by Michael Cole
The bass turned along with the boat, increasing its speed. It started to open its mouth to suck in its prey. Suddenly, its pursuit was stopped cold when it collided with a large wooden barrier in the water. The violent impact rocked the tree hard toward shore. Wood cracked as the Carnobass struggled within the thick branches in which it was wedged. Its tail swung wildly on the surface like a kite in a windstorm, spraying water with each motion.
Mud kicked up as Dave sped his boat onto shore. He looked back, seeing the enormous beast struggling in the shallows. He ran to his truck and grabbed his loaded Mossberg 500 pump-action shotgun from the back seat. He chambered a shell and stepped into the water, going up to his knees. He pressed the butt of the weapon to his right shoulder and squeezed the trigger. Dave ignored the plugging sensation in his ears from the intense blast, and continued firing.
The Carnobass didn’t even feel the buckshot stopping against its rigid scales. Wedged between two thick branches of the tree, the fish twisted violently to free itself. It waved its tail from side to side, and lifted its head up above the water, then slammed itself downward. Dave could hear the sound of cracking wood as he shoved fresh shells into the shotgun’s loading flap. He looked over at the fish as the branches gave way, breaking clear of the trunk. Huge pieces of wood flung upward with a spray of water and bark.
“Jesus!” he yelled. He held his position and raised his shotgun. The fish turned and started swimming out into the lake. Dave fired after it, unloading all six shells, unsure whether he inflicted any damage to the fish. With adrenaline coursing through his veins, he started fumbling with new shells from his pants pocket. He pulled out a handful and pressed the butt of the weapon against his thigh. “Damn it!” he cursed as he dropped a couple into the water. He began slipping the remaining shells into the gun until he noticed red flashing lights reflecting off of the water, followed by the sound of the quick on-and-off yelps of a siren. Holding the weapon by the barrel, he raised his other hand and looked back. “Oh shit.”
With his hand placed on his holstered Beretta, Chief Sydney cautiously stepped down from his Jeep and approached. He saw the smoke wafting from the shotgun barrel and the alarm in Dave’s eyes. More so, he saw the calming swells in the water where he was shooting at. Sydney wasn’t sure what he saw in the water as he pulled up, but something had caused a massive stir.
“Let’s start by putting that down,” he said calmly.
CHAPTER
15
Dr. Wilkow sat in his office, keeping an eye on the office pod window just outside. He pretended to be working on grades on his computer while waiting for the last lab tech to leave. They usually passed by the faculty office pod on their way out, and his office was close enough to the small lobby where he could barely see out the window. He tapped a few things on his computer while waiting, studying the map and shape of Ridgeway Lake. He noted the locations of the reported incidents, which appeared to take place at the mid-point in the vertical portion of the lake.
He made a plan to go out the next day. Another tab on his computer had the Birchwood Lodge website on it. He searched through the site’s shopping section, hoping they sold bathymetry charts.
“Bingo,” he said to himself after determining they had one. He started to devise a plan, which would begin with purchasing the chart while renting a boat from the lodge. He’d check the deepest points near the recorded incidents, and use sonar to get a fresh new reading of the areas to determine if there had been any change. If Wilkow managed to locate any change in the lake bottom, he would use an underwater drone to investigate a possible crevice. He was convinced of his underground lake theory, and he was sure this was an opportunity to prove one existed beneath them.
The first step would be to check the Biology Department’s storage area to sneak away supplies. To do this, he had to wait for the techs to leave, as no equipment was to leave the college without permission from the dean. And there was no doubt they would report him to Nevers.
Wilkow looked up from his computer, seeing someone in a green shirt walking by the window. He carefully stepped out of his office and slowly opened the pod door to peek out. The lab tech continued down the hallway to the stairwell doors. She stopped after putting her hand on the handle, and suddenly looked his way. She saw him peeking out at her. Oh shit.
“Oh sorry,” he said quickly. “I thought you were the pizza guy. He always gets lost. You don’t want any, do ya? Extra cheese.”
