by John Quick
The problem was, that from the looks of things, he could almost guarantee his truck wasn’t going anywhere. If it wasn’t buried to the axles in mud, it would be sitting in water as high as the doors, which meant the back end would be floating more than it would be on the road. Whatever dumb bastard had designed a pick-up truck with rear-wheel drive needed to be dragged out in the middle of the street and shot. With the mood he was in, Stan would be more than happy to volunteer to be the one pulling the trigger.
He sighed and took another look around the site. Nothing had been disturbed in the night other than what he’d done, and the water seemed peaceful and still as well, aside from the light rain that still fell onto it.
What he really needed, above everything else, was sleep. But without his truck to get him back home, he didn’t have many options to take care of that vital need. He wasn’t about to sleep out here, not with that thing on the loose. For all he knew, it was sitting out there right now, watching him, waiting to see him doze off so it could come up and get him before he had the chance to fight back.
He could head down to the truck, crawl into the cab, and sleep there, but he knew if he did he’d wake up with a back so sore and stiff he wouldn’t even be able to stand up straight, much less take care of all the things that needed doing. Beyond that, some dim part of his pickled brain could almost imagine the water continuing to rise until the damn thing actually floated away like Noah’s ark or something. He tended to get disoriented any time he slept anywhere other than his own bed; the last thing he needed was to wake up and crawl out of the truck and then end up drowning because he’d ended up in the middle of the damn lake while he slept.
Which left him only one option, and while he actually favored it, he knew it was apt to be more trouble than it was worth. Elise Granger lived just outside the woods, not all that far away. The two of them had always been close, and had grown even closer after her husband passed. They’d even had what the younger folk might call a “fling” a few times, both before and after that tragic fact. It was a pretty safe bet that she’d let him stay there for a couple of hours, at least long enough to sleep off his moonshine-induced haze. If he played his cards right, he might could even work a little something more into the deal, make it all the sweeter.
But he would have to take the tongue-lashing that would precede all of that. While it sounded good, he knew it wouldn’t be the type that would help get his motor revved up. While Elise had been known to enjoy a drink or two on occasion herself, and had no issue with what he did up here in the woods—considering it was basically her property anyway, Stan thought that was a very good thing indeed—she had no tolerance for drunkenness at all. She’d given him the rough side of her tongue more than once over it, usually dropping in that old homily that “a drunkard will never enter the Kingdom of Heaven.” He’d almost pointed out the hypocrisy in focusing on that little nugget while conveniently forgetting that committing adultery was against the freaking Ten Commandments, but he’d kept his mouth shut. Elise was fair decent in the sack, and if putting up with her admonitions about his drinking was the price he had to pay to keep getting to put it to her, well, he supposed he could live with that.
Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t even think twice about it, but these circumstances were anything but ordinary. He hadn’t just shown up before, especially not this damned early, and not when he was as deep into his cups as he was at the moment. That he’d have a rifle with him wouldn’t help matters none, either. Far as he knew, she didn’t have any particular aversion to guns, seeing as how the one he currently had on his knees had originally come from her late husband’s ample collection, but it was bound to make her a lot more wary than she normally would be.
A massive yawn consumed him, stretching his mouth so wide he thought he could hear his jaw creak. That decided him. Lecture or not, he would just have to give it a shot. If she was resistant, well, he’d just have to be more charming and convincing than normal. He was fairly sure he could pull it off; he’d always felt himself at his best when he was a few drinks in. As long as he wasn’t slurring his words too badly to be understood, he thought he would be okay.
He stood, wobbled a bit, and then steadied himself. He could already see that he was going to end up getting wet no matter what he did, and while he didn’t much care for that part of it, at least it would give him an excuse to strip down once he got to Elise’s house. He didn’t think he was much to look at without his clothes on, but apparently she did, so he might stand a better chance of convincing her to have a tumble if he was already naked before he pitched the idea. Stan cackled a drunken laugh that was anything but attractive as the mental image cemented itself in his head, and set off in the direction of her house.
It was slow going for sure, the water finally evening out at about mid-thigh. It was cold enough that he didn’t think there’d be any problem with him staying awake long enough to make the trip, and he had a feeling it might even help in decreasing his drunken stupor, too. He was reminded of the treks he’d made on patrol back in ‘Nam, wading through the jungle with his rifle over his head so it wouldn’t get wet, waiting to hear Charlie start popping the guys in his squad at any second. At least he didn’t have to worry about that here. Just a damned killer fish that might attack him instead.
He let out a low moan; this wasn’t something he’d actively considered until just now. He was wading through water that was definitely deep enough for that thing to swim in, and he’d just been wandering along like a little girl out frolicking in a field of fucking daisies or something. If the thing had attacked him, he would’ve damn well deserved it.
