by Wile E Young
Vicky’s corpse followed suit.
Gideon turned and immediately began sprinting as fast as he could, helping Misty.
A hand gripped my leg underneath the water, pulling backward and sending me toppling face first into the grimy muck. I twirled around and struggled to breathe, releasing Luc and kicking downward with my free foot. My boot kicked right through the bone; felt like kicking a damn brick wall.
Broke the surface gasping, my old lungs begging me for relief.
One of the deformed half-breeds stood over me, blind like the one I had saw in the cradle, blue worms latched onto its eyes. Its hands darted to my throat quick as a snake, nails digging into my throat.
Couldn’t breathe, red appeared at the edge of my vision. I dragged a hand across its face the skin feeling like rough sandpaper.
I was nearly gone. More of them rose from the water, their tongues clicking a warbling battle cry as they crowed in around me. Loathsome words I didn’t understand bubbled out of the leader’s throat as it opened its mouth wide, its head flopping grotesquely, teeth elongated to swallow my head whole.
Two more crowded close and began to vomit hot mercury into my face. I didn’t even have time to sputter as the last of my strength left me and I accepted the end.
Suddenly there was air. I gasped as the inbred abomination went flying, hissing in pain as it landed against the wall. My throat was sore, felt swollen… hurt to even breathe.
Lincoln stood panting, his arms outstretched, glancing at the other four Deep Folk around him.
“USHTA FALAY VHI’OCTAX.”
Lincoln’s eyes blinked once, his teeth biting into the flesh of his lips, the small nub of his tongue lolling behind them.
“Submit to me.”
The Deep Folk of the closest to me stepped forward nodding, the top of its forehead scraping against the low hanging ceiling as it lowered its head in supplication. Lincoln shrank back as the dripping hands made signs in the air and reached for him.
“Savant told me what I had to do, told me that it was for the good of the family… but I don’t think that’s true.”
The Deep Folk faltered in the water. their eyes not daring to meet Lincoln’s.
“Go back, back down… now…”
The lead one immediately shrank into the water, barely a ripple marring the surface as it disappeared. The rest of the fishmen followed suit, my grandson’s will absolute.
Lincoln didn’t say a word as he reached down and picked me up “Come on, Grampa.”
He picked Luc up, mercifully unconscious and floating face up, then carried both of us as easy as babes up the flight of stairs and out of the house of death.
Chapter Twenty-One
Davis brewed some hot tea in the kitchen as most of us sat around one of the check print tables. We’d returned to Shady Glade and Davis had roared in and ordered everyone out; something about flood control. What townsfolk were there vacated in a hurry, none of them eager to be on the other side of the massive restaurateur’s boot.
My throat felt like someone had shoved a red-hot poker down it. Every breath burned and stroked another fit of coughing.
Davis and Gideon had snipped the stitches keeping Misty’s mouth shut. She had sequestered herself in the far corner of the restaurant, quiet mourning every once in a while giving way to uncontrollable sobs. Didn’t blame her; would have joined myself if the wracking sobs didn’t make me feel like I was swallowing glass.
Luc was sprawled out on a table, sleeping like the dead. Lincoln had dropped him with little fanfare onto the table before stalking off to the nearest window and staring out at the sweeping rain. Took a chair next to him. Gideon was sitting not far away, lost in his own misery sipping on a soda that Davis had plopped in front of him. The big man forbade alcohol inside his establishment.
Alcohol, my pipe, hell even some chewing tobacco despite my long years without it, I was without my comforts or distractions for the first time since Sammie Jo had reappeared under my dock.
Conversation in the truck aside, might have been time to actually talk to the boy.
“Thinking hard?” I grunted. Those black bulbs inside his head blinked, the hoodie that Gideon had given him torn in a few places.
“Thinking about what my father said… about what he wants.” His voice was beginning to take on that peculiar croaking halt, the words coming harder for him.
“You aren’t your daddy’s slave, Lincoln. Only person who can decide that is you.”
