by Michael Cole
“You…motherfucking…bastard…devil!” He continued squeezing the trigger, drawing nothing but dull clicks. He ejected the empty mag while throttling the jet ski to pursue the beast. He let it drop into the water and fumbled for a fresh one.
The cruiser regained its buoyancy and evened out. The tip of the bow was smashed in and the decking suffered major damage. The officers stood up in shock, having witnessed Marlow’s horrible demise. One of them finally moved to the controls. Surprisingly, the engine was still functional. However, the damage was critical, and there was obvious hull damage. They moved the boat closer to shore, picking up stragglers in the water along the way.
Sydney grew frustrated after losing sight of the creature. It had dove again while swimming out into the outer reaches of the lake. He patrolled in circles around the immediate area, hoping for another chance to shoot it. Overcome with rage, his irrational mind believed the minute possibility of getting a lucky shot, perhaps in the softer tissue of its eye or mouth. He still struggled to get the magazine in his pistol while operating the jet ski. Finally, he stopped and looked down to his weapon. He properly inserted the magazine and chambered the first round.
He looked back up, just as the creature emerged dead ahead. It was speeding right toward him.
“Shit!” he yelled in alarm. He turned left and throttled. The huge open mouth passed by, and the body scales scraped against the hull. Sydney lifted his gun to fire point blank. Just as he begun to squeeze the trigger, the Carnobass whipped its tail and struck the hull. The jet ski hurled to the side and quickly sank beneath the waves. The force of the blow caused Sydney to roll over several times underwater. As he attempted to straighten his position, the jet ski rolled overtop of him. His head banged against the rigid hull. The next thing he was a red cloud of his own blood forming in the water around him. Finally, his life vest pulled him to the surface. Though disoriented, he managed to draw a breath. Through his foggy vision, he could see the black spiny fin cutting along the surface in his direction. The natural instinct to survive kicked in. Sydney thrust his arms along the water and kicked his legs.
The nerves in his injured leg fired up, causing Sydney to yell with each kick. The pain quickly increased his fatigue, and finally he gave up and watched the bass steadily approach. It was a bit slower, having fed on more than sufficient food, but that did not stop its intent on killing its next target.
“Chief!”
The familiar voice drew Sydney’s attention to his left. A fourteen-foot johnboat raced toward him, with Joel at the motor. Seated in it were four people he rescued from the water. Joel steered the boat in front of Sydney and reached far over the side. He grabbed the chief by the shirt and throttled up again, dragging him alongside just as the bass opened its mouth. They cleared the fish’s path by inches and quickly turned toward shore. Joel held on to Sydney, and looked to the people huddled in the boat.
“Would you guys mind…?” They realized what he meant and rushed to help pull the chief in. Sydney lay on his back, slowly slipping into unconsciousness. “Hang on!” Joel yelled as he shifted the motor into the highest gear. The bow lifted nearly two feet and the boat bounced in the swells as it raced forward. He slowed as they reached the shallow docking area, eventually coming up alongside an empty dock.
With the area now void of prey, and its hunger satisfied for a short period, the Carnobass swam out to the depths of the lake.
CHAPTER
20
Activity at Readfield Hospital went from quiet to near chaotic. After the attack in Ridgeway Lake, many people rushed to the ER. Every available paramedic unit was dispatched to the resort area, while outside departments were notified for assistance. In addition to the ambulances on route to the hospital, several people transported themselves to the ER seeking treatment for injuries. The tourists had become their own worst enemy in fleeing the beaches. During the mass panic, people trampled over each other, fought over floatation devices, looted belongings, and worse.
Nurses were overburdened with the rapid influx of patients. To make matters worse, people arrived with minor injuries such as small cuts or bumps and bruises. But each person had to be evaluated, and it made it harder for the staff to make way for the more critical patients. There were two ER doctors on duty, and they too were quickly overwhelmed. And the most critical patients hadn’t even arrived yet.
At the check-in counter, Meya argued with the oncology doctor on the house phone.
