by phuc
"We could see their little lights, all Prometheus and such, and then, gentleman and two ladies, they were gone. "Here a moment. Gone the next. "No one else went down there.
We yelled a lot, whistled some, but no folks come up.
"Let me add this, though. Just before one of those weak ass torches went out, 1 thought I saw something shaped like...well, something shapeless, you know. Like shadows that got no shape, like that. Figured I saw it under hot lights it would have shape all right, but not a pretty one.
"Then what light there was got stolen and there wasn't even a flutter of shadow, just this snatching sound like a bull whip cracking and wrapping itself around something there in the pitch-ass-darkness, and that was enough to tell me, don't worry about staying away from the light like those 'I'm going to God sonsabitches.' No sir. Go the other way. The way you've known since you were small. Since cavemen first lit torches and poked them in caves. Stay the fuck away from the dark. Dark bad. Dark final. Stay away from the dark. In the dark, it's dark, gentlemen and two ladies. Dark. Just plain ole dark.
" Anyway, I think it—whatever the fuck it was — nabbed the torch guy. Hell, I know it did. 'Cause there was a grunt, then the light went out. We scampered quick as frightened mice back toward the hottest and brightest part of the light, all us sonsabitches who had been watching at the edge of light and shadow. And when we arrived beneath the bestest lights and their warmy, not quite toasty yellow, we was goddamn proud to be there.
"Now, that wasn't bad enough, there being something down there in the dark, and it not being good, another concernful-type thing happened.
"The goddamn lights back there started going out a bit more regular.
"That was bound to have made the things, the shadow guys, the Scuts, happy. Unless they are fifty feet tall, they can't reach the lights. Like here, there must be ladders back there.
And that may be why it's all dark to the rear of our fishy boat, them beasties, the Scuts, having climbed up there and done those lights in. But their sliding ladders, they don't come this far. Their ladder rails play out about where all them cars are piled, so they can't just keep taking them out, not unless they're willing to come into the bright lights for any time at all. Find their way to the ladders."
"What are they?" Reba asked.
"Not sure. But I think they are built-in disease. You know, the robots were maintenance, and these guys, these shadow motherfuckers, they are dis-maintenance. Just like us, gentlemen and two ladies. We are built in such a way that cells repair, and all manner of such shit, but, we are also built to age and go obsolete-o, baby.
"These Scuts. They are the Big Boy's Obsolete-o team.
"Someday, they win.
"And the fish, he's all done in.
"And so are we. And now we're here. And we just might give them a fight."
"Why did the lights last as long as they did?" I said. "I mean, why didn't they put them out early on? And if they put out the ones they put out, why didn't they venture into the light to get rid of these?"
"I can't answer that. I don't know. Maybe they were happy back there in the dark, eating fish shit, and then one day they find out we're here, get a taste of long pig from our little torch carrying adventurers. And being so delicious—and it is delicious—they decided shit wasn't quite the delicacy they once thought.
"And it's different coming up on a light from the dark, reaching out quick like and banging it. But to get these, they got to come seriously into the light for some time before they can even get to a ladder. That gap between us and them is enough to hold them, I think. Unless all the lights go out. You know. Just play out without help. It could happen.
I've seen a couple die, no Scuts needed."
"Is there anything in those cars that's useable?" Grace said, always the utilitarian.
"In those cars, in one of them, I found a lady. A beautiful lady. She washed in one day while I'm up here watching the water flush, and her car washed in with it. Washed along the grid and flowed to the back and banged up against them other cars. I went down to investigate, 'cause I could see someone was behind the wheel.
"She was all drowned, her blonde hair pushed tight against her head, her lips purple. But God, did she look good.
"And the water, well, it had tenderized her.
"So, of course, we ate her.
