Flood Plains (16 page)

But even as she said this, Mia had begun swimming back towards her.

“No! Mia, go back!”

That’s when a new voice echoed through the house.

“Mia? Mrs. Araujo? Are you in here?”

“Daddy!” Mia cried, turning back to the front of the house.

Suddenly, Alan, dressed head to toe in his orange prison jumpsuit with “Harris County D.O.C.” stamped on the back, appeared at the end of the hall, up to his neck in floodwater. Sineada saw him looking past her and into the attic with widening eyes.

“Move, now!”

Sineada and Mia flattened themselves as best they could against the wall as Alan swam directly for the attic door. He slammed it shut just as the poltergeist force smacked into it, shaking the house.

“That’ll hold it for about fifteen seconds,” Alan said. “Let’s get moving.”

Sineada nodded and allowed Alan to carry her down the hall and out of the house. When they were outside, the velocity of the wind surprised Sineada. It hadn’t felt this strong inside the house, but now they were out in the storm, powerless in its thrall.

“There!” Alan said, indicating what appeared to be a makeshift raft made out of the upside-down roof of a detached garage.

“How did you find us?” Sineada finally managed to say.

Alan looked at her querulously for a moment but then glanced over at Mia. Sineada knew what he was implying but was still amazed. Who knew what other amazing gifts her great-granddaughter didn’t share with her
abuela
?

•  •  •

Big Time knew he was out of time, but he tried the cab door one last time anyway. Still locked.

“Hell’s bells,” he whispered.

Swiveling around in the water, he tried the passenger side door on the truck right next to him, but it was also locked. The pounding on the garage door was only getting louder as the metal began to give way. Big Time knew it was only seconds before the sludge worm got through.

As there were two trucks on either side of him, he knew the odds were even as to whether he’d find an unlocked door if he cut left or cut right. He also knew that if he chose wrong, there’d be no do-overs.

He cut left, came around the truck with the locked passenger side door, and tried the driver’s side door.

Locked.

As he turned to check the passenger door on the third truck, he heard the garage door finally give way. It splashed down into the flooded loading dock, sending waves under the trucks.

“It’s coming!” Zakiyah cried from the roof. “Get out of there!”

He grabbed the passenger door handle. Also locked.

“Shit!”

Out of options, Big Time scampered up the short ladder to the truck’s cab. He grabbed the smokestack and tried to lift himself out of the water and onto the roof of the cab. With only one arm, this proved near impossible until he got stable footing on the air brake hose. Launching himself upwards, he half-climbed, half-jumped out of the water and caught the side of the cab’s air dam.

“Gotcha!”

He was completely out of the water but saw three of the sludge worm tendrils cutting through the muck straight for him. He scrambled over the air dam until he was wholly on top of the cab, six feet out of the water.

It did no good.

As soon as the sludge worms reached the truck, the attendant poltergeist force hit him at chest-level, crushing all of the air out of his chest and throwing him in the water for the second time in as many minutes. It was shallow where he landed, which helped him get back to his feet. The first thing he saw were the tendrils of black coming up from under the tractor trailer to finish him off.

Still dazed, he turned and, believing it to be his last act, tried the driver’s side door of the truck he’d just tumbled off.

When it opened, his entire body reacted on instinct. Throwing it wide, Big Time launched himself in just as the first sludge worm lunged for him. He rolled over on the seat but found his right leg being tugged backwards. One of the tendrils had his foot and was already eating through his shoe.

That’s when he shot a hand under the seat, pulled out an aerosol can of WD-40, and flipped Scott’s lighter out of his pocket. The lighter flicked to life on the first try, and Big Time hit the button on the can.

Fire flashed through the cab, burning Big Time’s fingers but also his pants leg and shoe. The real damage, however, was to the sludge worm. Whereas the aerosol propellant ignited and was gone the second it burned off, the flames only had to touch the tentacle attached to Big Time’s foot to set it ablaze.

