Silurid

by Gerry Griffiths

  “I’m glad to see you, too, Max,” Nell said, and hugged his neck.

  The outboard motor suddenly reduced power.

  Nell looked over at Vernon. His hand had slipped off the throttle, and he was beginning to slump over.

  “Mr. Murdock! Are you okay?” she asked.

  Vernon abruptly sat back up. “Just felt a little light-headed for a moment. I’m fine. Where’s home?”

  “It’s that way, I think,” Nell said, pointing out into the darkness.

  Vernon steered the raft in the direction of Nell’s finger.

  ***

  “Sean, Nell,” Kelly shouted. She swept her flashlight from one trailer to the other.

  “Let’s check on Liz,” Kate said when they came to the Fallow trailer.

  Most of the windmills had blown down from the storm. The flowerbeds were flattened from the heavy rain.

  Kate knocked on the door. There was no answer.

  “She probably can’t hear us,” Kelly shouted to be heard over the deafening rain.

  “We better check on her.” Kate grabbed the doorknob, gave it a twist, and the door opened.

  “Mrs. Fallow, it’s Kelly and Kate,” Kelly said.

  “Rosie would be barking up a storm by now. Something’s not right,” Kate said.

  They ventured inside, shining their flashlights, careful not to trip over the furniture. Everything looked normal. They went back to the bedroom.

  The bed was still made. Liz and Rosie were not home.

  “I don’t like this,” Kate said.

  They went outside and looked around.

  Parked beside the trailer was Liz’s vintage Studebaker. Kelly wiped the driver’s window and peered inside. Nothing.

  “Over here,” Kate said.

  “Did you find something?” Kelly asked, rushing to the other side of the trailer.

  “Liz’s golf cart. It’s gone.”

  “You don’t think she is out in this storm, do you?”

  “I don’t know. Come on, we’ll take the truck.”

  They ran back to Kate’s trailer. Kate darted inside to get the keys while Kelly got in the truck. It was already 1:30. She was worn out.

  What was happening?

  First, Sean and Nell go missing, and now, Mrs. Fallow.

  Kelly was so tired that her body involuntarily jerked to the rhythm of the rain pounding on the cab.

  ***

  “Do you even have any idea where we are?” asked Victoria, wedged between Bernie and Tony in the front seat. They were parked under an Interstate 5 freeway overpass.

  “No, not really,” Bernie replied.

  Most of the evening had been wasted summoning the road service, getting towed to a gas station, and having the tire repaired. Afterward, they had searched for Lake Recluse. The topography map had been useless for directions, as it didn’t show roads or major highways.

  “What now?” Tony asked.

  The rain cascaded like a waterfall over the edge of the overpass.

  Just then a horn blared and headlight beams crisscrossed out into the night.

  They heard a loud crash and tires screeching on the freeway above, along with a horrific explosion of crunching metal and shattering glass.

  A body soared down and splattered on the roadway in front of the van.

  “Holy shit!” Bernie yelled. He hit the high beams. The light shined on a man spread eagle on the asphalt, his face mashed to pulp.

  “Jesus, his face looks like rhubarb pie,” Tony said.

  “Don’t,” Victoria said, hand over her mouth, about to throw up on the dashboard.

  “You okay?” Tony asked.

  “Hey, we’re in luck,” Bernie said, and pointed.

  Victoria gazed beyond the body and saw a sign: Lake Recluse.

  “Thank God. Go!” she pleaded.

  “Whoa. What about him?” Tony nodded at the man lying on the road.

  “There’s nothing we can do for him, he’s dead,” Victoria said.

  “Maybe there’s someone hurt up on the freeway.”

  Already they could hear sirens in the distance.

  “That’s the CHP. We hang around they’ll end up detaining us for hours, asking silly questions. Besides, there’s no story here. We need to get to Lake Recluse. Now, move it, before they spot us!”

  Bernie gave the body a wide berth then sped off down the road.