"Rest of the cars yielded skeletons, tires and greasy jacks. Nothing special. I figure they were folks drove off from the drive-in, tried auxiliary trails, same as us, but it hadn't worked out. Flash floods may have got them. Or they could have died in their cars, and in time, rain would slippy-slip-slip them down muddy paths twixt great trees and hungry critters toward the great body of water under which we are now, doing the Nautilus shuffle, only to be swallowed by our larger than average and then some fish.
Who, by the way, we affectionately call Big Boy or Ed. Let me tell you something about Ed. Sometimes the plumbing backs up, and what can only be described as about a whales-ass-load of fish shit, flows back this way on a real serious schedule. You can smell it before you see it. It usually gets to just this side of all them cars and such. It ain' t pretty, and whatever it is that lives down in there must be tougher than a Christian lie, because when it washes back, now and again, you still see those creepy-shadow-shapes moving amongst the cars, all shit-shined, I guess.
"Nasty as we are here, back there, man, we got to be talking nastier than you want to be times ten. Know what I'm saying? And when that fish fart smell comes sailing back this way, it's so solid, you had a club, you could beat it back.
"Oh, Lord. What kind of life is this? Here we are. Jonahs all, with electric lights and bad fish plumbing.
"I need drink. I need love. And figure what I'll get is a drink from yonder skull.
"Let me stop for a drink."
4
Okay. Enough of this guy's story. We'll get back to him. It's me diary. You know, Jack.
Me. I'm talking here. Writing here...Whatever.
I've come to tell you this Bjoe's story, but, seeing how my world, our world, is a weird movie, and I'm writing this down, and I'm sleepy, I think at this moment in time I'll pause Bjoe's story and pick up on it when I feel less tired.
Also, this pen is playing out, and it's harder to get a dark inky impression...Shit, I'm starting to sound like that insane nut Bjoe, wandering this way and that with thoughts and pen.
I think this world does it to you. Scrambles the brain waves, dear hearts. Sometimes I feel as if my mental impulses, like a ball, bounce off things, ricochet and are caught by a catcher not intended, so to speak. And that when he/she/it throws the ball back at me, it's not the same ball first thrown. Too tired. Too hypoglycemic.
God, what I'd give for a glass of iced tea, a fine fresh dinner salad with Ranch dressing and that little crumbled up bacon stuff, a medium rare rib-eye, and afterward, a big clean bed with crisp sheets and a nice soft pillow.
Going to stretch out on a bus seat, alone. Reba has already stretched out on another, and these seats are not roomy. It's one thing to be seriously doing the dirty deed, 'cause you want to do that, you'll do it on a goddamn toadstool. So the seats are not too small for that, but for sleep, it's nice to have a bit of room.
So, I'll lay me down to rest, and call for —
INTERMISSION
And now, refreshed, somewhat, we return you to your movie—
5
After resting, as well as one rests here, I started my day. No matter if it is day or night, I call anytime I'm awake and functioning a day.
There is really little left of Bjoe's story worth telling, so all I'm going to write down is this:
We woke Cory up and Grace slapped him a bit, and he was sober enough then to climb down the ladder, our friend Bjoe lurking above us, calling down for us to go ahead and sleep up there with them, in their fishy cave.
My thoughts were: I do, I might not wake up. And the last defiant thing I might ever do is give Bjoe or the others a spot of indigesti
on and then pass turdlike out of existence. On the other hand, I might be nothing more than a warm pleasant feeling in their tummies.
Couldn't have that.
So we climbed down. Quick. And once in the bus we slept, made sure all the windows were closed and the door was good and locked, and we kept knives by our sides.
Bjoe's story got me worried. I think there's good reason to worry. I'm awake. So I should worry. I also worry in my sleep, now that I think about it. At least most of the time.
Reba is worried too. She climbed on me this "morning," and we had sex so desperate and savage and unsatisfying, I wish I had just pulled my pud or maybe stuck a stick up my ass.
We spent the morning flushing out our bus by backing it even closer to the exit from which we entered the fish's belly. We stood outside and let the water that the fish swallowed flush through the back window and cleanse it.
