Tainted Waters

by Leah Cutter

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “So where does that leave us?”

  Sam shrugged and started walking along the path again. “Keep our eyes open.”

  “Even if we end up seeing things we don’t want to?” I asked, somewhat teasing.

  That was what Sam had warned me about the first time we’d met—that I needed to be careful about what I’d seek, or I’d see things I didn’t want to.

  Like Ragnarok.

  Sam gave me a wry grin before she turned serious again. “No, not like that. Just—be on the lookout for anything weird.”

  I snorted. “Like that’s going to help.” I seemed to attract weirdness. Which I could handle just fine.

  It was the everyday mundane things that really messed me up.

  Ξ

  Sam had never been to the milk–carton boat races before.

  “You sure you’re from Minneapolis?” I teased her.

  “It wasn’t the sort of thing one did on a Saturday in July,” Sam replied with pompous tones.

  I snickered as I led her to the water’s edge. To the left people were pulling their “boats” into the water.

  “Is that…” Sam asked, then words failed her.

  “Uh huh,” I assured her.

  Queen Cleopatra lay on a formal barge made of red–and–white–paper milk cartons being rowed by half a dozen stout, half–naked men.

  “You didn’t tell me there was a costumed element involved,” Sam accused me.

  “That would have ruined the fun,” I told her.

  People had gone all out this year. In addition to Queen Cleopatra, there was a six–foot–tall bottle of Tabasco done as a boat, a small castle with a single robin’s–egg–blue turret, and of course, cows. This year, the cows were done in a particularly fetching shade of pink with large black spots. They stood on the edges of a long rowboat already dipping precariously into the water.

  Some of the boats didn’t make it across the lake, of course. It was kind of difficult to make a milk carton waterproof. I had to explain to Sam that they couldn’t tape all the milk cartons, or wrap them in plastic—at least fifty percent of the milk cartons had to be exposed to water.

  We laughed and cheered. It felt almost normal, like I was just hanging out with my best girl on one of the lakes in Minneapolis. Celebrating the weirdness that was only found here at the lakes.

  Of course, it couldn’t last.

  Wind sprang up as the boats finished their course. Above us, thunderclouds had started gathering.

  Sam looked at me, her eyebrows raised. “Something isn’t right,” she said.

  I was torn between grabbing her and running like hell, and trying to stop whatever the hell it was.

  “Give me a minute,” I said.

  I closed my eyes and went into my area of knowing. The boat races had been planned by a large group. There was going to be a huge emotional signal remaining.

  It wasn’t just crimes that a good post–cog could follow. Anything that had passion, emotion, attached to it. Some sort of resonance.

  Not too much emotion, but not too little, either. I couldn’t come back and do my post–cog thing on this place at the dead of night, with no one here. Emotion created the timelines.

  It was easy enough to go back just a little ways, when the Tabasco boat started tipping precariously to one side. Everyone hooted and yelled, cheering the boat to go on.

  Nothing seemed wrong at that point. The timeline flowed smoothly, one event occurring naturally after the next.

  I turned away from the boats and the lake to watch the people. Families laughed and pointed out the silliness to their young ones. They cheered and shared hotdogs.

  Except right there, just past the walking and biking path. On the boulevard. Time…shifted.

  Damn it. Was the bomber close by?

  I came back to find Sam holding onto my arms. She looked scared.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “You shouldn’t go so deep,” Sam said. She gave me arms a shake before she let me go, wrapping her arms across her own chest.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You might get lost in a timeline, going so far in,” Sam said.

  Of course. I’d never been trained like she had been. And with me, it had always been all or nothing.

  “Look, you can chew me out about my abilities later. I think the bomber is here,” I told her.

  “Where?” Sam asked, getting out her cell phone. “Can you pinpoint his location?”

  I grimaced. “Probably beyond the path. That’s where the time shifted when I went and looked.”

  “I’m calling it in,” Sam said. “Stay here.”

  I stood there for a moment, shocked. What, she just wanted to stand there? Wait for backup or something stupid?

  “I’m going to try to go find him,” I told her. I didn’t know what the asshole looked like. But if he was like the shithead on the light rail, he wouldn’t look right. Wouldn’t fit in.

  I just had to keep my eyes open, and be damned what I would see.

  Ξ

  I ignored Sam calling my name behind me. I’d never been the kind of girl to just sit and let someone rescue me. Fuck that.

  I scanned the crowds as I walked toward the point where time had shifted. There was one group of teenagers, sharing a stolen cigarette. Three gay guys sat on a tattered flannel blanket, laughing and sharing a bottle of what had to be spiked lemonade. A grandfather lounged over there with his son and grandson, trying to get the fussy baby to eat.

  Just past the walkway was another large green space where more people had blankets spread out. I honed in on a group of nerds. They were all probably about my age, with that kind of white skin that blossomed from living in their parents’ basement.

  They’d been sitting in a circle—some kind of board still sat there. But now, they were all standing in a line, holding hands, chanting.

  They looked completely drugged out. Eyes vacant.

  I rushed toward them, but suddenly they seemed farther away.

  What the hell?

