Gunshots won’t slow it enough, Joe thought. Enough shots might kill it, but it’ll get back to the lake before they get the chance…if they get the chance.
An idea formed in his head as he thought about narrowly escaping death on the little canoe thanks to the shattered oar. He took Mac by the hand and then placed her hand into Valerie’s. Both girls looked at him, confused.
“Please, both of you, stay here and don’t move.”
“Joe, what are you—” Valerie started, but Joe was already on the move.
He dashed back into the shack, barely aware of the slight droning noise of an approaching boat engine. Now that he was in the darkness of the shack, the place where the thing had pinned him to the ground, his idea suddenly seemed very stupid. But at least it was something.
He went to the place where he had been knocked to the ground, his nerves electric. He picked up the pitchfork even though it had proven worthless the first time he’d tried to use it. With the rusty old tool in his hands, he started for the door again as another round of gunshots sounded out from the shore.
Joe got back outside with the pitchfork in hand just as an older man pumped a shot directly into the monster’s featureless face, just below the mouth. Joe also saw the thing continue to slither back. It was moving slow now, a clear sign that it had been severely wounded, but wounded wasn’t good enough in Joe’s mind.
“No!”
He let out the scream of desperation as he ran past Mac and Valerie, down towards where the grown-ups were trying to kill the thing. He passed by the old man and then the woman and neither of them tried to stop him.
“Son,” the old man said. “What are you—?”
Joe was well aware that the thing was tracking him as it retreated. Already, at least half of it was back in the water. Joe didn’t wait for the thing to come at him, even if it was wounded. He brought the pitchfork high over his head and slammed it down into what he thought was the thing’s center.
When the forks drove through the monster’s flesh and into the soft sand beneath, Joe kept pushing down on the handle, trying to get them to go deeper.
“Damn good thinking,” the old man said, coming up next to him. He placed his hands on top of the pitchfork handle, gently nudging Joe out of the way. The man then pushed down hard, letting out a grunt, and the handle seemed to drop another six inches or so.
At their feet, the creature writhed. Its head came less than a foot from Joe’s face and he stumbled back, nearly falling.
“I’ve seen it before,” Joe said. “It came after me but after I ran away from it, it gave up. It had to go back to the water.”
The man that might have been a policeman was slowly getting to his feet, still coughing. “He’s right,” the man said, stopping to let out a gagging sound. “Keep it out of the water. It’ll suffocate.”
Joe watched as the thing tried to pull away from the pitchfork, but it was impaled all the way through and the forks were almost entirely buried in the sand. Joe could see them beneath the thing’s stomach as it lifted its body slightly in an attempt to get away.
Joe didn’t know if keeping the thing’s head out of the water would be enough to do the job, but he thought so. Even now, as he watched it struggle, it seemed to grow weaker. Where it was thrashing about before, it now seemed to only lash out in a blind and lazy sort of way.
The man that might have been a cop came over to Joe and patted him on the back. “Quick thinking,” he said. “If you hadn’t have done that, this thing might have gotten away.”
Joe tried to accept the thanks, but it was hard to do. Standing in the presence of this thing made it hard to think of anything other than the nightmares he was sure to have for the foreseeable future.
“What is it?” Joe asked.
“Dying,” the maybe-cop said. “And that’s all that’s important.”
“You’re from the government, aren’t you?” the old man asked, watching the thing as intently as Joe. “I saw black vans a few weeks ago. I know where they went.”
“You and I need to talk later,” the government man said. But from the way he spoke, Joe didn’t think he’d be doing much talking for a while.
The woman took a few steps towards them. Joe saw tears trailing down her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said to the government man. “You had the shotgun and it had you and—I just froze. Oh my God, I’m sorry.”
The government man shook the comment away. He was leaning against a tree and breathing heavily.
Joe watched it breathe heavily, now done with any attempts at fighting. It knew it was done and it slumped to the ground in defeat. It gave one last twitch that traveled the entire length of its body and then there was nothing.
Joe felt something graze his hand. He looked to his side and saw Valerie standing there. He took her hand and drew him to her. She hugged his right side and buried her head into his shoulder while his sister hugged the other side.
They stood in awkward sort of hug and when the government man started asking them questions a few minutes later, Joe did his best to answer them. And when government man placed all three of them into his car to escort them home, Joe looked back down towards the shack. He tried his best to think of the kisses he and Valerie had shared there—of what it had been like to fall in love around that old rustic structure, but all of that was gone now. Instead, there was only the very recent memory of thinking that he was going to die in order to save his sister.
He wanted to feel heroic and he supposed it would be justified. But it was hard to feel like a hero when all he wanted to do was crumple up in his mother’s lap and cry.
THIRTY-TWO
Even after the government man—who had introduced himself as Agent Scott Miles—dropped them off at the cabin, Mac would not leave Joe’s side. Even when their parents tried to scoop her up to comfort her, she refused. She clung to Joe’s arm, saying nothing and barely moving unless she absolutely had to. Joe didn’t mind. He played with her hair in a way he knew she liked, hoping it would console her.