  ***

  When CHP officers Rick Stokes and Ken Redfield pulled up in their cruiser, the tires on the overturned car on the grassy freeway divider were still spinning.

  Another car had plowed into the guardrail.

  They got out, leaving the emergency lights flashing. Both officers were wearing yellow raincoats and carrying flashlights. They split up to assist the distressed motorists.

  Stokes ran over to the driver’s door of the overturned vehicle and shined his flashlight inside. A woman driver was suspended upside down by her seatbelt. He banged on the window. The woman was either unconscious or dead. At this point, he wasn’t sure which.

  He went over to the other side of the car and smashed out the passenger window.

  “Lady, can you hear me?” he asked, crawling inside. There was no response.

  He had already summoned assistance, so he knew it would only be a matter of minutes before the paramedic team showed up. He decided it was best not to move her. As he backed out, he noticed blood dripping down from the car seat onto the headliner.

  “Hey, Rick!” Redfield shouted from the guardrail next to the other car.

  “What?

  “The driver took a nosedive straight out the windshield. He’s down there.”

  “Poor sucker.” Stokes shook his head, thinking that’s what happens when you don’t wear your seatbelt, thankful that the woman had had the foresight to wear hers.

  Redfield stepped over the guardrail and disappeared down the embankment.

  The woman stirred and let out a tiny murmur.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll have you out of there before you know it,” Stokes said.

  As if on cue, the paramedic van pulled up. Two paramedics jumped out carrying their emergency kits and rushed over to Stokes.

  “In here. A woman. I think she’s bleeding,” he told them and stepped out of the way.

  While the paramedics did their job, Stokes began accessing the accident scene for his report. The left side of the car against the guardrail and the right side of the woman’s car were both crinkled, suggesting that they had collided, slamming into each other. After the impact, the one car had veered off, smashing into the guardrail, and the woman’s car had spun out of control and flipped over. He would pace off the skid marks later to calculate how fast the drivers had been going before the accident.

  Stokes was watching the paramedics. They struggled to free the woman from her seat belt. He noticed a hole in the passenger door just below the door handle. He took a closer look. The hole was big enough that he could fit his finger inside.

  He strode over to the other car impaled on the guardrail. He leaned in through the driver’s opened window.

  “I put a tarp over the body and set up some flares,” Redfield said, climbing back over the guardrail.

  “Well, well. What do we have here?” Stokes said, moving back out of the car. He was dangling a Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum by the trigger guard with his pen.

  “Don’t tell me that stiff down there is the Highway Marauder.” Redfield grinned.

  “Talk about justice.”

  “I’ll say. Better spruce up, we’re going to be on the news.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Claude swept the shore with the spotlight. So far, they had come up dry. He couldn’t help thinking of what would happen if Sean and Nell were to meet up with one of those fish. What’d the professor call them? Oh yeah, silurid. He sure hoped to hell the kids were safe.

  “You mind not pointing that thing this way,” he said.

  “Quit your worrying,” Jasper replied, resting
the shotgun across his lap.

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re all spooked because of a couple of stupid fish.”

  “You heard the professor. He said they were armor-plated.”

  “Yeah, well, this is an Ithaca Mag-10 Roadblocker, guaranteed to put a chink in that thick hide of theirs.”

  “Yeah, well, do me a favor and keep it pointed the other way.”

  “Hey, we play our cards right, we might have to buy us up some freezers once we kill those giant catfish.”

  “There you go, always thinking of that gut of yours.”

  “A man has to eat.”

  “Don’t forget why we’re really out here.”

  “Hell, those things harm a hair on Sean or Nell, I’ll hunt them down to my last dying breath.”

  Something slammed into the boat’s bow.

  “What was that?” Claude said. His nerves were as ragged as Jasper’s skivvies.

  “Shine the light over there,” Jasper said.

  Claude directed the spotlight on some floating debris.

  “Must be from the storm.”

  Claude panned the light over the bank of Adobe Creek. The creek was no longer dried up but alive and turbulent.

  “What’s that?” Jasper asked.

  “Where?”