He adjusted his grip on the rifle, making sure his finger rested alongside the trigger guard in case he needed to make a shot quickly. He kept his head on a swivel, as the old saying went, making his progress even slower than it already had been. He didn’t care. If he made it there safely, he didn’t care if it took until night fell again. The focus that had been hammered into him all those years ago came back as if it was only yesterday, and everything fell away except the feel of the rifle in his hands, and whatever he could see or hear.
When he emerged from the trees and began to cross the open field between them and Elise’s house, his focus tightened further. He didn’t feel his shoulders begin to relax until he was standing on her front porch, one hand raised to knock. He did so quickly, three rapid taps that would be loud enough to rouse her if by some chance she’d slept in. Normally, she was up with the sun, a habit born of many years spent tending to the needs of a farm in her youth, apparently, but there was a first time for anything, and Stan didn’t want to chance standing out here for hours waiting on her.
His eyes wandered as he waited, finally locking onto the brownish SUV sitting in the driveway two houses down. Stan knew that was where the hot little number down at the diner lived, and figured that the assistant police chief had finally worked up the nerve to make a move after the pair of them had spent so many years sniffing each other’s asses. So long as the man didn’t decide to go for a hike up in the woods and start asking questions he didn’t have any business asking about what he found there, it was no sweat off Stan’s nose.
He knocked again after several minutes passed without so much as the sounds of anyone moving around inside. He waited, mentally ticking off the minutes, then let out an exasperated breath and headed around to the back. Sometimes she took her coffee out on the back porch, watching the sun rise above the lake, and if that’s where she was, she probably wouldn’t hear the knocking.
His shoulders tensed up again the second his boots hit the water. She damn well owed him a tumble after all this, just to take the edge off, if for nothing else. He made his way around the corner of the house, eyes scanning the water for so much as a shadow that didn’t look right. When he rounded the next corner, he kept his eyes cast out in the direction of the lake, not bothering to turn around again until he felt his booted foot bump against the concrete step leading up. A
s his eyes finally fell on the back porch and the door set into the house, Stan had to consciously maintain his grip on the rifle.
The back door was dented heavily in the middle, the wood cracked in long trails. The decorative windows were busted out, as was the larger floor-to-ceiling one that overlooked her breakfast nook. Glass lay scattered everywhere, the bulk of it across her once-neat table. He could just make out a broken chair lying on its side inside the room.
He rushed up the steps without a second thought, his finger slipping to rest lightly against the rifle’s trigger. He had no idea exactly what had happened, but it was obvious that it wasn’t anything good. He stepped carefully through the remains of the window, wincing a little as his booted feet made loud crunching sounds on the broken glass scattered on the floor, and looked around.
The room looked as though a bomb had gone off in it. While the chair was the only thing he could see that was disturbed in the breakfast nook, there were mud and droplets of water splashed halfway up the walls, and a trail of the stuff leading into the living room. Stan wanted to call out for Elise, to make sure she was all right, but he held his tongue. If who or whatever had done this was still here, the last thing he wanted to do was alert it to his presence as well.
Then again, it might give him the chance to put a slug right between its eyes, in which case maybe he should go ahead and call for her. The only thing stopping him was the chance that she was hiding somewhere, and his call might be enough to get her killed.
Stan crept forward, following the trail into the living room where it turned and started down the hall. He saw a book and a flashlight lying off to one side, the beam from the light dim and starting to flicker. Whatever it was, it apparently knew she was here, had surprised her as she came out from the bedrooms and sent her running back to what she was probably hoping to be safety. He swallowed the lump he felt forming in his throat, and turned down the hallway.
Any hope he had that she was all right dissipated when he saw the feet sticking out of her bedroom, one bare and pinkish in the early morning light, the other still wearing a fuzzy pink slipper with no back. He knew those slippers, had teased her about them on more than one occasion. He strained his ears, trying to see if he heard anything from further inside the room, but only silence answered him. He couldn’t even hear Elise breathing, which was more alarming than he would’ve expected before now.
His feet didn’t want to move any further, but he forced them onward. He had to make sure, had to see for himself if he was ever going to believe it. Slowly the rest of her came into view: her bare legs, then her rumpled nightgown, then the blood. He paused at that, feeling a tremble creep into his body that had nothing to do with the temperature or the alcohol he’d consumed earlier. He took a couple more tentative steps, then froze.
The nightgown ended just below her shoulders; then again, so did she. Blood had seeped into the carpet before her, and from the brief glimpse he had inside the room, it had sprayed as far as the unmade bed on the opposite wall as well. Her arms—what was left of them—lay strewn to either side of her, and her head and shoulders were missing entirely.
Stan had seen plenty of horrible things back in the war, things that made him lose sleep on occasion even all these years later. He had never seen anything like this, however, had never seen the body of someone he’d actually cared for, actually been with, mutilated to such a degree. He felt his gorge rising, and had to put a hand to his mouth to keep from vomiting all over the floor. He took an involuntary step backward, the barrel of the rifle dragging against the mud on the carpet as he did. It was a terrible way to treat the weapon, but he was beyond caring about that.
