Poseidon’s Children

by Michael West

  “Everyone all right?” Brahm’s eyes gave each of his comrades a hurried exam. Larry, Carol, Alan, and Earl all nodded in turn; outside of a few cuts and bruises, each appeared to be in good health.

  The old woman was still on the ground, her eyes fixed on the blazing rubble.

  Brahm walked over to her, his hand outstretched. “Barbara?”

  She continued eyeing the ruins, seemingly catatonic, then one side of her mouth twitched into a half-grin.

  “Are you okay?” the doctor asked.

  “A three-hundred-year-old lie...gone.” She sounded relieved; at last, she took Brahm’s hand and climbed to her feet.

  Roger Hays staggered toward the blaze, his forehead opened by shrapnel and streaked in blood. Instead of being pleased by the destruction, he looked pissed. When the man who ran from the church tottered up to stand beside him, handgun still drawn, Roger punched him square in the face.

  The gunman’s head snapped back; he stiffened and raised the barrel of his 9mm so that it was flush with Roger’s ripped temple. “Hit me again...bitch.”

  Hays stared at the muzzle, then raised his .45 to the gunman’s crotch. “Get that thing out of my face or you’ll be a bitch.”

  The gunman withdrew his weapon and took a step back. “What’s your problem?”

  Hays turned his gun on the flames. “I wanted his head!”

  “Carlo was my best friend in the fuckin’ world. I got the bastards back for the both of us. Havin’ one as a trophy for your den won’t make it any more dead.”

  “Dirty sons o’ bitches.” Larry; he took a step toward them, and Brahm suddenly remembered that Peggy had been in the building.

  Oh shit! He’s gonna get us all killed.

  The physician grabbed onto Larry’s arm, pulled him back toward the smoldering Cordoba.

  Larry’s glare burned into his skull. “Take your hands off me!”

  “Let it go for now! You want to get your ass blown off?”

  “I don’t give a shit.”

  “Well I do.”

  Larry did manage to free himself, but he turned and took out his frustration on the Cordoba, kicking its tire repeatedly.

  “Time to go, Roger,” the gunman instructed.

  “Wait,” Hays protested. “We need to make sure they’re all dead.”

  Frustrated, the gunman looked to distant bonfires in the heavens, then returned his gaze to the one blazing where the church once stood. “That’ll burn all night. Nothin’ coulda lived through that blast. Now are you comin’ or not?”

  “You work for me, asshole.”

  “If you wanna fire me, sir, go right ahead.” The gunman climbed into his car and started the engine.

  Roger Hays picked up a smoking board and threw it onto the pyre; it landed in a fountain of sparks. He then stormed over to the car, took one last look at their group, and his eyes rested on Carol.

  “Be seeing you, Miyagi,” he said, then disappeared into the Cadillac.

  The car’s bright eyes ignited and it headed back down the road to town. When it was lost to the darkness, Barbara walked over to Larry.

  “Okay.” She placed a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. “Peggy’s still all right.”

  Neuhaus looked at her, his eyes dancing. “Are you sure?”

  Barbara nodded.

  “Bullshit,” Earl spat. He was back on the ground, searching for his service pistol. He found it, stood, and stared into the blaze. “Fuckin’ goon had it pegged. Anything in there is fried.”

  Barbara shook her head. “The temple’s carved out of solid rock, and its deep under the church. Should be fine. Besides, there’s nine hundred of us on this island. Couldn’t all be in there. There’s another way into Varuna’s chamber underwater. Wouldn’t be hard for Tellstrom, or one of the others, to swim in and get the creators’ weapon.”

  “Underwater?” Carol gave Alan a pat on the back.

  FORTY EIGHT

  A grinding bellow echoed through the stone temple, and the entire chamber shook; the staircase belched a thick cloud of dust, and rocks and wooden planks caved in from above, sealing off the passageway to the church. The sheer amount of rubble made it obvious that the building was gone.

  Karl shook his head in denial. How many of his followers had been up there — a hundred, maybe more? They couldn’t all dead. It wasn’t possible.

