Silurid

by Gerry Griffiths

  “Tape! What tape?”

  “Tony found it at the hatchery. It has your brother and—”

  “For Christ’s sake, Victoria, shut up!” Tony protested.

  “And where’s this tape?” Jess asked. She could not believe it. They had pilfered the Quonset hut. Taken the tape without her permission. But weren’t the tapes all ruined?

  Of course, the VCR, they had forgotten to check the VCR.

  “You needn’t get excited,” Tony said to Jess. “The tape was destroyed.”

  “I can’t believe you people.”

  “Tell Miles to go up and see where that smoke is coming from,” Victoria yelled at Bernie.

  Jess watched the audio technician set down his equipment and run over to the helicopter.

  She glanced back to the spot where Devon was standing.

  He was gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  When no one was looking, Devon threw the inner tube over the edge and shimmied down the rope. The view below looked like the aftermath of a bomber raid with fiery clumps of what was left of the Pumpkin Eater and the silurid strewn over the rocks, most of which had washed downstream.

  He stepped one foot onto the inner tube and swung himself into the tunnel. He grabbed onto a bent shank of rebar and began pulling himself along the wall before letting go of the inner tube. The inner tube swayed back and forth, dangling just within reach. He held his free hand over his mouth so he could breathe without inhaling the smoke.

  The rushing water was up to his waist. There were fragments of his boat and fleshy smears blasted into the concrete. The explosion had jaggedly routed out the diversion tunnel by more than twenty feet. Mist and smoke prevented him from seeing more than ten feet ahead.

  Suddenly, Devon heard a crackling sound creep through the tunnel—and then a strange tingling sensation in his legs. He turned his head.

  Athena emerged out of the smoke. The silurid’s head and sides had been ravaged from the Whaler explosion. Ragged bits of torn flesh dangled from its gouged skin.

  Devon turned and dove for the inner tube. The silurid lunged after him.

  He grabbed the lifeline and swung out away from the mouth of the tunnel. He clawed at the concrete wall, digging his fingertips into a cement niche.

  Wind buffeted his back. He turned and saw the chopper coming down. Devon could see the pilot through the glass, one hand on the joystick.

  The thirty-foot silurid lunged out of the tunnel, almost gracefully, before landing on the helicopter’s gyrating blades.

  Devon caught a fleeting glimpse of the fearful look on the pilot’s face.

  The sharp rotors shred Athena’s head, then broke off the mast, forcing the chopper’s tail boom to tilt earthward.

  The decapitated silurid and disabled helicopter plunged onto the boulders below, rupturing the fuel tank, and sending everything flying in a rising ball of fire.

  ***

  Tony and Bernie ran after Jess. She rushed over to the edge of the spillway.

  Both men grabbed the ski rope and hauled Devon up. He climbed onto the cement and sat down on the edge. Down below, the burning wreckage was quickly being disassembled by the discharging spillway, and swept downriver.

  Jess sat down next to Devon.

  “You had me worried,” she said.

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “What happened?” Bernie asked.

  “Your pilot got too close to the spillway,” Devon said.

  “We’re screwed blue, now,” Tony said.

  “Yeah, looks like we better start updating our resumes,” Bernie said.

  “Not so fast,” Victoria said, strolling over. “Don’t forget there’s a story here. And I want it!” Victoria Savage bellowed.

  “There’s no story here, you callous bitch,” Jess said.

  “Hey, you watch who you’re calling a bitch.”

  “Doesn’t it even bother you that your pilot is dead? After you told him to fly down there.”

  “He shouldn’t have gotten so close.”

  “You’re really something,” Jess said.

  “Hey, you guys wouldn’t by chance have a cell phone, would you?” Devon asked.

  “No, but she does,” Tony said, and snatched the phone out of Victoria’s coat pocket. He handed it over to Devon.

  “Hey, that’s mine.”

