Beneath the Lake

by Christopher Ransom

  ‘I found him!’ his father shouts. ‘Here! Here!’

  Sand carves away from him by what feels like ten different brooms, some of them sharp. His left leg jerks up, pain in his ankle, as another set of hands grips his right arm. Fingers probe his throat, his hip, one eye.

  ‘Get back!’ his father yells.

  ‘Raymond! Baby, say something!’ his mother cries.

  All at once, Ray is borne up from the sand, layers of it sloughing off him as he rises into pure air, aloft in his father’s arms.

  Everyone rushes by in a merry-go-round, wiping at him, shaking him, hands over his eyes, fingers in his mouth. He recoils, coughing, and starts to cry.

  He can breathe again. He can see.

  Over his father’s shoulder, through a screen of tears, the lake continues to rage. The beach jogs beneath them, splashing, and his father dunks him clean.

  ‘Spit it out!’ his father yells. ‘Spit! Spit! Good, good… good boy.’

  An hour or so later, they are all in the camper. All nine of them, packed in side by side, watching the storm wear itself out. The floor is a mess of sand and wet towels, the seats wet from their suits, the smell of lake water thick in the cabin. His father is quiet, solemn. His mother can’t stop sobbing and hugging him, kissing his cheeks and asking if he’s sure he’s all right. Raymond’s ankle hurts, his tongue is swollen and his neck is stiff, but otherwise he’s fine. Mostly he feels worn out and incredibly relieved to see them all together, safe.

  Raymond watches the blonde girl, who is no longer crying or talking about her dog but still looks sad. Rusty is still missing, she said two or three times, but no one seemed to hear her. They were too busy fussing over him.

  Mrs Overton hands out cups of Hawaiian Punch. Colt pretends to read her book in the corner seat. Leonard is up in the bunk, watching the lake like Raymond was earlier. Dad and Mr Overton lean over the dining table every few minutes, faces close to the window, mumbling things to each other.

  ‘Ever seen anything like that, Warren?’

  ‘Hell no. Not even the monsoons churned up such darkness.’

  ‘What is it, though?’ Mr Overton asks. ‘If you were a scientist, how would you try to explain that?’

  ‘It’s not soil,’ Warren says. ‘Not water. Not a reflection. Sky’s almost blue now.’

  ‘I can’t get over it,’ Mr Overton says. ‘We were ten steps from swimming in that shit – excuse me, ladies and kids. But damned if I don’t feel like somebody just removed my blindfold and informed me I was walking on the ledge of a skyscraper.’

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ Mrs Overton says, peeking through the small window above the galley sink. ‘Is that a tent? Somebody’s orange dome tent, rolling across the middle of the lake?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Warren adds. ‘I’ve spotted two more boats since that white Hobie. Both of them turtled.’

  ‘Any people?’ their teen son asks. Raymond heard them call him Shawn.

  ‘No,’ Warren answers. ‘But that doesn’t mean they drowned.’

  Mr Overton shakes his head. ‘If not, they’re in for a helluva swim.’

  ‘The ranger’s here,’ Leonard announces from the bunk. ‘I can see the front end of his truck, but he isn’t getting out.’

  ‘He’ll wait a while,’ Warren says. ‘Probably come check on us once the wind loses another twenty knots.’

  Mr Overton, who can barely fit between the dinner table and seat cushions, turns to Raymond and blinks several times. He looks to his daughter, his son, then back to Raymond. He swallows hard.

  ‘I don’t know what that is down in the water,’ he says. ‘And I’m not sure I want to know. But I think you were right, Raymond. It’s part of why we couldn’t hear you. We weren’t ourselves. For a minute there, I’m not sure I knew where I was.’

  ‘We were all so confused,’ Raymond’s mother says. ‘I don’t trust this place. We never should have parked so close to…’ She pauses, her tears welling up again. ‘That cliff almost took my son.’

  ‘I’m all right, Mom,’ he says for the tenth or twentieth time. ‘We’re safe now.’

  ‘Damn lucky,’ Mr Overton says. ‘I hate to say it, but I believe it was ready to crumble, and maybe him jumping is what triggered it. If that wall hadn’t come down, we might never have snapped out of it. We might still be down there, in that bad business.’

  For the first time since washing the sand off him, Raymond’s father looks him in the eyes. They all stare at him that way, wide-eyed, a little scared of him. He knows it is because the sand buried him, they thought he was dead. They’re glad he’s not, but he can’t help feeling like he did something wrong.

  Warren walks to him, crouching as the others continue to stare. Raymond looks past his father, to the little girl, Megan. Her father strokes her hair.

  ‘When can we go look for Rusty?’ she asks, her eyes never leaving Raymond’s. He must be scaring her too.

  ‘Soon, baby. I promise. But we have to be sure it’s safe. We had enough danger for one day. Rusty will be all right. He’s low to the ground and he’s got his wheels for balance.’

