d3.wps

by phuc

  I broke the surface and looked in the direction Ed had gone. All that could be seen was a great fin knifing through the dark water. As I watched, something struck me hard in the head, almost knocked me unconscious.

  I grabbed at it.

  It was one of the pontoons. It had snapped in half, but it still floated. I grabbed hold of it and clung, tried to climb on top of it. It rolled with me, and I lost it a couple of times, but finally I had a solid grip on it, straddled it, latched my legs around it tight.

  Across the water I saw a white mist. And then I saw it was not a mist at all, but the ghost of the drive-in. It slowly floated toward me. Floated until it was over and around me. And inside the drive-in I could see everything that had happened while I was there. I could see me and my friends, all dead now, in the camper, tooling along the highway, heading for what we thought would be a great weekend.

  There were dinosaurs and such, and all the events that had happened after we escaped the drive-in theater—or so we thought. All that and more. Overlapping, running together, seen simultaneously like a bad TV connection, one program blending into another.

  The mist stuttered. Was followed by a sound like electricity shorting out. A snap of light and shadow, a crackle like cellophane being chewed by a goat, and the mist was back.

  The Popcorn King.

  Those dinosaurs.

  Poplalong Cassidy and his carnivorous film. Grace. Shit-town.

  The bus. All gray and ghostly and us inside. Outside the bus. Inside the bus. Every view you could imagine. All that had taken place. Reba and I making love. Grace kicking Cory to death. All of us, looking like some kind of ride at Disneyland, a bus full of escaped specters from the Haunted Mansion.

  The past and the present rolled in and out. Everything was caught up in that white mess of memory.

  I closed my eyes and tried to scream, but my voice was still too hoarse.

  I dropped my head against the pontoon, stretched out on it as best I could. And clinging like I was riding a rocket to that silver moon above me, to escape the mists and all it contained, I fell into a stupor as the water rode me up and rode me down.

  2

  It's okay," I heard Reba say, and I could feel her stroke my hair.

  I awoke to find she wasn't there. There was only me and the pontoon, and it was a breeze moving my hair, not Reba's soft fingers. The moon was gone and the sun was warm but not too warm, and the water was a bright sheening blue. Beyond, there was a great cloud bank, and in little patches, like glimpses of car metal as seen through clouds of white dust in a dirt track race, I could see the great silver bridge.

  I thought of Reba again, bright eyes, fine face, skin made hard from life, her navel like the end twist on a gut-stuffed sausage, the tangle of hair between her legs.

  I thought: That's about right. Here I am floating on what is essentially a goddamn log. I've lost all my friends, and my lover, and what I'm thinking about is not her sweetness, and kindness, but the fine wet thing between her thighs.

  Men. They ain't worth killing.

  And I be one of them.

  As I clung to the pontoon, I was thinking: This might be my chance. Just to let go.

  Just to drift down, the way poor Reba had. Drift down into the great deeps and fill my lungs with water, and end it all.

  Wasn't drowning supposed to be pleasant?

  Or did I read it was actually very unpleasant, and the idea that it was pleasant was a myth? Which was it?

  Just the thought of unpleasantness was enough to make me dismiss the idea. It was never anything I was in love with anyway. "Jack," a voice called.

  I thought: Here I go again.

  But this wasn't Reba calling.

  It was a man's voice. Sounded like Steve.

  Then came Grace's voice calling my name.

  I rolled my head to the other side, and out there on the water, floating up and down, were two heads and a body. The body was between the two heads, and they were hanging onto it. It was not floating very well, and I slowly deduced it was Homer, face down. On one side of him was Grace, on the other, Steve.

  I tried to yell at them, but my voice came out in a bark. I realized then that the rushing water had gone into my throat and filled my belly and caused me to throw it up at some point, scalding my throat with stomach acid.

  "We'll come to you," Grace said, and they let go of Homer and swam to the pontoon.

  Homer's body floated lower in the water, so there was really little to nothing left of him to see.

  They gripped the pontoon at the front and back. I continued to straddle and clutch the pontoon like a spider on a stick; I began to cry.

  "You're okay," I said.

  "More or less," Grace said.

  She was at the end where my head was, and I lifted my eyes and looked at her. It was really the first time I had ever seen her look the worse for wear.

  There was fish shit in her matted hair. Her face looked haggard. Her flesh was waterlogged, her lips were purple. There were patches on her face where the fish's stomach acid had burned her; red spots like flung paint. The look in her eye, for the first time, appeared distant, that hundred yard stare. She too had finally felt the bite of fear.

  But, it was still a beautiful face to me.

  She said, "Reba?"

  I shook my head.

  Steve reached out and patted me on the foot, said, "Can we all share this thing a little better?"

  So, the three of us, one at either end of the busted pontoon, one in the middle, shifted positions throughout the gnawing hot day to prevent boredom, floated about on what by late afternoon looked like a wine-dark sea.

  1 noted that the skin on my arms was burned, and I could feel it on the back of my neck, and on my face as well, and I knew soon I would burn even more, and by tonight, or early the next day, I would feel it and not like it.

  Grace and Steve were burned as well.

