Dead in the Water (42 page)

because the floor was covered with fog, thick gray, and putrescent. There was something in it, colder than ice; it was hot-cold; and it tiptoed up her backbone

on little cat feet

and it whispered past her ear, right into her brain:

Tell me your Desire, you bitch. Tell me
.

What potions I have drunk of Siren tears

What do you want? What will open you
?

What will make you come aboard
?

What potions, fair Donna Pandora, belladonna; why are you so closed, that chambered nautilus of yours, that hard shell of a heart that I CANNOT CRACK! And make you see
,

and make you do
,

and make you die
.

The voice, urging,
Swim to me, Donna, swim down, and
don’t hold it any longer. It will only hurt a moment; it will feel so good to let it out, all in one deep breath. Open, open, and

For all I know
, Billie Holiday sang. And this was what was known:

Tahoe. So senseless. Choking like that, on his vomit. She should have run faster. That bastard, that bastard; she should’ve … her fault, her fault, her fault. Never forgive herself. Never.

 … This is a dream
. Glenn. Please, Glenn, please. So alone. Other people had lives. Other people. Mom, brothers; where was her dad? Don’t cry, don’t be a baby …

 … And I dream …
House and kids, p&j in a brown paper sack, don’t miss the bus! Mommy ashtray, papers on the fridge.

 … to know your heart …

What do you want?

One note, one long, sad, keening note …

“Please,” Curry moaned, his eyes tightly shut as the sounds came closer.

A hand of bone and ice prodded—and didn’t prod—his shoulder. And a voice he recognized whispered, “We want to mutiny. Go to the woman. The one he can’t quite get. Tell her.”

“Wh-what?” Curry rasped. He started to turn his head, was too terrified to. Lately, everything went away if he looked.

Lately, he saw what they all were: illusions. Ghosts. Rotted things somehow animated. The figureheads that crept in the night. He, Curry, had bargained with the devil. He hadn’t known it.

“Tell her. Save us. And yourself. Mutiny.”

The clack of bone; a squishy sound. Curry turned his head and saw nothing.

A mutiny? Could it be possible? How could corpses do anything? How could they dare fight against the captain?

Hope sparked inside him. Mutiny! Yes! He
would
find her.
He knew who they meant. And he would tell her everything! He would save himself!

He rose to his feet and began to walk, slowly, numbly, very like a dead man. But his heart pumped fast, and full, and his blood rushed like a river through his veins.

One long, sad note, as she floated on the floor of her stateroom.

The sea has wide arms, Donna, and they are open for you
.

Jump, you sodding, sodden bitch
.

And I am barbing my hooks, and throwing out the net yet again, for the most delectable of fishies
.

The small boys
,

the boys
,

the Nathaniels
.

It was early morning, and they’d just finished getting dressed when Matt’s dad realized Nemo was having her babies. It was kind of scary: she squalled and yowled, crouching, shifting, bracing herself. Her body shuddered as if she were boiling, and then she grunted a couple of times, and rocked back and forth.

She was in the cardboard box they’d fixed up for her and pushed into the closet where it was private and dark. His dad told him when she wanted to have her kittens she would probably climb into it.

Sure enough, she had. Matt was very impressed with his
father for knowing how to arrange everything. But then, of course, his dad was a doctor. And his dad was also his dad.

Matt’s knees ached, but he wouldn’t move for anything. His stomach did flip-flops every time the cat cried and shook, but his dad said she had to do it her way, and unless she had an emergency, they could only watch.

“Easy, Nemo,” Matt’s dad said as Matt hung over the box. Kitties! Four so far, black and white ones, and one all black. They were tiny, and mewing, moving like windup toys. They were so little, and squirmy, and
cute
. It was so weird, and cool, that they came out of her and just started … living.

He had already given them names: Leonardo, Donatello, Michelangelo, and John, ’cuz that was his dad’s name. His dad wanted to name the other three Paul, George, and Ringo, but Matt didn’t get it—he knew his dad was making a joke—and his dad said it was mean, but okay, to name them after a pack of washed-up mutants. Matt got that one, and socked him on the arm for it. He still liked the Turtles, and they weren’t washed up.

