Samuel reached the base of the dunes and then turned once more to watch the approaching monster, still unsure how he was seeing it at all.
And then it came to him in a flash. It was obvious.
There were two.
At least two, Samuel thought. Perhaps there were many more. His god was no single god, at all, but a race of beings, one surely destined to devour the earth the way gods had done for eternity.
Rejuvenated, Samuel began his second ascent up the dunes, sliding backward several times as his depleted, injured legs offered little in the form of thrust. But he found one last surge of strength to reach the summit, and by the time he did, the beast was fewer than fifty paces behind him, marching steadily up the dunes, unencumbered by the slope or loose sediment.
Samuel looked down to the beach of the sound and saw Sokwa in the boat, as instructed, still staring out to the eastern shore of the island where the first Croatoan had appeared minutes before. Samuel looked toward the object of her stare, but the Croatoan of the sound was gone, ostensibly on its way to the feeding ground of the colony.
Perhaps, Samuel thought now, it would be better if that creature were killed by his people. If the village and colony were able to fend off the first Croatoan before it extinguished them completely, there would be offerings remaining for this second god, which was now only steps behind Samuel.
Samuel cupped his hands to his mouth, preparing to alert Sokwa of this new beast that was trudging toward them, but as he readied his shout, he couldn’t bring himself to announce the danger. His sinister mind seized in the moment, and instead of calling for Sokwa to prepare the oars, Samuel began a light trot down the hill, as stealthily as possible, with the intention of leading the beast toward the shore of the sound unseen.
When Samuel reached the bottom, he sprinted quietly toward the tall reeds that bordered the shoreline and hid there, watching.
And his plan worked perfectly.
The Croatoan had reached the opposite side of the dunes by the time Sokwa finally turned to see it, and by then it was too late. The Algonquin girl opened her mouth in a hollow scream, remaining stuck in that position for several crucial seconds before she finally began to stroke the oars outward, frantically.
But the beast had already entered the water, and Samuel watched from the safety of the tall, clustered stalks as the Croatoan descended beneath the tranquil waters and disappeared into the murkiness.
Sokwa’s eyes scanned the water and then drifted over the bundle of swamp grass where Samuel stood, spotting him immediately. “Samuel,” she called in a loud whisper. “Samuel, help me. Call it now. If you have the shell. Call it!”
Samuel was incapacitated with anticipation, his eyes searching the surface for any sign of the Croatoan’s emergence. He had no intention of using the shell to save her or her people, and he knew it would do little good now anyway. The god had found its offering. And it was hungry.
“Samuel, why?” Sokwa cried, continuing to pull the oars toward her furiously.
Samuel knew this movement by Sokwa was a mistake. She was giving her location to the monster, signaling exactly where she was on the water.
“I helped you! I believed you back at the cave. I could have killed you then. I could have unleashed that mad woman upon your neck. But I let you live. And you gave me lies in exchange! My people have always been right about you. About all of you. It is not the Croatoan who is to be feared; it is you. We have always known you were the Manitoosh!”
Samuel recognized the Algonquin word for ‘Devil,’ and he had no grounds on which to argue the label. What else could be thought of him? Of his father and mother and the rest of the colonists? They had invaded this land without warning or permission, and in doing so, had sold themselves as a peaceful people, gift-bringers, teachers of modernity.
But the men who had come brought little more than death and disease, not only to the Algonquins, but to the women and children of England—like Samuel, himself, he rationalized—that were dragged along without consultation from a distance too far to measure.
But in this ungodly land, Samuel had found something new. Or at least he had discovered it for himself, just as the explorer Columbus had discovered this world for Europe.
But Samuel’s discovery was a thing different from anything civilization had ever known. And it was now as precious to him as any god in any book, as important to the world as the God Mary had delivered from her womb in the stables in Bethlehem. Samuel would never believe differently; his devotion was resounding.
The Croatoan suddenly breached the water on the far side of Sokwa’s boat, several canoe lengths ahead of her, facing the direction of the island bank. Sokwa stopped rowing and held still, and Samuel could see her watching the monster, his back to them both.
Samuel couldn’t see the smile on her face, but he could feel it there, smug, thinking she had dodged the danger of the monster, who was now following the first Croatoan toward the village.
But then it was Samuel’s turn to smile as the Croatoan twisted slowly, rotating its torso until it was facing Sokwa.
Sokwa began to shake her head, slowly at first and then in vibratory twitches of confused astonishment. And then cries of panic followed.
She dropped the blades of the oars back into the water and immediately started rowing back toward the beach, but it was too late. The Croatoan had begun its familiar lumber toward the boat, its eyes fixed on the young captain at the helm. Within seconds, it was standing above the boat, its hands reaching down toward Sokwa’s head.
Samuel smiled wider now as he waited for the final crush of the girl’s skull.
And then Sokwa did the last thing Samuel would ever have expected. She stood tall in the hull and lifted one oar from the water, and then swung it with fury at the monster above her, smashing the wooden tool across the black creature’s face. Splinters exploded into the air, and Sokwa screamed with a cry Samuel knew could only be made by an Algonquin. She reached for the other oar almost instantly, swinging the second one with as much ferocity as the first, catching the Croatoan with similar weight on the same side of the beast’s mouth.