“No thanks. I got food waiting at home,” the tech said and left.
“Whew,” he exhaled sharply. That was close. Thank God she wasn’t hungry. I need to come up with a better bluff. He made his way into the lab and went straight to the storage room in the back.
Several different types of equipment were stored in the large room. He checked through field sampling supplies, diving gear, old chemistry sets, and anatomy charts. However, there was no sonar monitor, nor was there an underwater drone.
“Oh, come on,” he groaned. He went through the room again, but with no success. The department did not possess the equipment he needed. Thus, the only way to obtain them was to get them himself. He locked up the room and returned to his office.
He got on the internet to look for places to purchase the items. He knew he could get the sonar at any fishing and hunting store, but the drone would be a different story. He checked websites of stores in the surrounding area which sold diving and electronic equipment. He grabbed his phone and dialed the phone number to one called Aquatic Genesis. He spoke with a customer service representative, who confirmed they didn’t have the underwater drone. Of course, she mentioned she could special order it, and they would have it in a week. That wasn’t good enough for Wilkow. He wanted to be on the lake ASAP.
Calls to other nearby stores went exactly the same way. It seemed the only way to obtain the drone would be to order online, which would require him to wait. Before he gave up, another store website caught his eye; a place called Huron Valley. It was a research drone from a brand called Gladius. Wilkow read about its features. It was able to dive down to six hundred feet. The unit had an attached camera which would send a feed to a monitor. Wilkow felt himself grow excited, until he noticed one little problem: The store was located in Alcona County…a three-hour drive. Unfortunately, it seemed to be the only option. He leaned back in his chair and thought about it.
I’d have to postpone until tomorrow, but if I leave now, I’ll be back tonight. It became clear this was the best way to go. Before getting up, he noticed the price to the drone. $2,348.98. Holy shit. He didn’t have that kind of money on him.
A thought came to mind. He knew there was a college credit card in Dr. Nevers’ office, specifically for department spending. This is technically a research project, he rationalized in his mind. What the hell.
He went out into the hallway to Dr. Nevers’ office. As expected, it was locked. He checked his pants pocket and dug out a paper clip. He straightened the metal to a long needlelike prong, while constantly glancing down the hallway to make sure he wouldn’t be seen. He knelt down and picked the lock. After a few tries, he felt the latch pop open, and he twisted the handle. He observed Dr. Nevers’ organized desk, and remembered where he once witnessed him store the card. It was in a desk drawer, which was also locked.
He kept a watchful eye on the office entrance as he picked the lock. Campus Security often passed through around this time, a fact he had just remembered. He hurriedly picked the lock with his paperclip. This one proved to be a more difficult endeavor.
“Come on, you little…stubborn…piece… of…sh—” the lock gave way and the drawer popped open. He sorted through some papers and a few of Dr. Nevers’ personal belongings until he found the card. “Ta-da!” The sound of approaching footsteps cut his celebration short. He snatched up the papers inside the drawer, and pushed it mostly shut, just enough so it wouldn’t latch. He then went to the office entrance, trying to appear not in any hurry.
Wilkow recognized
the green polo shirt and black pants worn by the security guard as he approached the door. The guard stared at the professor in the doorway, and then glanced at the name on the sign, Dr. Richard Nevers.
“Did you guys change your uniforms?” Wilkow nonchalantly asked.
“A couple weeks ago,” the guard replied. “May I ask what you’re doing in here?”
“Oh!” Wilkow acted surprised. “The dean left his door unlocked. I was just dropping off some papers he wanted me to turn in.” He pointed at the papers on the desk. The guard furrowed his eyebrows and glanced at them. “As you can see, I was just on my way out.”
The guard eyeballed him suspiciously, then grinned. “Alright then,” he said and started walking off. Wilkow quietly breathed a sigh of relief.