  I was thinking about all this, when I saw something that made me croak out. I could hardly make the word. "Lund."

  "What?" Grace said. I cleared my throat. "Land."

  And so it was. There was a dark line of greenery and a fine line of brown shore, and way beyond it, we could see the dark bridge, or ladder, rising up into the fluffy white clouds.

  We kicked our legs and tried to work the pontoon in that direction.

  We paddled all day, and finally night fell, and we didn't look any closer to me than when we had first spotted the shore.

  We paddled throughout the night, one taking turns straddling the pontoon, sleeping a bit, then swapping out to let another do the same. The mist came back and surrounded us all night, and it was hard to see the land there in the dark, even with the moonlight (and tonight there were two moons), and on we paddled, like angry beavers, and when daybreak broke, we were still some distance away. The current was carrying us toward the shore rapidly now, and so we merely clung for a long time, resting.

  When land seemed truly within our grasp, we began to paddle again, and it was just growing dark when we made the white sandy beach, abandoned the pontoon, and crawled up on shore to rest.

  We didn't make it any farther than that, and I awoke to the water lifting and tugging at me, realized if I didn't get up and move, that it would take me out to sea.

  The mist was floating about again, but I didn't even look at it. I shook Steve and Grace, and the three of us staggered farther inland, found a spot beneath a tree with limbs hanging so low and thick they almost touched the ground.

  We crawled under them and lay near the tree's thick trunk. It was good and dark under there, and there was plenty of room and the sand was soft and warm. We couldn't see the mist. There was only the sound of the sea crashing against the shore, and a smell of healthy greenery.

  Almost immediately, we were asleep.

  3

  Next morning I awoke to light slipping under the thick tree limbs. 1 pushed my way from beneath them and out into the sunlight, staggered toward the beach and the sea.


  The water was blue and the sky was blue, and the blues were dark and rich in color and blended one with the other. In that moment, it gave me the impression of being at the bottom of a china bowl. The sun, in all its warm glory, was like a bright yellow flower painted on the bowl's insides, and the beach sand beneath me was some fine ingredient, flour perhaps, and here I was standing on it. Probably waiting to be mixed into some kind of cake if my current bad luck continued.

  I blinked and turned and looked toward the inner shore.

  Trees. Huge and green and beautiful. Beyond it all, rising up into the blue and disappearing into it, as if poking a hole in the sky, was the bridge, or whatever the hell it was. It was the closest we had been to it, and I could see now that it was gold and silver and there were black lines running along the sides of it, and slowly, it came to me that they were massive cables. I had a sudden hot mental flash that savage lines of electricity were being channeled through those cables, and that the whole thing was plugged into the ground, and if the plug were pulled, the world would be sucked into a vacuum, all that was here:

  Sand and trees, sky and sea, us, we would all go…

  SsssssssssssssssuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuCK!

  And we would be gone. Like spilt paint pulled into a wet vac.

  When I turned back toward the sea, I saw a curious thing. The great sky sagged. Like someone above had poked it with a large finger. It sagged low out at sea, almost touched the water.

  "Shit," I said.

  I was standing there looking at it, when I heard Grace say, "Well, you don't see that every day."

  I turned and looked at her. Steve was crawling out from under the tree limbs, starting in our direction.

  "No," I said. "But you do see something every day that you didn't see the day before. That something is something new, and this is today's new thing."

  "Perhaps one of many," she said.

  Steve stood next to us, said, "Holy shit. What happened to the sky?"

  "We were just contemplating that," Grace said.

  We shopped around for food and found some fruit growing on a strange looking little tree. Steve tasted it, pronounced it sour as dog urine (I don't know if this evaluation was from personal experience or not), and we passed on it.

  We walked along the beach, looking for other foods, a dead fish maybe, and then I saw her.

  Reba.

  She lay on the shore on her back.

  We ran to her.

  She wasn't looking good.

  Her face was puffed out from the water and her hair was pushed down over her eyes.

  "She's dead," Steve said.

  I knelt down and put my arm behind her head and lifted her to a sitting position.

  When I did, she coughed, and water projectile vomited from her lungs. It went all over her legs. She coughed some more, opened her eyes and tried to focus.

  She almost smiled.

  She tried to speak, but when she did, no words came out. Only water.

  I picked her up and carried her inland, set her down so her back was against a tree.

  "You don't look much like the Little Mermaid," I said.

  "Don't feel much like her either," she said.

  "We thought you were gone," Steve said.

  Reba actually smiled this time. "Not yet. This is it? This is all of us?"

  "Homer made a pretty good float," Grace said, "but I think he was dead before the bus reached the surface. He was at the back. The mess came in through the window there, smothered him."

  Reba stared off at the water, said, "My God. What's happened to the sky?"

  We looked at what we had already seen, but now, there was a portion of the sky actually dipping into the water. That piece moved when the water moved.

  We sat there for awhile, and while Steve stayed with Reba, Grace and I went down the shoreline looking for something to eat. We finally did find a dead fish or two, chose the one that was in the best condition, and carried it back. It wasn't a large fish, but it was something. We tore it open with our fingers and shared the cold innards among us. Had I not been starved, it would have been disgusting.

