Serpentine (19 page)

TWENTY-EIGHT

Wayne opened his bedroom closet and shoved the few clothes he had on hangers to the side, revealing the dusty back corner. The Remington had been propped up in that corner for more than two years now. The last time had used it had been for some lazy turkey hunting two falls ago. Since then, he’d thought about selling it and had even tried to pawn it off on Al a few times.

But it had remained here, in his closet. It was the second gun he’d ever purchased, long before his little snake-scare had convinced him to buy the Ruger a few years back. He looked at the Remington for a few moments. It was a very common twelve-gauge model but Wayne felt as if he was looking at a weapon of great power—even more so when he reached in and took it out.

He figured a few blasts from this would do a hell of a lot more damage than the Ruger.

The plan he had concocted was a flimsy one. He knew this, but it was all he had. It was the only thing he could come up with that would make him feel like he was doing something productive in order to find and stop whatever had come up out of the lake and nearly killed Al. Sure, they had called the game warden but he knew that meant nothing. Even if it went as far as the police, the local PD would do nothing more than set a few cruisers on the roads with instruction to keep their eyes peeled.

Anyway…what else was he going to do? Sit around his house, get drunk out of his mind, and stay awake as long as possible to stave off the nightmares he’d been having of the monster from the lake?

Hell no. He’d rather be out there on the lake looking for it.

The trusty Weld-Craft boat that he and Al had shared back and forth over the years was tied up behind his house, anchored to a stump on the bank. He’d taken it on the day he’d raced Al home, terrified with every inch of water it carried him across. Even on that first evening when Kathy had assured him that she didn’t need any help in taking Al to the doctor, Wayne had sat on the uneven stump he’d anchored the boat to, watching it float a few feet out from shore. He’d stared out beyond the boat, wondering about what the hell he and Al had just seen.

That had also been the moment when he had started to wonder how one might kill such a thing.

Wayne walked across his back yard, noting that he really should cut it, as it was just about up to his knees in some places. He carried only the Remington, not even bothering to pretend that he intended to do any fishing. No, he was going to head right back out to the little cover where had and Al had encountered the thing. It was a big lake and he figured the best place to start looking for a strange creature was in an area it had been seen at least once. He’d also heard the story about the dock repairman, so Wayne figured if the cover offered nothing, he’d scoot on down to the Carter residence and float along the bank.

When he cranked the Weld-Craft’s engine, he felt odd not having Al with him. He also felt strange not having a cooler of beer with him. As badly as he wanted one, he knew that he’d need all of his concentration and patience if he had any hope of finding the thing that he had already started thinking of as a monster. He wanted a beer so badly that he nearly cut the boat off and headed back to his house to pack his cooler.

Before the urge grew too strong, he untied the boat from the dock post and started out onto the lake. The Remington lay flat in the floor, sitting in an area where the monster had slithered across seven days ago. He looked to the shotgun from time to time as he covered the two miles between his house and the cove that he and Al had been frequenting since their thirties. As he hit open water for a while, he realized how pathetically alone he felt in the midst of all of this water without Al in the boat with him. He passed by a boat packed out with what looked like a family of four with the older child being pulled behind the boat on a wave-riding tube. The kid was hollering for his dad to go faster and Wayne could hear the engine buzz a bit more as his father obliged.

He thought about his ex-wife and the family they had often discussed having. Then there had been the fertility issues, then his drinking, then her affair, then
his
affair, and that had been that. Somehow, thirty years of marriage had passed by unhappily and a divorce had been waiting at the end of that long and knotted rope. He often tried to tell himself that this post-divorce life—especially now that he had retired—was a new and exciting chapter of his life. And while that was true, that chapter was still included in the same shitty book he’d been reading his whole life.

My mind wonders like a stray dog when I get by myself,
he thought.
That can’t be good…especially not for an old borderline-alcoholic fart that is discovering just how alone he is while he’s driving a boat with a shotgun as a passenger…

Luckily, the cove came into view on his right. When he spied it, he instantly became afraid and slowed the boat considerably. The engine puttered him along and it took everything within him not to grab the Remington right away. He coasted into the cove and then angled the boat to the place where he and Al had been sitting when they’d been attacked.

