Creature From The Crevasse

by Michael Cole

  “I’m sure you are,” Sydney said. “Listen, my boats are banged up. If you’re truly sorry, let me go out there and kill this thing. I’ll need new boats, but more specifically I’ll need…”

  “I’m sorry, Morgan,” Greene said, “but what you really need is a leave of absence. Not a penalty, but because you’re injured and under grievance.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Sydney said. He nearly stumbled, but steadied himself. His lack of balance was noticeable, however.

  “I’m not kidding,” Greene said. “I’m leaving it to Sheriff Logan to create a plan of action.” Now Sydney stumbled.

  “Why don’t you just put my balls in a vice?” he shouted. Logan stepped in-between them.

  “Listen, Chief,” he said. “It’s not a time to be dick measuring.”

  “Says you, the guy who’s been trying to manage each of my cases the past few days. Listen, SHERIFF, you don’t know what you’re up against. I guarantee, all you’re gonna achieve is getting your men killed.” Logan opened his mouth to retaliate with a snide remark, like you did, but held back. Not out of courtesy, but knowing how he’d sound to everyone gathering around. With the mayor giving Logan support, Sydney knew he’d lost this dispute. He backed away, but stayed close enough to overhear. Logan watched him, resisting the urge to continue the argument. He heard the mayor clear his throat in an obvious attempt to get his attention.

  “Sheriff, we need to do something soon. Very soon. People are vacating. The year is dead as we know it. If we don’t deal with this, people will never come here again. The news is already going nuts with this. We’re already being dubbed Carnage Lake.”

  “I’m getting every available man ready,” Logan said. He spoke loudly, as many of his deputies were hearing his plan for the first time as well. “We have patrol boats being transported here. Lots of them. We’re going out there TONIGHT. We’re going to bait the son of a bitch, and unload everything we have into it. Plain and simple.” There was a mixed reaction from the surrounding deputies. Some of them were iffy about going into the water, especially after seeing the ravaged RPD cruiser, but others were feeling gung-ho. Knowing they’d have the opportunity to unload some firepower was gratifying. Sydney shook his head at the ground.

  “Do you wake up in the morning, and ask yourself in the mirror, how stupid can I be today?” he spat. Logan’s expression grew heated.

  “If you don’t like the plan, tough,” he said. “As the mayor said, I’ll handle the situation. Go home.”

  “That thing will capsize every one of your patrol boats,” Sydney persisted. “It moves too fast, and even if you do hit it, I don’t think your bullets can penetrate it.”

  “You know he has a point,” a voice called out beyond the crowd. All eyes went toward the man approaching. Sydney pushed his way through the crowd once he recognized Dr. Wilkow.

  After overhearing the chatter regarding Logan’s plan, Wilkow couldn’t help but put his two cents in. He approached the crowd, but was unable to see either the chief or sheriff. Then suddenly, like stage curtains opening up for a show, two people were simultaneously pushed in opposite directions. From the opening emerged the chief, approaching him like an enraged maniac.

  “YOU!” he growled. Wilkow stopped in his tracks. He had heard through the grapevine of the officer that died. He suddenly questioned whether he should have arrived.

  “Oh, whoops,” he said, and started to turn away. “I thought you were discussing having overhead covers installed. Just be careful with those sharp turns…”

  “Did you know that thing was out there?” Sydney questioned angrily. Meya caught up with him. She placed a hand on his shoulder. Surprisingly, it seemed to have a calming effect. Wilkow looked at both him and her, and finally answered.

  “When you brought in the scale, I had a suspicion,” he said. “I’ve had this theory for forever. Everyone thought I was a nutjob, but today I proved them wrong!” He cackled an exaggerated laugh. He noticed that neither the chief nor any of the other officials were amused. In fact, they looked at him as if he actually was a nutjob. He cleared his throat. “I discovered it before it attacked. I also discovered where it came from.” The crowd gathered, as if listening to the reading of a story. Mayor Greene stepped to the front of the crowd.

  “You know what that thing is?”