  Raymond knows what she is thinking, because he thought it too. What if Rusty got buried in another falling bank of cliff sand?

  ‘Raymond, look at me,’ his father says, taking his chin in his warm hand. He looks frighteningly serious. ‘Were you scared to jump?’

  Raymond nods.

  ‘I bet you were.’ His father thumbs the band aid at his forehead, where the lawn chair cut him. ‘All that wind. Chaos. Stuff flying around. I’d have been scared to jump too. I’m very sorry I put you in that position. It’s my fault. I don’t know what I was thinking, trying to get everyone to go swimming in that. I guess I got mad the storm was ruining the end of our trip. Especially after yesterday, which was about as perfect as they come, wasn’t it?’

  Raymond smiles, nodding.

  ‘You liked those fireworks your dad made, huh?’ Mrs Overton says. ‘We did too. We watched the whole show.’

  ‘Actually, we thought you were all crazier’n hell,’ Mr Overton says. ‘But we loved every minute of it. Megan’s never seen anything like that, but she’ll probably never forget it.’

  ‘I should have put my family first,’ his father says, staring into his eyes. ‘Your safety, everyone else’s safety first. But that’s not what I did. Turns out, that’s what you did, Raymond. You risked your life for your family, and a family of complete strangers.’

  ‘But we’re not strangers anymore,’ Mrs Overton says. ‘God bless.’

  ‘That’s right. We made some new friends,’ Warren says. He places his palm over Ray’s chest, patting his heart. ‘That was an incredibly brave thing you did, son. Something only the best soldiers do, in the heat of battle. You know what we call that? When someone is willing to give up his own life for the good of others?’

  Raymond blushes, and can’t help but look down, away from all of the eyes. He doesn’t feel brave. He doesn’t feel like a hero.

  ‘We call that the ultimate sacrifice,’ his father says.

  Everyone applauds, even the little girl who lost her dog. Ray feels hers the most.

  ‘And don’t you ever do anything like that ever again, you little shit,’ Francine adds, which earns a round of laughter.

  The wind dies down, the sun returns to the point. The camper grows unbearably hot, everyone feels cramped inside. Not to mention hungry, the adults in need of a stiff drink. Warren insists the Overtons stay for dinner. Leonard and Shawn crack jokes together, and sometimes Raymond notices Shawn sneaking glances at Colt. Everyone files out, joking and marveling at the mess the storm made of the camp ground.

  Francine begins preparing the vegetables and chicken breasts while Warren and Mr Overton amble over to tell the ranger everyone is safe and accounted for. The ranger is a tall old man in cowboy boots, with a thick mustache, and he inspects the fallen cliff with whistle of disbelief. For a brief moment, hearing of the rescue, he cuts his steel-blue eyes at
Raymond and shakes his head very slowly. Raymond supposes there is a little sympathy in there somewhere, but he senses another itch in the man, something displeased and wishing to mete out a dose of punishment. He looks away as Warren talks on, hitching his big chapped ranch hands into his belt loops and agrees to keep an eye out for the missing dog.

  Leonard, Shawn and Colette walk the point with trash bags, collecting the clothes and chairs and other equipment that has been scattered around. Mrs Overton and her husband head back to their tent to make sure it’s still staked to the ground, promising to return with a bottle of wine and some homemade cherry pie for dessert. Raymond realizes he hasn’t seen Megan for at least fifteen minutes, and he walks around the camper in search of her.

  She stands at the end of the point, wrapped in a thick blue towel, alone, with the cove on her left, the rest of the lake to the right. Scanning the beaches, the woods, and even the water, Raymond supposes. This is the best available lookout.

  He approaches quietly and stands beside her. She glances up at him with a blank expression, then returns to her watch.

  ‘No luck yet, huh?’ he says, knowing how dumb it sounds.

  ‘I’m not giving up,’ she says. She sounds older than five or six, probably because of how sad she is. Ray wishes he could help in some way. Wishes he would have found her dog for her, before he caused the avalanche and everyone spent their time worrying about him.

  ‘We could go down in the sand and look for his tire tracks,’ he says. ‘I’ll walk with you. He probably didn’t get too far. I bet we can find him.’

  ‘Okay, maybe later. My daddy says we’ll go in the truck after dinner.’

  ‘How come those wheels? Did he get hit by a car?’

  Megan shakes her head. ‘He was born with a hurt back so he couldn’t feel his legs. Sometimes he had to potty in the house and Mommy said it wasn’t right. He’d take a long time to heal and maybe never. She said we should put him asleep. But I wouldn’t let them. I told ’em Rusty was gonna sleep with me until he was all better. For Christmas, Daddy made him the bicycle, so he could take all the time he needed. This summer is his first vacation. He loves the beach. That’s how come he can run now.’

  Raymond looks at her while she waits for any sign. ‘He knows you love him a lot. That’s why he’ll come back, I bet.’