He killed the engine and simply floated there. He sat still, his hands itching for a beer more than ever now. The sense of loneliness only increased as he sat in the cove, the trees from the bank towering over him like they might snatch him up at any moment. The world was silent other than its natural noises: birds singing somewhere nearby, the buzzing of distant boats and the cheerful noise of a child shouting elsewhere on the lake—perhaps the same kid he had passed several minutes ago, still enjoying the tube ride behind his family’s boat.

Wayne sat and he waited. His mind kept going back to his ex-wife and it made him angry. Her name was Theresa, but he had stopped referring to her as such years ago, calling her only
my ex-
wife in all conversation and even in his internal thoughts. He wondered where she was now. What was she doing and where was she living? He had her number. He could find out. He could—

He heard the kid yelling again and this time it sounded even further off. But no…this was a different voice. And while he wasn’t certain, he didn’t think the voice sounded all that happy.

Cocking his head in that direction, Wayne listened closer, waiting to hear the kid again. He knew that sound often travelled across the water in a weird way, so there was no way to tell
exactly
what he was hearing or to accurately pinpoint where it was coming from.

The shout came again. This time, he heard two voices and he now knew without a doubt that one of them was afraid. Not only that, but whatever the scared one was saying sounded a hell of a lot like
“Help!”

He felt certain it was coming from his right, a good distance away. He nearly did nothing, content to sit there and do his lazy monster hunting. But who was to say anyone else would respond to the call for help he’d just heard? Wayne knew that he was far from a Good Samaritan, but he also wasn’t a hapless asshole that would let a kid scream for help without at least swinging by to see what was wrong.

Another scream came darting across the lake and this time there was no word to it; it was just a scream.

Hearing it, he thought his first estimate had been off. The scream wasn’t too far away at all. It was coming from the direction of Kerr Lane, directly to his right and less than a mile away.

Wayne cranked the engine to life again. When the boat got moving, there was nothing slow or hesitant about his driving this time. He blasted the boat across the lake, staying fairly close to the bank, and wished Al was there to tell him to slow this deathtrap down. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d opened the boat up like this. It felt good in an odd way, even with the uneven tremble of the engine vibrating through the back of the boat.

He leaned into the wind as it ruffled the little bit of hair that was still on his head. As the boat skipped along the water, a look of steeled determination came across his face. It was drawn so tight that within several seconds, it could have easily been mistaken as a smile.

TWENTY-NINE

When Joe was completely out of the water and rushing up the bank, he nearly lost his footing and fell flat on his face. The only thing that kept him up was the pull of Mac’s light yet insistent weight, pulling him ahead. Their hands were still linked and she was a few feet ahead of him, displaying speed that Joe had never seen out of her. To his right, Valerie was also running up the bank, reaching out for his other hand. He took it and they ran towards the cabin in a staggered chain.

They had made it no more than five feet up the bank before he heard the light but noticeable splash in the water behind them. Joe turned and saw the exact same thing he had seen on the old boat ramp a week or so ago, the night Valerie had asked him to come out and catch fireflies with her.

The monster was coming out of the lake and now that the water wasn’t completely hiding its shape, Joe saw that it was easily twice the size it had been the first time he had seen it. Even on the land, it seemed to be moving along as if it were swimming, raising up the front portion of its body along with a portion in the center and pulling itself along. But as its entire body came out of the water—what, Joe thought, was easily ten feet long now—it went flat to the ground and started to slither like a big snake.

And when it did this, it moved
fast.
There was no way they could outrun it. They probably wouldn’t even make it back up onto Kerr Lane before the ugly thing caught up to them and fell on top of them—just like he’d seen in his nightmares.

So the old fishing shack was their only hope. And that, he knew, was a flimsy hope at best.

“Go!” he screamed. “Get in the shed!”

But Mac was way ahead of him. In fact, she was so far ahead of him that he had to completely outstretch his arm just to keep from losing his grip on her. The shack loomed less than ten feet ahead now and looking at it, he wondered how much shelter it would provide. The boards were old and weak, the ceiling was lopsided, and he knew the door likely wouldn’t close securely.

Still, it was better than nothing and was probably their best shot at staying alive as long as possible.

Beside him, Valerie screamed. He looked over to her and saw that she was okay for the time being. She had looked back to the monster for the first time since coming out of the lake and was reacting at what she saw. It was still slithering towards them, sending leaves, twigs and other fallen debris flying. It left a clearly strewn path behind it, highlighted by a clear substance that looked very much like mucus.