  “I call it a Carnobass,” Wilkow said. “Basically your typical largemouth…only bigger, obviously. It came up through a tunnel at the bottom of the lake. Now that it’s here, it’ll feed on whatever it can find.”

  “Wait, wait…a tunnel?” Greene said, holding both hands up.

  “To where?” Meya asked. Wilkow suddenly felt as if he was teaching a class.

  “That’s the cool part,” he said. “Ladies and gentlemen, there is a huge underground lake underneath us. There’s an entire ecosystem down there. Possibly ancient species that roamed this earth long before we shat all over it.”

  “What the hell is this guy talking about?” Logan cut in. “Who the hell are you?”

  “He works at the university,” Sydney said. “He knows about that thing out there.”

  “Let’s back up there, Chiefy,” Wilkow said. “Most of what I know is mainly theory. This is the first proof I have that these things exist. But I can say one thing, I agree with the chief about the use of weapons. I’ve analyzed the scale, and it’s composed of concentrated ketamine and layers of…” He saw the confused faces of everyone in front of him. “It’s really tough. You won’t penetrate it with bullets.”

  “Listen, Doc,” Logan said. “We have armor-piercing rounds that’ll cut through anything. I appreciate your help, but we won’t need you.” Wilkow raised his hands in defeat.

  “I’m just saying, this guy will be hungry again tonight! His metabolism works fast up here. He’s used to eating stuff like oversized crayfish and other creatures with shelled plating. Trust me, the people he ate today look like Swiss cheese by now.” He instantly regretted saying that after remembering one of those victims was a police officer. Sydney didn’t appear angered, but sickened. Wilkow’s voice grew softer. “The point is, the bass will be ready to feed by the time you head out there. I would suggest…”

  “No…I suggest, that you turn around and leave. You see those barriers there,” Logan said, pointing at the yellow caution tape. “You shouldn’t be past those. Out you go. Bye.” Wilkow gave an exaggerated frown and left.

  Your funeral.

  “Alright, I need everyone to clear out,” Logan said. He scanned the area for the Fire/Rescue captain and spotted him. “Will you have your crew and EMS on standby, in case we do have things go sour?”

  “Of course,” the captain said. “We’ve got volunteers called in as well. Everyone’s on duty tonight.”

  “Good,” Logan said. He looked at his deputies. “Alright guys, let’s get to work.”

  Meya heard her name called. It was the nurse, calling from the tent. There were patients needing to be seen. She waved and nodded to indicate she’d be right there. She looked back to say something to Sydney, but he was gone. She saw him disappear into the lot, where one of his officers would give him a ride to his Jeep. For a man with a limp and a nasty bump on the head, he moved fast. She sighed and returned to the tent, knowing that he needed more medical attention than he had gotten. “Stubborn bastard,” she mumbled.

  Joel had stood aside the whole time while listening to the conversation. He had already been paged about being on volunteer EMS duty tonight to assist the sheriff. “The wife’s gonna be ticked,” he said to himself.

  CHAPTER

  21

  Sydney slammed the door behind him and went straight into the bedroom. His uniform felt as if it was peeling off his body as he stripped. After throwing on some jeans and a black T-shirt, he limped to the refrigerator. He snatched a beer, intended to be the first of many, and tore the tab off. Bottoms up.

  He had spent the past two hours with Mr. and Mrs. Marlow in their resid
ence. He gave the typical speech of how their son served with distinction, and how he’d be missed. Informing a mother of her son’s death was almost as bad as seeing Marlow killed. What made it worse was when they asked if they could see him. Sydney choked on his own words as he figured out the most respectable way to explain their son was eaten alive. Sydney stayed with them to offer comfort. Other loved ones were notified, and people started arriving at their house. Sydney found himself answering the same questions over and over. Each time, he had to relive the horrific experience. Some people were sympathetic to him, having been so close to rescuing Marlow. Others looked at him with contempt, as if he was to blame. Sydney wondered which view was correct.