Nemo made her funny growl and jerked like a puppet. “Here comes another one!” Matty cried, bending over the cardboard box.

“Any second now,” his dad said softly. He had told Matt to speak quietly, but Matt kept forgetting.

Another tiny head poked between Nemo’s legs.

Nemo struggled. Her eyes rolled. John said, “Okay, kitty, good kitty.”

She pushed the kitten from her body. It was ooshy and wet and she began to lick it at once, and to bite at the cord. It didn’t make any noise, just sort of shivered hard. Matt’s heart thrilled. It was so amazing he was almost afraid of it.

This one was all white. Donna, he decided. He’d call it Donna. Oops, it might be a boy.

“Can we keep them all?” he asked. He wanted very badly to touch them, but his father had warned him that Nemo wouldn’t like it. “They’re a family, Dad.”

His dad smiled. “What if she has a dozen?”

“So?”

“Well, Nemo belongs to the men on the
Morris
. They might want to keep them.”

Matt extended his hand to pet one of the tiny kittens, then remembered again and drew his fist back and held it against his chest. Things were too complicated sometimes. They had saved Nemo, so they should get to keep her and her babies.

His dad was just making an excuse, anyway, so they wouldn’t keep her. For a second or two, Matt was angry—how come his dad said no so much?—but then Nemo squalled and yowled again and Matt eagerly leaned over the box.
Another
one?

There was a knock on the door. “I’ll get it,” his father offered. Without taking his eyes off the mother and her litter, Matt nodded.

It was Dr. Hare, and he had a little boy with him. He was small with brown hair, and he had on way too many clothes for indoors—ski stuff and mittens. Matt regarded him curiously, until Nemo’s thrashing drew back his attention.

“Oh, excuse me,” Dr. Hare said, peering around the door when Matt’s dad opened it. “You’re in the middle of something.”

“Nemo’s having her kittens,” Matt’s dad said in a friendly voice. “Come on in.”

“Oh? This will be an experience.” He prodded the boy forward. “Matt? This is Dane. I thought you might enjoy meeting a boy your age.”

“Hi,” Matt said without turning.

“Matt, Dane is deaf. He can’t hear you. He can only read your lips,” the doctor said. “You’ll have to look at him whenever you want to speak to him.”

Matt stared at the boy, fascinated. “Can he talk back?”

“Yes, but it sounds a bit different. It takes some getting used to, eh?” He tousled the boy’s bangs. The kid had on his ski jacket hood and everything. He must be really sick, Matt thought. Whenever he had to go to the hospital, he had trouble staying warm.

“Dane’s from Lake Tahoe,” the doctor added, shepherding Dane over to Nemo. “Look,” he said precisely. “The cat is giving birth.”

The boy knelt beside Matt, who scooted over to give him some room. His skin had a funny bluish tint.

Nemo thrashed around and meowed. Her eyes blinked open, shut, and she growled low in her throat. The kitties mewed and lurched on their stubby legs. Then she backed away, slowly, into a corner of the box, hissing.

“Maybe one’s stuck,” Matt said.

Then a big yucky glob of goo spewed out of her. “She’s expelling the afterbirth,” his dad told the boys as he walked over and stood behind them.

Dane wrinkled his nose and Matt made a puking noise. “Gross.”

Nemo hissed again. She shifted her weight onto her front legs and arched her back; the hair on her back stood straight up, and so did her tail. The fur bristled as she focused her gaze on Dane, and she shook hard and bared her teeth.

Dr. Hare chuckled. “Protective little creature, isn’t she?”

“I think we’d better give her some privacy, boys.” Matt’s dad gestured for them to move away and he pulled the closet door three-quarters shut. “I think she’s finished, and she wants to clean them and nurse them.”

“Oh.” Matt was disappointed.