As he looked back towards it, he felt his right arm take a sudden jerk to the left. He looked ahead and saw that Mac had reached the shack. She was running to the left, where the doorway stood. Reaching it, Mac let go of his hand once she was in the presumed safety of the little building.

He followed along, pulling Valerie with him. He peered back over his shoulder and saw that the thing was catching up at an alarming rate. If the shack hadn’t been an option, he was pretty sure it would be on Valerie’s heels before they got halfway up to the road.

He knew that their only hope was to cower in the shack, hoping its weak structure would hold up against the thing long enough for it to retreat back to the water like it did the first time it had nearly killed him. He couldn’t remember how long that had been. Thirty seconds? Maybe forty?

He came to the edge of the shack and took a hard turn to the left, just as Mac had done. With Valerie’s hand still in his, he skidded to a stop, realizing that he was about to overshoot the doorway. He halted and leaped into the dank interior, realizing for the first time that they would essentially be trapped. At least outside, there was plenty of room to run if the thing made some kind of mistake. But in the shack, their only hope was in the questionable strength of the wooden walls and the door.

Valerie’s hand was still in his and he gave it a tug, hoping to help her along. She came in through the door with a scream and the moment she cleared the frame, Joe reached out to shut the door. He pushed it as hard as he could, the hinges shrieking as the warped door and the frame rubbed together.

Just before he gave it a final push that he hoped would at the very least take the door to the edge of the frame, the bottom of the frame was suddenly filled with what he assumed the head of the monster. It came in a fast and fluid motion that once again reminded Joe of a very determined snake. It instantly found Valerie’s leg again, as she was the closest to the door, and wrapped around it. Valerie screamed a high-pitched wail and fell to the dirt floor.

Not knowing what else to do, Joe pushed hard on the door. It moved considerably and pinched the first quarter or so of the creature’s body between the door and the frame. Realizing that it was caught, it restricted a bit, tightening its body and trying to draw back. Joe let out a scream and shoved hard against the door one more time. It moved only slightly, wedging the thing’s body in even more.

This time, it drew back considerably and let go of Valerie’s leg. Still, Joe shoved on the door, hoping that maybe the old wood would puncture the thing’s skin or, if they were very lucky, tear right through it.

The monster managed to pull away completely, slinking quickly through the door. Joe was pleased to see that the thing was hurt in the process; its flesh peeled back in much the same way human skin might be peeled back in a violent scratch. He saw the white meat beneath and more of its black flowing blood.

Joe let out a string of curses that he had never spoken out loud in front of Mac as he gave the door one final shove. It took some effort, but he managed to get the door to fit almost completely into the frame. He wasn’t sure if the door or the frame was causing the problem, as both were considerably warped and out of shape, but he hoped the force it had taken to shut it meant that it would be equally hard to get it open.

With the door closed, he ran to Valerie and saw that her leg was inflamed and red. She was wincing against it, a tear slipping from her eye.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I think so,” she answered. “It just burns.”

Joe then went to his sister and took her in his arms. “You okay, Mac?”

She nodded, but frowned. He could tell that she was on the verge of breaking down into a crying fit. He’d seen it out of her several times before but it was usually because she wasn’t getting her way or because she’d been disciplined. He had no idea what this fit might be like and had no interest in letting it happen.

“Look, we’ll be okay in here,” he told her. “That thing is just like a fish. It needs water to breathe. It will have to go back to the water after a while and—”

The side of the shack shook violently as something slammed into it from outside. This was instantly followed by the sound of the thing slithering around the corners of the place.

Joe looked around for a suitable place to look outside without putting himself in harm’s way. He found two slats on the left side of the shack that had about three inches between them but it wasn’t quite enough to see anything of substance. As he tried to get a good vantage point, the monster slammed into the side of the building again. This was a harder attack and Joe’s heart sank when he heard the sound of splintering wood. The old tool rack along the front of the shack was jarred loose from the wall and came clattering down to the ground.

Joe saw the old pitchfork among the clutter and went to it. Valerie thought it had likely once been used for frog gigging. What they were up against was much worse than even the largest frog he could think of, but he had to go with what he had. He grabbed up the pitchfork and found that it was so old and worn that it felt like nothing more than a heavy toy in his hand.

“Joe…” Mac said.

He went to her and held her close, the pitchfork still in hand. “I know,” he said.