Lincoln’s eyes never left the pouring rain. Didn’t know if my words had any kind of impact on him. Always had been shit at trying to comfort people.
“The water looks cool… I want it so bad.” He let out a long hissing sigh. “It won’t be long… now, feel the pressure, my heads hurting real bad now. Feel less like you, not weak, not meaty… not real… I can see cities and things so ancient… I don’t want to go down there.”
There were no tears. Good boy knew better than to show weakness, but it damn well struck a chord with me. Kid had been thrust into the world, aged up overnight, actively hated by me at times, and still he was clinging to what he saw in us.
Not much I could do about that, but hell, I was the only decent kin the kid had left. At least the only one who might actually give a damn about him. Might have been something there I could relate to.
“Come on boy…” I said patting my grandson’s arm; he looked up, confused.
“Where are we going?”
I gave a weary grin and turned away as Davis walked out with the tea. “There are a few things a man needs to experience before life begins stealing your joy.”
Davis sat the tea down. “Get a hankering to take a walk?”
“Just to Gideon’s houseboat. Won’t be too farther. Lincoln and I need a little family time. Besides I don’t reckon we will be planning our next move until Robichaude wakes up.”
The Cajun hoodoo man still slept like the dead, his mouth lightly hanging open.
Davis chuckled darkly. “Fair point. Might want to bring his dog in; don’t know if we are going to have to find higher ground lickety-split.”
I nodded and headed out the door, grabbing an old Crip’s Camp cap and putting it on my head, hunching in my jacket as the cold whipping rain splashed my face. Lincoln lumbered after me, his hoodie down, his mixed pale and muddy brown flesh soaking up the water as it hit.
Took a bit to watch him lift his hands, lips stretching into a smile that put me off. It wasn’t a human smile; couldn’t put my fingers on why it was wrong. Guess I had just never seen a real man look at water like a god.
“Come on boy,” I said it as gently as I could. My grandson was a good foot and a half taller than me now and if what he thought was true was beginning to happen… Well, I would just rather not be on the bad side of an inhuman killing machine without my local witch doctor to back me up.
Walking as fast as I could we made our way down to the pier. Wasn’t too much longer before the whole thing would be underwater. All the boats were gone now except for Gideon’s houseboat; that would stay anchored until the water went back down.
Though if what Luc said was true maybe it would just rain until the whole world drowned.
The water was coming through the planks on the pier as we passed the empty slips and eased up the ramp onto the shag carpet deck. I was virtually out of breath already, throat was burning away and after a couple of days of exertion I was feeling my damned age. Wrinkling up like a prune… even with whatever juju Luc worked on me.
Slid open the glass door. Mojo lifted his head off the deck; the big white dog stared at the two of us with disinterest before laying his head back on the floor with a weary chuff. Scratched his ears as I passed “Good boy.” The dog’s tail wagged.
“Sit down wherever,” I told my grandson as I dug into Gideon’s liquor cabinet. The boy had good taste; I might have been a bourbon man but damn me to hell if I was going to turn down a scotch when it was in my face.
Two g
lasses, an unopened bottle (I’d apologize later), and I returned to my grandson who was sitting awkwardly at the dinner table, his head twitching as he looked at the splashing rain on the river surface.
Tapped the glass in front of him. “How much will you have?”
He looked nervous, those black pupils squinted double eyelids blinking “I… I don’t know, Grampa.”
“Better make it a double.”
The golden-brown comfort poured easily out of the bottle, and when it was nearly a quarter of the way full I paused and poured my own glass, gently sliding the first one over to Lincoln.
Lowered myself carefully. My back was sore and beginning to ache. Sweet relief flooded through me as I leaned back.
“What is this, Grampa?”
“Man should at least have a drink once in his life.”
Lincoln went to drink. “No, no, son, don’t just start unless you’re alone.” I raised my own glass. “You toast when you’re in good company.”