  There wasn’t anyone with that kind of telekinetic power. Kinetics were hired by drug companies to move atoms and make new chemicals. No one, except on TV, had the kind of power to pick up a person and move them, let alone half a dozen people at the same time.

  “Wait! Stop!” I yelled, rushing at them. Damn it, they were up to something.

  Something not good.

  Screams erupted all around me. People were pointing at the lake.

  I turned to see what was the matter.

  A dark spot had formed about a football–field length away from the shore. It spread like an oil spill, poisoning everything it touched, tainting the waters black and dangerous.

  Then the waters heaved and something started coming out of them.

  Something unworldly. Something that really, really didn’t belong in this timeline. Something that reminded me of those damned vines and sickly plants.

  I turned my attention back toward the group holding hands and chanting. “Stop!” I yelled again.

  This time, it took only a few steps to get to them.

  I didn’t think. Didn’t stop. Just plowed into one of the guys on the end, tugging him loose, breaking the chain. Tackling him down to the ground.

  The winds died down abruptly. People stopped screaming and shouting.

  The guy I’d tackled to the ground backed up, crawling like a crab. “Get away from me!” he shouted.

  He was a tall, white, skinny dude, with big black glasses frames that were probably supposed to be cool. He wore a T–shirt that read Ahab made me do it, jeans and sandals.

  I grabbed for him again. The rest of his group had helpfully vanished, so he was my only lead.

  Suddenly, Sam called my name.

  “Cassie!”

  She sounded scared.

  I looked around. I didn’t see anything, nobody was threatening her.

  When I looked back, the guy had disappeared as well.<
br />
  I stood slowly, brushing myself off. I’d have to tag this place, take a look at it later. See if I could see whoever was there, watch the group, maybe get some identification.

  “What the hell happened?” Sam asked, rushing up to me. “Where did you go?”

  “There was a group here. Standing in a line, holding hands, and chanting,” I told her. “When I broke the line, the wind died down.”

  Sam nodded thoughtfully. “The lake,” she said quietly. “It was like something was coming out of it. Of course the officials will say it was part of the festivities.”

  Nothing to see here, folks. Just go along home. I’d seen the cops do that. Felt that happening with Kyle, after he’d died.

  “So what the hell was that?” Sam asked me, as if I would know.

  I shrugged. “No idea.” Then I paused and sighed.

  I was going to have to tell her what Hunter said.

  “Hunter found me,” I told her.

  Sam glared at me. “And you didn’t call the police,” she asked flatly.

  “He wasn’t there long enough. But he mentioned that there were gods involved. And that in the end, I’d save the right god.”

  Sam didn’t say anything. She was quiet for so long I wondered if she hadn’t heard me.

  Finally, Sam turned to go. I followed along.

  Really, what else could I do?

  After we’d walked half a block, Sam stopped and said, “I know you’ll save the right god too. I just wish it didn’t have to be you.”

  We walked in silence back to her car, because, really, what else could I say?

  I didn’t want it to be me either.

  But someone was going to have to save the world. Might as well be me.

  Chapter Nine

  “Take that!” Steve said, rolling the ten–sided die across the board set up in the center of the group.

  “Miss,” Gary proclaimed as it rolled to a stop, showing a seven.

  “What do you mean?” Steve challenged. “That should be a hit.”

  Gary glanced over at the new guy, Erik. He hadn’t said much the whole time they’d been sitting there. He had crazy eyes—crazier than Pat’s, even—that kept darting around, futilely trying to watch everyone around them. He wore regular clothes, a T–shirt and jeans, with sandals. His bald head glistened with sweat, which was kind of gross. It trickled down into his awesome sideburns, growing bushy and wild across his cheeks.

  Steve had forgotten it was the Aquatennial that weekend. Thomas Beach was a zoo. The beach itself was covered in boats made out of milk cartons. Gary had proclaimed them lame, but Steve had secretly thought they were kind of cool. Particularly the long barge with Cleopatra reclining on it.

  So they’d had to find a small strip of the boulevard beyond the bike path, next to the street, to set up their game.

  “I’ve got pluses from dexterity,” Steve pointed out. “And that’s a plus–two sword.”

  Erik hadn’t been paying that much attention, but he glanced back at Gary and nodded.

  What, were they co–GMing or something? This had been the guy who sold Gary the creepy light set up on the gaming table in Gary’s basement. He’d also sold Gary the urn that they’d used to capture that water god’s soul.

  Now, they were playing on a board that Erik had brought. It had felt perfectly smooth to the touch, which was what Steve and the others had been most concerned about—rolling dice across a pitted area would end up in too many mis–rolls.

  Golden, glowing runes lined the edges of the eight–sided board. Underneath them, when the sun hit the board just right, lurked a second set of runes, green and menacing. Thin, chaotic red lines whirled across the board, connecting the runes to one another.

  A many–sided patch about as big as Steve’s palm squatted at the very center of the board, blacker than Gary’s basement had become. It seemed to go on and on, like it wasn’t part of a flat board but an infinitely deep hole.

  Steve tried irrationally to avoid rolling dice across it. Not because he thought the dice would disappear down into the depths or something, but because every time he had to reach across that damned hole he got chills.

