by Tim Waggoner
“You ran out of leash, didn’t you, you fucker?”
From the moment the landsharks had attacked Flotsam, it seemed the creature’s umbilical cords could stretch endlessly. But long as they might be, they still had limits, as she now witnessed. The shark thrashed, whipping its body back and forth, hundreds of tiny feet scrabbling furiously in a vain attempt to move forward, gill fronds pulsing. If only Pete and Shari had reached this point before the sharks attacked. If they had, her lovers would still be alive and all three of them would be well on their way to a hospital. The shark fixed its crimson-eyed stare on her, and although the creature possessed no real intelligence, she could’ve sworn the thing was glaring at her in frustration. She smiled savagely at the struggling animal.
“Fuck you,” she spat.
Then the barbed end of the shark’s umbilicus tore free in a spray of saltwater mixed with blood. No longer bound by the umbilicus, the shark surged toward Tamara. Without its umbilicus, the shark would die. The creature didn’t know that, though. Or if it did, it didn’t care. Just so long as it got to kill her first.
She’d always believed that intense pleasure and intense pain were simply two sides of the same coin – absolute, overwhelming sensation – and she believed it was possible to experience pain so great it was indistinguishable from pleasure.
She was about to find out.
She’d had so many plans for her career. Better roles in larger, more high-profile productions. Higher salaries, maybe even an award or two. But none of it was going to happen now, and the biggest surprise to her was how little she cared.
When the dying shark got its teeth into her, she discovered that intense pleasure and pain were definitely not the same.
Not even close.
* * * * *
Jarrod had done a lot of things in his acting career but driving a police cruiser was a first. Susan literally rode shotgun, holding tight to her weapon and scanning the streets for any sign of sharks as they drove. She also navigated, guiding him toward the ocean. They had the vehicle’s emergency lights going in case they ran into other traffic, but the streets were mostly clear. They passed other abandoned police cruisers and an empty EMS vehicle. It was no mystery what had happened to their drivers. They’d responded to emergency calls about landsharks attacking only to end up dead themselves.
Jarrod and Susan had come across Grady’s abandoned cruiser not long after parting ways with Tamara, Pete, and Shari. The driver’s door had been open, and the engine still running, as if the vehicle had been waiting for them. Jarrod drove as fast as he could, running through red lights and taking turns so sharply the cruiser’s tires squealed in protest. He didn’t know what Inez – the Mass – intended to do with Tasha, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good, and he knew time wasn’t on their side. They needed to get to Tasha as fast as they could, and they had a plan, basic though it was. From what Tasha had said, the Mass was in the ocean, close to shore mostly likely, so its Hunters could reach as far inland as possible. That meant they needed a boat. Susan had lived in Bridgewater all her life, and while she didn’t own a boat of her own, she knew where to find one. There was a boat rental place on the beach where people could rent small craft with outboard motors for fishing or joyriding. As for what Susan and he would do when they found the Mass . . . well, Jarrod was still working on that.
He was grateful for Susan’s help, but he was having second thoughts about her joining him on this rescue mission. It was one thing for him to risk his life. He was already dying. But Susan was young and healthy. She had everything to lose and nothing to gain by helping him.
“Susan, once I get a boat, you don’t need –”
“Hush,” Susan said, not unkindly. “This isn’t something you can do yourself, not in . . .” She trailed off.
“My condition?” Jarrod said.
Susan said nothing.
Jarrod wanted to tell her she was being insulting, but he knew she was right. It had become harder for him to do regular day-to-day activities over the last few weeks, and he had no idea how long his body would hold up under the kind of strain he was putting on it tonight. He was an old, dying man. Not exactly action-hero material. But his leukemia gave him an advantage most people didn’t have. He wasn’t afraid to die, and when you didn’t fear death, you could do anything.
“Take a left up ahead,” Susan said, and he did so.