  “Don’t you ever know when to quit? You know, Bernie and I aren’t going to take the heat for you on this one. The general manager isn’t going to think too kindly of you when he finds out how you tricked Forbes into coming here. You know what? I think your career just took a major dump. What do you think, Bernie?”

  “A major dump!” Bernie unplugged the microphone cord from his recorder.

  Jess heard something fall on the cement.

  She looked down and saw that Victoria had dropped her microphone.

  Jess nudged it over the edge of the spillway with her boot.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Five days later, Peter Sykes and his girlfriend, Cindy Briggs, were night fishing in San Francisco Bay. It was a great night for angling. The tide was up, the wind was down, and he could not have wanted for better company. He shoved the ten-foot-long surf rod into the pole holder.

  Following the beam of his flashlight, he gingerly stepped across the slippery boulders and made his way up to the truck.

  Cindy sat on the tailgate, bundled up in a blanket.

  Peter ran over and hopped up beside her. The springs on the truck squeaked in protest.

  “When you asked me if I liked fish, I thought you were taking me out for a nice dinner. This isn’t quite what I had in mind,” Cindy said.

  “Anyone can go to a restaurant and eat fish. It’s not everyone that can actually catch them. Trust me, this will be fun. Here, have some coffee. This will warm you up. It’s my special blend.” Peter took a thermos and poured some of the contents into a cup. He handed the cup to Cindy.

  “Careful it’s—”

  “Jesus,” she said, having already taken a sip.

  “Hot,” he finished.

  “Strong, you mean! What the heck is in here?”

  “Some Kahlua, a little rum.”

  “Maybe some coffee?” She took another sip anyway.

  “You don’t like it?”

  “I guess it’s not bad,” Cindy said, and smiled.

  “Now, look around. What restaurant has a view like this? There’s the city, Alcatraz, Marin, you can even see the bridge,” Peter said, pointing out San Francisco, the defunct prison site, the town across the bay, and the Golden Gate Bridge.

  “This is sort of nice,” Cindy purred, taking another drink.

  “Call me a romantic,” Peter said.

  “All right.” Cindy leaned over and gave Peter a kiss.

  Peter put his arm around Cindy’s shoulder.

  “What’s that?” she said, breaking off the kiss.

  “What’s what?”

  “In the water.”

  Peter turned and saw something floating in the bay, radiating from the yellowish glow of the lamppost near his truck. “I don’t know.”

  “Go see,” Cindy said.

  “Okay,” he said reluctantly.

  He scooted down off the tailgate. When his feet hit the asphalt, he realized that his special blend had made him a little wobbly on his feet.

  He took his time, not wanting to embarrass himself by slipping on the algae-covered rocks and directed his flashlight out on the water.

  There was something out there all right, but it was difficult to see in the dark. He crept out as far as he could without falling in.

  The two objects floated closer. They were globular, the size of soccer balls.

  “Peter! Look!”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, startled as he turned around.

  “Your pole! I think you have a fish,” Cindy said.

  Peter scurried back over the rocks and reached for his fishing rod. He picked up the rig and gave it a quick jerk t
o set the hook and cranked the handle on the reel.

  Whatever it was, it was big.

  After a few minutes of angling, Peter yanked the catch from the water.

  “What is it?” Cindy called down.

  Peter bent over, stuck his forefinger into the gill of the fish, and held it up.

  “It’s a halibut. Good size one. Maybe three pounds.” He stuck his pole back into the holder and pulled them both up then walked back to the truck with the fish.

  “Good. Now we can eat,” Cindy said.

  “Sure. Let’s go to my place and I’ll fix it up.”

  “Yeah, you better be doing the cooking. I’m not touching that thing until it’s on my plate,” Cindy said, scooting off the tailgate.

  Peter threw the fish into a bucket and laid his pole in the bed. He folded up the tailgate, and joined Cindy in the cab.

  He started up the truck.

  “What were those things out in the water?” Cindy asked while Peter drove.