To Matt’s dad, the doctor said, “Well, if it’s over, then. May I speak to you a moment?”

There was one of those funny pauses adults shared sometimes, and then Matt’s dad said, “Hon, I’m going to go get some ice and Cokes for you and Dane. Be right back.”

That frosted Matt a little. He never got to have Coke this early in the morning. His dad didn’t need to make dumbo excuses to talk in private. He understood about that. But he also understood his dad was under a lot of strain. So he nodded carelessly and said, “Hurry back. Nemo might need you.”

“I’ll be gone just a few minutes.” His dad faced Dane and said, “I’m going for Cokes. Be right back.” Dane nodded. He hadn’t spoken a word, and Matt wasn’t sure he wanted him to. Sometimes things like that were awful—hearing people talk funny, looking at people with scars—just really embarrassing.
He couldn’t explain what he meant, but he kind of wished the doctor hadn’t brought Dane by.

“Do you know about the school bus,” Dane asked in a flat voice. It wasn’t too bad. He didn’t make his voice rise the way you do when you’re asking a question, but he didn’t sound like a retard, either.

Matt shook his head.

“It fell into Lake Tahoe. Sank. All the kids were still in it, and the driver, too. Nobody could find it. The lake is so deep no one’s ever found the bottom. We’re s’posed to have a monster, too.”

“Cool,” Matt said. Dane nodded, and Matt was pleased that he’d understood him.

“But every once in a while, the bus comes up. And you can see all the dead kids floating around inside. It’s so cold in the lake that the kids didn’t rot.”

Behind the closet door, Nemo growled low in her throat.

“You know what some people do with new kitties,” Dane asked. Still goggle-eyed from the bus story, Matt waited. “Tie ’em in a sack and drown ’em.”

Matt made a face. “Uck! That’s gross.”

“I saw some in the lake,” Dane went on, with an odd, satisfied grin on his face, like he’d shoplifted something and gotten away with it. He spoke at the cat as if he were taunting her. “They freeze in there, and they don’t rot. Just like the kids.”

“Gee, Dane.” Matt rocked back on his heels.

Dane lowered his head and giggled, a deep, naughty snigger. Maybe Dane wasn’t so cool after all. Maybe he was pretty weird.

Dane reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of mittens, red with yellow reindeer on them. He moved forward and stuck them through the opening in the closet door, dangling them over Nemo’s box. Nemo flattened herself on the bottom of the box and her eyes spun around and around like marbles on a sidewalk. She hissed like a snake, a really pissed-off one. And suddenly Matt had a sense that all was not right in the stateroom; that something was

cold

and

wet
; no, make that freezing. That he was in a refrigerator, or some kind of long box filled with ice; that he was

not rotting
.

Down in the water, and not rotting.

He gripped the edge of the box hard. The room spun around and around; he was so cold; he was dizzy and he was going to faint. He was …

“Nemo,” he said in a bright, unfrightened tone, groping through the vertigo to prove he was okay, “are you having more kittens?”

The cat yowled.

Cold and wet. Matt heard dripping. He heard people singing the way they did in church, slow, all together in a chorus. Something about being near to God.
Nearer, my God, to Thee
. Yes. He cocked his head. Someone must be practicing next door.

A dog. Barking far, far away, as if it were playing inside a tunnel. Calling and woofing: come play. Come play with me.
Woof, woof, aouuu
.

It sounded like his dead dog, Julie. Julie had crawled under the pool cover, his dad had told him. Couldn’t get out …

He wiped sweat from his upper lip. Although he was freezing, the sweat was dripping off him. His skin was layers of ice and fire. He must be sick. Oh, no. No.

Dane started laughing. He skipped over to the bed and plopped down on it, began bouncing.

“What’s the matter?” he asked between bursts of laughter, and he wasn’t talking in that flat way anymore. He didn’t even sound like himself. His voice was deep and grown-up. “What’s wrong with you, Mattman?”

Matt started. No one called him that but his dad.