  “Over there,” Jasper said, pointing farther down the shore.

  Jasper slowed down, cut the engine, then hit the tilt switch. The bow of the bass boat nudged onto the beach.

  “Looks like a campsite,” Jasper said, stepping from the boat.

  Claude got out. He took a flashlight out of his coat pocket and switched it on.

  “The campfire is still warm,” Jasper said, holding his hand over the coals.

  “Good God, will you look at that,” Claude said, shining his flashlight into the woods.

  “Damn. Talk about driving your rig into the ground,” Jasper said.

  Claude walked over to the wrecked truck. The windshield had been smashed out and was on the ground. He tried opening the driver’s door, but it was jammed shut. He reached through where the windshield had been and pulled down the visor, shining the light on the registration.

  “Well, what do you know,” he said

  “What?” Jasper asked.

  “The truck belongs to Vernon Murdock.”

  ***

  “You’re chilled to the bone,” Kate said, helping Kelly out of the truck and up to the trailer.

  “Kate, I’m okay, really.”

  “Nonsense. There’s enough going on without you catching pneumonia.”

  They went inside, and Kate guided the girl to the couch.

  “We better get you out of these wet things,” Kate said, and removed Kelly’s jacket.

  While Kelly undressed, Kate got the girl some clothes. She went into the kitchen and came back with a lit kerosene lamp.

  “Don’t want you tripping in the dark,” she said.

  “Kate, I feel so bad,” Kelly said, lying under a comforter.

  “I know you do.”

  “No! I mean I want to help.”

  “You’re not going to be much help if you’re sick. You just rest.”

  “I hope you find them.”

  “You and me both.”

  Kate went out the door and down to the truck. She jumped in and turned the ignition key. The solenoid clicked twice, but the starter refused to turn over the engine. She turned the key again. Nothing.

  “Not now!” Kate yelled. She grabbed the steering wheel with both hands and shook the living shit out of it. Not believing her luck, she laid her head down on the steering wheel. Of all the times for the truck to fail her, it had to be at the most crucial moment. She was about to burst into tears when a thought crossed her mind.

  “Jess’s Bronco,” Kate said aloud. She charged out of the cab and ran down the road. She cut down a path that led between two trailers and came out at Jonathan’s mobile home.

  “Please be there,” she said, grabbing the door handle of the Bronco. The door opened. She peered inside and saw the keys dangling from the ignition.

  “Thank you,” Kate said and jumped into the vehicle. She started the engine and drove off in search of Liz.

  ***

  “They could be anywhere,” Devon said, steering the Whaler out of Landon Cove.

  “We’ll find them,” Jess assured him.

  “Maybe we should head further up,” Professor Stone said.

  “There’s nothing up there, but the dam. I doubt very seriously if they could have gone that far.”

  “Then, where are they?” Jess asked.

  “Hell, I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. We’ll check the dam,” Devon said.

  ***

  Jasper pushed the bass boat out into the water and jumped in. He tilted the prop back down into the water, started the engine, and turned the bow around.

  “I’ll bet you anything those kids are snug in their beds right about now, while we’re out here freezing our tails off. What do you think?” Jasper asked.

  “Don’t count on it.”

  The hull skimmed over the lake like a flat polished stone.

  “Man, I love running at night,” Jasper said, giving the bass boat more power.

  “Just don’t get us killed,” Claude said. He shifted in his seat and shined the spotlight over the outboard motor. He could see the white water of the boat’s wake beyond the stern.

  The white water parted in the middle as a dark mass sliced up to the surface.

  “Oh, shit almighty.”

  “I know, isn’t this a rush?” Jasper said.

  “No! Behind us!”

  Jasper spun around and looked over his shoulder. “Oh jeez!”

  The fish was keeping pace with the bass boat.

  “Faster!” Claude screamed.

  Jasper shoved the throttle all the way down.

  The vibrating outboard motor roared, threatening to rip itself off the transom.

  “It’s gaining,” Claude yelled, shining the beam on the fish’s back. The thing was as big as three bass boats strung together. He reached down and grabbed the shotgun.