  “I’m not exactly sure, probably those glass balls the Japanese fishermen use to float over their crab pots, so they can find them later. They must have drifted in from sea. You’d be surprised what ends up in the bay,” he replied.

  Peter shifted into second and drove onto the freeway entrance.

  ***

  Out in the bay, the orbs floated in the notoriously strong current that flowed out beneath the Golden Gate Bridge. Beyond was the Pacific Ocean with its vast aquamarine ecosystem.

  The ocean waves beckoned.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Lake Recluse—10 Months Later

  Kelly leaned out the booth and waved off the truck with a bass boat hitched to its rear bumper.

  “Sorry, folks. We’re all booked up,” she hollered and hung up the Campgrounds are Full sign outside the main gate.

  Before locking up, she checked her French braid in the mirror. She loved the way the brunette strands intertwined with the blond ones.

  She went outside, climbed into a golf cart, and headed down the road to the country store. She could not believe how many people had showed up for the bass derby.

  Local anglers, fishermen from all over the county, even those from out of state had come in droves for the first annual event.

  Lake Recluse was once again a sport fishing paradise, thanks to the insatiable silurids that had eradicated the destructive population of bottom-feeding carp.

  Kelly detoured down a lane winding through the trailer park. Every mobile home was occupied for the summer. She drove by the endless rows of boat trailers hitched to vehicles in the marina parking lot.

  A young couple walking their dog gave her a friendly wave.

  “Morning,” Kelly replied with a cheery grin.

  She pulled off onto the shoulder to make room for a Murdock Fish Hatchery tanker and a Madison Beverage Company delivery truck to pass by. She had a great view of the bustling campgrounds. Campers huddled around picnic tables preparing breakfast on camp stoves and barbeque pits. Late risers crawled out of pup and dome tents for their first breath of crisp, mountain air.

  Kelly went down the hill and parked the golf cart next to the store. She got out and went inside. The place was packed. She squeezed by busy shoppers to the back of the counter where Kate and Devon were busy ringing up customers, issuing fishing licenses, and explaining the rules of the Joyner & Talbert Fish Derby honorably named in memoriam after their dear friends, Jasper and Claude.

  ***

  Devon stepped out of the trailer carrying a frosted cake with lit candles.

  Sean, Nell, and Liz sat on one side of the table, Jess and Kelly on the other.

  “Happy birthday!” everyone sang out.

  “That looks lovely,” Kate said from the head of the table.

  “Make a wish, Mom,” Nell said.

  “That’s going to be hard,” Kate replied.

  “Why, Mom?”

  Kate glanced about the table. “I have everything right here. What more could I ask for?”

  “Then pretend, okay. I want some cake,” Nell said, making everyone laugh.

  “Okay.” Kate rolled her eyes, took a deep breath, and blew out all the candles.

  “I want a big piece,” Nell said.

  “Mom, I better make the rounds before it gets too late,” Sean said, standing up from the table.

  “Take some cake with you then,” Kate said, cutting him a slice to put on a napkin.

  “Thanks, Mom.” Sean took the offering and started across the patio.

  “Can I go, too?” Nell asked.

  “Yes, you may. But stay out of trouble. I’m warning you,” Kate said.

  Max trotted over and laid his head on Nell’s lap.

  “Not now, Max,” Nell said. She folded her cake in a napkin then ran off to catch up with Sean.

  Rejected, Max wandered back to the bassinet where Rosie was nursing her litter of pups. He flopped down in a huff. He leaned his head over and gave one of the pups a raspy lick.

  “He’s such the proud father,” Liz said, taking a bite of cake.

  “And she’s such the good mother,” Kate replied.

  ***

  Late into the evening darkness crept over Lake Recluse.

  Sitting in lawn chairs on the porch, Devon and Jess gazed out on the moonlit lake.

  Campfires flickered about the resort like dancing lightning bugs.

  Though it was a mild evening, Jess had a blanket up around her shoulders.

  Her cellular phone was on the table next to her chair. She rarely ventured far without it.

