The Chronological Man: The Monster in the Mist

by Andrew Mayne

  Smith’s body sank into the water. The crook of his arm landed on a plank and helped to keep his mouth barely out of the sewer. He was struggling to regain consciousness when he could hear the faint sound of voices. He opened his eyes and saw two figures on a rowboat backlit by a lantern.

  He tried to warn them about the creature, but he was still too dazed to say anything. He blacked out.

  Hands pulled him out of the water and into the boat. He looked up and saw Broderick smiling back down at him. He put a finger to his lips and looked at something in the shadows. He brought a harpoon gun to bear and fired. It hit the wall with a clang.

  “Damn!” Broderick shouted before muffling his voice.

  Smith raised his head to look over the edge of the boat. He saw the two orange eyes and its serpent-like tentacles. Broderick started rowing away from it.

  Smith tried to shake his head but it wouldn’t move. It was lodged in a soft place. There was a familiar smell, a pleasant one in the air. It made him feel relaxed.

  “It’s gaining on us,” said Broderick. “I don’t think that’s going to do much good.”

  Smith looked up and saw a shower of smoke and sparks fly past his head and illuminate the tunnel. He heard thrashing and the sound of something snapping. There was more splashing and then it faded away.

  “It’s running the other way,” said Broderick. “Might give us enough time to get to a ladder.”

  A rough hand leaned over and slapped Smith on the face. “Wake up, boy! We got to run.”

  Smith lifted his head again and looked at where the creature had been. There was a lone tentacle pinned to the wall, like an insect on a specimen tray.

  “Nice shot,” mumbled Smith as he got to his elbows.

  “Don’t be looking at me. Thank the Mad Dog Capt. April,” Broderick replied as he pointed behind Smith.

  The still-dazed Smith turned and saw April sitting at the back of the rowboat holding on to the handle of the umbrella.

  “I think I broke it,” she said as she tried to make sense of the knobs.

  Broderick slapped Smith in the face again.

  “OK! OK!” said Smith as he sat up. He turned to April. “It’s a complete failure. I couldn’t find a body.”

  “We’ll have three of them if you don’t help me row,” snapped the old sailor.

  “What about that?” asked April as she pointed to the tentacle on the wall.

  “Of course!” shouted Smith before anyone could pull him back into the boat. He splashed into the water and ran to where the creature had ripped away from its arm. He pulled the smoldering umbrella free and five feet of tentacle splashed into the water.

  He dragged it back to the boat. Broderick pointed to a ladder. “No more boats.”

  April went up first. Broderick helped the still-delirious Smith lug the muscular appendage up the ladder as they pulled themselves to the surface. Once he felt the relatively safe cobblestones beneath his body, Smith passed out again. Blood seeped from deep gouges in his legs where the creature’s claws had dug in.

  Chapter 22

  April looked up from his legs where she and Broderick were bandaging them. She shook her head. Smith smiled weakly.

  Broderick wiped a bloody hand on his jacket. “Not as bad as the chunk that it pulled out of my leg. I’d get a proper doctor to have a look in the morning.”

  The sky was still pitch black. The only illumination in the street was from the lantern April had carried up the ladder. She looked over at the tentacle that lay just a few feet away. Five feet long, as thick as a man’s leg at the widest, it flattened out into a spoon-shaped appendage that had scores of suction cups and claws that stuck out like teeth. To her mind, it looked like something that would give a snake nightmares. She wrinkled her nose at the pungent ammonium smell it gave off as it oozed dark yellow fluid onto the street.

  “I don’t suppose it will be coming back for that?” she asked.

  “Not for that,” said Broderick.

  Smith looked over at him. “Why the change of heart?”

  Broderick nodded at April. “Miss Malone convinced me I should be avenging Mr. Webb and not trying to outrun his ghost.”

  Smith turned his head to her. “How did you find me? The boat?”

  April wiped her wet hands on her sleeve. “I heard the gunshots and the sound of your contraption crash. I ran out to the street as fast as I could but only saw the green fire and ... I knew something had gone wrong, so I went to get Broderick.” April took off her hat and ran a finger through her hair. “That moto-cycle is nothing like the velocipede you had me practice on. I nearly killed myself on it. I think I need more practice.”