The blade of the second oar stayed intact, but this time the handle broke off in Sokwa’s hands sending the oar behind her to the bottom of the canoe.
But there was too much torque behind Sokwa’s second smash, and upon completing her swing, she toppled over the side of the canoe and splashed headfirst into the water.
Samuel watched the spectacle in stationary fascination, all the while fending off a nagging feeling that he should be playing a more active part in the tragedy. It was his play, after all, and he was but a spectator in the drama.
He scanned the water again, and, for several moments when Sokwa didn’t appear, he thought she had drowned, perhaps as a result of never learning to swim.
But then the dark sphere of a small head suddenly burst from beneath the water, well beyond the perimeter of the Croatoan, and it began moving quickly in the direction of the island.
It was Sokwa, swimming as quickly as any person Samuel had ever seen, stretching her arms and pulling the water toward her as if she’d been born of the water. There was even a moment, just for a second or two, when Samuel was yearning for her to make it to the other side, just for the sake of her own survival.
The Croatoan stood unaware for several beats, but then the splashing sound of Sokwa’s arms resonated through the sound and the Croatoan turned its head toward the commotion, steadying the huge skull directly in line with the fleeing girl. It then ducked its head and shoulders beneath the waters.
“Go Sokwa,” Samuel said beneath his breath, “you’ll make it.” There was no longer any interest in Sokwa’s life; Samuel was simply hoping to have the chance to see her victimized on the land, just as Nootau and Kitchi had been ripped apart in front of his eyes.
Sokwa never stopped stroking and never looked back. She simply drove one hand over the other, pushing the brackish waters behind her as she strode f
or shore.
Samuel made certain the Croatoan was beyond the range that it might turn back for him, and then he entered the water, apprehensively at first, and then more quickly, recognizing time was critical. He clutched the conch as he swam clumsily toward the boat, finding the edge of the canoe with his fingers and tossing the shell inside. He then pulled himself over and into the hull and immediately grabbed the broken oar and began paddling toward the island bank, desperate.
But several strokes in Samuel knew it was hopeless. He would never be able to generate enough power to get himself back to the shore in time to catch up to Sokwa or the Croatoan.
Several minutes passed and Sokwa was now standing in the waters near the eastern shore of the island, just as the first Croatoan had done only moments earlier. She had made it to the bank, and Samuel would never witness her death or any of the colonists or villagers.
The Croatoan that had ducked beneath the water was nowhere to be seen.
Samuel made two more meek sculls and then stood in the boat, and without another thought, he brought the conch to his mouth and blew into the hole that had been carved at the top. The vibration felt good on his lips as the sounding of the call of the Croatoan rang out once again, though for what purpose the alarm served this time he could not have said.
There was a stillness in the air, as the birds and insects seemed to have frozen with the signal, and then the splash of water erupted like Vesuvius as the Croatoan rose from the water, not twenty paces from where Sokwa stood. She was still a few paces from dry land, with little chance of escaping the monster’s clutches now.
The Croatoan took one lumbering step toward Sokwa and then stopped, turning now so that its focus was back to Samuel.
For a moment, the two beings—Samuel and the Croatoan—stared unblinking at one another, though the distance was too great for Samuel to see the beast’s eyes, and he assumed the same was true of the monster. But Samuel could feel the danger of the Croatoan’s stillness, the threat that coiled in each of its stiffening muscles.
It took a step toward him, reversing its sure path toward Sokwa from only moments earlier.
Samuel watched Sokwa look back at the beast, no doubt amazed at her luck—at her miracle—and then she focused back on the land in front of her, toiling the last few steps from the water to the beach before disappearing onto the forest path.
The Croatoan stood for what seemed to Samuel like several minutes, but was probably not more than twenty seconds, as it measured the call of the conch, appearing to debate its next move. Samuel prepared for his death as he stared back at it, knowing his fate was always going to come at the hands of his god.
The Croatoan then turned its back toward Samuel and took the final three or four steps so that it was now standing on the shores, and never looked back as it followed Sokwa through the forest toward the colony.
Chapter 34
Danny stood next to Renata Benitez, mimicking her posture as they stared out toward the sound. A heavy fog sat low on the water, making visibility almost non-existent.
Danny had never held a shotgun before—he was honest with the officer about that—and he couldn’t blame her for laughing when he made the request of her.
“Weren’t you in my jail cell not twenty-four hours ago?” she asked, a droll tone in her voice, amazed that she was even having the conversation.
“Oh, it wasn’t quite that long ago.” Danny replied, keeping a straight face.
Benitez gave another incredulous chuckle. “I haven’t checked the manual in a while, but I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that arming a suspect to a murder with a police-issued weapon, within twenty-four hours of his release, mind you, is top five on the list of things cops aren’t supposed do.”