The tendril recoiled immediately, freeing itself from Big Time’s foot and sinking back into the water. The big man didn’t think twice before reaching over and slamming the cab door shut. He flopped back down on the seat, breathing heavily but not ready to assess his pain as he awaited his fate. A second later, the invisible force that had tackled him off the cab roof began banging on the side of the cab with such ferocity that it rose off its wheels on one side. When it came back down, it kicked up waves of water that splashed high on the window and windshield.

After three or four of these attacks, Big Time figured he was momentarily safe and brought himself into a seated position. His arm was broken, his fingers and a strip of flesh on his leg were scorched, but it didn’t look like the sludge had gotten through his shoe, though the sole was almost completely burned away.

He was alive and safe. He’d escaped the sludge worms three times now.

No. He’d escaped twice, but he’d
beaten them
once.

The battering against the cab grew stronger, but the safety-glass windows refused to shatter. Big Time took one more deep breath, reached into the console between the seats, and popped four of the ever-present Advil he knew drivers kept there in case they’d accidentally overdone it on the ephedrine. Having had to drive these rigs one or twice, generally just to rearrange them in the loading dock, Big Time knew the keys would be in the dashboard ashtray. He plucked them out, inserted them in the ignition, and waited for the little red bulb on the diesel’s dash to glow to life, indicating the battery was warmed up.

It took only a second, but now was the moment of truth. He turned the key the rest of the way, and the engine sputtered and chugged but didn’t turn over.

“Fuck.”

He tried the key again but got more of the same. The front of the truck was the least submerged part of the vehicle, and by his estimates, Big Time figured the engine block was still above the waterline. That said, he had no idea how much might’ve splashed up from the undercarriage.

He didn’t have to look in the side mirror to be reminded that he had three others and perhaps more with their hopes pinned to him. That’s when the poltergeist slammed into the truck with such force that it almost knocked the whole thing on its side.

“Motherfucker!” Big Time shouted as the truck crunched back down.

He grabbed the key, turned it all the way right, and held it. The engine coughed like an old tractor after a long winter, but Big Time held the key in place. He knew he was in danger of flooding it, but he was going to make this work.

“Come on!”

On cue, the engine roared triumphantly to life, black smoke pouring out of its stack.

“Yes!”

Big Time gave it some gas, and the engine revved but didn’t stall.
Mission motherfuckin’ accomplished
. He dropped the parking brake, hit the accelerator, and slowly drove the truck up the ramp and out of the flooded loading dock.

Chapter 19

A
lan climbed up onto the chunk of floating house he’d commandeered first and, with Mia’s help, pulled Sineada up.

“We have to hurry!” Sineada said.

Alan nodded. Behind them, what appeared to be a sheet of viscous tar drooled over Sineada’s roof. He hadn’t encountered any on the ride from the bridge to Sineada’s house and had found that odd. Now, he was facing a tremendous mass of it coming straight at his family and wondered if it had concentrated itself there, knowing how easy it would be to tackle Alan later.

“Come on, Mia!”

“Daddy, I can’t!”

Sineada and Alan could both see that, after a morning full of courage, Mia had finally reached her breaking point. She was crying and crying even as oily tendrils descended into the water from the nearby house.

Alan leaped off the raft and got behind his daughter.

“I’m going to count to three and then you’re going to jump and I’m going to lift you into the boat, okay?”

“Okay…”

“One…two…”

Before he got to three, Alan felt the tentacles grabbing at his legs. Even in the cold water, the burning sensation that came on as soon as they were through his shoes and socks and pants was tremendous.

“
Three!
”

Alan bent his knees and lifted Mia up onto the roof. As soon as she was safe, Alan allowed himself to scream.

Sineada moved Mia aside and grabbed for Alan.

“Take my hands!”

Alan did, fighting his way to the roof. The more he came out of the water, the lighter he felt. His left foot was gone, the tar now crawling up towards his knee. His right leg was already dissolved midway up his thigh. As if with acid, flesh had been stripped from bone and bone then dissolved into thin air.

As soon as he was on the raft, Alan rolled over and over in agony.

“Gnnnh…”

“Just hold still,” Sineada said, tearing at her clothes to tie off his wounds.