Twice now, I lucked out. He ducked back into the office to rearrange the contents of the drawer. This way, the dean wouldn’t immediately notice the card was missing. He closed it completely shut and left the office. He looked at his watch, seeing it was nearly 5:00. He only had so much daylight left in his long haul, and he would need to stop for gas. He left the building and hurried out to the lot. He programmed his GPS for Huron Valley, then started his car to leave. With his directions set, he left campus to begin his very long round trip.
CHAPTER
16
The beginnings of dusk cast a shadow over Chief Sydney while he leaned up against his Jeep and watched the County Sheriff deputies guiding a contractor’s boat as it hauled the sunken rowboat from the cove. Although Sydney had arrived at the scene hours earlier after hearing the gunshots, late 911 calls had continued to come in. Sheriff Logan was notified and wasted no time coming out to Rodney yet again. He arrived and took charge of the scene, ignoring all of Sydney’s advice and statements, including a warning about a fallen submerged tree. Consequently, the towing line and the boat itself got snagged on several occasions. Seeing the know-it-alls scramble to undo their mess brought minor amusement to the chief.
All of the RPD officers on scene stood by as Logan demonstrated his superiority. EMS also arrived, growing impatient as the sheriff’s divers failed to retrieve any bodies. David Culverhouse gave a statement to the deputies, but was still taken into custody as a possible suspect in the disappearances of the occupants of the other boat. Once he described an enormous fish in the cove, it seemed he had lost all credibility with the police, who instantly believed he was mentally deranged. Sydney made some remarks in Dave’s favor, informing the sheriff he thought he had seen something in the water, although he did not specify that it was a giant fish.
Sydney was still unsure himself of what it was he saw. His mind pondered which was real and which was his imagination. The splashing was definitely real, as was the terror in Dave’s eyes. He thought he had briefly seen something beneath the sizzling water; something large of a greenish color. He wondered if that was his imagination. Whatever the case was, he knew deep down that Dave didn’t murder anybody.
Standing by the parked ambulance was Joel, again on volunteer duty. He had arrived in his personal vehicle after receiving the call, meeting up with the ambulance. His old white van with emergency flashers on top was often the subject of jokes from his crew, and sometimes even from the chief. Right now, however, nobody was joking. Boredom had soured the moods of everyone on scene, as had the irritation caused by Logan’s superiority complex. Joel walked over to Sydney, who continued to glare at the sheriff from his Jeep.
“What the heck has been going on here lately, Morgan?” Joel asked. “First that crash, then that thing with Mrs. Stanton, and now this… all in a couple days. Is there a full moon or something?”
“I wish I knew,” Sydney said. At that moment, he cupped his hand over his mouth as he yawned. Being up most of the night and working all day had taken its toll on him. “God,” he said. The drowsiness added to Sydney’s frustration, which in itself amplified his leg pain. “There doesn’t happen to be a coffee machine in that ambulance, is there?” It was a half-joke.
“Unfortunately, no,” Joel said, cracking a small grin. “Great idea though.”
“I used to be able to stay up all night and day, and barely be tired. One time, I did a forty-eight-hour stakeout. Now, only I’ve been dealing with stuff less than twenty-four hours, and I’m beat,” he said. He took a long deep breath. “Maybe I’m just old. Perhaps…” he stopped and looked at Joel, sixteen years his senior. He suddenly felt a bit foolish. “Oops.”
Joel laughed at him. “It’s something you adapt to,” he said. “Best thing to do is accept it.” His eyes went to Sheriff Logan barking orders to his men. “And don’t turn out like this idiot.”
Logan started up the hill to Sydney. “My guys haven’t found anyone in there,” he said as he approached Sydney. “They found fishing poles, tackle boxes, and other stuff. But no bodies.” He gestured toward Joel. “I guess you guys can take off.” Joel snickered at him. Like I take orders from you.
“You cool with that, Chief?” he asked Sydney. It was only meant to piss off Logan. Although he didn’t show it, Sydney could sense the effect. He resisted smiling.
“Yeah. Have a good night. Thanks for coming.”
