From Murky Depths

by Brett Williams

  Finally Roger said we were close enough that we needed to ditch my boat. Soon I recognized their pickup. We had made it.

  “Man, why didn't you warn me how dangerous tonight would be?” I said, cracking open a cold one on their porch.

  “It has never been like that before,” Maggie said.

  “In the past we'd follow keepers of the eggs, watch where they put them, then crush them. We’ve always been more clandestine.”

  “But tonight was different. The ceremony bigger. Not to mention the restlessness of Mauz-Gurloth.”

  “What do you mean 'the restlessness'?” I asked.

  “You felt it,” Roger said. “The tremors.”

  “No way.”

  It made perfect sense but I just couldn't buy it, even after everything I'd seen.

  “Goddamn, buddy. The rains? The flooding? The ceremony? Hell, the lightning strike? I tell you, we didn't have a fuckin' choice.”

  “It's true,” Maggie said. “My granddaddy said the old oak guarded the temple. Since the other tree – a hybrid – began growing we knew their ancient god had a foothold on this world.”

  “Whoa, hold up. Do you actually believe this god stuff?”

  “Hey there, friend, how can you not believe it?”

  I thought a second. “Shit, I dunno.” I took a deep gulp of beer. “No, I can't explain those creatures. And that black oily shit. Holy hell, it oozed right up the hill.”

  “The seed of Mauz-Gurloth,” Roger said.

  “That is just not right. Crawled right up those women's legs.”

  Maggie shuddered. “To think they let that stuff inside themselves. I know their god exists. I wouldn't be risking my neck if I didn't.”

  “Me either,” Roger agreed.

  “But to let Its seed into my body?” Maggie shook her head in disgust. “Oh no. No freakin' way.”

  “Never, baby.” Roger gave her a quick hug as they slowly rocked in the bench swing, cans of Budweiser in their hands. They displayed passion. For each other. For their perceived duty.

  “But why you? Why risk so much?” I asked. “Why not pack 'er up, move on down the road?”

  “What you don't understand, Dave, is our families have been fighting this cult for generations. Hell, it goes back at least two hundred years.”

  “It goes back as far as my great-great-granddad,” Maggie said.

  “Mine, too. You see, we've been keeping them in check for as long as Clayton has been on the map.”

  “I hate to break it to ya,” I said, half-joking. “Clayton ain't on any maps.”

  “Fuck you,” Roger said with a chuckle. Everybody laughed. “I don't understand it all, but what I can tell ya is, back when the New Madrid earthquakes hit – you know, the big sumbitches back in 1811, 1812 – things got heated. The pot got stirred, you could say. It had something to do with this Mauz-Gurloth.”

  “You're talking about the earthquake that made the mighty Mississippi flow backwards?”

  “There were hundreds of minor quakes, but yes, when a string of big ones hit, Eugene Bellow, my ancestor who was younger than me at the time, saw something.”

  “Claimed to have seen It.”

  “True. Even claimed to hear voices speaking to him. 'Course everyone thought he went bat-shit crazy, not to mention after the quakes he started drinking. A lot. I grew up hearing tales about Drunk Gene Bellow distilling 'shine by day and lurking the woods by night. What he was doing was spying on people, trying to find out what was what.”

  “He learned a lot.”

  “And he told only a handful of people he absolutely trusted.”

  “Swore them to secrecy.”

  “God damn,” I exclaimed.

  “God damn, is right. Ol' Gene believed he had done something to piss off his god. Your god, Dave. Gene turned his back on a Christian god, and focused his attention, eventually, many years later after people forgot about his ranting, because it didn't take him long to learn to keep quiet.”

  “Wow. I can hardly believe this entire town hasn't turned on you and yours already. Hunted you down and got their revenge.”

  “First of all,” Maggie explained, “most people, Christian or otherwise, are sheep. Not all are offering their wombs to breed hybrids, and not all are participating in midnight rituals or burying spawn, although most go to church on Sunday.”

  “Please don't tell me there is a church for that thing.”

  “Think of it like the KKK from not so long ago. People know they exist, and whether or not you agree with them, you let them keep doing what they are doing. There are a lot of sheep, Dave. About twenty thousand people populate this county. How many did we see tonight? A hundred, maybe? About five hundred people live in Clayton, if that. Probably a thousand more in the immediate area.”