On one hand, it was a relief that they hadn’t encountered any more landsharks during their drive, but it was also worrying. Jarrod feared the Mass might’ve recalled its Hunters to the water, and if that was the case, it might then head back out to sea. It would be hard enough to find the creature at night, even with the moonlight to aid them, but if the goddamned thing submerged, they’d have no chance.
If it submerges, Tasha will drown, he thought, and their rescue mission would be over before it began. All the more reason to get to the boat rental place as fast as they could.
“Not that I’m ungrateful for your assistance,” Jarrod began.
“But why am I risking my life to help you and Tasha?”
He nodded.
“Would you believe me if I said because it’s the right thing to do?”
“There’s a big difference between the right thing and a suicide mission,” Jarrod said.
Susan laughed.
“True enough. I guess I couldn’t let you go by yourself. Everybody needs backup, right? Besides, those fucking sharks tore the shit out of my bar and killed my customers. And to be honest, I never really liked Inez.”
Now it was Jarrod’s turn to laugh.
They reached the beach soon after that. Jarrod drove the cruiser onto the sand and pulled right up to the boat rental place, which was called, imaginatively enough, Boat Rentals. The cruiser’s emergency lights were still flashing, and he wondered if he should turn them off so as to not warn Inez they were coming. He decided it didn’t matter. Inez wanted them to come to her. Their rescue attempt was going to be the climactic scene in the “movie” her deranged mind had envisioned. He wasn’t sure what had happened to Inez, but it was clear that she’d somehow joined with the Mass, that her consciousness had blended with its. He wondered if Inez still lived or if the Mass had only adopted her thought patterns? If she lived, maybe there was a possibility she could be saved, too. If so, it would probably be a long shot at best, but if there was a chance, regardless of how slight it might be, Jarrod would take it.
Susan walked to the side door of the building – really little more than a brick shack – and told Jarrod to step back. She pounded the butt of the shotgun against the wood next to the doorknob three times before the lock broke and the door swung inward. She handed the shotgun to Jarrod, who almost dropped it, and then she went inside. It had been some time since he’d fired a gun, back when he was preparing for a role as a hit man in a crime thriller titled Kill Me Twice. He’d learned to shoot pistols, rifles, and shotguns then, but that had been almost twenty years ago. Still, he felt confident that he remembered the basics. He raised the gun to his shoulder and guarded the entrance while Susan did whatever she was doing.
He thought of Tamara, Shari, and Pete then. He hoped they’d made it out of Sailor’s Walk and managed to find medical care for Pete. He supposed there was an excellent chance he would never know. All he could do was hope for the best. In the end, wasn’t that all anyone could do?
When Susan came out of the building a moment later, she was holding an ignition key. A number dangled from it, printed with black marker on a round white piece of plastic. Number 6. Susan took back the shotgun, handed Jarrod the key, and they headed for the small dock where the boats were moored. Susan held her shotgun at the ready, scanning the beach for any sign of landshark activity, but there was none.
The craft consisted of skiffs and what Susan said were bay boats, the latter designed for use close to shore. The bay boats were made of fiberglass and measured around twenty feet in length. Most importantly, they didn’t look too diff
icult to pilot. The boat numbers were painted on the boards of the dock, so finding Number 6 was no hard task. Jarrod got in first, and Susan untied the mooring line, tossed it into the boat, and then joined Jarrod. Before starting the boat, she reached into her pants pocket, removed a small object, and placed it into his hand. It was a matchbook which said Flotsam on the cover, along with the bar’s address and phone number.
“You can’t smoke in bars or restaurants in Bridgewater,” she said, “but matchbooks are still good advertisements. I always keep a few on me.”
“Why are you giving this to me?” Jarrod asked. “Nothing personal, but if I live through tonight, I’m not going to want a souvenir to remember it by.”
She smiled and hooked a thumb aft.
“There should be a fuel container back there. I only have a handful of shells left, and we might need to improvise a weapon when we reach the Mass.”