  Claude aimed at the fish and pulled the trigger. The barrel lit up as the shotgun bucked in his hands. The payload struck the surface of the water just short of the fish.

  He ratcheted another shell into the chamber.

  “Shine that light up ahead, I can’t see where the hell I’m going,” Jasper yelled.

  Before Claude could react, the boat surged upward, throwing off his aim, and the shotgun went off, blasting the engine cover apart on the outboard motor.

  “Ah, shit!”

  Jasper looked back and saw the blown-up engine. “Jesus, Claude. What the hell did you do?”

  The outboard motor coughed smoke, sputtered, and died.

  ***

  “Devon, did you hear that? Sounded like shots,” Jess said.

  “Must be Jasper and Claude,” Devon said. He cranked the helm to the left and opened up the Whaler. The boat vaulted across the lake like a snowmobile slamming across a field of moguls.

  Jess and Stone shifted forward to help trim the fast-moving boat.

  “I see their boat,” Jess shouted.

  “Where’s Jasper and Claude?” Devon asked, tracking the beam of the Whaler’s searchlight on the bass boat.

  Devon slowed the Whaler and maneuvered it alongside the other boat.

  Suddenly, Jasper and Claude stood up.

  “You got to get us out of here!” Jasper yelled.

  “Hurry, climb aboard,” Professor Stone said. He extended a long-shaft boat hook for Jasper to grab a hold of.

  Jasper handed the shotgun up to Jess and then grabbed the wooden shaft of the boat hook above the shank. He placed his other hand on the Whaler’s railing and began to pull himself up.

  The bass boat was punched out of the water, and Claude was thrown out.

  Jasper released the boat hook and clung to the railing with both hands, dru
mming his feet on the Whaler’s hull.

  Coming back down, the bass boat crashed into the rear starboard section of the Whaler’s gunwale, crushing and snapping laminated Fiberglas chunks and leaving a gaping-wide hole in the side of the boat.

  The lake gushed into the ruptured vessel.

  “Professor, pull me up, pull me up,” Jasper screamed.

  The silurid lunged out of the water and belly-flopped on the bass boat taking it to the bottom of the lake.

  Professor Stone could not believe what he had just witnessed. It was like watching a whale destroy a dingy.

  He reached down and grabbed Jasper by the scruff and pulled him aboard.

  A pointed bone-like shaft poked through the Fiberglas.

  “What the hell is that?” Devon yelled.

  “A spine from behind its pectoral fin. Watch out, it’s venomous,” Professor Stone warned.

  The spine pulled out. Rammed in again, this time, stabbing Jasper in the leg, gashing open his calf. Jasper screamed. Blood gushed on the deck.

  “Devon, I see Claude,” Jess yelled, pointing at the water.

  Devon ran over, snatched up the boat hook, and leaned over the side.

  Claude was fighting to stay afloat. His head and shoulders jerked as though he were suffering a seizure.

  “Grab hold,” Devon yelled.

  Claude’s mouth opened in a silent scream, the air around him crackling off the lake’s surface. He flailed one last time and went under.

  “Claude!” Devon waited, but the man never came up.

  Jasper had passed out on the deck.

  “Jess! Take the helm. Get us the hell out of here!” Devon yelled.

  “We’re sinking!” she replied.

  “No, we’re not. The Whaler’s designed to stay afloat even if the hull is punctured. Come on, get us out of here!”

  Jess gunned the badly damaged Whaler and steered for the marina.

  Professor Stone knelt over Jasper and applied pressure to the gash on the injured man’s leg.

  “Jasper’s lost a lot of blood,” Professor Stone said, elevating the leg.

  “He’s going to die if we don’t get him to a hospital,” Jess said.

  Everyone fell silent as the Whaler limped across the lake.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Kate had spent the best part of an hour combing the resort for her friend. She had driven around the trailer park, checked the campgrounds, and a few of the beach areas, but Liz was nowhere to be found.