“But ma’am, my patient’s condition is severe. She may need—”
“Is she dying?” Meya asked. Withholding the anger in her voice was growing increasingly difficult.
“She very well might be,” the oncologist said.
“In the next hour?”
“Well, no…”
“Then tell her you’ll meet with her again shortly. We have a dire situation here, Doctor, and we don’t have enough staff. Get to the ER now!” She slammed the phone down and went back to the ER lobby. Almost every seat was full with patients waiting their turn to be seen. Meya scanned the room in search for the RN supervisor on duty. She had just emerged from an exam room, escorting a patient out.
“Lisa!” Meya called out. The supervisor heard her name called and stopped. “What’s the word? How many answered?”
“I called every nurse,” Lisa said. “Only five answered, but they’re coming now.”
“Call the others again. Tell them they HAVE to come in,” Meya said. Lisa sighed. Those would not be pleasant phone calls, mainly because it was never stated in the contracts that nurses were obligated to mandated overtime. But it was an extraordinary situation, and she knew Meya wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Yes, ma’am,” she simply said. Meya walked away and took the next patient. It was a man who claimed his wrist was broken. She took him into an exam room.
“Hold your hand flat,” she instructed him. He did so. “Now make a fist.” He squeezed his fingers into his palm. It was weak, but he had range of motion. “It’s not broken,” she said.
“Are you sure?” the patient began to argue.
“It’s sprained,” she told him. She opened a drawer and grabbed a wrist bandage. She wrapped it over the wrist and palm and taped it up. She snatched up a prescription pad and jotted a few notes and her signature. “This is for 800 mg ibuprofen. Come back if it gets worse.” She quickly left the room and went to the counter with the next patient. She picked up a clipboard at the counter to call the next patient.
“Oh God, look at that,” somebody called out. Several people looked at the forty-inch lobby television. The news was covering the incident, and the footage showed the twenty-foot police cruiser resting on the sandbank. The hull was dented in, and the whole top of the bow had been crushed inward several inches. The next shot of footage showed people scrambling on the beach.
The next shot made Meya gasp. People were lifting an unconscious law enforcement officer out of a fourteen-foot johnboat. The voiceover broadcast narrated that the police chief had been injured during the incident. Meya turned and found Lisa again.
“Lisa! I need two nurses. I’m going to Birchwood Lodge right now.”
“You’re leaving?” Lisa nearly yelled. “Why? We’re short staffed and we need every able-bodied person.” Meya realized she needed a rational answer.
“I…we’re going to set up a medical tent there. That way we’ll condense the inflow of patients to the ER. Now get me a couple nurses. Have them meet me at the loading dock.” Without waiting for an answer, Meya hurried to the rear of the hospital. There, she quickly started loading gear into a transport unit.
********
Paramedics and police officers covered Birchwood Beach like ants. Rescue officials continued pulling stragglers out of the shallow waters, while police attempted to seal off the area. A sheriff’s deputy used a bullhorn to announce “place vacate the beach,” but not everyone complied. Loved ones reunited with each other after being separated in the confusion. Other people c
alled out for missing friends and family that never returned from the lake.
Morgan Sydney had slipped in and out of consciousness since Joel hauled him out of the boat. He was now fully conscious, but still in a daze. Paramedics sat him up near an ambulance and looked at the gash on his head.
“You’re still bleeding, Chief,” one of the paramedics said. “I’m gonna wrap a bandage on it, but you’re going to need to see a doctor.” Sydney didn’t listen. He stared out into the water without blinking. It wasn’t a blank stare, however. It was more like a vengeful trance. He looked at the glassy blue surface, knowing that something horrible lurked under it. The sight of Tim Marlow trapped in the creature’s jaws, while reaching out to him, replayed in his mind like a sadistic torture. The one officer on the force that gave total dedication to the job, and absolute respect to Sydney, had paid the ultimate price. Sydney knew, had he been just two or three seconds faster, Marlow would have been saved. The only part worse than that, was that Sydney wasn’t sure his death was at least instant.