He and Mac sat on the couch while Scott Miles and the woman that he had pieced together was the local game warden tried explaining to his parents what had happened. Every now and then one of them would ask him a question and Joe would give a brief answer. The longer he sat there, the more he realized just how tired he was. He had read somewhere that a sudden surge of adrenaline could leave the human body feeling exhausted and he was pretty sure that was what he was feeling.
For most of the conversation, his mom was sitting beside him. She would look at him as if she were studying a painting, looking for some hidden meaning. Joe assumed she was looking for injuries. When she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him on the cheek, he uttered a light, “I’m fine, Mom.”
She started weeping at this, something Joe didn’t understand. Whether it was his eight-year-old sister, a fifteen-year-old girl that he had fallen in love with, or his mother, he just didn’t think he’d ever understand women. As his mother made a fuss over both of them, Joe still managed to hear a bit of the conversation taking place between Scott Miles, the game warden (her name was Susan, he had figured out) and his father. He heard Agent Miles saying that the creature that had attacked them was of unknown origin and was possibly a mutation of some kind.
Joe had no idea how he knew it, but he thought Agent Miles was lying. Joe had seen that thing up close on two occasions. Sure, maybe it was a mutation. But Agent Miles knew more than he was letting on. Joe watched his dad and wasn’t sure he was buying it, either. Maybe he was just too distracted by the fact that his children had narrowly escaped death to really care, though.
As if reading his mind, Agent Miles looked over to him slyly, just out of the corner of his eye. It was the brief sort of glance that Joe had seen grownups give one another far too often. He’d seen it shared between his parents when they talked about Santa Clause in front of Mac. He’d also seen it when they thought they were being clever and sneaky when talking about sex when young ears
were around. It was a glance that spoke without words, saying: We have a secret and it wouldn’t do anyone any good to find out about it.
Joe knew that he could object; he could let them know that whatever had attacked them was a monster of some kind, not just an abnormality or mutation. It was…well, it was something else.
But Joe let it go. The thing was dead. He had watched it die and that was enough for him. As far as he was concerned, its death meant that it never had to be mentioned again.
So he stayed quiet, although he kept feeling that pitchfork in his hands and how easily it had torn through the flesh of the thing. Now that it was all over, it made him feel slightly ill. He pushed it away, thinking instead of Valerie. He wondered what she was going through right now. Susan—the game warden—had dropped her off at her father’s cabin moments before delivering them home. She had not been in the house long, so Joe assumed she had given a very boiled down version of the same story she and Agent Miles were giving his folks right now. Joe was dying to know how her father had reacted and if Valerie was in any trouble, but he hadn’t dared ask.
Thinking of Valerie and what might become of them within a few days, Joe sat there without saying anything else. He continued playing with Mac’s hair and let his mother embrace him softly, like he might break at the slightest touch.
***
It took less than two days for Joe’s parents to decide that staying around the lake after everything that had happened would probably do their children no good. It was for that reason Joe found himself walking down Kerr Lane late at night, using the light of his phone to illuminate the road, as it was a cloudy night and the moon was nowhere to be seen.
He’d packed his suitcases with his mother’s help. She was still trailing him like a shadow but she was getting better on a daily basis. She seemed to bounce back and forth between her kids, hovering over Joe one moment and Mac the next. Joe was sure that Agent Miles hadn’t even told her the entire story—about what that thing had really been. If she’d known everything, there was no telling how she would act. He tried to imagine what she’d do if she woke up right now, at 12:25, to see that her oldest son’s bed was empty. She’d lose it. She’d freak out and call the police and then ground him for life. His dad would go along with it because when Amy Evans went berserk, Drew Evans did the smart thing and went along with just about anything she said or suggested.
But he had to see Valerie this one last time. Harsh words and punishment from his parents would be worth it. At such a young age, he didn’t really understand regret yet but he thought that not seeing Valerie again before he left Clarkton Lake would be something he would regret later on in life.
They’d communicated through text messages, deciding to keep it simple and meet on the edge of the road somewhere between their parents’ cabins. The conversation had been short and sweet, with Joe simply stating I need to see you. Need to talk.
She had responded with OK. How about on the road between our houses in 15 mins? There had been no subtext and no cutesy emoticons. Things were different now—a fact that was proven in their location of choice.
The mere idea of returning to the shack was horrifying to Joe and almost kept him from heading out to meet with her at all. If there was any doubt that his fond memories of that place were now ruined and replaced by feelings of pure terror, that realization had killed it.
Peering through the dark, he saw her approaching. She was also using her phone as a means of light. They closed the distance and when they met, they said nothing. They instantly kissed, their arms going around one another and sharing the sort of kiss that most teens don’t experience until under the dimmed lights of a prom or parked on a back road, exploring the backseat of a car.
When they pulled away, Valerie tore the band-aid off. With a simple question, she made Joe’s job much easier.
“It’s bad news, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Joe said. “We’re leaving tomorrow. Dad thinks it’s the best thing for me and Mac.”