  Maggie nodded in agreement. “But we don't sit idly by. Mostly we lurk around like old Gene, be careful, destroy eggs, keep tabs. Honestly, there hasn't been much we could do.”

  “Basically you've been careful and got lucky.”

  Roger held up a beer. “We only drink when we don't have business to take care of.”

  Maggie clinked a can against his and everyone drank.

  “But why Clayton?” I asked. What they were saying amounted to about the time settlers would have been crossing America, I figured. “Why here?”

  “I've wondered that many times,” Maggie said. “And I don't know the answer.”

  “We have a few theories, though.”

  “Like?”

  “For instance,” Maggie continued, “where better to worship an ancient god but the middle of nowhere?”

  “That explanation sounds a little too convenient,” I said, doubtful.

  “Yeah, but that doesn't make it wrong. Besides,” Roger added, “we believe this area holds significance.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The hybrids seem to thrive here.”

  “Flooding.”

  “Come on,” I said. “It's flooding all over the damn place.”

  “Missouri seems to get it worse. Besides, the guardian oak helps reinforce that theory.”

  “I dunno,” I said, skeptical. “Got another beer?”

  “Hell yeah, plenty more where that came from. After a night like tonight ain't one gonna do the trick.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “I don't drink that often,” Maggie informed me. “But...” Emotion took hold. Her chin quivered and her eyes became glassy. Roger hugged her closer.

  “It'll be okay.”

  “But Seth... he's dead.”

  “I know, baby. I know.”

  I didn't know what to do or say. I felt somehow responsible, although I hadn't done anything to attribute to the loss of their friend. In fact, had I never come to Clayton things would have surely gone South anyway. Things might have been worse. Not that I'd done much, but I had grappled with one of those things. It could have got the drop on any one of my new friends. If not for my .45 the mob at the temple might have overran them as well. Any number of things could have happened. Right now we should all feel damn lucky.

  But all I felt was thirsty, and a little homesick for family. I wanted to help Maggie and Roger forget tonight's events, if only for a while. I got up and grabbed us all fresh beers from the cooler.

  I was just cracking open mine, the icy cold aluminum already making me salivate, when I heard what I thought to be the creak of the porch swing. Then a distant chorus of croaking made my spine go as cold as my beer can.

  Roger said, “It can't be.”

  “Nobody knows we are the ones screwing with their eggs. We were careful, weren't we?”

  “Were we careful enough?”

  “We ditched the other boat.”

  “We did, however, make a beeline home, unlike we normally do.”

  “I'm sure at least some of 'em got a good look at us before we took off.”

  I said, “Any one of those things could have followed us.”

  “
Let's not jump to conclusions,” Roger said. “We hear croaking all the time.”

  “Not like this,” Maggie said. “It's the hybrids. They croaked last night, too.”

  “This sounds different. Listen.” We all grew silent. A not-too-distant croak sounded. Several more answered in succession, most distant, from multiple directions.

  “It's like they are honing in on us,” I said.

  “No fuckin' way.”

  “Holy shit. What if they are?” Maggie asked.

  Roger answered by absentmindedly gulping his beer as he stood up, the porch swing halting. We listened to the croaks sound again, closer. I prayed it was a mating call of some type, or big bullfrogs out and about.

  A startling nearby splash had Maggie and myself jumping to our feet. I spilled beer down the front of my t-shirt. Before I knew what had happened two glowing orbs hovered up from the darkness below. What the – ? The porch vibrated. Two long-fingered hands grabbed hold of the porch railing. Strong legs flexed. A hybrid hopped over the wooden railing to land between us. Splashing water sounded all around us.

  Instinctively, I chucked my beer can at the hybrid. It bounced off its full chest as I grasped for the pistol tucked in my jeans at the small of my back. Unfazed, the thing leaped at me. Pulling my weapon I prayed at least one round remained. However, before I could find out, the damn thing batted the weapon out of my hand. It went skittering across the porch, sliding off into the night. The soft plunk of water never registered – the creature sprung headfirst into my gut. Air whooshed out of me as I crashed sandwiched between it and the railing. I thought for sure the rickety old wood would splinter, sending us tumbling out into the water, but it held.