“Sir” The medic tried to get the chief’s attention. “Sir, can you hear me?” After receiving no response, he looked at Joel, who stood nearby, and shrugged his shoulders. “How hard did you say he hit his head?”
“I didn’t see it,” Joel said. “Maybe I should be the one to take him to the hospital.”
“No,” Sydney spoke out.
“But Chief,” the medic said. “You’re definitely gonna need stitches, and I believe you have a concussion.”
“I have work to do,” Sydney said. His voice was iceberg cold. As the medic began to plead further, Joel put his hands on his shoulder to stop him.
“Just wait,” he whispered. He knew Sydney was fixated on Marlow’s death. The news of the fallen officer had spread across town as quickly as that of the fish. Tim Marlow had become the first police officer to fall in the line of duty in the Rodney Police Department.
“I’ll see him,” a female voice called out. Sydney recognized the voice. He turned and saw Meya walking toward him. A large white medical tent had just been set up behind her, with aides setting up tables and equipment. Sydney’s natural instinct to protest kicked in.
“I don’t need—”
“You don’t get a say, Morgan,” Meya interrupted him. Sydney’s initial response was to stand up and walk away. However, when he tried to stand up, he realized how dazed he really was. The pain in his head throbbed as if all his blood had been pumped there, and the beach seemed to spin. He nearly fell back down in his seat, caught in time by Joel who rushed in to grab him.
“I concur,” Joel said. Sydney conceded only with a slight nod. A very slight one. Having dealt with patients equally as stubborn, Joel recognized it. He tucked his arm around Sydney’s back and helped him to the tent. Once there, Sydney sat in a chair, which looked more like a simple folding chair than anything from a hospital. He didn’t care. Joel left the tent to grant him privacy. Sydney hardly noticed. He simply stared out into the lake through the tent opening, fighting the fresh horrible memory that plagued his brain.
“I hear ya, Chief,” Marlow yelled, demonstrating his wit even in the worst of circumstances. Sydney had reached, and nearly had hold. Then those jaws emerged, white on the inside, with lines of small teeth within. Physical pain broke his memory, a sharp prick piercing his forehead.
“Ow, goddamnit,” he cursed and jolted. Meya stood, with the suture needle now covered in his blood. She grabbed him by the top of the head and forcibly straightened him out.
“Seriously, Morgan, hold still,” she said. He grimaced and stared ahead at the water while she applied the stitching. “Oh, quit the tough guy act,” she said. Sydney gave no reaction. Meya took a moment to consider he had been through a lot today, in addition to being injured. Then the thought hit her; once again, he had nearly lost his life. That feeling of worry crept into her mindset for the first time in years. She completed her stitching and started to apply the bandage. “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had to tend to you,” she said.
“You always hated it,” he answered.
“I always knew it was a matter of time before I would have to do it again,” she said. She looked him in the eye. “How’s the pain? How are you feeling?” Sydney exhaled strongly.
“What do you care?”
“I was married to you for nine years,” Meya said. “I’m allowed to still be concerned.” She finished taping up the bandage. “I heard about the young man.” Sydney looked up at her and back at the lake.
“His name was Tim,” he said. He leaned back, feeling the world starting to spin again. The pain throbbed hard enough to make him groan.
“You’re gonna need to sit out the rest of the day,” Meya instructed. “You might miss the busy life of a state cop, but today, you’re confined to rest. Doctor’s orders.”
“I thought I missed the busy life of a state cop,” he said. “But I don’t have it in me anymore. I don’t know if I’m too old, or too beat up, but I just don’t have the energy.”
“You are too old, and definitely too beat up,” Meya said. “And you’re not a state cop anymore. You’re chief, here, in Rodney.” He didn’t speak. “It’s not a bad thing.”
“What do you expect me to do?” Sydney said. “Sit around in a patrol car and eat donuts?” He thought about his own question for a moment. “I guess it’s best. Better than getting one of my men killed.”