  As the dust settled, Jason ran up to him, his voice filled with angry sarcasm, “Is this your glorious war? Did you plan on ’em fighting back? Or’d you just expect ’em to lay down ’n’ die for us?”

  In that moment, the Charodon standing before Tellstrom wasn’t Jason; it was Ed DeParle, telling him this path was a road to insanity; it was Principal Monroe, telling him his mother would hate what he was doing; and, most of all, it was Karl’s own father, cowardly and afraid. In their minds’ eyes, none of them could see the world as it should be, the way he would make it. They had no sense of the future. They had no —

  “You can’t win.”

  Karl whirled around to find Peggy Hern standing behind him; his thin lips wrinkled back, revealing the glistening, jagged fangs of a wild animal.

  “They’ll come,” she told him. “They’ll find the entrance to that lagoon, and they’ll come in here and kill us all.”

  When Peggy uttered the word “us,” Karl snapped; he became the angry boy who’d just lost his mother, the boy who’d seen what was left when the propeller finished having its way with her. He lunged at Peggy, pushed her back against the stone altar, and his clawed hand pressed in on her larynx. “You fucking half-breed! No matter how hard you try, you’ll never be us! At your core, you’re still nothing but a human! You’re still a murdering shit, no different from all the others!”

  “Karl,” Christine cried from some distant reality, “Stop it!”

  The rabid fury evaporated from Tellstrom’s tiger-striped façade; his voice was the whimper of a lost child. “She killed my mother.”

  “She did?” Christine asked, unnerved.

  Karl trembled; he removed his hand from Peggy’s throat and she fell to her knees, coughing and sucking in air, her lungs aching. Slowly, Tellstrom backed away and stared into the questioning eyes of his audience. The chamber was a vacuum, void of all sound, but his head echoed with the noise of a hundred silent screams. His blood ran thickly to his brain as he fought to regain some semblance of control.

  I almost threw it all away, he realized. I almost pissed all over it.

  His roaming eyes found the gods’ weapon on his own talon and a smile returned to his lips like the sun from an eclipse.

  “Nothing’s changed,” he announced, more to himself than his followers.

  Karl stepped down from the altar and the crowd cleared him a path to the lagoon. On the way, he called out several members of the gathering, commanded them to join him. They did as he asked, but there was more than a hint of trepidation in their steps. When they reached the water’s edge, Tellstrom turned and addressed the whispering masses.

  “Forgive my outburst,” he told them. “I was...I was outraged by this new attack from the Landers, as you all must be. Do not mourn the building above. It was built for the humans, for their society, not ours. So I say, let the humans have their church back. This is our temple.”

  The correct buttons pressed, the crowd who doubted Karl now cheered him on.

  Tellstrom raised his hands to silence them. “As for our fallen brothers and sisters...they will not be forgotten, and we will make sure that they did not die in vain. I tell you now that I will not return until the humans are gone from Colonial Bay, and we are all free.”

  They cheered all the louder.

  Stay focused, he told himself. Don’t lose it now, not when you’re so close. He bared his teeth in an uneasy smile, then spun toward the lagoon.

  •••

  Still shaking, Peggy grabbed the altar for support and rose to her clawed feet. “He’s fucking nuts!”

  “You don’t know what he’s
been through,” Christine told her, then added, “He’s a great leader.”

  “You saw the way he acted just now.” Peggy rubbed her throat, watching as Tellstrom and his handpicked crew disappeared beneath the waters of the tidal pool. “You can’t tell me he doesn’t scare you.”

  Christine looked at her own webbed toes, her voice wavering. “I love him.”

  At that, Peggy turned her attention to the rubble of the stairs; she wondered where Larry was, and hoped he would stay out of harm’s way.

  FORTY NINE

  Carol Miyagi climbed aboard the Sea Wasp; she found a duffel bag, unzipped it, and produced a one-piece chainmail suit — four hundred thousand individually welded stainless steel lengths. She stripped down to her underwear and slipped it on, her movements quick, her face serious.

  Alan followed her aboard, but Larry and the others stayed at the edge of the dock.

  “What are you doing?” Larry asked.

