, black with patchy fur, and in its hands, it held Abby, its wicked claws already sunk deeply in her chest and legs.

  Ethan pulled free his revolver as Abby screamed again. His heart wrenched painfully at the mournful death screams, and he fired into the thing’s grape-like body. It tore open sickly and splashed free gruesome puss. It roared its roar, and Ethan’s legs threatened to drop him on the ground. The thing dug its claws a bit deeper, and Abby screamed again. Before she finished, the thing ripped her in half, snapped like a pencil, torn like a length of sodden leather.

  This time, Ethan screamed and fired again. Not afraid of hitting Abby any longer, he aimed for the chest. The bullet entered above the thing’s left nipple and burst out the other side with more of the sickly fluid. Then Ethan ran, ran out of pure desperation to escape. He could hear the thing ra
sping behind him, and he pushed himself harder, trying to put distance between the hunted and the hunter.

  The tree line broke suddenly, and Ethan ran headlong into a lake. He did not think or consider his options, but began to swim into the deeper parts of the lake, ignoring the frigid spike it sent through his body, desperate only to be far away from the pursuing creature. He swam for some time until he thought he was near enough the center. He stopped and began to tread the icy water. The thing screamed again, but this time it was ragged, as if the last shot might have actually wounded it.

  Ethan searched for and found the thing on the banks, refusing to enter the water, but stalking back and forth, waiting. In one hand, it still held a large piece of Abby, the upper part, which swung back and forth as it walked. Ethan tasted the bitterness of vomit but held himself. The sheer helplessness of his situation drove him to sob, to mourn the loss of his Abby and most likely himself.

  When the water become too cold for him to tolerate, he attempted to swim to the other side of the lake, but each time, as he started out, the thing would move with incredible speed to where he would reach the bank. Ethan’s arms began to weaken, and his breath was coming in quick, shallow breaths. He knew that hyperthermia was closing fast, and if he did not get himself warm soon, he would die in this lake.

  He decided to try for the shore once more, but the creature raced around the bank to meet him. This time, a little out from shore, he came upon a small floating dock, wood fixed to large metal barrels, but dry on the top. Using the very last of his strength, he hauled himself up, collapsed on the rough but dry wood, and slipped into a frozen unconsciousness.

  Chapter 15

  Cold, deep, bone-chilling cold—it was the first time Ethan’s heart had felt chilled, slow, and lethargic. It brought him to consciences with a painful desire to survive. It was still dark, but the inky blackness of night was slowing giving way to the approaching sun. Ethan knew he would not last to feel its warmth. He had to do something now before blacking out again, this time to his own death.

  His arms were frozen and hard to move, as if they had been asleep for too long. His hands where thick and clumsy and he had trouble opening his pack. When he did, a small rush of cold water greeted him. He began to dig about the pack, searching for the small silver packs he knew were there. His hands had almost no feeling left to them, but his slow grip, tightened with much effort, was able to guess the correct size and he drew forth a package of three aluminum squares.

  Ripping and tearing at the package, he finally succeeded when he brought his teeth to it and bit through the cellophane sheathe. That is when the warmth set in. He felt the gentle oozing of heat through his body and he knew that he was coming dangerously close to death. It was not a real heat, but the final effect of hyperthermia. He pulled out the first pack clumsily, and made many attempts to break it before he finally put it on the wood decking, and smashed it with the side of his forehead. The small pack burst in heat, real heat, not like that lie creeping through his torso.

  He worked the small heat pack into his shirt and under one arm. It burned painfully, too hot for frozen bare flesh, but he had to bring his temperature up, the temperature inside his chest. He smashed the next with his head, and worked that under the other arm. He felt as though he were about to burst into flame. The final pack he was able to break with his hands, and he jammed it into the front of his pants where he held it between his thighs. The pain was incredible, but he had not given up on himself just yet.

  He rummaged his pack once more, this time pulling out a silver tube. He broke the seal with his teeth, unwrapped a thin silvery blanket, which he worked around his body by rolling a short distance across the dock. There was nothing that he could do for the wet clothing, but this should ease him back from the precipice of a frozen demise. The sun would rise soon and then the silvery blanket would really begin to warm him. That should be about when the small packs would begin to expire.

  Cold started to fill him again, and he knew his simple design was beginning to work. There would be a couple of hours of the worst deep aching pain he had ever felt followed by uncontrollable shivers. He hoped the sun would be high enough to help warm him with the solar blanket. Then he remembered calories; he had to give his body something to burn. He fished out a power-bar and crunched on it with chattering teeth. He could not bring himself to drink water as wet as he was, but the bar went down easy enough.