  “Yes, but how did you get to me so quickly?” said Smith.

  “I’ve been rowing boats all my life. We had the tide. Took two hours, but we kept in the main line. Straight line. We could hear its thrashing from almost the harbor,” replied Broderick.

  Two hours? Smith turned to look at his chronograph strapped to his wrist. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been down there as the creature’s plaything.

  Smith got to his feet. Water dripped from the chest armor and gloves he was still wearing. Cold wind chilled the parts of his legs where the bandages didn’t cover them. He bent over to pick up the thick end of the tentacle.

  “Let me get that for you,” said the sailor as he leaned over and threw it on his shoulder. “Been hauling sea monsters all my life,” he said with a wink.

  Smith watched as the severed end poured out a stream of vile fluid. “Is our man from MIT at the station?”

  “I know how to reach him if he’s not. Coen should already be there,” April answered.

  “I gave it a shock from my suit. It barely did anything to it,” said Smith, shaking his head.

  April stood up and looked at the remnants of the armor. “What about with a full charge?” she asked.

  Smith shook his head. “It was too big. My bullets barely penetrated the skin. The suit couldn’t hold a large enough charge to do it much damage.” His eyes turned back to the open manhole cover. “I think the harpoon on the other was a lucky shot. I don’t know what to do here. Poison, bombs, I don’t know.”

  “But electricity could kill it?” she asked.

  “If you have enough of it,” replied Smith. “More than I have.” Smith paused. “What are you thinking, Miss Malone?”

  Smith pushed open the front door of the South Boston police station and walked inside.

  Mr. Coen, his lawyer, was seated at a desk near the back talking to a captain with a pointy white beard. They both turned to look at the ridiculously dressed man in his armored upper torso and underwear.

  Coen just shook his head. A short man with refined mannerisms, he knew the firm’s mysterious client had a knack for showing up at odd times in unusual predicaments.

  The captain got up from his desk and walked over to the night desk.

  “Smith, I presume?”

  Smith looked at Coen, waiting for his attorney to tell him if it was OK to respond.

  Coen nodded.

  “At your service, captain,” Smith said as he looked at the brass nameplate, “Capt. Brooks.”

  “There’s an arrest warrant out for you,” said Brooks.

  Coen held up a sheet of paper. “That’s been rescinded, as I’ve been explaining to you, captain.”

  “Not until I speak to the judge,” reprimanded Brooks.

  “This is most illegal, captain. First you get some flim-flam man of a consultant to convince a senile judge to sign a bogus writ. Now you refuse to rescind it.”

  Brooks looked at Smith. His eyes lingered over his armor. “Are you responsible for the green fire? What happened to Dobbins and Flintwick?”

  Coen spoke up. “That’s an entirely separate matter that I assure you my client isn’t responsible for.” He shot a glance at Smith, telling him to keep his mouth shut.

  “We’ll sort that mess out.” Brooks gave Smith a wary look. “I’m told you’
re our maniac.” He noticed bits of blood and flesh that were stuck between crevices in the armor.

  Smith looked down. “It’s not human. I think. I fell onto a pile of animal flesh in the sewer below an abattoir. Mostly pig, I believe.” He looked up and saw Coen shaking his head.

  Brooks arched an eyebrow. He looked over at April. “How do you fit into this mess?”

  She stepped up to the desk. Coen nodded to her. “I’m his assistant.” She almost said “computer.” “I saw the thing. The thing you’re after. I promise you it’s not a man. If you ask Miss O’Mallory, she’ll confirm this.”

  “Confirm what? A monster?”

  “Not a monster,” said Smith. “Not in the bedtime story variety, although this would make a frightful one. It’s got a haunted sailing vessel, an avenging ghost and a very nasty creature.” He noticed that Brooks was not amused. “Er, sorry. Like Miss Malone said. Not a man. Not a monster.”