“Not a problem,” Joel said. He got into his van and drove off, followed by the ambulance.
“I suppose you can have your guys clear out as well,” Logan said. “We pretty much have everything under control.” Sydney scoffed.
“Yeah, I can see that.” He pointed to the boat. “And by the way, no, I’m keeping my guys around the lake. I’m issuing an order right now for the town that nobody is to be on the lake until we figure out what’s going on.”
“Close the lake?” Logan said, looking at Sydney like he was insane. “You’re not telling me you buy that story about a big fish that ate people…”
“I’m not saying anything on that matter,” Sydney said. “But I don’t believe these waters to be safe. There’s something weird going on, and until I figure out what, I’m not letting anyone else get killed.”
“Chief, you can’t just close the lake.”
“Oh you bet your ass I can, and I will,” Sydney said. “Listen, Logan, we…”
“Address me as Sheriff Logan,” the sheriff said, attempting to demonstrate superiority. Their voices traveled, drawing the attention of all the officers on scene. Everyone slowly nudged closer to eavesdrop.
“Listen, SHERIFF, we’ve had three incidents within the last twenty-four hours, with now four people confirmed missing, at least one dead, plus possible others. Each incident occurred in the water. I’m declaring it unsafe until I can find out what’s going on.” Sydney started to walk away, but before doing so, he turned toward Logan one more time. “This is my jurisdiction, and you cannot supersede it.”
“Oh you can bet that I can,” Logan fired back.
“Not without clearing it with the mayor first,” Sydney said. “Good luck getting in touch with him.” Logan didn’t respond. He knew Sydney was correct; Mayor Greene had not been pleased with the Sheriff’s Department lately. But considering the current events, he figured he might make headway.
“Come on, guys,” he growled at his deputies. They began boarding their vehicles and clearing out. As they did, Chief Sydney summoned his officers. They all approached and huddled in a semicircle to listen to his instructions.
“I don’t give a crap what that moron says, we’re closing the lake,” Sydney said.
“Can you actually do that?” one of the officers said.
“We’re GOING to,” Sydney said. “I want officers patrolling the shore, and at least one unit on boat patrol. Keep a spotlight out.” Rumbles of discontent spread through the small crowd. “What the hell’s your guys’ problem?”
“Well, uhh…” one of the officers stuttered. Sydney felt himself slowly losing his temper.
“Come on, spit it out!”
“Chief, it’s a big lake, and there’s a bunch of people here!” another officer spoke up, a tall, built man named Larabee. “It’s th
e middle of July! People are here on vacation. Some are paying thousands of dollars to fish here. You seriously want us to tell them NOT to be on the lake?”
“Yes,” Sydney said, bluntly. “I’ll let the midnight shift know. Just get started. I’ll speak with the owner of the lodge.” He turned to get into his jeep.
“Uhh…Chief,” another one of the officers said. Sydney looked back.
“Yes?”
“Beg your pardon, sir, but it’s a big-ass lake to cover. That’s gonna require a lot of manpower…and frankly…midnights has only three patrollers.” At least it was an honest question and not a protest.
“I’ll tell dispatch to see if anyone wants to come in. Otherwise, expect to stay over till 0300. All of you.” Immediately, the officers expressed their discontent in the form of irritated groans. Sydney climbed into his Jeep and inserted the key into the ignition.
“You’ve got to be kidding me, Chief,” Larabee called out. “This lake is over three miles from one end to the other, and you seriously want us to tell everyone they can’t be in the water. You realize we’re gonna have a…”
Sydney’s temper broke.
“Damn it, you guys! For Christ sake, give me a break here!” He started his engine. “Quit complaining and do your jobs. Work for your paycheck for once.”
Sydney closed the door to his Jeep and took off. Even after he was out of sight, he could practically hear the angry rants from the shift. He was well aware they referred to him as an asshole, has-been, prick, jerk, and even cripple. While they followed his orders, there was no doubt there was a lack of respect for him, and that they questioned the validity of his orders. He didn’t care.