  The creature screeched again in rage and sheer hatred. It knew the sun was approaching, and it would have to give up the chase for another day. Even though he was almost frozen, Ethan felt a chill run through him at the thing’s voice. His focus on survival waned as his thoughts drifted back to his friends, now dead, and this rather dangerous position.

  There had been plans, a future plotted if only with pillow promises, but one he had looked forward to, one he had thought about often. The thing hunting him had ruined them, and Ethan began to realize their loss. Abby was not gorgeous, but beautiful in her own way. She had been rock-stubborn, but Ethan had learned to handle that, and she would relent if she understood his passion. She was not going to be a perfect wife, but she was going to be his wife, and he had wanted that desperately.

  The sun had lifted itself beyond the edge of the horizon, and almost above the tops of the trees. Color was blooming everywhere, replacing the bluish gray of early dawn. His shivering was now under his control as the solar blanket began to ply its effectiveness. Even the small heat packs were still hot, although no longer painful. He sat up, careful not to release warmth from under the shiny silver blanket, and surveyed the banks.

  He was some thirty yards from the closest shore, and he could not see the creature anywhere. He decided, after a long search, it had abandoned the hunt and returned to the blackness it had come from, that he himself had come from. He did not like the idea of entering the frigid water again, but knew he had to make it to Brighton’s before dusk…or be prey once more.

  He woofed down two more of the power bars, saving the last for midday, and drank an entire bottle of water. He was not sure how far he had to travel today and wanted to be prepared. He stripped the solar blanket away, and the chill air bit at him through his still damp clothing. It hurt enough to make him moan, but he forced himself to wrap the heat packs in the blanket and stow them in the pack.

  After many moments of mentally preparing himself, he eased down into the water. Like the air, it had teeth as well, but not quite as sharp as he had imagined. He lifted his pack, held it above the water, and did a side stroke for the shore. His teeth began to chatter again, the unbearable cold working its way to the very core of him. He made the shore before losing too much of his heat and drug himself out and onto the dry bank. He drew out the solar blanket and wrapped himself again, the heat packs tucked tightly in his arms and groin.

  He lay there for some time, contemplating a frigid slumber before noticing the sun had advanced itself further than he had hoped. He rose suddenly, worked the water from his clothing as best he could, stuffed the heat packs into his pockets, and started along the bank. He had a general idea of where he needed to head, and overshot his direction by a bit. If he went too much to the south, he would continue through the forest for days; too much to the east, he would end up at a farmer’s field or the road. He decided he preferred the road.

  His legs felt gummy and weak, his feet tender and bruised. Warmth eased into him as he walked, and his pace improved steadily, although his feet ached more for it. Even after hours of walking, his clothing remained sodden and wet and his shoes still squished and rubbed on his feet bitterly. He began to feel sorry for himself, angry at his situation, and wanted nothing more than to stop and rest, perhaps sleep a bit.

  It was his instinct to survive that provided his motivation, and he began to sing tunes, first in his head, then aloud in an effort to steer his thoughts from the darker places in his mind. Ethan knew that if he were to stop, even for a short rest, he would not be able to get himself going
again. They would find him either dead from exposure or torn to pieces by what they would call wild animals.

  That was when he realized there were no animals. He had not been singing loud enough to chase anything away, nor was his progress through the forest debris loud enough to announce him as predator. Nevertheless, no winter birds, deer, or anything else moved through the forest. He felt so utterly and completely alone. This added fear to his desire to survive, and he tried to quicken his pace, even though his feet began to slice pain up and along his calves.

  He had run through just about every song he could remember and began simply to talk at random. His clothing had finally begun to dry a bit, even though the heat packs had gone cold, but his shoes did not seem to want to release the moisture they held. His thick socks, he was sure, were to blame. He did not stop, however, to remove them or his shoes; he had to get out of the trees before darkness fell.

  As the sky grew duskier, he began to rush. He was certain that the forest should have released him by now, but it had not. Color began to drain around him as the light was slowly fading. He tried to run, but the forest floor was too chaotic and the trees too thick to allow it. Even a steady jog was not possible, but he pushed himself past the pain, past the failing hope, and as eastward as he could.

  Suddenly, the ground became soft, almost like sand, and he fell forward and into a recently tilled field. The dirt wafted around him in a cloud and filled his mouth with grit. He rose tenderly, his feet now screaming with angry spikes of pain. The sun’s light was brighter here, but still obviously about to escaping the day. He looked around, trying to get his bearings, and saw a small white farmhouse far in the distance.

  He began to stumble toward it, relief beginning to weep from his eyes. He had made it from the forest and soon he would be warm, dry, safe. If he had to, he would break into the home to use the phone. Desperation drove him past the pain, the exhaustion, and he ran toward the house and his salvation. The dirt gave way under his feet making his progression slow and enraging.