The black liquid rose up alongside the raft like a wave frozen seconds before it was to crest. It held itself over the trio, a spider waiting to capsize the makeshift boat and consume those who had just fought so hard to get aboard.

We didn’t do anything to you. Leave us be. This is my father and my great-grandmother. We were just like you. We will be like you in the not-so-distant future. Please.

It took Sineada a moment to realize that it was Mia speaking inside her head. The little girl’s head was bent down as if in prayer, her eyes closed.

Please…please. Please.

The black tar wasn’t moving. It wasn’t receding, but for once, it wasn’t attacking, either. The pain in Alan’s legs was almost too much to bear, but he was blocking it out. The realization that his daughter was talking directly to this plague even superseded the knowledge that he would never run again.

Please…

Just like that, the wall of sludge splashed back into the water as if tossed from a window. Even more so, the black liquid that had continued boring holes in Alan’s leg now exited his body like tears. Blood trailed after it, but there was not a spot of black left behind.

The receding tendrils looked like witch hair gliding away just below the surface as if attached to some great monster.

As soon as it was out of sight, Sineada resumed tearing strips from her clothes. Alan was shivering, obviously going into shock.

“I’m going to tie off your legs.”

The finality of this filled Alan with panic.

“No, please,” he begged in his weakened state, raising a hand to push her away.

“If there was any other way, I’d try it.”

She looped one strip of cloth under Alan’s left leg, a few inches above where it had been severed. She pulled it tight as tears sprang into Alan’s eyes, the pain overwhelming. The problem was, she couldn’t pull it tight enough.

“Mia. I need you.”

The little girl came over and took the end of the cloth.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“It’s okay, baby,” he struggled to say. “Just get it over with. It’s going to be okay.”

But he could tell that she knew something he didn’t, something that was repeating itself behind her eyes:
No, it’s not…

•  •  •

The trio of survivors on the roof of Building Four hurried to the spot closest to the pedestrian skyway as Big Time brought the rig around from the loading dock. Big Time’s flight had done little to draw away the attention of the sludge creeping towards the skylight and compressors. The farther it got from water, however, the more sluggish it was, as if feeling the effects of dividing its energy.

Getting onto the roof of the skyway wasn’t easy, as the architect had given the skyways rounded edges, making it look futuristic. It also meant that, when Scott jumped down onto it, he had to immediately plant his feet, as there was nothing to grab if he slipped.

“Shit!” Scott cried as he leaped, only to land perfectly square.

He hesitated for a moment, checked his stance, and knew he was stable.

“Okay, Muhammad.”

Muhammad was hardly an athlete and even a little overweight. Though it was only six feet down to the skyway, he still carefully lowered himself off the roof feet-first. Unfortunately, his arms weren’t even strong enough to hold him for the required second to get his bearings, and he fell backwards.

Luckily, Scott had anticipated this and caught him.

“Careful, you dipshit!” Scott yelled.

Muhammad finally regained his balance, only to realize he’d accidentally kicked one of Scott’s shoes off the skyway and into the floodwaters below.

“Fucking great,” Scott crowed.

“Why did you take your shoes off in the first place?” Muhammad asked.

“To catch your fat ass. I had no tread. Barefoot, you get some grip at least.”

It made sense. It also just made Muhammad feel worse.

“I’m sorry.”

“Fuck yourself,” Scott snapped. “Zakiyah? You ready?”

She wasn’t, but she lowered herself down anyway. Muhammad moved in to help, but Scott shooed him away.

“Get back.”

At the same time Scott was securing Zakiyah, the sound of Big Time’s eighteen-wheeler echoed up from the side of the building.

“Jesus. Look at that!”

Zakiyah was pointing at the mass of black tentacles swarming around the truck as it drove. One of the sludge worms rose from water as if to attack the driver’s-side door, only to have it open and a burst of flame kick out at it. The flames shuddered through the worm in a chain reaction, igniting every inch that was above water. It flopped back down into the waves, giving Big Time a few seconds of peace as he churned his way through the water to the skyway.