  It wasn't much, however, and Grace and I walked back to the dog urine fruit, which was shaped somewhat like a large golden pear, and took a few from the limbs.

  We brought them back and had dog urine fruit for dessert. It really wasn't so bad once you got past the smell. And the taste.

  Reba, being in as bad a shape as she was, wasn't able to go on. We decided to stay a night on the beach, but did manage to help her back to the low hanging boughs where we had spent the night before.

  It was very nice under there. Cozy.

  Walking back I saw something I had overlooked before, floating up between some rocks.

  My backpack.

  I went over and got it. Inside was my journal. A few loose pages had come out of it and had washed up on the shore. I gathered them, and while Reba rested, I spread them out on the beach and let them dry.

  We spent the night under the tree boughs, and in spite of everything, or perhaps because of it, we all slept deeply.

  4

  I don't remember much," Reba said.

  We were under the tree boughs, and it was daylight outside. I was pretty certain time had been working consistently over the last few days, because they had felt exactly like days.

  My inner clock seemed happy with the timing.

  Still, for all I knew, we could have been sleeping for days before the light came.

  We had meant to move on the very next daylight, but we hadn't. We decided to let Reba regain her strength. It wasn't like we knew where we were going, anyway. Or if we should go. Or if it mattered if we did go.

  "All I know was the bus came up, I was clinging to it," Reba said, continuing her tale,

  "and I think I saw you in the water," she said, indicating me.

  "You did. I dove after you. But couldn't find you."

  "I lost my hold on the bus," Reba said. "It came to me that it was taking me down, and I knew it was best if I didn't hang on, but I don't know if I let go, or the force of the water pulled me loose. But I came loose.

  "Still, I was too weak to swim, and I just knew I was a goner. Then I was lifted up."

  "Ed," I said.

  "Yeah. He surfaced, and as he did, he brought me up. I rode on his back for a moment.

  Long enough to get my breath. Then he dove again.

  "I was sucked under. I thought, well, this is it. I blacked out, came awake as I surfaced again, got a gulp of air. Then, guess what? I blacked out again. Next time I woke up you were standing over me, Jack. And, believe me, that was a pretty sight.. .What's the plan now?"

  "We kind of loosely thought we should go along the beach a ways, just to see what's about. Then cut inland toward the bridge. We don't know why, but — "

  "Why not?" Grace said.

  "Yeah," Reba said. "Why not?"

  We abandoned the idea of walking along the shore. It had seemed like a good idea at first.

  Dead fish could be collected. We might even find a way to fish for fresh ones.

  But, now that we had learned to eat the dog urine fruit, we decided to break it open and let it dry, pack it in my pack, along with my de-sodded writing goods, and carry it as food.

  We wanted to go straight for the bridge.

  Another thing. We thought it might be the safest place.

  The night before, while sitting out on the beach, a star had fallen from the sky and landed in the water, washing a large wave nearly all the way to our sleeping tree.

  The next night, we had seen the moon sag.

  And that morning, much of the blue sky on the horizon was hanging low and being washed and moved by the water. The sun was almost in the wet itself.

  "I get the feeling," Grace said, "that those who put this whole thing together aren't home anymore."

  "Or they've lost interest," Steve said.

  The jungle was dense, but we found a trail, an animal trail, I presume
d, and we went along it as fast as we could go. It was strange. We had no idea where we were actually going, but we were damn well getting there fast.

  I suppose I could say the bridge was our goal. And being as how I had become very goal oriented, because staying in any one place on the drive-in world soon led to depression, it gave me a feeling of motion and accomplishment.

  We stopped several times to rest. We found plenty of water in nice gurgling pools, and there was a lot of the dog-urine fruit. We kept our dried fruit and ate the fresh stuff, and when night fell, we slept beneath trees. That is, until one night we heard a cry from the island forest so frightening that we took to the trees after that.

  I thought of the trees as Tarzan trees. They were large with broad limbs, and there were enough smaller limbs about, coated thick in leaves, you could find natural hammocks to sleep in.

  I felt good about this, until I thought our screaming predator might be able to climb trees.

  In our nice tree hammocks, twenty to thirty feet off the ground, Steve and Grace tucked up in a bundle of limbs above us, Reba and I talked about all that had happened, about all that had been before the drive-in, about what we would do if we ever escaped this world and returned to our own.

  We even discussed the idea of staying where we were.

  The island was beautiful, and if we could find something better to eat than the dog urine fruit — fish maybe—we could stay here for a long time. Maybe forever.

  Eventually, Reba said, either she or Grace would become pregnant, no matter how careful we were, and there would be children.

  It was a thought.

  A nice island.

  Cool winds. Lots of water.

  Plenty of dog urine fruit...Well, that wasn't so good.

  Most likely we would learn to catch fish, and maybe there was other food on the island.

  Had to be. From the sound of that scream, that was a predator, and predators had to have something to eat besides dog urine fruit.

  And maybe this wasn't an island at all. We had come to call it that because of the way it looked. But it could have been the edge of a continent. A place away from all the weird movie worlds and strange occurrences; an oasis in a morass of what Reba called Weirdity.