  Carol fastened her suit. “I’m going to swim into the temple...bring out that weapon and your girlfriend.”

  Brahm blinked. “Those things could be down there.”

  “Probably.” Carol jerked the chainmail hood over her head, then dragged a large trunk to the center of the boat. She looked to Alan. “Help me with the pod.”

  “No.” He placed his hand on her shoulder to pull her aside. “I’ll go.”

  Carol shook him off. “This anti-shark suit wasn’t made for you.”

  “I don’t need the suit. I’ll strap on the pod and —”

  Carol grabbed him by the sides of his head, her voice gentle but firm. “Domo, but I’m the more experienced diver. I have to do this. You know I do. Help me?”

  Alan sighed heavily, then moved to the trunk, helping Carol hoist its contents: a bee-striped plastic bubble with several wires and canvas belts dangling from it.

  Earl pointed at the device as Carol strapped it to her back. “What the hell is that?”

  “A shark pod.”

  “A what?”

  Carol grabbed one of the hanging wires, attached an electrode to her ankle. “It emits an electrical field in a twenty foot radius around a diver, in this case me, and frightens away sharks. We knew Roger’s son was attacked. We wanted to be protected in case we had to make a dive in these waters.”

  “Ron and Valerie Taylor field tested it,” Alan assured them, then, seeing that the names meant nothing, he elaborated, “They’re the Australians who filmed great white footage for the Jaws movies. Using this pod, they’ve been able to swim in open water alongside white sharks, without cages of any kind.”

  Miyagi held up a small joystick; like the electrode, it too was wired to the pod. “If a shark comes near me, I press this button and sayonara.”

  Earl’s eyes screamed at her before his mouth even opened. “Wait just a damn minute! We’re all smart people here. Let’s come up with a better plan than this.”

  “No time. If Tellstrom didn’t have the weapon before, he’ll want it more than ever now that he’s been attacked.” Carol looked to Barbara. “The underwater passage is the only way in or out of the temple now, right?”

  “Ayuh,” DeParle nodded. “Unless we want to go dig a new one.”

  Carol returned her attention to the guardsman. “Not much of a choice.”

  “Use some fuckin’ logic!” Earl rubbed his unshaven chin. “These aren’t really sharks. They’ve been livin’ in houses...houses wired with electricity. Your gadget might not do a damn bit o’ good.”

  “I’ve considered that. I have.” Carol snatched up her dive mask and strapped it to her face. “But the only great white ever to live in captivity would swim just fine in its lighted tank. Only when it reached a certain spot — a concentrated, localized electronic field behind the concrete — did it go crazy and butt its snout against the walls.”

  “I repeat, these freakazoids aren’t sharks.”

  “That’s why I have this.” Carol shoved her hand back into the duffel bag, brought out a heavy metal pistol; the closed chamber had been replaced with an open cylinder of tiny aluminum arrows.

  The guardsman was impressed. “Wanna tell me where you got that?”

  “Alan had it specially made for us.” Carol removed the weapon’s twin from the canvas bag and tossed it to him. “It holds six steel-tipped darts. If the shark pod doesn’t send them running, these will make them think twice.”

  Earl studied the modified spear gun. “Nice. But, like the old lady said, there’s nine hundred of these cock-suckers. Even if they can’t all fit in the temple, even if some got fried when the church went up, you’re still gonna come up short in the ammo department.”

  “Then, for all our sakes, you’d better wish me luck.” Carol stabbed her feet into black flippers, the name Cressi rising from the rubber in white-painted letters, then drove her hands into chainmail gloves, rapidly flexing her fingers. “Barbara, I need you to lead the way.”

  When Miyagi glanced up, she froze.

  The old woman’s flesh moved in ways that should have been impossible; her gray hair receded, and her skin, wrinkled with a roadmap of lived years, smoothed itself into a thin transparency. Aged limbs lengthened, elderly hands morphing into webbed talons. When Barbara stripped off her dress, her sagging buttocks wove into a long, paddle-like tail. Pale blue eyes were devoured by black holes, her spine rose up to form a ribbed sail of dorsal fin; and, when Barbara opened her mouth toward the moon, Carol saw crystalline needles thrust from her gums.