Valerie slid over to them, still on her backside and extending her wounded leg out.

“Maybe if we scream loud enough, someone will hear us,” she said. “My dad’s cabin is
so
close.”

This thought seemed to depress her more than relieve her. Joe knew the feeling; to be so close to someone that could help but still be in such danger seemed almost ridiculous.

“We can give it a try,” Joe said.

As if sensing what they were about to do, the monster attacked the shed again, this time from a different side. Joe watched the door shudder in its weak frame. The bottom of it popped out a little. From overhead, dust and dirt wafted down from the force of the attack.

“Okay, start screaming,” Joe said.

All three of the screamed at the top of their lungs. Their voices were desperate and terrified, coming out of the tiny shack like the wailing of lost ghosts. Whether or not anyone heard, they did not know. They simply continued to scream as they waited for the next attack on the shed.

After thirty seconds of yelling, after which time Joe’s throat had started to get sore, a thought occurred to him. He stopped screaming and looked back out of the thin space between the slats he had used earlier. There was no sign of the monster and it had not attacked the building in nearly a minute. Maybe it had gone back to the water.

Or maybe it was slithering quietly around the edges of the cabin, waiting for them to assume that they were safe so it could spring on them when they stepped out.

“Hold on,” Joe said, making a
stop
gesture with his hand. “Stop screaming. If we’re quiet, we might be able to hear when it heads back to the water. If we can be
sure
it’s going back to the water, we can get out of here. If we start running for the road while it’s headed for the water, we could probably make it to the closest house.”

“You think?” Valerie asked.

“It’s worth trying,” he said. “If it hits this shack a few more times, it’s going to break through the walls.”

She nodded. “Sure. Let’s try that.”

“I don’t know, Joe…” Mac said.

“I don’t either,” he admitted as he took her hands. “But it’s the only plan we have right now. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said. The look of trust she gave him made Joe feel like a grownup. He felt like the man in charge, the one responsible for getting these two girls out of this stupid old shack alive and in one piece. And although he felt silly holding the pitchfork as their only means of protection, he still held it as if their lives depended on it.

He walked over to the crack in the wall between the two slats and peered out. He couldn’t see the area a foot or so in front of him and beyond that, he was offered a very obstructed view of the lake. There were too many trees in his way to make sense of anything. The fact that he couldn’t see the monster did little to comfort him. As far as he was concerned, the fact that he couldn’t see it simply meant that it could be hiding at the door.

But it needed to get back to the water, right? Based on his first encounter with it, this seemed like a reasonable assumption.

“Do you see it?” Valerie asked.

“No. I can’t see
anything
.”

He turned around and looked at the door. It had been hard to close it, so he figured it would also be hard to open it. And if it made all of the creaks and squeals it had made upon closing, the monster would surely hear it.

Joe had no idea what to do. He peered back through the slat, back to the lake, praying to hear the sound of something easing back into the water.

Behind him, Mac started to cry. It was a soft sound, as she understood that staying quiet might be their best bet at survival. He turned to look at her and saw that she was covering her mouth with her hands. Her tears ran onto her fingertips and pooled there.

“Mac, it’s okay,” he said.

“Please,” she said between gasps for breath. “Let’s go home.”

“We will,” he said. “We will. I promise.”

“Now,” she said.

“I’m trying…”

As he said that, he heard the slithering noise again. It was coming from the right side of the cabin, the side that held the door. It was slight but fairly consistent. The thing was on the move, and it was moving at a steady pace. The question, of course, was whether it was circling the cabin or heading back down to the water before the air suffocated it.

Giving up on his useless peeking spot, Joe glided over to the door. There was the smallest fraction of light coming in from the bottom where the door wasn’t fitting securely in the frame. Joe looked down to the spot, getting down on his hands and knees to do so. He looked to the little section of light—no larger than the size of a quarter—and felt despair well up within him.

He could see a fraction of the thing as it moved along the base of the shack. It was moving quickly, its body looking like some smooth and glistening oil along the underside of the door. Joe wondered if it was circling the shack, looking for any sign of weakness.

“Joe?”

Valerie’s voice called softly from behind him.

“It’s still there,” he said.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. It’s right here along the d—”

Suddenly, it stopped moving as if in response to Joe’s voice. Joe stayed where he was, watching that small bit of it through the hole in the bottom of the door.
How long can this damn thing stay out of the water without dying?