  I pushed at the thing, trying to shove it away from me. My hands slipped off its slick, slimy skin. The feeling repulsed me, and for a moment the fear of getting warts or something worse flitted through my thoughts – the least of my worries. I drove up a knee hoping to catch it in the groin. The thing's legs were too long, its groin too high. Its fishy breath nauseated me. A wicked grin formed on its too-wide mouth, hate glared in its eyes. As its hands wrapped around my neck I knew there I faced my death. Melissa, I miss you, darling. Tell the kids I love them. I drew back a fist, hoping to high heaven that one solid punch would do the trick.

  As I connected with a knuckle-crunching blow, the hybrid crumpled before me.

  “Holy sh—”

  Roger stood behind it. “Thank me later,” he said. He immediately stomped the creature as it started to rise. Maggie came into view, gig in hand. She speared the thing in the back, crimson oozing out around the three prongs. Withdrawing it, she drove it in again and again. The thing writhed in pain. Somehow, there on the porch, killing it seemed much more violent, much more real than only an hour before. I attributed it to the lighting. Although not human, the act felt so much like murder, although obviously self-defense. Frustrated, I rammed a boot into its head.

  “Damn you,” I said.

  Roger shouted, “There's more. In the house!”

  Pairs of glowing eyes floated up from below. Hybrids latched onto the porch. Without hesitation I rush through the door behind my friends. Maggie slammed it behind me, threw the lock. A momentary reprieve – we were outnumbered. Already I could hear their webbed feet smacking wetly outside. The door – hell, the windows – wouldn't hold. They'd be inside in no time. My heart raced. The walls of this shotgun shack seemed to close in. This was it, I was going to die. But I wasn't going to go without a fight. What could I do? Beat 'em to a pulp one at a time? Not likely. I braced myself, eyes locked on the front door, prepared to rush the first one in.

  Something rammed the front door and the entire house shook.

  “Stand back,” Roger said. He stepped forward, Maggie's gig in hand.

  Another hit rocked the house. The door busted in, as did the one window to its left. Flying glass showered us, and two hybrids sprang in, head first. The living room, small and cramped, offered little room to maneuver. Roger jabbed at the one coming through the door. The other, I twisted to dodge. Using its momentum I grabbed an arm and tossed it bodily toward the couch, following as I did so. We landed, me on top. I quickly began to land punch after punch to the back of its skull. If anything, I simply managed to piss it off. Pushing against the wall, it forced us back, up onto our feet. The floor shook. Maggie screamed.

  “Look out.”

  Glancing back I saw another hybrid standing behind me. Roger had one at the end of his gig, the spear barely keeping him out of its long reach. He'd pierced it low, apparently hitting nothing vital. Another leaped in through the doorway.

  “Shit, we gotta get outta here!”

  Maggie turned to bolt out of the room. Roger shoved back with the gig, sending one hybrid stumbling into the other. I turned to drive a fist into my hybrid's pale belly. Then I dashed out of the room too, those things hot on my heels. We sailed past the door to the bathroom, the opening to the bedroom, and into the kitchen. A door stood before us leading outside. Too bad there wasn't a shotgun in this shotgun shack, maybe we could've blasted our way out.

  As if reading my mind, Roger said, “We've gotta get to the truck. My .30-06 is there. It's our only chance.”

  It didn't seem like much of a chance. However, with those bastards already in the house, I didn't see much choice. Maggie swung open the back door while Roger moved forward with the gig, just in case. Nothing. Only darkness. Maggie rushed out first, swinging onto a ladder. Roger and I turned to face the onslaught of amphibian hybrid horror. A string of rushing creatures that should not exist.

  Black ooze running up to burrow deep inside eager women flashed through my mind. Ceremonies, cults, eggs... all hidden out here in Missouri.

  First in line swatted at Roger's jabbing gig. It knocked it down to avoid a direct strike. Two of the three prongs lodged in its meaty thigh, stopping it cold. I rushed forward, fist flying, and caught it on its weak chin. The thing fell backward, arms flailing. A webbed hand slapped across my face. A blow unlike any I'd received in all my life. It sent me wheeling back against the kitchen table. A scudding of wooden legs on linoleum echoed in the room as the table vibrated beneath me.