  Brahm saw it too; Carol watched the denial in his eyes try to find a voice, but words eluded him.

  Earl did manage to speak, his tone uncharacteristically meek, “Great God almighty.”

  Barbara stepped down into the Sea Wasp. “Stay close and we’ll be fine.” Her large, black eyes fell to the joystick in Carol’s hands. “Just not too close.”

  “Oh...” Miyagi broke free of her trance and nodded. “Sure.”

  Carol followed Barbara toward the speedboat’s railing, and Alan rubbed his hand across her metal hood. “You be careful,” he told her.

  “I will.”

  Carol equalized her mask, shoved the rubber regulator between her lips, and breathed deeply. She gazed down upon the surface of the water, her hands wrapped tightly around the butt of her dart gun and the pod’s control.

  Here we go.

  Miyagi gave Barbara a nod and they leapt over the railing together, splashing into the darkness below.

  •••

  “Even after seeing it, I still can’t believe it’s real.” Earl tossed the second spear pistol to Alan and backed away from the edge of the dock.

  “I told you.” Larry did a double take. “Where are you going?”

  Preston pointed toward a ferry moored nearby. “I’m gonna get the mainland cops up in here. I saw three gangsters with more guns than The Terminator go into that church, but only one bastard got out alive. If the old lady’s right, and those things are still alive, we’ll need help.”

  Brahm was still speechless.

  Larry asked the question for him. “What are you gonna tell ‘em?”

  As he walked down the pier, Earl gave a shrug. “Shit if I know. I’m playin’ this by ear.”

  Alan did not watch the guardsman walk away. He sat in the Sea Wasp and studied the ripples Carol left on the surface of the water.

  •••

  Barbara’s incandescent form lit the way through a barnacle-infested grove of wooden pillars; she soared through the water, her arms and legs kept tightly at her side, her flat tail acting as a rudder. Every so often, she gave a powerful stroke with her webbed hands, moving the water past her and advancing.

  Carol was so fascinated by the old woman’s movements that she didn’t see the Charodon until the last second; it propelled up at her like a torpedo, its maw a gaping pit rimmed in jagged death.

  FIFTY

  The Historical Society’s boiler room was humid.

  Neil Shiva unbuttoned his collar, wiped the sweat fr
om his neck, then kneaded a pliable block of C-4 plastic explosive. He marveled at Roger Hays; that a man could love a son enough to avenge his death, to let loose the power of the flame to punish this town, this den of demons...it was the most wonderful thing Neil had ever seen.

  His dewy fingers slimed the incendiary clay.

  Hays had given him very specific instructions: leave the hotels, level everything else; make Colonial Bay look like the gates of Hell itself. Glorious. This was a holy mission, a chance for Neil to use his considerable skills in a truly righteous pursuit.

  Sweat gathered on the tip of Neil’s nose, formed a dangling teardrop; he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

  The arsonist shoved his fuse into the explosive gray blob he’d made. Satisfied, he climbed off the rickety crate he’d been using as a ladder, then gave the wiring a final glance. The copper boiler sat on concrete blocks; Shiva had attached an olive-colored claymore mine to one of them, wiring it to the same radio-controlled relay switch as the C-4. There were a dozen switches just like it spread throughout the town, each wired to countless mines and molded blocks of destructive Play-Doh. He’d even duct-taped claymores to propane tanks behind several shops, creating tremendous bombs.

  The entire town was now a bomb.

  Neil smiled. He picked up the remote detonator; at first glance, it appeared to be the radio control for a miniature racecar or model plane. A closer inspection, however, would show an ominous red plunger where a joystick should’ve been. The relays were set and sequenced to go off in rapid succession, like a fiery dominos display. Push the plunger down and: click...KABOOM!

  The arsonist grabbed up his toolbag on the way to the stairs, then glanced at his watch; he had a ferry to catch.

  Breaking glass.

  Neil froze in his tracks.

  A piece of the window I smashed getting in here. It was loose, but it didn’t fall until now.