“Good thinking,” Jarrod said.
Susan grinned. “Only kind I do.” She nodded to the boat’s steering console. “You want to pilot this thing or do you want to shoot at sharks?”
“You’ve been doing fine in the shooting department this evening, and I’ve piloted watercraft of various kinds before.”
“Aye, aye Captain Drayton.”
Jarrod went to the boat’s console, inserted the key into the ignition switch, and turned it. The engine activated with a rumble, loud and strong. Jarrod stood at the console, and Susan took up a position in the bow ahead of him. He put the motor in reverse, making sure to go gentle on the throttle. The craft backed out of the slip, then Jarrod put the engine in drive and gave it a little more throttle. The bay boat started moving forward, slowly at first, but as soon as they’d gotten past the dock, he gave it more speed.
“It’s a beautiful night to go monster hunting,” Susan said.
It was an odd thought, but Jarrod couldn’t disagree with it. The sky was clear, the moon was shining bright, and the ocean was calm and smooth as glass. Too bad they weren’t really making a film. The conditions were perfect for a night shoot.
“Now all we have to do is find the Mass,” Susan said. “Any idea where to look?”
“Tasha said she sensed it earlier today, when we were filming on the beach. I say we start there.”
“Good a place as any,” Susan said. “Head east.” She pointed, and Jarrod turned the craft in that direction and shoved the throttle forward as far as it would go.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tasha returned to consciousness in darkness. At first she thought she’d awakened in the middle of the night, and she intended to roll over and return to sleep. But when she tried to move, nothing happened. Confused, she tried to wiggle her fingers and toes, but again, nothing happened. At least, she didn’t feel anything happening. Was she sick or injured? Was she in a coma? Panic overwhelmed her, and she tried crying out for someone, anyone to help, but no sound emerged from her throat. She was alone. Absolutely, utterly alone.
I wouldn’t go that far, dear.
The voice startled Tasha. It felt strange, as if she wasn’t hearing it so much as experiencing it.
You’ve never mentally communicated with a mind as strong as yours before, have you? Inez said. It must be strange for you to hear another thought-voice.
Rather than relieving her panic, hearing Inez’s voice only made it worse.
“Where am I? What happened to me?”
Where you’re at is a simple question to answer. You’re inside the Mass, floating in Bridgewater Bay about a half mile from shore. We moved out here so Jarrod would have a final journey to make – much more dramatic that way. But we didn’t go too far. As ill as the poor thing is, we don’t want to overtax him.
Now that Tasha was in direct telepathic communication with Inez/the Mass, she was getting a better idea of the intelligence she was dealing with. As she’d sensed before, it was ancient and powerful, but it hadn’t been self-aware, at least not in the way humans thought of the concept. Inez wasn’t the first human the Mass had ever absorbed, but she was the most imaginative. The Mass had been intrigued by her imagination, so it had, in essence, downloaded her mind and was using it like an operating system. But because Inez produced films for a living, the Mass – not fully understanding the abstract concept of a movie – had attempted to make one of its own. It was, for the first time in its unbelievably long life, exploring creativity. Everything that had happened tonight, every life that had been lost, all the blood that had been spilled, had all been part of the Mass’ first production.
I’m thinking of calling it Blood Island. Simple but impactful, yes? What do you think of my movie so far? Be honest now. I can take it.
Good god. The fucking thing was asking her for story notes? She ignored the question and repeated one of her own.
“What happened to me?”
That’s difficult to explain. It might be easier if I showed you.
A cascade of information flooded Tasha’s mind, complex biological data mixed with physical sensations. When it was over, she understood what had been done to her, and she was horrified. Her body was gone, absorbed by the Mass. Only her brain remained, housed within its substance – a literal island of blood – and connected directly to its nervous system, just as had been done with Inez’s mind.
“You killed me!”
