Serpentine

by Napier, Barry

  He looked beyond the dead men and the mess around them, looking down the hall. He saw a few streaks of blood further down, smeared on the wooden floor. He managed his way back around the bodies, passed the place where the hallway broke into the T-intersection, and walked further into the house. He looked down to the smears of blood and saw that they didn’t seem to be just random splotches of blood that had been strewn during the melee in the bathroom.

  There was a pattern to it—a shape, almost.

  He followed the streaks down the hallway and into a modestly sized kitchen. On the tiled kitchen floor, it was easier to see the movement and motion to the streaks. To Scott, it looked as if something had been dragged across the floor. Or, based on what he knew of this peculiar case, something had likely crawled or slithered across the floor.

  The streaks went around the kitchen island a few times and then seemed to head in the direction of an elaborate screened-in back porch that was connected to the kitchen through a door that stood open. Scott walked out onto the porch and lost track of the blood streaks. The porch was carpeted and decorated with expensive patio furniture.

  A single screen door led off of the porch and to a small wooden walkway that led down to the back yard. Beyond the yard, there was an unobstructed view of the lake. A single dock sat on a small crescent of beach. A speed boat was tied to it, bobbing in the water.

  Scott started for the door to the walkway outside and stopped mid-stride. He looked to the door and saw what he had feared the most.

  A hole had been torn in the bottom of the door’s screen. The hole was about eight inches in length and equally tall. The screen was shredded around it, suggesting that something had torn its way out.

  The door was locked from the inside, making that hole seem all the more dangerous. Looking out to the wooden walkway, Scott unlatched the lock. He stepped outside and looked for any signs that whatever had made the streaks on the floor inside had been out here. The wood along the walkway seemed to be untouched. There wasn’t a single streak of blood anywhere to be seen.

  This, of course, meant nothing. Whatever had torn its way through the agents and exited George Galworth’s house had probably managed to lose all traces of its victims’ blood while crawling around on the floor.

  The ground beneath the wooden walkway was made up of well-maintained grass. If anything had wound through it recently, there were no signs.

  The walkway ended in a series of three steps that led onto a small trail. This trail led out to the segment of beach twenty feet further out. Scott checked the stairs (even peering under them) and made his way down the trail, but there was no sign of—well, of what, he wasn’t sure.

  He made his way down to the water, walking out onto George Galworth’s dock, and looked out onto the lake. The afternoon was bright, the water sparkling and tranquil.

  He vaguely knew what he was up against. He had been sent a brief file on the case along with his explicit instructions. Part of that file had been the intercepted e-mails that George Galworth had sent out and received on the day the agents had been dispatched to the lake house.

  The contents of one of those mails haunted Scott has he stared out at the lake.

  It needs water.

  That mail had been sent to George Galworth from KC Doughtry. And thinking of what it implied sent a chill through Scott as he stared out to the huge lake before him.

  The report had told Scott that Clarkton Lake covered an area of a little less than ninety square miles. So there was plenty of water, that was for sure.

  The question that made Scott uneasy was what, exactly, was he looking for.

  He left the dock and headed back up the yard, across the walkway and back to the porch. He looked through the kitchen door, thinking of the bodies just down the hall.

  He pulled his cellphone from his pocket and pulled up a number he didn’t want to call. It rang only once before the other end was answered.

  “Yeah?” came a voice that Scott had come to hate over the years. It was the voice of Roger Lowry, his direct supervisor. Roger was the type that held his position over those beneath him with an abundance of cockiness and fabricated power. The ideas of compassion and leading by example never seemed to cross Roger Lowry’s mind.

  “I’m here,” Scott said. “And it’s bad.”

  “The agents?”

  “All dead.”

  “And George Galworth?”

  “Deader than the rest.”

  “And what about the specimen?”

  Scott paused a beat here, letting the conversation slow down. Roger had a bad habit of running a conversation at such a high speed that Scott would often end up confused and frustrated. From what he had seen in George’s house so far, he knew that either of those emotions could make things harder than they had to be.

  “Gone,” Scott said. “Nowhere to be found.”

  “Well, then,” Roger said, as if discussing how the weather had negatively impacted his plans to play a round of golf. “I suggest you find it pretty damn quick.”

  “I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

  “We’re getting information as soon as it comes to us,” Roger said. “Right now, we know just about the same as you. Whatever it is, it needs water to live. And it’s highly likely that it is the same type creature that killed most of George’s crew on that submarine. As soon as I get new information, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Okay.”

  “Anything else?” Roger asked, clearly annoyed that he was being questioned.

  “No. Got it.”

  “Good. Now go find this thing.”

  “Yes, sir,” Scott said, looking back out to the lake.

  But the other line was already dead.

  EIGHT

  It would be another three months before Joe would turn fifteen, but he was pretty sure he was finally starting to understand how the family dynamic worked. When he was being a gigantic dick to his family, he tended to get treated like a child. There had been times in the past where it had seemed that Mac had gotten more freedoms than he had just because she was a genuinely sweet and kindhearted child.