  Hardly a moment passed and the bottle was half-empty. He raised it again to finish it off. A knock on the door halted his progress. The chief glared at the shut door, and decided to ignore it. He went to drink again, but another knock pounded the door. It was just a little harder this time, but it demonstrated just the right level of persistence. Sydney went to the door. He opened it, ready to curse out whoever was on the other side.

  The open doorway revealed Meya. She was dressed in blue scrubs after working all day. She still wore her stethoscope around her neck.

  “Hi,” she said. There was a long silent pause between them. Sydney stared at her as if looking at a ghost. Meya quickly noticed the beer in his hand. Either he’s really surprised to see me, or he’s already had too many.

  “Hi,” he said. “How’d you know where I live?” She grinned nervously. It wasn’t the most welcoming response she hoped for, but she did just drop in unannounced to her ex-husband’s doorstep.

  “Someone mentioned you were in this neighborhood,” she said. “You’re pretty well known around here. I just looked for the house with the Jeep Rubicon.” It was a reasonable enough explanation for Sydney to accept. He watched her eyes stare down to his beer bottle. He looked at it, and lifted it up.

  “What?” he said. “You gonna give me a lecture about this?” Meya shook her head.

  “No. Actually…I, uh…” she paused for a moment. “I haven’t tried any of the local bars yet. I figured…” she tapped her foot on the pavement, “perhaps…we both had a rough day. Might as well get shit-faced.” It was not the answer Sydney expected, and it was visible in his reaction. Both his eyebrows had raised, and his jaw dropped an inch. His not-yet-intoxicated mind weighed the options. He could tell her “hell no” and send her on her way. That action would fit the mood he was in.

  Then he realized misery loved company. Sydney could tell from Meya’s appearance that she had a rough day as well. If he was going to get drunk at home, he’d be doing it with cheap beer. That would take a while.

  “What the hell? As you heard the mayor say, I’m officially off duty tonight,” he remarked. He limped to the bedroom to dig his wallet out of his discarded work pants. Meya took the liberty to step inside. Naturally, she viewed the interior of his home. Surprisingly, it was neat and well cleaned. Sydney emerged from the bedroom. “There’s a place called Gamby’s,” he said. “Luckily for us, I doubt it’ll be crowded with vacationers.”

  “One thing before we go,” Meya said. She approached him and put her hand on his head. Sydney felt a rapid increase in his pulse.

  “What are you…?”

  “I need to change your bandage first,” she said. She unwrapped the bandage and peeled away the gauze. There was still a bit of dried blood around the wound. Sydney never found time to clean up during the day. She produced a small vial of sterile saline from her pocket and soaked a small square of gauze with it, then used it as a rag to wipe away at the crusted blood. Afterwards, she checked the stitches to make sure they were holding properly, then dressed the wound with fresh gauze. “There,” she said. “All set. Now, do we want to drive together, or separate, or…?”

  “Can’t imagine a third way,” Sydney said. He tucked his wallet into his jeans. “I’ll drive.” He shut the lights off and led her out the door.

  ********

  The sun sank into a low point in the horizon. Its golden rays of light stretched at a near perfect horizontal angle. At that angle, it was blinding to look toward the west. Luckily, the lake was in the opposite direction, so Joel took a seat on the dock and watched his shadow gradually grow longer into the calm surface. He and the fire chief stood on standby, per orders from Sheriff Logan. Throughout the lake were other emergency responders, prepped to provide assistance in case the police ran into trouble.

  They listened to the police chatter over a radio on their docked boat. Logan had announced the order to begin the operation moments earlier. The plan was for patrol units to travel in groups of two cruisers. One would troll ahead of the other, while chumming bits of fish guts as if trying to bait a shark. The second boat would have officers ready with Bushmaster M4 rifles to shoot the creature when it surfaced.

  When Joel heard the plan, it took everything in him not to shoot his mouth off. He knew it would be of no use, however. Logan was not the type to take advice from anyone but himself. Joel kept thinking of the RPD police boats and how easily they had been wrecked. But there was nothing he could do about it now but wait and hope for the best. Without saying a word, he stared out into the deceivingly calm lake. Without any wind or major boating activity, the water was like a sheet of glass. A mild fog was beginning to form over it, and Joel knew it would thicken further into the night.