  The doors burst open behind them. They turned to see Broderick’s backside as he dragged something into the station. “Least you could have done was let me catch up a bit,” he muttered.

  Smith ran over to help the man place the bundle on the large desk.

  Brooks gazed down at the pale oozing tentacle. He looked to Coen and then to Smith.

  “It’s a form of cephalopod, we think at least. We’ll need a marine biologist to confirm it. If you let Miss Malone use your telephone, she can ring one up,” said Smith.

  Brooks tried to process everything. “You mean to say this is what’s responsible for the missing persons? It’s a foul thing to be sure. But I hardly see how this ... this thing could be responsible.”

  “Oh my, captain. This ....” Smith jabbed a finger into the pale flesh. It suddenly spasmed. The clawed end whipped past Brooks’ face before smashing back onto the desk.

  The startled captain pulled out his service revolver, not sure where to point it. Several other police officers who had gathered behind him did the same.

  “Er, sorry. Just a reflex, I think,” said Smith. “As I was saying, this isn’t the creature. This is just a part of it. It’s got several more appendages just as nasty as this one. My companions managed to corner it and pin part of it to the wall.” He ran his finger over the charred end where the flames from the umbrella had burned its flesh. “The creature cut his losses, as you might say, and left this behind. Maybe it’ll grow back another one?” Smith glanced at Broderick. He shrugged.

  Brooks shook his head. “This is our maniac? Or rather this is part of our maniac?”

  The door opened and a chilling voice called out. “Don’t be fooled, captain. Mr. Smith is quite a cagey liar. And a dangerous one.” Lindestrom walked over to the desk and looked down at the tentacle. “Is this his monster in the sewer?” He turned to Smith. “Couldn’t find a dead ape in the monkey house? Resorting to tall tales about giant squids? Find this at the fish market?”

  “Does this look like something you get at the market?” said Smith.

  “It’s a pickled scientific specimen, probably pilfered from a museum. You can smell the ammonium preservative,” scoffed Lindestrom as he lied through his teeth.

  “Pickled specimen?” said Smith. He held up his finger. The gathered crowd took a collective step back, except for Lindestrom.

  Smith jabbed his finger into it again. The appendage thrashed around on the table and then fell flat. Lindestrom stared down at the ooze coming from the open end. He shrugged.

  “A specimen none the less. And not an uncommon one in some circles. Just a theatrical prop of sorts. Admittedly of flesh. But proof of nothing.” Lindestrom proudly crossed his arms over his chest. “In fact, I have an entire animal just like it in my possession. Dead, of course.”

  “You have one of these?” asked Capt. Brooks.

  Everyone turned to Lindestrom.

  “Well ... yes. As I said, quite common in some circles.”

  “What circles would that be, Dr. Lindestrom?” asked the captain.

  Broderick stepped forward. “He’s the one that chartered the John Jackson. He’s the one that paid us to bring back the one he has. The one that made this un’ follow us back.”

  Lindestrom shook his head, noticing Broderick for the first time. “I have no idea what this man is talking about.”

  “How did you acquire your specimen? How recently?” demanded Brooks.

  Lindestrom waved his hands in the air. “That’s not germane to the capture of the maniac.” He looked at Smith. “We have our culprit here. I’ve given you an extensive profile. If you execute the warrants, I’m sure you’ll find the evidence you seek.”

  Brooks waved his hands over the quivering tentacle. “So this isn’t relevant?” He looked down at the tooth-like claws. “The idea that the owner of this thing, as these three witnesses claim, is waltzing around in our sewers isn’t relevant?” His face was red as he looked at the pompous Lindestrom.

  “Don’t be a fool,” replied Lindestrom. “Their trickery will become apparent once we search Smith’s premises.”

  Brooks took the writ rescinding the search warrant and arrest from Coen’s hands. “For the moment there will be no search or arrest. I think we’re best advised to pursue the allegation, crazy as it is, of the sea creature in the sewer.”

  “Fine. Be the fool,” said Lindestrom, trying to act indifferent but knowing his gambit had collapsed.