“He’s right,” Valerie said, taking his hand and pulling him close.
Joe took in her scent, smelling a faint whiff of strawberry in her shampoo and the sweet tinge of summer sweat.
“This was awesome,” Joe said, wishing he could think of something better to say.
“It was,” she agreed. “It was amazing.”
“You know…that word people say when they care a lot about someone…”
“Yeah, I know,” she said, kissing him softly on the jaw.
He shuddered and was embarrassed to find that he was starting to cry. But holding her in his arms, he felt a shudder pass through her and realized that she was crying, too. His heart seemed to sag and an intense sorrow weighed heavily on him. He was terribly confused because he was sure he was too young to feel such a thing. Wasn’t he?
“Well,” Valerie said, pulling back to look him in the eyes. Their noses were nearly touching and even in the darkness, Joe could feel her eyes taking him in. “One thing’s for sure…I sure as hell won’t forget you. With everything that happened, I don’t think it would be possible.”
It sounded like such an adult thing to Joe’s ears and he understood in that moment that he had grown up considerably in the last few weeks. It wasn’t isolated to having met this beautiful girl and tasting love for the first time, nor was it all focused on experiencing true fear and overcoming it in a very adult way. It was all of that put together; it was in how he’d fought to save Valerie and his sister and how he was accepting this pain and sorrow as if it was a normal, expected part of life. It was in knowing that this was not meant to last and that, quite frankly, they would forget each other over time. He knew that just as sure as he knew he wanted to kiss her again in that moonless night.
And he did it. He drew her to him and kissed her. He supposed he did love her, and that was okay. But he knew how teenagers were. He knew that his parents were right about how he would grow up and mature. He’d meet someone else and fall in love with them and by the time he was married, all childhood things would be forgotten.
But he recalled the fear in his sister’s eyes and how that pitchfork had felt in his hands as he had run down to the bank where some unimaginable horror had tried to escape back into the water.
And with that bit of bravery in mind, he continued to kiss Valerie. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked and a loon cried out across the lake. Joe heard it all, as if it were a door being gently pushed shut to keep all the bad things out…and all the promising things inside.
THIRTY-THREE
It took Wayne a six pack and a shot of whiskey to summon up the courage, but he finally decided that he was going to walk down to Al’s house to see how he was doing. It had been two days since the gruesome events on the bank in front of the old fishing cabin and Wayne figured his friend might want to know that the thing that had attacked him out on the lake was dead and gone now—and that he, Wayne, had played a part in its death.
That’s how Wayne found himself walking up Kerr Lane on a Saturday afternoon, slightly drunk and hopeful for his friend’s recovery from whatever was ailing him. He’d kept tabs on the comings and goings around the lake since the events at the shed. That had been five days ago, although every morning since, he could have sworn it had only been the day before.
He knew that the Evans family had left town, headed back to New York. He also knew that Agent Scott Miles had holed up in his little cabin to get some rest and break down his equipment. The last Wayne had heard, Agent Miles was having problems breathing (which made perfect sense to Wayne, as one of the clearest things about that evening by the shack was seeing that monster wrap itself around the poor agent’s head). Wayne knew these things because Susan Lessing had told him. She had called him yesterday with no real purpose. She had gingerly approached the topic of the thing they had encountered on the lake but had not dwelled on it. Wayne was pretty sure she had simply called someone else that had been there just to make sure it had really happened and she wasn’t
going crazy.
But Susan Lessing was the furthest thing from his mind as he walked up Al’s driveway. He gave the horseshoe pit a longful glance, hearing those musical clinks in his head. He marched up the porch steps and was glad that he was a little drunk; that would make it much easier to deal with Kathy if she was still insisting that he couldn’t see Al.
Might have been a good idea to call first, he thought before he knocked. Oh well…she would have just put me off anyway. Harder for her to do that with me standing right here in front of her.
He knocked on the door and waited, hoping that Al would answer but pretty damn sure that it would be Kathy.
Twenty seconds passed and no one answered. He knocked again, louder this time. As he waited for an answer, he turned to look at the top of the gravel driveway. Both cars were here, Al’s truck parked directly beside Kathy’s little Subaru. They were both home but apparently not answering the door.
Maybe Kathy had seen him coming up the drive and was choosing not to answer the door for him. That meant that she had convinced Al to stay quiet, too. That, or it meant that he had gotten worse since the last time they’d spoken.
A bit concerned now, and not really caring about Kathy’s concerns at all, Wayne tried the door. He found it unlocked, which was not surprising because no one hardly ever locked their doors around Clarkton Lake. He pushed it open and stood there between the opened screen door and the partially opened front door. He poked his head inside and listened for any sounds but there was nothing.
“Hello,” he said. “Kathy? Al? What’s going on? You there?”
He waited a handful of seconds but got no response. He stepped into the house and once he was fully inside, he could feel the stillness of the place. Almost instantly, the slight drunkenness seemed to wash away from him, much like it had done when he’d seen the events playing out on the shore that afternoon as he’d sped his boat closer to the horror.
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