  The unit teams were spread across the lake to maximize efforts in locating the bass. One unit headed south from Birchwood. Two officers were manned on the chumming boat, while three were on the escort. It patrolled several meters behind them, off to the portside. Two of its officers stood at its starboard rail, with rifles barrels pointed toward the water.

  Nick stood at the stern of the chumming boat. A slightly stout officer with a height of five-foot-seven, he was only referred by his middle name. Squinting from the blinding sunlight, Nick begrudgingly dipped the scoop into the large white tub of fish guts. When he heard he was going to be chasing after a large fish, he initially was overjoyed. Then he found out he was assigned to chumming, and his enthusiasm went away. He wanted to be the one to shoot the thing.

  He tossed another scoop of guts out into the water. The scoop bumped on the transom, sending several drops of blood spilling everywhere. Some of it landed on Nick’s uniform shirt.

  “Son of a bitch!” he yelled out. The other officer looked back from the console. Officer Brannan was initially concerned, then he saw the guts on Nick’s uniform and laughed.

  “Does your wife like chum?” he snickered. Nick glared at him.

  “Keep that up, and you’ll get some too,” he said and pointed the scoop at his partner. Brannan just continued laughing. He snatched up the radio speaker and pressed the transmitter.

  “Unit 4 to other units, I’d like to report I have a walking piece of fish chum named Nick. He figured he’d get bait all over himself and go out for a swim.” He lifted his thumb from the transmitter, and quickly the radio blew up with responses from the other officers.

  “You’re hilarious,” Nick said to Brannan. He grabbed a cloth and scrubbed at the guts on his uniform. He could hear the laughter coming from their partnering cruiser. As he did, Sheriff Logan’s voice broke out over the radio.

  “Alright, guys, knock it off,” he said. “Focus on your task. If we nail this bad boy, then drinks are on me…once the shift is over of course.” Responses rapidly come in.

  “Hell yeah, Sheriff!”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  “Nick might want to change his shirt first.”

  Nick gave mock laughter and scrubbed away at his shirt. The guts were gone, but the stain remained and quickly dried.

  “That’s just lovely,” he said. Before returning to the bucket, Nick glanced at the fish-finder monitor near the controls. The screen showed little dots, representing fish beneath them. Those dots seemed to quiver in place, and lines of static buzzed in several places on the screen.
Brannan paid no attention to it, as he was more interested in his Dr. Pepper. Nick went up to the screen and slapped the frame with his hand. The frozen image remained.

  “Dang it, Brannan. Don’t you pay attention?” he grumbled.

  “Me? Pay attention?” Brannan scoffed. “Coming from the guy who can’t seem to aim his chum?” Nick switched off the unit and restarted it. After a moment, the image came back on, this time refreshed.

  “Damn thing froze up,” Nick said. “We don’t want that. It’s supposed to help us detect the thing if it comes up from underneath us.”

  “I know how a fish-finder works,” Brannan said. “I’ll keep an eye on it.”

  “That’s all I ask,” Nick said. He picked up the scoop and continued chumming.

  ********

  Business was slow in Gamby’s Bar. Most of the tables were vacant, with the exceptions of a few lone patrons. The incident at Ridgeway Lake drove much of the business away, leaving mainly the average neighborhood drunks and people drinking away their sorrows resulting from the day’s tragedy. The servers spent much of their time wiping down tables repeatedly, even the ones that were already clean. The bartender did much of the same. Only two people sat at the counter, with a fifth of Jim Beam and two shot glasses between them.

  Sydney threw back another shot. He winced as he swallowed, feeling the burn of the whiskey as it made its way down. Meya threw her head back and laughed at his expression as he washed it down with a glass of water. This action had been repeated several times with no sign of stopping.

  “I’m disappointed in you,” she said to him. “How is it I can handle this stuff better than you?” Sydney allowed the water to cool his throat.

  “I’m out of practice,” he said. He tilted back on the stool while the intoxicating buzz set in stronger. “I’m a police chief, remember? I’m technically always on call.”