  “Kyle called,” Jess said.

  “Oh yeah, how’s he doing?”

  “He got accepted at Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute.”

  “Good for him,” Devon said.

  “Oh, and Vernon called.”

  “So, what’s that lunatic brother of yours up to these days?”

  “Devon! That’s terrible.”

  “I’m just kidding. What did he have to say?”

  “Only that they’ve been keeping him pretty busy.”

  “Good. That’ll keep him out of trouble. I wonder how Billy and Gus are managing with us gone.”

  “They’re probably glad to be rid of us for a few days,” Jess said. Since the wedding last year, she and Devon were spending more time at the lake and less time operating the fish hatchery.

  “Yeah, I guess I can be a pain in the ass at times,” Devon said.

  “Oh, you have your moments of grandeur.”

  Jess looked over her shoulder and saw Kate coming out to join them. She walked over with a slight limp, pulled up a lawn chair, and sat down next to Jess.

  Kate put her cellular phone down on the table next to Jess’s.

  “Such a beautiful night,” Kate said, bending to massage her ankle.

  “Yeah, it doesn’t get any better than this,” Devon said.

  “Oh, but it does. Jess, may I?” Kate asked.

  “Of course,” Jess said and opened the blanket. Kate held out her hands while Jess gave her baby to her mother-in-law. Jess passed Kate the blanket.

  “Now, my day is complete. And how is our little Jonathan tonight?” Kate said, bundling the baby up in the blanket.

  Still asleep, Jonathan smiled and cooed at her voice.

  The moon’s reflection graced the calm lake under an ebony dome sprinkled with a million stars. Only the distant hoot of a cormorant broke the stillness of the night.

  Jess could feel Devon’s arm on her shoulder. She rested up against her husband.

  Kate rocked baby Jonathan.

  The family sat silently, enjoying each other’s company and reveled in the serenity of Lake Recluse.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The fog crept into the bay on schedule shrouding the Golden Gate Bridge, leaving only the orange peaks with their warning beacons visible.

  She took one last look at the piers jutting out of Fisherman’s Wharf and stepped inside the Telegraph Hill coffee shop.

 
Her name was Vanessa. Vanessa Simmons.

  She had picked website designer for her occupation. She jogged every other day and loved eco-thrillers. She had been an activist for an environmental group, though she had not yet decided which one, but could throw a name out there fast if he should ask. She would be candid if need be, but not overly opinionated so as not to scare him off.

  The establishment was crowded. She went up to the counter and ordered a latte with a Danish. The young man behind the counter quickly grabbed a tray. He whipped up the frothy beverage, placed the pastry on a small plate, and rang up the sale. She pulled her money from her purse.

  “Thanks,” she said, slipping the strap of her purse over her shoulder and picking up the tray. She pretended to glance indecisively about the dining area then ambled over to the small table set against one of the windows, eyeing the unoccupied chair across from the man busily writing in a notebook.

  “Is this seat taken?” she asked.

  “No, but I’d rather…”

  She let the purse strap slip off her shoulder and clumsily leveled her tray in the nick of time to avoid spilling her latte.

  The man flinched and looked around the congested coffee shop.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was this crowded. Please, sit down.”

  “Thanks,” she said and set her tray on the table. She removed her purse from her shoulder and placed it next to the sugar dispenser. She left the flap slightly open, but not enough so that he could see inside.

  “That was rude of me,” he said. His face had flushed with embarrassment.

  “We all value our own space. I hope I’m not intruding.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Are you a writer?” she asked, breaking off a morsel of Danish and slipping it into her mouth.

  “Ah, no, not exactly. I’m a biologist.”

  “That must be interesting work. What field?”

  “Marine,” he said. He closed his book, put his pen down, and took a sip of his coffee.

  “A marine biologist. How strange.”

  “What’s strange?” he asked.

  “I just spent the day at the Steinhart Aquarium with a girlfriend of mine. Funny bumping into you, you a marine biologist and all.”