Bernie found a wide enough spot in the road and turned the van around.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jess held the boathouse door open for Devon. He carried in the red, metal box that they had taken from Jasper’s trailer. He set the box down on the workbench.
Worried that the Whaler might flounder if another storm struck, Devon berthed the boat in the slip. The hull rubbed against the wood sides of the slip, screeching like fingernails drawn down a chalkboard.
“So what is this harebrained plan again?” Professor Stone said, closing the door behind him.
“We rig the Whaler with the plastic explosive. I lure the fish to the boat, and you blow it up. And no more fish. Problem solved,” Devon said.
“Devon, remember what Jasper said.”
“Jess is right. The last thing we need is complacency. This kind of stunt requires precession timing. Hell, we don’t even know if this RDX is still any good it’s so old.”
“I know, we’re only going to get one shot at this,” Devon said. “There are two ski ropes in that locker and some duct tape. Take one of the spools of wiring from Jasper’s demolition box and start taping it to one of them. Make sure that the one you string the wiring on is a good twenty-five feet longer than my rope. That should give me enough distance away from the explosion.”
“Okay, but I sure hope this works,” Professor Stone said, opening the demolition box.
Jess stepped aboard the Whaler.
“You know,” Devon said to Jess. “Yesterday, my biggest worry was losing the resort. Never thought I would be fighting to save the world from possible extinction. Hell, a lot can happen in a day.”
“Don’t forget about us,” Jess said, embracing Devon, and giving him a kiss.
“Like I said, a lot can happen. I could get used to this.”
“You better say that,” Jess said.
***
The path was rutty and narrow. Sean had been fortunate so far. It had been almost ten minutes since he had left the smooth frontage road behind. He avoided the puddles whenever possible, afraid if they were too deep that the golf cart would get stuck in the mud. His body felt battered from the jarring ride over the trail.
He steered pass a grove of trees, accelerating the golf cart up another hill. The cart’s motor labored while the tires spun in the mud. Reaching the summit, the cart sped down the steep hillside.
He tapped on the brake, and the pedal collapsed to the floorboard.
The golf cart careened off a boulder and tipped over, sliding on its side to the bottom of the hill.
***
Twenty minutes after leaving the boathouse, Devon signaled from the Whaler for Professor Stone to stop the Pumpkin Eater.
Professor Stone looked over his shoulder to make sure that the towline remained taut to prevent the rope from snapping when they took off again. He kept the throttle idling. Afraid that towing the dead weight of the larger Whaler had put a strain on the ski boat, the professor switched off the ignition to give the engine a rest.
He glanced at Jess, seated behind him.
“Should I hook up the wires?” Jess asked. She was holding the end of the towrope. Two exposed wires were taped to the end, ready for Jess to attach to the detonator. Fifty feet of towrope lay coiled at her feet. From there, the line reached up to the tow bar, where it was secured with a bowline knot that could be slipped off the tow bar when the time came. The remainder of the towrope extended from the ski boat’s stern, out across the water to the other boat.
Another towrope was also attached to the tow bar. It, too, extended back to the Whaler, and was Devon’s lifeline when he made his escape.
“We better wait and see if Devon’s ready,” Professor Stone said, glancing down at Jasper’s shotgun on the floor for assurance.
***
Devon was freezing. He was barefoot, wearing the wetsuit he used for skiing.
The water covering the deck of the Whaler was ankle-deep and cold as ice melt. He rubbed his palms together then blew into his hands to warm them up.
He had put the tracking device on the chair behind the helm to keep it from getting wet. He watched the red blips on the green screen. The fish had chosen to position themselves apart, perhaps a survival tactic.
Devon checked the tape on the block of RDX fastened to the Fiberglas wall next to the helm. Two wires were embedded into the plastic explosive that ran along the length of towrope strung over to the Pumpkin Eater’s stern. An inflated inner tube, tied to the other towrope, was lying on the bow section of the Whaler.
He got down on his knees at the hole in the Whaler’s side. He picked up a ski from the deck. He lifted it over his head and slapped it hard on the water’s surface. Again, he slammed the ski down, and again, repeating the motion, until he had done it ten times.
He looked over at the tracking device. One of the red blips had relocated from its original position.
It was moving toward the Whaler.
“I’ll be. This klonking thing does work,” he said.
Devon raised his arm and signaled the Pumpkin Eater.
Things were about to get dicey.
***
Bernie had taken a paralleling frontage road, and once they were far enough away from the accident scene, had gotten back on the freeway.
It wasn’t long before he spotted an abandoned wrecker’s yard and turned off.
Fenced in and missing a gate, the spot was perfect for a landing site. Victoria called Forbes and gave him their location.
After Bernie had parked the van, he and Tony got out and strolled over to irrigate some weeds. Victoria remained in the van and watched the tape one more time.
Minutes later, Bernie and Tony were catching some needed shuteye.
Bernie was sprawled up front, and Tony was taking a catnap in one of the swivel chairs with his feet up on the console. Victoria watched Tony fidget to get comfortable. She wondered how long it would take before he spilled out of the chair.
Victoria took the tape out of the player and put it on the panel next to a keyboard.