It isn't exactly clean smelling, but it got rid of all the muck, washed it out the door.
That done, we considered driving the bus closer to the piles of cars and the darkness, which lay thick, like something stacked.
James, who had wiled away his time in the bus while we were visiting with Bjoe, said, "If what you told me about the dark things is true, wouldn't it be smarter not to go that close to those things? The Scuts?"
"Yes," I said, "it would be smarter. But, it's a kind of trade off. Bjoe, he's not coming right out and nailing us. I figure they don't want to fight if they don't have to. But, you can see he's starting to think of us as lunch. He can't help himself."
"And maybe more than that," Grace said. "I think he had other plans for Reba and me."
Reba nodded. "Seemed that way. Especially you."
"Yeah," Grace said. "He wants to screw us, skin us, eat us, make pouches out of our tits."
"Yours would certainly be utilitarian," Steve said, and Grace slapped him in the back of the head.
"It was a compliment," Steve said. "Sort of."
"So, we can be near a spot that they don't like to go," I said, "or, rather we hope they would rather not go, or we can be right out there in the brightest part of the light, where they feel safe."
"I could tell he's got the willies about those shadow things," Grace said. "He tried to play it pretty deadpan, but he sure was massaging the old sausage when he got to the part about the things in the dark. The Scuts, for scuttle, I presume. I thought he was gonna toss the old mayonnaise from one end of the cave to the other, way he was getting down."
"Sure sorry I missed that little trip and conversation," James said.
"I don't think you really mean that," Reba said.
James grinned.
"Here's the way I see it," I said. "Last night, we just locked up. And I guess that was enough to save us. But in time, the more they think about it, us down here, them up there, their bellies gnawing, and this Bjoe with a love for human flesh, I think a day will come when they decide to try and take us."
"I agree," Grace said. "I get the feeling they aren't trying to add new members to their group. Not really. Just lunches. Here near the darkness, if we have to, we can retreat into the shadows and deal with those things as they come."
Cory had been silent, trying to get over his hangover, but now he spoke. "Big question I got, is how do we get out of here? It's cozy all right, but I'd rather not stay here."
"That one," Grace said, "we're still working one."
"And, if there's a solution,"I said, "I suggest we find it. Not only because of Bjoe and his companions, or because of the Scuts, but because this morning I noted that some of the lights that had been just in front of the cars, they went out. My guess is, in time, all the lights will go out. And then we're going to have to deal directly with the Scuts. We won't last long inside of a fish where we can't see how to move about."
"Another thing," Reba said. "Have you noted that it's temperature controlled in here? A little warm, but there's something keeping a fairly balanced temperature. The lights go, maybe it goes. For that matter, maybe whatever powers the fish will play out."
"Can I say something?"
It was Homer. He went through spells so quiet, it was easy to forget he was there.
"Sure," I said.
"One way out might be we wait until the fish is close to the surface, and then we exit like turds and float up, taking something to hang onto with us. There's wood lying about, stuff the fish has swallowed. We might could do that."
"Good as far as it goes," Steve said. "But how would we know how deep down we are.
We go out when we're way down deep, we'd drown before we made it to the surface."
Homer shook his head. "Catfish like to get along the bottom, that's no lie. But don't you feel it?"
"Feel it?" Grace said.
"Pressure in your ears?"
Now that he mentioned it, I had to admit I did. It came and went. The others agreed that they too felt it.
"When the pressure goes away," Homer says, "I think Ed's at the surface, or close to it.
That would be the time to go. I mean, there was a door, that would be when to go out of it."
Everyone was silent for a moment.
"It's a thought," Steve said.
"It isn't much," Grace said, "but it's more than anyone else has offered. Homer, you just might be a genius."
"You think?" Homer said.
"No," Grace said. "Not really. But even a blind pig finds an acorn now and then. And I think you may have found an idea."