  Raising to my feet I saw another humanoid enter the kitchen.

  I said, “It's no use. We gotta get outta here. We gotta help Maggie.”

  “Go on. I'll hold them back.”

  “Like hell.”

  I went in low, driving my shoulder into one of the top-heavy creatures. I rammed it into a kitchen counter It croaked. A long, sticky tongue whipped out of its mouth at my face. Disgusted by the stench of its breath and darting appendage, I jumped back out of its way.

  “Go! Now!” Roger said, lunging the gig.

  “Go. I'm right behind you.”

  Roger turned, ran, shot out the door, expertly climbing down the ladder as I started after him. Just as I was about to swing onto the ladder I felt a hand close on my shoulder. The grip tightened such that I feared bones might crush. I stopped in my tracks.

  A low, phlegmy voice spoke. Although I could not understand what it said, its meaning rang clear: You will die.

  With a strong tug it began to spin me around. I dared not face it or its brethren. I needed out. A moment longer and I would be overwhelmed, killed. Of that, I was sure.

  Desperate, I craned my neck to sink my teeth into the thing's hand. Biting rubber covered bone could not be any different. The taste in my mouth, that of muddy water, fish, and blood. I nearly gagged.

  But the thing let loose, allowing me to jump out the door into the black of night. Bending my knees, I hoped the shallow water wouldn't break a leg, or worse. I might crash into a tree branch, anything.

  Then water splashed all around me. My feet hit ground and I rolled, momentarily submerging myself, before I sprang back to my feet soaking wet.

  An engine roared to life. Headlights flared. Trees lighted up while water shined in a swath out into the woods. The attempt seemed futile, however, I waded as quick
ly as I could to the pickup. Behind me, I heard the kerplunk of my pursuers.

  “Move your ass,” Roger yelled.

  I moved as fast as I could. Like a nightmare, the terrain conspired to mire me down. Leaning forward, I half-swam, half-ran. The old Chevy pickup's lights burned red, braking to a stop as it backed up to meet me.

  Waterlogged clothes weighed me down as I managed to climb up onto the high bumper by pulling on the tailgate. I saw leaping hybrids gaining on us as I swung my legs over the tailgate.

  “Go go go go go!” I yelled.

  All four tires began to churn up a massive quantity of muddy water, sending it raining down all around. I lunged for the roll bar and grabbed on noticing the reverse-facing center light.

  “Hey, light it up back here, can you? Is this thing wired?” Roger's truck appeared to be all utility but occasionally roll-bar lights were simply there for appearance sake.

  “Just a sec.” Maggie hollered out the sliding back window.

  I saw the rifle rack mounted on the window. .30-06. Hell yeah! Light blasted out across the truck bed. A quick glance behind us revealed dozens of pairs of reflecting orbs. Hybrid eyes. Many were farther behind us, but several shone close, bobbing up and down. I saw things leaping, diving, leaping again.

  “Is that rifle loaded?”

  “It will be in a moment.”

  Maggie's dashboard-illuminated silhouette removed the firearm.

  My eyes darted back and forth between Maggie and the gaining hybrids. I doubted we'd make it.

  “Damn it, Roger, can't this thing go any faster?”

  “Not unless you want me to hit a tree!”

  “As long as it's not head-on, I could care less.”

  “You want me to pull over and let you drive?”

  “Hell, no. I just want that loaded rifle.”

  “Here you go,” Maggie said. The rifle slid out the window.

  I took the rifle, tried to take aim. Impossible. The truck, bouncing around, wouldn't cooperate. No way did I want Roger slowing down. Had I been able to aim, hitting those leaping, diving creatures would have taken one hell of a shot on its own. No, I stood there holding the roll bar with my left hand, the rifle in my right. I'd fire from the hip if I had to. I'd been hunting enough to know I had four rounds without needing to reload. I'd have to make them count. If a hybrid caught up with us, I'd fire point-blank. I'd shove the barrel up its ass before I fired, if I had to. Or – heaven forbid – if Roger wrapped his truck around a tree, I'd be able to kill the first four, providing I wasn't thrown clear of the truck and killed in the process.