“Oh knock it off!” Meya said. “Listen, Morgan…you were right about the lake not being safe. Your judgment is as good as ever.” Sydney looked away. Her words were gentle, but they didn’t help mask the anguish of Marlow’s death.
Crowds of concerned residents and crazed media personnel rushed to the parking lot as the Chevy Silverado came to a stop. Mayor Greene had barely stepped out of his vehicle as a wave of reporters quickly began shoving microphones in his face. An onslaught of questions invaded his ears at once. He couldn’t manage to make one out over another.
Finally, several officers cleared a path for him in the crowd. People continued shouting questions as he made his way to the beach, but they became more discernible.
“Mr. Mayor, you issued an order to reopen the lake. Do you assume any responsibility for this incident?” One said.
“Mayor Greene,” another one shouted, “how long has your office known of a giant fish in Ridgeway Lake?” Microphones protruded through the wall of deputies, prodding the mayor in the chest and sides. He ducked down as he walked, as if seeking cover from enemy fire.
“Listen,” he said. His voice was quickly lost in the barrage of questions. “LISTEN!” he spoke with volume and authority. The chatter downed a bit. “Now look, the situation is unprecedented. I assure you, however, that this is the very first we’ve known of this animal.”
“Then why was the lake closed?”
“There had been various incidents concerning the lake these past few days, but there was no evidence that led us to believe something like this creature existed.”
“What’s going to be done about it?”
“I’m on my way, right this moment, to consult with our law enforcement officials. We will determine the best and speediest way of exterminating the threat. Until further notice, the entire lake is closed. Thank you.” Greene turned around as the crowd yet again erupted. He slipped under the yellow caution tape that cordoned the beach. He walked to the medical tent and peeked inside. Sitting in the front was Morgan Sydney, with a white bandage taped to his forehead. When Greene glanced in, Sydney appeared to be staring downward. But those eyes soon rose, up at him.
Greene quickly continued walking. Being confronted by Sydney was something he wasn’t enthusiastic about. Greene knew he would hear about how the beach should have remained closed, and now people are dead. Greene briefly questioned in his mind whether he was truly to blame or not. He did open the lake, and as a result, many people were killed, and many others injured. But how could he have known? After all, who was to know there was a man-eatin
g fish in the lake. Or anywhere, as a matter of fact?
Greene saw a nurse approaching the tent with supplies in hand. He waved his hand to get her attention.
“Excuse me,” he said. She stopped. “How’s he doing…the chief?” He kept his voice low.
“He got banged up pretty good,” the nurse said back to him. She spoke loudly. Greene cringed slightly, fearing Sydney would overhear. That fear was vindicated less than a moment later.
“You son of a bitch!” Sydney called out. Greene looked back to him. The chief clung to the tent support as he stepped out. Meya stood behind him, already exhausted in her attempts to protest his actions.
“Listen, Chief,” Greene said. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he said the first thing that came to his mind. “Okay, I get it. You were right. The lake is closed now.”
“Oh you can’t do that,” Sydney said. “That’d kill the town, remember? The tourists, the lodge, your voters!” After steadying himself, he marched toward the mayor. Greene backed away, in fear of being struck.
“Chief…Chief…” Sydney didn’t stop. His right hand clenched into a fist. Greene’s eye went big when he saw this. “MORGAN!” Several eyes turned toward them, and many officers quickly rushed in to separate them, including Sheriff Logan.
“Morgan, don’t!” Meya called out. Sydney immediately stopped and looked back at her. After a moment, he relaxed his posture and looked back to Greene. He didn’t offer any apology, but Greene didn’t need one. Not being punched by someone he severely pissed off was enough. The deputies and RPD officers gathered around.
“Listen, Chief,” Greene said. He hated that everyone was gathered to hear his apology. “I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry, not just for failing to hear your advice, but for the loss of your man. Officer…uh…” an assistant leaned in close and whispered into his ear. “Officer Tim Marlow.”