  On the other hand, when he actually acted his age and stopped being so difficult, his parents treated him with something very much like respect. They gave him more freedom and treated him almost as an equal.

  He’d sensed it ever since he had spent so much time with Mac down at the lake yesterday afternoon. His mother had warmed to him instantly. Then, over dinner, the entire family had all sat on the back porch, looking out to the lake over grilled hamburgers. There had been much laughter, and they had all enjoyed each other in a way that rarely happened.

  That was why he had no reservations about testing the limits of that perceived freedom after dinner, only one day removed from such a milestone. Mac was watching a Disney movie, already in her pajamas and ready for bed even before the sun was down, when Joe went out onto the back porch. Both of his parents were sitting there in wooden Adirondack chairs, drinking beer and looking out to the lake.

  “What’s up, buddy?” Drew asked him.

  “Nothing. I really don’t feel like watching Frozen for the millionth time.”

  “I hear that,” Drew said.

  “That’s mean, guys,” Amy said. “You just have to let it go. Let it g—”

  “Don’t you even start that,” Drew said, shaking his head.

  They all laughed at this, trying to keep it down as to not let Mac know that they were having too much fun at her favorite movie’s expense. There was something magical about it—something that once again made Joe feel like more of an adult.

  “I was wondering,” Joe said. “Since we did pack my bike up on the U-Haul, I’d like to take it out for a ride.”

  Both parents looked at him at the same time, studying him. He felt like an ant under a microscope, but he didn’t miss the fact that they seemed to be working together…as a unit. No fighting, no grudges, no cold shoulders. It was worth the awkwardness of h
aving them stare him down.

  They then looked to each other and shrugged at almost the same time before his dad turned back to him and nodded.

  “That’s fine,” Drew said. “But make sure you take your phone. I want you back in an hour. Less would be better. And stay on the dirt roads. Don’t go back near the gravel and don’t even think about going to a main road.”

  “Sure, Dad.”

  “One hour,” Amy echoed. “If you’re gone for an hour and two minutes, there will be trouble.”

  “Got it. Thanks, guys.”

  Joe turned and headed down the steps before they had time to change their minds. He made his way around the edge of the house and took his bike from its place by the porch. He took his phone out of his pocket, checked the time, and then hopped on the bike.

  He came to the end of the driveway and took a right. He had never been down that end of Kerr Lane and the shadowed road seemed to invite him further down. He wondered just how far down these vacation rentals went, finding it easy to imagine them winding all the way around the lake, tucked back in the seemingly endless forests. He pedaled slowly, enjoying the scenery. Kerr Lane was mostly straight, branching off on occasion for thinner roads that led to mobile homes that Joe could see from his perch on his bike.

  He passed several cabins that looked incredibly similar to the one his family was staying in. Most of the license plates on the cars he saw in the driveways were from Virginia, but he also saw North Carolina plates, a few from Maryland and even one from Texas. He saw one family playing with a Frisbee in the front yard and, on more than one occasion, he could hear the laughter of children from behind the cabins as they splashed about in the lake.

  He also heard the now-familiar buzzing of distant boat motors out on the water. He had been trying to come up with a clever way to subtly drop the hint to his dad that he’d like to go out on the water on such a boat. Joe had seen the brochures lying around the cabin and knew that there were a few places in Clarkton that rented out boats. His dad had been mostly cool as of late and the thought that Joe might be able to convince him wasn’t totally absurd.

  Joe brought his bike to a four-way intersection that looked ominous in the shadows of the trees. Straight ahead, Kerr Lane kept venturing forward deeper into the woods. Another dirt road cut across it. A dusty road sign identified this road as Tucker Lane. Not wanting to veer too far off course and end up getting sidetracked or lost, Joe kept forward down Kerr Lane.

  Twenty seconds later, when he first caught sight of the girl, he was very glad he had chosen to stay on course.

  She was walking further up the road and closing in fast as Joe’s bike barreled forward. He gently tapped the brakes, not wanting to go rocketing past her, but also not wanting to creep by her like some perverted stalker.

  From behind, all Joe could tell was that she had raven black hair that was put up into a messy ponytail. She wore a spaghetti-strapped shirt that showed her small tanned shoulders and a pair of shorts that wouldn’t pass any school’s dress code. Even without seeing her from the front, Joe assumed that she must be sixteen or older. Far out of his league, for sure.

  He caught up to her and she apparently heard his bike as it neared. She turned around slightly, still not breaking stride from her walk. She gave him a slight smile, waved, and then turned back to face the direction she was headed.

  Joe saw at once that she was younger than he had thought. Her face looked young, but sort of defined in a way that he had started to notice in most of the girls in his grade. It was the sort of thing teenaged boys that weren’t quite obsessed with sex just yet were still able to pick up on.

  She’s my age, he thought. She’s my age, and—

  The thought came to an abrupt stop as his bicycle seemed to hiccup, stop, and tilt forward. Joe was taken off-guard and went sailing forward, flying over the handlebars. As he did a half-flip forward and felt himself momentarily suspended in the air, he barely had time to think: what the hell was that?

  Then he hit the ground on his back. The air whooshed out of him and he heard a gasping sound escape his throat. He was barely aware of his bike clattering to the ground beside him.