" Well," Homer said." Wow. An idea. Me, of all people. Uh, what kind of idea did I have really?"
6
"It was a thought," Homer said. "But I didn't take into consideration that there isn't a door."
"There are two ways inside this fish," Grace said. "We got the mouth, and we got the asshole. We try to go through the mouth, well, water rushes through there all the time.
We'll drown. Maybe, if we go to the rear we can find an exit. This thing may eat and shit, but it doesn't have real fish intestines. I think Bjoe is wrong about some things. I think this fish is, or was, a work in progress. The robots were supposed to finish it all up, give it fish insides, but, for some reason, they played out."
"Leaving the fish not quite complete," Steve said.
"Yep. I think that whatever built this world, the things in it, is losing its grip. Maybe mentally, maybe it, or they, or whatever, just got bored with the whole thing."
"So it's falling apart?" I said. "Our gods are going insane?"
"Yeah. Or it's not being finished. It's like a dream I used to have when I went to bed at night, elves would take up the rest of the world and fold it away. But they were quick, see, so if I got up to go pee, looked out the window, they were always there with a backdrop. And they built things instantly, before I could get to them. But sometimes, in my dream, I'd look out of the corner of my eye, and there would be nothing.
"I remember the dream well. Gave me this feeling that the world was all a lie, and that I made it up as I lived and breathed. And sometimes, my daydream broke down."
"So in the dream, you dreamed you were daydreaming?" Steve said.
"Yeah. And now I may be living in just the sort of world I dreamed about. But, a lot more unpleasant."
"My head's starting to hurt," Homer said.
"About escaping?" Steve said.
"Yeah," Grace said. "I was going to say, could be, in the back, there's a way out."
"Great," Cory said. "We go out the asshole riding on a turd. And drown."
"That's where Homer's idea comes in," Grace said.
"What idea was that?" James said. "I still don't think I understand all I understand about that idea."
"It's about listening to the inside of our heads," Grace said, and she let that hang in the air like a fart.
"I get it," I said. "We work our way to the rear, hang around until we feel the change in our heads, in our ears. Then, it's the asshole escape. Homer's idea, but without a conventional door."
"That's ri
ght," Grace said. "But we have to prepare ahead of time. We have to be sure there's a way out back there. It may be there's real fish guts to the rear. We might need floating devices of some sort."
"Maybe the Scuts got life jackets," Steve said.
"Funny," Grace said, "but it's some kind of idea. Otherwise, we live our lives in the belly of a fish. Just hanging around until an overwhelming crowd of hungry folk descend on us ready for dinner."
"It's possible we could get along with them," James said. "We've seen and done some pretty strange stuff ourselves. I mean, shit, I can't believe I've been fucked in the butt.
That's not something I'd do on a Saturday night back home. I even ate a dead baby once.
Maybe twice. All right. Probably three times. And I saw two of them killed. So what makes me better than them?"
"You have to make yourself better," Grace said. "We all do. We've all missed a step.
We've done what we had to do to survive. But, I know me and Steve and Jack, we've tried to keep it together. Tried hard. Now we can keep trying and the rest of you can try with us. If you want to stay here, that's your choice. All of you. Me, I'm looking for a way out of the exhaust pipe."
James nodded. "Guess so."
"Hell," Homer said. "I'm for it. It's my idea, and I didn't even know I had one."
"How about everyone else?" Grace asked.
"I'm in," I said.
"Me too," Steve said. "I go where you go, honey."
Cory raised a hand. "Count me in. But, maybe we could make some kind of deal with those guys up there. For some of that liquor. It tastes like boiled dog shit, but it makes you feel pretty good."
"That's one thing we don't need," Grace said. "Distractions."
"So what's the exact plan?" James asked.
"That's a bit of a problem," Grace said. "An exact plan hasn't exactly come to me yet."
"Then we all put our heads together," I said, "come up with a more detailed plan."