It wasn’t long before she heard the helicopter making its approach.
She stared up from the van and watched the red and white Robinson R-44 with the news station’s call letters stenciled on the fuselage, hover over the wrecking yard, then gradually descend.
“Wake up, you slugs, he’s here,” Victoria shouted.
Tony continued to doze, so Victoria slapped him on the thigh, and he jerked awake.
His foot kicked the videotape off the counter, which hit the floor and bounced out of the van, landing in a mud puddle.
Continuing to lose his balance, Tony rolled out of the chair, and was about to topple out of the van, when he caught the jam of the door and his butt came down on the running board and his feet splashed down in the puddle.
He stuck his hand in the water and came up with the smashed cassette, broken in half with the ruined tape spooling out.
“You moron!” Victoria screamed.
“Hey, don’t yell at me! If you hadn’t hit me, this would never have happened,” Tony yelled back.
“Just grab your gear,” she replied, shaking her head.
Victoria stormed out of the van, while Tony and Bernie gathered up their equipment.
The pilot set the skids of the helicopter on the ground and waved them over.
Tony and Bernie ran across the clearing, opened the door, and squeezed into the back seats. Victoria followed, occupying the seat next to the pilot.
“You know, Victoria, I’m not really authorized to be here,” Miles Forbes said, handing her a headset.
“Miles, honey. We are about to make news history.”
“I hope you’re right. So, what time shall I be picking you up for dinner?”
“We can talk about that later. You better get us up. We can’t afford to waste any more time.”
“Okay. So, where to?”
“You know where Lake Recluse is?”
“I certai
nly do.”
The chopper rose out of the abandoned wrecking yard. Once it was high enough, the craft banked to the right and headed over the rolling hills.
***
“How are you holding up?” Kate asked, putting her hand on Liz’s forehead.
“To tell you the truth, not so well. My bones ache.”
“That’s it, we have to get you out of here.”
“Rosie, sweetie, wake up,” Liz said, gently shaking the dog on her lap.
“I’ll carry Rosie,” Kate said and picked up the dog. “Follow me.”
Kate led the way to the entrance of the passage. She stole a glance toward the rear of the cave. It was too dark to see anything. She stepped from the passage and helped Liz out. They stood up and stretched.
“Come on. Jess’s Bronco is just outside,” Kate said, taking Liz by the hand.
They heard movement in the back of the cave.
“Run, Liz. Run!”
Kate could only go so fast, hurrying Liz along.
There was a loud rustling from behind. The silurid charged after them.
When they were finally out of the cave, Kate yelled, “Get inside the Bronco, I’ll be right behind you.”
The old woman scurried down the incline and ran for the Bronco.
Kate turned to distract the approaching monster, but the silurid was already outside. She stepped backward and lost her footing, dropping Rosie. They toppled down the embankment.
The silurid approached the edge and belched out a hideous grunt. The catfish’s whiskers whipped about frantically like severed high-tension power lines.
Kate looked up at the towering creature. That’s when something rolled out of the silurid’s mouth. It was the size of a large cantaloupe, gooey, and thick with slime. The thing slid down the embankment and landed next to Kate.
She tapped her flashlight and it came on, shining on the ball-like thing.
It was a translucent globe. Inside a yellowish-brown gelatin fluid with flicks of white particles floated around an embryo.
Kate scrambled to her feet. Without weighing the consequences, she stomped on the egg sac with her boot and embryonic fluid splattered the ground.
Rosie yelped after taking one good look at the giant fish and dashed for the Bronco.
Kate could see Liz standing by the truck, not able to get inside.
“Get in the Bronco!”
“Kate! The damn door is locked,” Liz yelled back, tugging on the door handle.
The silurid emitted a heart-stricken sound that made Kate tremble.
“Christ, I’ve just killed one of its babies,” Kate said, terrified and sickened by what she had done. She looked up and saw the enormous silurid push itself off the edge and slide down the embankment.
The silurid lumbered after Kate, sprinting for the Bronco.
“I’ll unlock the door,” she yelled, only twenty steps ahead of the monstrous fish. She ran to the driver’s door and jumped inside. She flipped the switch next to the armrest, and the passenger’s door lock popped up.
“Hurry, Liz! Get in!”
Liz tried to pull the door open, but the door would not budge.
“Try it again!” Kate hollered.
The silurid was only ten feet away.
Liz was pulling with all of her might, but still the door refused to open.
Kate lifted her legs up and kicked the door panel. The door unlatched and swung out.
Rosie jumped up on the passenger seat.
“Get in the back,” Kate yelled at the dog. Rosie scrambled over the console onto the back seat. Liz pulled herself up into the truck and slammed the door.
Kate and Liz stared out the windshield. The fish stared back, stopping just short of the Bronco’s grill.
In the headlights, the silurid was gigantic. Its body was much wider than the Bronco and could easily have been three to four times greater in length.
“It’s like watching a damn horror movie at the drive-in,” Liz said.
The silurid lunged upward and crashed down on the Bronco’s hood, smashing the windshield.
Its mouth opened, revealing dozens of eggs crammed inside. Two eggs rolled out and oozed through the jagged edges of the shattered windshield.