  As he whooped for breath and started to try getting up, he felt blood trickling down his hand. He looked at his left palm and saw that he had skinned it up pretty badly. He blinked at the sight of the blood and then noticed the figure that slowly started to come into focus to his right. He blinked once more, wondering if his vision was blurring from the impact, but then he remembered the girl he had been ogling over just before he’d crashed.

  Oh my God, he thought, that’s so embarrassing, that’s so—

  “If you had have landed on your feet,” the girl said, “that would have been awesome.”

  Joe gave her a perplexed look as he tried sucking air in. Although he took a moment to search for the right words, the only thing that came out of his mouth, through a strangled gasp for breath, was “Huh?”

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Her face started to come into focus. She was smiling down at him, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. It was clear that she wasn’t yet sure if she should be concerned for him or if she was allowed to laugh. Joe knew he had better say or do something quickly or he’d lose her.

  “I’m good,” he said, sitting up slowly. He looked behind him to see what had caused the crash. It was nothing more than a stray branch that had fallen from one of the overhanging trees.

  “You sure?” she asked. She offered her hand and Joe looked at it oddly for a moment. He made sure not to reach out with his bloody hand and then took it. She helped him to his feet and he dusted off his shirt and pants.

  “Well that was embarrassing,” he said.

  “I’ve seen worse,” she said. “You should really pay attention, though.”

  “I know,” Joe said. Oh God, she caught me staring at her, he thought.

  But if this was true, she made no mention of it. She gave him a smile and then nodded to his bleeding hand.

  “Got somewhere to get that fixed up?” she asked.

  “Yeah. My family is staying in a cabin further back down the road. I’ll clean it up there.”

  “Ah, an out-of-towner,” the girl said.

  “You’re not?” he asked.

  “Nope. Born and raised about an hour away from here. My dad brings us out here every summer as a cheap vacation. I wanted Hawaii but I got this. I’ve gotten this every year for as long as I can remember.”

  Joe nodded, doing what he could to not blatantly stare at her. She was pretty in a way that he wasn’t used to. There was nothing extraordinary about her at all, but several small qualities seemed to jab him in the heart all at once: the way the one loose strand of hair bobbed over the side of her head, the way she rolled her eyes when she said but I got this, and the way she had no problem standing so close to a bleeding boy she had just met.

  “So where are you visiting from?” she asked.

  “New York,” he said. “My name is Joe.”

  He sounded like some weird robot when he gave his name, but he sensed that the conversation was either going to lead much further ahead or stall out within just a few seconds. Giving his name seemed like the most natural way to keep it going.

  God, he thought, am I really this bad at talking to girls?

  “Hello, Joe from New York,” she said. “I’m Valerie. From…well, too close to here.”

  “Where are you guys staying?” Joe asked.

  Valerie pointed down the way Joe had been headed. “Just a bit further down that way.”

  “And you’re just out walking around?” Joe asked.

  “I am. Dad is watching baseball. I hate baseball. So I went walking. It’s sort of funny to see the vacationers. No offense. Some of them seem so out of place here. Last summer I met this old lady that said she had been coming here for almost ten years because her therapist had recommended it.”

  “There does seem to be a nice mixture of locals and vacation
people, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Valerie said. She then looked awkwardly to his bike and frowned. “Do you think you messed it up?” she asked.

  Joe leaned over and pulled the bike back up onto its wheels. He rolled it back and forth and gave it a once-over. Other than a slight dent along the handlebars, it seemed to be unscathed.

  “Seems fine,” he said.

  Valerie started walking and waved him on to follow. When Joe obeyed the hand gesture, he tried not to seem overly enthusiastic.

  “So,” Valerie said. “New York. New York City?”

  “Yeah. Manhattan.”

  “That’s awesome. Why the hell did your family come out here if you live in New York City?”

  “My dad just signed a contract to compose the score to a movie that everyone thinks could be pretty big. Having meetings all of the time was burning him out. Stifling his creativity or whatever. So his agent suggested we leave the state, go somewhere secluded.”

  He nearly added in the bit of the tension between his parents but caught it at the last minute. He wasn’t going to go there with this cute and interesting girl.

  “And your dad chose here?”

  “I think his agent did. I’m not sure.”

  “That’s cool…that your dad is a musician, I mean.”

  “You’d think so,” Joe said. “But he can really get wrapped up in it at times.” He sensed the conversation leaning towards his parents after all, so he swerved it as quickly as he could. “How about your dad?” he asked. “What’s he do?”

  “He owns a small engine repair shop. But he also does home repair on the side. He doesn’t need to, though. He makes good money. My mom died three years ago and even though he hasn’t told me, I know we got a nice chunk of money from the insurance. He says we need the extra cash so I can go to college.”

  “Cool,” Joe said, mainly because he didn’t know what else to say. Valerie had just dropped a bomb about the death of a parent and her family’s financial state. It had gotten very awkward very fast. “Not about your mom, I mean,” he added. “But about… yeah…”

  She smiled at him and shrugged. “It’s okay.”