He mimicked my motion and I searched for some kind of joy to toast to in the darkness of the past few days.
Only one came to mind really.
“To family.” I said.
“To… family,” Lincoln croaked in reply.
I clinked his glass and downed the warm liquid. It went down smoother than the engine grease I usually funneled down; didn’t even flinch when it burned my throat something fierce.
Lincoln looked almost giddy as he tossed the glass back; draining it quickly and then immediately began coughing. Smiling behind my glass, I watched my grandson stumble over to the sink and fumble with the knobs, eagerly lapping up the water that came streaming, letting it fall across the back of his neck and onto the wrinkled skin.
Was thinking about pouring me another when I saw that wrinkled skin split open around his neck, gills that eagerly moved back and forth to breathe in the water.
I gripped my glass tight, probably busting all sorts of blood vessels in my hands, couldn’t help that though all I could do was watch. Watch as another piece of humanity flaked off my grandson like fall leaves.
He stood back up with a grunting sigh and lumbered back towards me. “That… didn’t taste… good.”
I licked my lips and tried to smile. “Yeah it ain’t supposed to. A lot of people have met their end drinking.”
Poured myself another glass. My head was hurting. Probably needed water but looking at my grandson decided I’d rather drink another double to forget.
“Fine American tradition, drinking. Back before either of our times, they used to run boatloads of booze from stills up to Mooringsport…” I sipped, trying to ignore the quivering gills and letting the sauce drift my imagination off to better times.
“Yeah, Grampa, few of those boats went missing, you know.”
Glad to hear he wasn’t croaking anymore. Talking might have been doing some good… as if I knew how to deal with something like this.
“How did you know that boats went missing back in the old days?”
Lincoln lifted his hand. The webbing looked strange, more animal; he pointed a finger at the side of his head. “I can see it in my head like I was there. My cousins coming up out of the Cradle to snatch… shiners… didn’t care about the alcohol… only the meat.”
The croaking was back. I felt my mouth go dry and I hastily swallowed a little bit more. “Your father squawking at you?”
Lincoln shook his head. “No just something… we can all do.”
We. Didn’t like that…
Whatever else may have happened, it was interrupted when Mojo lifted his head and immediately let out a deep, booming bark.
Jumped in my seat. Never knew a dog could make a noise that deep… had mostly mutts growing up and never any as big as Mojo.
“What is it, boy?”
Mojo barked again and made his way over to the door, pawing at the glass.
I stood up; ambling over and sliding open the door, the giant ball of white fur went barreling out the door almost bowling me over… I cursed to high heaven as I saw the giant ball of white disappear down the pier.
“Dammit.” I muttered, waving my hat back and forth. Lincoln had risen from his seat, those giant eyes not looking concerned or bothered in the slightest. “Need to see to that… sorry it cut the time a little short.”
Lincoln shook his head and gave his best smile, creeping me the hell out. “You go do what you have to do, Grampa. I think I’m going to stay out here awhile.”
My heart tightened in my chest. “You sure?”
“I’ll be fine; rain just feels good is all.”
It was then and there I decided that I needed to wake Luc up, and if stirring him regular wouldn’t work then I was going to have to ask Davis if he would break out his smelling salts from his old boxing days.
Lincoln trod out onto the soaking green shag carpet and lifted his face towards the sky, the flesh on his cheeks a dull olive color.
I felt like I was about to be sick. I followed in the mutt’s escape path down the pier.
The water was over the boards now. The planks were just under the surface, still took it slow didn’t want to slip and fall into the murky river. It was beginning to lap at the bottom of the stone steps before I got to them. Had to tell Davis we might want to pull up tacks; water was coming up quick now.
Gideon was waiting at the door, holding it open and gesturing me inside. Davis had the heaters going full blast now; grateful for that considering the chill bumps running up my arm. I was drenched, and my legs were on fire from running. Vision was a little blurry too, and I wondered if they had bothered to put the reading glasses that Renee had made me get years back on the houseboat.