  ‘What if he forgets?’ Megan says, looking up at him again.

  ‘You saved his life. Dogs never forget someone who does that.’

  She studies him, decides he is telling the truth. She smiles.

  They watch over the beach, across the bay, and farther out, to the other side of the lake. The clouds over there look different. Not dark gray or black like the ones during the storm. These are white, lower and softer, forming a wide spiral that seems to be moving in all directions at once. Strange. The sky above and behind the camp site is blue, almost totally clear. Down by the dam, the last of the really dark gray storm clouds are drifting away. This new formation doesn’t seem related to the rest of the sky, and it keeps changing.

  Raymond looks to Megan, to see if she notices it too. She does, her expression curious and remote, but no longer watching the beach for her dog.

  Now several thin cones of white cloud hang from the spiral mass like icicles. Raymond begins to count them, and when he reaches eight, he sees that some of them are being sucked back up into the blanket cover while new ones drop lower, almost to the ground on the other side of the lake. He is about to point them out for her when a really big one spills down like yarn and touches the lake.

  Beside him, Megan stiffens and reaches out, squeezing his arm.

  They stand side by side as the wide spiral presses down, sliding closer to the lake. It must be miles across, and the whole thing is drifting toward them like a giant saucer. Ray counts the yarn-icicles again and this time reaches eleven. Eleven different strands swaying and curving, not all low enough to touch the ground, but at least three touch the lake. When they do, the waves around each stem flatten into a bowl and a spume of water leaps up.

  ‘Should we tell?’ Megan asks, still squeezing his arm.

  ‘Prolly.’ Raymond looks back over his shoulder, to the camp site.

  Megan’s parents are walking back with a small cooler and a bottle of wine. Raymond’s dad scrubs the grill. Leonard crouches beside his motorcycle, and Colt calls something to Mom before stepping into the camper. Their voices are quiet. They don’t see it. The sky above them is blue, but he doesn’t think it will stay that way for long.

  ‘We better go,’ he says, but Megan won’t let go of his arm.

  ‘Look,’ she says. ‘Playground slide.’

  Raymond looks out again as six or seven of the thin white cones rotate into each other, the spiral above sucking them into a single wide funnel. He knows what she means. It looks just like a huge white playground slide, and he can almost picture the ladder on the other side. The slide’s bottom lip is wider, flat on the water. It’s already in the middle of the lake and coming for the point.

  ‘Come on!’ Raymond shouts, leading her away.

  The air fills with a buzzing noise like he has never heard, the sound of ten thousand bees drilling the air.

  Megan clings to his arm as they run. He starts to shout but he doesn’t have to this time. His mother jumps from the camper, eyes huge, running toward them. His father notices her blur past, then turns in confusion, the grill scraper in one hand. Megan’s parents drop the cooler and the wine and shout their children’s names. Colette leans out the camper door, not understanding. Leonard stands, holding the grip of his Honda, mouth falling open.

  An explosive rumble shakes the point under their feet. Ray looks back once more to see a bowl the size of a football stadium opening at the edge of the cove, the pure white tornado becoming the most beautiful blue as it fills itself with lake.

  They all see it.

  They are all together as it reaches the point and carves a canyon into the beach. The screaming is his mother’s and Megan’s mother’s and then only the howl of the great slide, rapturous, engulfing.

  Raymond Mercer is still holding Megan Overton’s hand under the Bronco when the tires lift off the point and the slide carries her away.

  Her small hand is warm and fits inside his larger hand as though it was meant to grow there. He holds it awhile, long enough for the two of them to wake up in the field of wild grasses and yellow flowers.

  She sits up first, leading him across the field until they reach the cove made smooth by dawn. She tows him down the beach, running toward the point where they set off all the fireworks, and he remembers all the colors arcing over the black mirror of the night-time lake. It was the most beautiful thing he ever saw, until her.

  They swim, dunking under the cool green water in the cove, taking turns holding their breath and counting to see who can do it the longest. Longer and longer, each one winning until the next one tries again. She is ecstatic to have someone to play with, leaping into his arms without warning, filling her mouth with water to spit in his face. He holds her and spins her around, throwing her over the tiny ripples to watch her splash down. She always comes paddling back for more, and they find new games to play until they are calm and familiar.

  Kneeling in the rigid sand, lake up to their chins, they stare at one another, faces close, her small lips the color of peach skin, the ones that turn from red to gold. He cradles her, wondering what it would be like to kiss her and thinks she wouldn’t mind. But he is at least two or three years older and, though he has never kissed a girl, he knows now is not the time. She is probably not the girl he will kiss, he probably will never have the chance, for when they are old enough she will be back to wherever she lives, and they will be strangers for the rest of their lives. The thought makes it hard to look at her, and so he looks away. Out across the water like a crocodile, trying to see the distant shore.