  Brooks continued. “If we find the owner of this down there, I’ll look forward to a full explanation from you as to why you’re the owner of the other part of a matching set. And I’d like to talk to some of the other shipmates of this man over here,” he said as he pointed to Broderick. “We’ll be sure to have the gentleman from MIT in the room to clarify some of the things you have to say.”

  Lindestrom waved a hand in the air. “It seems my services are no longer of use to you while you chase this fantasy into the gutter. Good day.”

  He turned and left the station. Broderick muttered a curse under his breath.

  Capt. Brooks poked a finger at the Gatling gun on Smith’s chest. “If that’s what I think it is, you better have a good answer as to how to stop this thing.”

  “A notion, perhaps,” said Smith as he winked at April.

  Chapter 23

  Broderick helped Smith fit the dive helmet over his head and fasten it to the shoulders of his armor. They’d had to cut off the sleeves from the rest of the dive suit so he could wear the metal plating. The helmet wasn’t a perfect fit, but it was close enough.

  Nearby, a group of police officers was standing around an open manhole cover. They aimed shotguns into the dark circle.

  “Couldn’t this wait until morning?” asked Broderick.

  “My fear is that it runs away and then comes back when we least suspect. I saw a little of its behavior. It outsmarted me down there.”

  Broderick spat on the ground. “Clever demon.”

  “Hand me those cables,” said Smith. “And make sure the air pump has plenty of fuel. I don’t know how long I’ll have if it severs the air line. But a few seconds are enough.”

  Smith fastened a thick cable to a battery box on his suit. He held up one of his gloves and looked at the piston above the wrist. He squeezed an activator in his gloves and a sharp harpoon tip shot ten inches past his wrist like a large dagger.

  “Those are made for piercing and holding on to flesh, not stabbing like a back alley pimp with a penny knife,” said Broderick, disapproving.

  “Yes,” said Smith as he turned a knob on his wrist. “But I don’t think you’ve seen a penny knife do this.” He held his wrist out as the metal blade jerked back and forth at lightning speed. The police officers turned to look at the ratcheting sound.

  Broderick shook his head. “Toys.”

  “I have other ones ...” said a slightly dejected Smith.

  Capt. Brooks walked over to them. “The harbor master says he was able to roust up enough men to cover the exits with harpoons if it comes running out of the drain
s.”

  Smith nodded. “Are your men ready with the grenades?”

  Brooks brandished the flare gun at his side. “Waiting for my signal.”

  The fog was heavy and dark. Streetlights barely pierced it. The men standing around the manhole cover had made a ring of lanterns around it so no one would fall in.

  Smith walked over to the edge of the cover and peered down. He’d strapped an electric lantern to his diving helmet but left it off. The plan was to lower a large light into the opening and illuminate the cistern from above. That way, he could avoid giving away his position.

  “Is Miss Malone ready?” asked Smith.

  Brooks nodded. “She’s at the station.”

  Smith looked down the hole again. He could smell faint ammonium through the open window on the front of the helmet. He would leave it open unless he had to submerge.

  “Why not just use the grenades to flush it out?” asked Brooks for the third time that night.

  “It might work, but there are a lot of places down there that it can hide. They’re four other cisterns like this one. If we drive it here, I think we stop it. We need to know it’s down there.” Smith waved at the police officers.

  They walked over and helped him into the manhole. Four men grasped the end of the rope to lower him down, while Broderick kept him from bashing into the sides. Smith looked up as his helmeted head went past the opening. Brooks was staring down at him, shaking his head.

  It wasn’t his best plan. But Smith knew he could kill the beast. The stun it got from his drained batteries showed him that it could be caught unawares. The loss of the tentacle showed that it could be severely wounded.

  Last time he’d been caught off-guard with an undercharged suit and just one clip in the Gatling gun. The plan had been to use the harpoon gun, but that had gone sour the moment Flintwick and Dobbins unloaded the barrels of their shotguns on him as he drove by. This time he had better tools and a team of men ready to pull him to the surface. Most important, he had the remarkable Miss Malone standing by.