He wondered briefly what could have done this to Elise, and then the knowledge slammed into him with an almost physical force. That thing he’d seen, that fucking fish. It was responsible for this. It had made a try for him, been thwarted, and come here instead. If he’d only allowed himself to be killed, maybe Elise would still be alive….
No, fuck that. This thing was responsible, and nothing else. And for this, it was going to pay, and pay dearly. Stan wanted nothing more than to hunt it down and have himself a little impromptu fish fry, but he was just a weak old drunk, and would probably be no match for a creature that could wreak this kind of havoc. Then he remembered the assistant chief’s truck over at that waitress’s house, and knew he didn’t have to go it alone. The man would take some convincing, of that there was little doubt, but Stan had a rifle, some burning righteous fury, and the willpower to use both in conjunction to get what he wanted. Elise would be avenged, you could bet your ass on that!
He turned and ran for the front door, not bothering to close it after himself after he barreled through it. He hit the flooded lawn with a mighty splash that probably did little good for his rifle, and started slogging his way toward the waitress’s house. Whatever it took, he was going to convince the cop to help.
And if he failed, well, there was going to be at least one more corpse on this road before the day was out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
She knew that she could’ve easily gotten away with either calling out or just not showing up to work today, but Charlene couldn’t bring herself to do it. She’d been the Ashford Fork police dispatcher for the better part of twenty years now, and in all that time she’d only missed work once, and that was to go to her father’s funeral. She’d even tried to come in afterward, but Chief Williams had grabbed her by the shoulders, turned her around, and marched her right back out the door before telling her to go home and spend time with her mother, who needed her more than the cops did right that moment. If that hadn’t been enough to stop her, then a little rain and flooded roads weren’t about to either.
She frowned at the sight of only one patrol car parked in the slot in front of the station. A quick glance at the number on the back told her it was Dwayne’s, which made her wonder where Eddie was at this early hour. Usually the stretch from about four until eight was the slow one, with the few rabble-rousers and drunks already passed out for the night, and the bulk of the town up and on its way to work. Considering the bridges were out, she didn’t even think there’d be much of that. For that car to be gone meant something must have happened. All she could do was hope it wasn’t too bad, whatever it was.
Charlene parked in her usual place, a couple of spaces down from the front of the building so anyone who needed to come in wouldn’t be inconvenienced too badly, tied her rain scarf over her hair, and quickly made her way down the sidewalk and through the front doors. Thankfully, it wasn’t raining near as bad as it had been when she finally left last night, or she’d have needed a change of clothes, too.
The station was empty aside from Dwayne, who was sitting at the reception desk with an overwhelmed look on his face. Either sweat or rainwater was standing out on his forehead, just beneath the tight black curls of his hair, and he had a cigarette clenched between his teeth so hard there were indentations in the filter. That cigarette bothered her more than the moisture on his brow; he’d finally quit his two pack a day habit just over a year ago, and had shown no inclination to pick it back up again. Even when his wife left him six months ago, he’d stayed away from them. Even though it was unlit, for him to have one between his lips was more than a little disconcerting.
He looked up as she entered, and the relief that washed over his face was so intense she thought she could almost feel it herself from across the room. He opened his mouth and let out a long sigh, the cigarette dropping forgotten to the desk before him. He didn’t even seem to notice it.
“Oh, thank Christ,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “You have never been more beautiful than you are to me right now.”
“Bullshit,” Charlene replied, pulling the scarf from her head and tucking it into the pocket of her coat. “Unless varicose veins suddenly became a turn-on for you, you’re just trying to butter me up before shoving me in the oven to roast. What’s going on?”
He ran a hand over his face
, wiping the moisture away. “The phone’s been ringing off the hook damn near since I got back from south bridge just past midnight. Considering that more’n half the town’s been without power or phone service since the storm hit hard yesterday, that’s saying something.”
She raised an eyebrow and hurried her pace a little. There’d been more calls than normal before she left last night, most dealing either with the very power outage he mentioned, or the bridges being washed out, or people trying to be helpful by reporting streets that had become impassable, but nothing like what he was saying.
“The storm?” she asked, coming around the desk. He stood and let her take her chair, his eyes telling her exactly how happy he was to give it back this morning. “Flooded roads? Or worse?”
“There was some of that,” he said. “And worse, too. People going missing, pets disappearing, and people talking craziness about some monster fish swimming around their houses.”
She gave him an incredulous look. “Monster fish? As in a lot of them, or one big one?”
He let out the most humorless laugh Charlene had ever heard. “One big one. And before you say anything, believe me, I know how that sounds.”
Charlene felt some of the tension melt from her neck at that. With no way to get to school there were a lot of kids in Ashford Fork who got the chance to stay up much later than they normally would. With no power to run their video games or what have you, they probably had nothing better to do than make prank calls to the police all night long. She started to make some kind of wisecrack about it, then noticed that the look on Dwayne’s face was deadly serious.