Luc was sitting up on the edge of the table, one arm resting on his knee, hand holding his forehead. The other drooped to his side and scratched Mojo’s massive head.
“I tell you, feel like I went ten rounds at Johnson’s Landing.”
Davis slipped a cup of hot tea into Luc’s hand; he took it gratefully and began sipping on it slowly.
Misty still sat shell shocked over in the corner. Didn’t know if she was going to recover… hell, after the whammy my mind had undergone seeing the Deep Folk, I didn’t blame her a bit.
“Where’s Lincoln?” Luc rasped out, glancing around the restaurant to make sure that he hadn’t missed him hiding in some corner of the diner.
“He’s out on the houseboat deck, taking in the rain.”
Luc snorted and sipped more of tea. “That doesn’t sound comforting.” The hoodoo man read my mind exactly.
Gideon asked the questions on everyone’s mind. “Anybody else hear…” He took a gulping breath; couldn’t say Vicky’s name, not yet. “That they’re looking for the channel markers?”
Luc nodded. “Not many of them left either. Government removed a few… kids out looking for scares, messed up the etchings on a few others. Marker 158 out by your place, Mr. Pope, was the last one my Pop made, trying to seal the entrance to the Cradle.” He downed the tea with a bitter gasp. “Wish that one wasn’t so well known.”
That was a sentiment I shared; I had run off kids often enough from it. Reckoned more than a fair share would have made it through.
“So how many are left?” Davis asked, reaching out to refill his cup. Luc shrugged. “Don’t know. My grandfather Stefan used to keep a map of them at the old house. I don’t expect that’s still intact.”
The image of that burned-out wreck floated through my mind, bodies hanging still in the humidity.
Yeah, didn’t expect that map to be dandy.
“Best I’ve got are a few drawings and etchings that my sister made when Pop would take us out to check on them. I was barely walking at the time, so couldn’t much say where they were, but I know it was remote enough that the chances they’ve been ruined are slim.”
Davis patted the young man on his back. “You have them on you?”
Luc shook his head. “Out in the houseboat. Bastienne knew her way around a penci
l. The drawings are pretty.”
Maybe for the first time I realized that the younger man was alone in the world. I mean, I’m sure he had some kinfolk, but no direct family, no one that was going to be waiting for him to come home.
Odd kinship we had on that front. Only difference was that he could still meet a nice girl, drop a couple of brats, and lead a happy life. My wife was rotting in the ground and my grandson was turning into a fish. Didn’t think there was much hope left for me to be raising any kind of family.
“Gideon and I will go and get them; you’re still recovering.”
Luc looked like he was about to protest, but one withering look from me and he sat back down. Mojo man or not, he wasn’t going to go against me.
I shrugged at Gideon and he fell into line easily.
The rain was pouring down hard now, like the world knew we were onto shutting down these fish-faced fuckers for the last time.
“Have to hurry or else we are going to be swimming out to your place.”
Gideon nodded, shivering hard under the scathing rain; it was coming down like razorblades now.
Water had come up again in the few minutes that I had been inside, and I grumbled to myself that I had just barely gotten warm before I was back out here in it. My ankles were drenched; could barely feel the wooden planks beneath as I waded forward as slow as I could. Gideon was right behind me and didn’t look like he was in the mood to be rushing either. Both of us were well aware of what could be creeping up under the waves.
About halfway down I noticed that Lincoln was standing on the deck. He cut an imposing figure in the grey streak-stained sky, dark and towering, every bit a man of strength.
Ten feet tall, a crowd of Deep Folk had surfaced next to the houseboat. None of the half-baked inbred monsters; a congregation of primordial terror. Their heads were bowed to Lincoln, who scratched wildly at his arms. Every scratch peeled off more of his skinm revealing the dull browns and greens of the scales that had been forming under the surface.
My heart jumped in my chest and I leapt forward. Never even saw the half-breeds that were lurking under the water until they rose silently on the dock in front of us.