Danny nodded. “I’ll bet it’s even top three. But I’m not a suspect anymore, remember? I’m sure your boss told you about that.”
Benitez smiled and shook her head, saying nothing for several beats as she took in the crime scene. Finally, she turned to Danny, softening her stare upon him. “I know the story, you know? Your story. At least as much of it as you’ve told publicly.”
Danny said nothing.
“The first time I looked at that picture, I believed it was real. And after I read the article, there was no doubt in my mind. I never really understood what the debate was about. I don’t know what that thing is in the picture exactly, but whatever it is, it looks real to me. And it doesn’t look human.”
“Thank you!” Danny blurted out, and was immediately embarrassed by his outburst. He blushed, but he didn’t care. He was glad to have someone acknowledge what he had always seen as obvious. Someone with authority. Maybe the picture of his sighting had never been conclusive, per se, not with today’s technology and so forth; but with Sarah’s accompanying article in the Rover, he always thought the story should have gotten more consideration.
Danny looked to the other four officers investigating the beach—the two from Wickard Beach and a couple of county cops—but they were grimly focused on their duties, unconcerned even with Danny’s presence, let alone his emotions.
Calazzo was no longer at the beach. A call had come in minutes ago—something urgent down by Danny’s house. “You want me to go, chief,” Benitez had asked, but the gods were on Danny’s side today, and Calazzo had insisted on taking the call. It had come a bit earlier than Danny would have liked, especially since Samantha hadn’t yet returned with the shell, but there was nothing he could do about it now except pray that Tracy could stall the sheriff for as long as necessary.
Benitez smiled. “You’re welcome. And I’m glad Calazzo asked you to help us. I told him you were telling the truth. I don’t know what’s been happening in this town over the last few months—with the drownings, and now this arm you found on the beach—but I’m not going to be the one who could have stopped it and didn’t.”
The truth.
Danny felt the urge to offer up the rest of his story to the officer, the full story, including Tammy and Lynn’s death at the hands of the creature and his own obsession with keeping it fed.
But the story was a long one, and he couldn’t risk being detained at this point. When it was over, in whatever form that ending took, and if Danny was still alive, he would lay the truth on the floor for everyone to see. Let the chips fall in a landslide. What else was there to do? If Tracy decided not to forgive him, then that would be that. He hoped she would find the mercy in her heart, of course, but either way, she deserved to know what he had done to her. What he was prepared to do to her and Sarah.
If Calazzo decided to arrest him for the murder of his wife—and possibly Lynn—he would lawyer up and tell the story exactly as it happened. And if the case went to trial, a jury would either believe him or not. Or, if he was to be charged and punished for the crimes of not reporting the deaths at the time—crimes for which he was indeed guilty—than he would serve his sentence with a clear conscience.
“Are you right about this, Lynch? Do you know how to bring this...what is it that you call this thing anyway?”
Danny thought about how at one time he thought of this beast as his god, and how it seemed so deranged now as he stood in preparation to kill the monster, his mind as clear as it had ever been standing there on the foggy banks of Tippin’s Point. “I hope I am right about this, Officer Benitez. I truly do. As for the name, going forward, I think we should call it the Croatoan.”
“Why does that sound familiar?”
“Danny!”
It was Samantha’s voice, and she sounded close. Danny couldn’t yet see her through the dense fog, so he stared in the direction of her call, and then gave a wide, beaming smile when she breached the mist and appeared like a ghost, smiling herself.
In her hands, she held the largest conch shell Danny had ever seen.
Chapter 35
Nadie awoke to the scream of one of the colonists, a voice she was only able to distinguish by the shrieking cries of the name of the woman’s savior
as she shouted his name again and again in a plea for his mercy.
Jesus Christ.
There was only terror in the woman’s appeals for pity though, and Nadie immediately thought of her Numohshomus’ stories.
A second voice of distress rang through the wigwam, this one indistinguishable in terms of people or tribe, and it was immediately followed by several more, the cacophony of screams building to a melody of horror which resounded from every direction of the village.
The vocalizations were mixed now, of colonists and Algonquin, men, women and children, all shouting as if a torch had suddenly been set to the world.
It was the Croatoan. Nadie knew it as she knew her own mother’s face. Samuel Cook had unleashed the beast of myths onto the village.
Something suddenly banged against the outside of the wigwam and Nadie opened her mouth to scream, but she put a hand there, immediately stifling the cry.
What good will silence do? she thought. Death itself, had arrived, there to collect her spirit for all of eternity. The monster of her childhood, the legend of the sea that her Numohshomus had spoken of for years had been born into existence, arriving now, at this moment, to destroy her people and the invaders from the east.
Another strike against the outer wall.
“Matunaagd!” Nadie screamed, but her husband was already standing beside her, the thick stone head of a tomahawk held away from his body, shoulder height, ready to kill.
Nadie put a finger to her mouth and crept to the lone window of the hut, trying to get a view of what was occurring outside. But the fog of the morning was like a bloom of cotton, making the village look as if it had been lifted from the earth and placed upon a cloud.
The Origin (The Sighting #2) Page 20