Within me, you’ll live until the end of time. I haven’t killed you. I’ve made you immortal. I’m sure you’ll adjust to your new reality in a century or two, but right now we need to get ready for the final act of our little drama. Jarrod is coming.
Tasha felt the departure of Inez’s mental presence, and although she called out to the woman and demanded she return and talk further, she received no reply.
She understood the Mass was using her as a lure to bring Jarrod to it, and sweet, brave idiot that he was, he’d fallen for it. She knew the Mass had no intention of allowing Jarrod to be victorious. The creature might be following the paradigm of a monster movie, but it was never going to allow the hero to defeat it. Jarrod would die – sooner than he had to – and it was all because of her. The Mass’ curiosity about the lifeforms on shore had been peaked when their two minds had briefly touched earlier in the day. If she hadn’t been on the shore with the rest of the film crew, the Mass would’ve eaten its fill of sea life in the area and eventually moved on, just as if had for millions of years. Before, it had been nothing more than an animal, an amazing prehistoric survivor like those pliosaurs in the waters around the South-American island of Las Dagas. But with the addition of Inez’s mind, it had become a monster.
She had to do something to help Jarrod stop the Mass. But what? All that remained of her was her mind. But hers was far from a normal mind, wasn’t it? She was a telepath, a strong one. The Mass had left her with her most potent weapon intact, and it had put her inside it. Two very big mistakes, ones Tasha hoped would prove fatal.
She relaxed her mind, allowed her thoughts to quiet, and when she was ready, she went to work.
* * * * *
Finding the Mass turned out to be far simpler than Jarrod anticipated. They’d only been traveling for several minutes before the first shark fin broke the surface. It was quickly followed by several more, and Jarrod feared that Susan and he were about to be attacked. But instead of coming at the boat, the sharks lined up in a single file and began swimming out to sea.
“What are they doing?” Susan asked.
Jarrod let out a bitter laugh.
“Inez wants to make sure we find the Mass, so she’s sent some of her pets to guide us.” He didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted. Did Inez think he was so far past his prime that he couldn’t locate one fucking sea monster hanging around the bay? But something else about the escort disturbed him more. It was a display of Inez’s control. She was in charge of this production, and she intended for it to go precisely according to plan. Her plan. Susan and he were doing exactly what Inez wanted, and if they continued playing the roles she’d created for t
hem, how could they hope to defeat her? He could see no other option, though, so he followed the sharks.
“What do you think the Mass is exactly?” Susan asked.
“I don’t know. From its name, I assume it’s big. And the word conjures up images of nasty growths inside the body. Horrid, shapeless things that might or might not kill you.”
“Like cancer,” Susan said.
“The irony isn’t lost on me,” Jarrod said wryly.
They continued following the sharks for several minutes until they saw a large dark shape ahead of them. At first, Jarrod thought it was an island, but he didn’t remember there being one in the bay. But when the shark fins slid beneath the surface, he understood that they had reached their destination. This was the Mass. He throttled back and allowed the boat to slow. It drifted toward the Mass, and when a wave threatened to push it further away, a shark appeared and bumped into the craft’s hull, nudging it back toward the Mass. The boat’s prow struck the Mass with a soft chuk and held fast, almost as if the Mass had grabbed hold of it. Jarrod cut the engine, and Susan disembarked first. She then helped him onto the surface of the Mass. It gave beneath their feet as if they were standing on flesh, but the surface was craggy, like rock. Jarrod knelt to touch it and found it was as rough as it looked. It was like touching a gigantic scab. He scratched at the surface, and when he examined his finger, he saw dark liquid on it. He sniffed and detected the distinct odor of blood. He stood and wiped his finger on the side of his pants.
He looked around, but even with the moonlight to see by, he couldn’t tell how large the Mass was. Big as a whale, he thought. Maybe bigger.
He called out for Tasha.
“Tasha! Can you hear me? It’s Jarrod! Are you here? Are you hurt?”