“Liz, get in the back,” Kate said.
Liz crawled over the console and joined Rosie.
The torn sacs ripped open and splashed on the floorboard releasing two foot-long flopping fries.
One of the hatchlings brushed up against Kate’s shin.
“Ow, shit!” she yelled and jerked her foot away. “You shocked me!”
She kicked the newborn over the hump to the passenger side. The two infant catfish wiggled and floundered on the rubber mat.
Kate watched in disdain, wishing they would shrivel and die. The fish stopped flailing, moved side-by-side, and glared up at her with their milky-white eyes.
“Ah, Jesus.” She turned the ignition key. The engine groaned.
The lights have gone and drained the battery!
Kate punched the switch and turned off the headlights.
She looked out the windshield and saw the silurid squirm its chest up the hood and onto the roof of the Bronco. The Fiberglas top over the cargo space began to creak. The metal portion over the cab’s roof began to buckle under the immense weight of the creature.
Kate had to scrunch down so that her head wouldn’t be crushed. She pumped the accelerator pedal and turned the ignition.
“Come on, start!”
The engine turned over with a rewarding roar and blue smoke belched out the twin tailpipes.
Kate slipped the transmission into reverse and stomped down on the accelerator.
The Bronco spun in the mud from the additional weight then suddenly burst free, slipping out from under the silurid, which slid down and off the hood onto the ground.
Kate shifted into drive and rammed the silurid. She reversed, stopped, and came at the fish again. More eggs spilled out of its mouth. The Bronco’s all-terrain tires squashed over the eggs like they were water balloons.
“Kate!” Liz yelled, trying to warn her friend.
Kate looked down and saw the two catfish pulling themselves up over the hump with their fins. She shifted the transmission, sounded the horn, and gunned the Bronco backward. The vehicles sped back over the downed section of chain-link fence and ended up on the turnaround.
Something stabbed Kate’s ankle, clear through her boot. She glanced down in pain and saw that one of the catfish had jabbed her with its barb.
“You little son of a bitch!” Kate reached across the console and opened the passenger door. She cranked the steering wheel and spun the Bronco in a tight semi-circle in the turnaround.
The newborns flew out and tumbled onto the asphalt. They quickly got their bearings and started crawling toward the lake.
“No, you don’t,” Kate said, stomping on the accelerator and driving over the fish.
She looked in her side mirror and saw two mashed lumps on the asphalt.
“Kate, look!” Liz said.
The silurid was down on the shore.
Kate blared the horn to scare it off.
The monstrous fish slithered into the lake.
Kate put her foot on the pedal despite the extreme pain in her ankle, and headed to the resort.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Devon laid the ski down when he heard the truck’s horn. He looked over at the shore and spotted the Bronco racing toward the trailer park.
The upper rim of the sun was just peeking over the mountains. What was once consumed in the pitch of night was beginning to take shape with faint outlines. On the horizon, treetops transformed into pointy, pyramid shapes.
The gray sky became a wash of salmon-colored clouds.
Then the lake went dead calm as the wind died down. The approach of dawn brought a hush over the lake. Not even a cormorant’s hoot broke the silence.
“Like the quiet before the storm,” Devon muttered to himself. He looked
at the screen on the tracking device.
The screen went blank.
“Damn,” he said, grabbing the black box. He shook it, realizing that the battery’s charge had depleted and tossed it on the deck.
“Now what?”
Suddenly, the Whaler listed to starboard. Devon lost his balance and fell onto his back. He looked up and stared directly into the face of a silurid coming up over the gunwale with its mouth stretched wide open.
Devon rolled onto his side, got to his feet, and slipped once before scampering for the bow.
***
“Start the boat!” Jess yelled, watching helplessly while the colossal silurid assaulted the Whaler.
Professor Stone turned on the ignition, and the Pumpkin Eater fired up. He gave it full throttle, and the boat roared across the water. Jess unhitched the bowline knot from the tow bar.
The towrope at Jess’s feet unraveled and fed over the stern.
Jess held the detonator and watched the line, the circular pile uncoiling and became smaller and smaller. She had to time it perfectly in order for the plan to work. She looked at the Whaler; still no sign of Devon. Time was running out. Jess had to set off the charge.
She couldn’t wait any longer and threw the toggle switch.
***
Devon dove onto the inner tube, yanked off the Whaler’s bow seconds before Jess threw the switch. He held on for dear life and flew through the air. The inner tube hit the water, bounced, then slammed down, almost knocking the wind out of him. He fought to keep the inner tube from flipping over.
The Whaler burst apart in fiery pieces.
Devon could feel the heat on his back from the explosion. Burning chunks pelted down, sizzling the water around him.
“I don’t believe it. It actually worked!” Devon yelled, waving to the figures in the Pumpkin Eater.
***
“It’s Devon. Thank God,” Jess yelled, slapping Professor Stone on the shoulder.
“Did we get it?”
“I think so. It happened so fast.”
“We must have,” he said.
Jess glanced back at what was left of the Whaler. Flames lapped up from the only remaining section of the hull. As it sank, the fire was quickly extinguished into billows of steam.
Silurid Page 12