  “Yes,” Gary said. “It was a hit. Roll for damage.”

  Steve chortled, picking up his d10, then adding three more. He was gonna hurt this asshole this time. The party just needed a couple more good solid hits, and they’d kill this monster for sure.

  “Don’t forget the pluses to damage from my spell,” Mary added.

  Steve hesitated. Thieves didn’t generally have spells. He certainly didn’t remember Mary casting something. Still, more pluses were better.

  He rolled all ones and twos.

  “Damn it!” Steve said. He picked up his dice from the board, ignoring the chills racing down his back.

  He couldn’t wait until they were finished with this crazy island and monsters and shit. His campaign was going to be high tech with spaceships and full battle gear.

  “I have a plan,” Pat said to the group.

  Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Great. Now the crazy wanted in.

  “We aren’t strong enough on our own to defeat the Old Ones,” Pat continued. “We need to raise warriors greater than ourselves. An entire island of them. Call the blessed land up from the waters.”

  For a moment, a hood appeared around Pat’s head, pale with red runes embroidered into it, like the kind his character wore.

  Then it disappeared.

  Maybe playing outside in the bright light wasn’t a good idea, if Steve was going to start seeing things like that. Must be the sun. Because that’s what it had to be, right? A bright spot of light that kind of looked like a white hood?

  Steve shook his head and tried to pay attention to what Pat was saying.

  “So you want us to raise an island?” Steve asked, trying to clarify. “Like, what, Atlantis?”

  Pat shrugged, his mad eyes gleaming. “Something like that.”

  The other members of the party looked at Steve. He was the nominal leader of the group.

  “What the hell,” Steve said. They weren’t getting anywhere attacking this damned monster that seemed to be healing itself every other round or so.

  “Okay, you need to all hold hands,” Pat directed.

  Steve looked at Mary and the others. They hadn’t always acted out what they were doing, but Gary had been on a kick about that lately. Like with Peter and Luke holding the urn while they captured the soul of that water god.

  “Fine,” Steve said.

  Pat started chanting weird syllables that Steve didn’t understand. They were harsh and guttural. It seemed as though clouds had moved in front of the sun.

  But the tune was catchy. Steve found himself humming along.

  What could the group play next? Whatever they did, it would be much more awesome than this. Space pirates, maybe. He’d said something about browncoats too. Maybe the group would be pirates in that universe. With a kickass ship. And tentacles. And ray guns that would glow with green fire.

  Steve found his image of the universe shifting, the starship morphing until it was shaped like a giant squid, with dead black eyes shooting lasers while the tentacles ballooned out, then collapsed together, thrusting them through the coldness of space, spreading inky death between the stars.

  No, that wasn’t right. Clean ships, hard sleek designs. Metal and chrome and bronze, not organic and gelatinous and oozing. Hale and hearty ship’s men, not skeletal creatures covered in plague sores with fevered eyes.

  Steve fought to maintain his vision. He felt himself moving, standing, still chanting, but it wasn’t him moving his body. Was no longer him behind his eyes.

  The star worlds of his imagination caught him again, showing him expanding galaxies and beautiful nebulas, planets with spectacular disc systems, constantly erupting volcanoes, ice cracking and freezing whole mountains.

  No. That wasn’t right. He was here, at Lake Calhoun. With his friends.

  Not on s
ome dark world. Not reaching under the sea to raise a deathly creature.

  They were raising Atlantis, right?

  In the center of the lake, Steve saw the dark shape grow. It was like the center of the board, an endless pit leading to other worlds. The mass of writhing tentacles rose up, breaking the surface of the water. The air above them turned poisonous, leaded gas killing the green spaces. Toxin tainted the waters, killing everything.

  Steve tried to stop himself from chanting. He fought at first to keep his mouth closed, then open it as wide as he could. Something. Anything. He had to stop the guttural syllables coming from his mouth.

  However, he had no control.

  He must be dreaming. Having yet another nightmare that he dared not tell anyone about because they were too real. Too closely aligned to this world and the next.

  Steve had to stop the chant. Had to get out of here. Had to leave before the creature fully erupted into this world.

  Suddenly, the air was knocked right out of Steve. He felt his soul wrenched back into his body as he landed on his ass.

  What happened? What had he been doing?

  A woman, probably about his age, had tackled him. Broken Steve free from the others. She was a bleached blonde, with her hair spiked up the center. She probably outweighed him. She had a crazy look in her eyes, that fire of madness he’d seen too often in Pat, in Gary, in the others.

  “Get away from me!” Steve said, shoving at the woman and crawling backwards. He had to get away from here. The creature was no longer coming, rising out of the water, but it was still after him.

  He had to go. Now.

  He ignored what the woman was shouting at him as he raced back toward where they’d been playing. How had he gotten this far away? He didn’t remember walking at all.

  The others had all disappeared, of course. As had Erik’s damned board.

  Steve scooped up his backpack and his dice. He didn’t want to leave them behind as evidence. Then he ran across the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by a car, and raced up the first block.

  Other people were looking at him. He couldn’t keep running. Steve slowed to a jog, then a walk, then stopped and tried to catch his breath.

  He looked over his shoulder at the lake.