Sea Beast, Part Three

Sometime in the middle of the night the boat rocked hard to port. Or was it starboard? I wasn’t sure. I was lying next to Rachel in a too-narrow bunk after our watch had finished. The sky was still black outside our curtained windows.

            I rolled off the bunk, catching Rachel before she tumbled on the floor. “What the hell?”

            “Abandon ship!” It sounded like Jim. “Abandon ship!”

            We were both dressed. Mostly. I pulled on my shoes.

            On the aft deck, Jim was pulling up the lid of the LIFEBOAT locker. “Someone—you!” He pointed at me. “In the galley! Get the coolers! Both of them, if you can.”

            Rachel came with me. The boat definitely leaning toward port, and not rocking. We carried up two heavy coolers, struggling to keep our balance.

            Jim had a yellow box out on the deck. “Stand back—but be ready to grab it!” He yanked on a cord. Once, twice—then on the third pull the box burst, and a red circular raft started inflating at our feet.

            “Rob, grab the life vests from the locker.” Jim grabbed a line attached to the side and tied it to the port railing. “And grab that box of flares. The rest of you, once the raft’s ready, we’re going to have to lift it over the rail into the water. It’s heavy.”

            Something bumped the boat from beneath. Cecile leaned again the rail, looking seasick. “Is that a good idea?”

            “Better than swimming for shore.” Jim pulled at the sides of the boat, straightening it out. “Tom, grab those paddles from the locker.”

            The paddles were collapsible. Straight, they were about six feet long, with lines to tie to the raft. In our orange life vests, Rachel and I attached them at the areas Jim pointed to, and by then the raft was ready to go over the side and into the water.

            With the Sea Beast already at a 45-degree angle, sliding the raft over the rail and into the lake was easier than I expected. It landed with a hard splash, and Jim fought to pull it in and tie it off close enough for us to jump for it. “Cecile, April, go!” He glanced at Rachel. “Then you. Women and children first, right?”

            He didn’t know Rachel, but she didn’t argue. When the women were in the raft, Jim and I hefted the coolers to them. Then the flare box. “Okay, you and Tom,” he told his brother. “Load the flare gun.”

            “You’re coming too, right?” Conroy held his brother’s arm.

            Jim laughed. “I am not going down with the ship. Go!”

            Conroy let me go first. I almost tumbled into the cold water, but Rachel grabbed me. “You can’t even fall right?” But she held me close, shivering. And not just from the cold.

            Conroy next, and finally Jim, a waterproof duffle bag over his shoulders. He’d used some kind of sailor’s knot that loosened with the right kind of pull. The raft started drifting. “Get the oars. Paddle!”

            Fortunately we were on the island side of the boat. If anything was fortunate about this situation. Rachel and I grabbed paddles. Jim took the loaded flare gun and pointed it toward the sky.

            It flew high, shooting sparks as it rose, lighting the sky in red. He reloaded before the flare started falling, then set it back in the crate and picked up a paddle.

            We were maybe 90 yards from the shore—another “fortunate” fact. But the circular raft was hard to maneuver. After a few minutes we found the right positions, retying the paddles so they wouldn’t fall into the water if someone dropped one. We paddled hard. In a moment, my shoulders were aching. Rachel did better. Naturally.

            Then April screamed.

            Between us and the boat, which was still sinking slowly into the water, a monster lifted its head up through the surface of the lake.

            It had a dozen shaded eyes, and catfish whiskers around its mouth—which had rows and rows of long jagged fangs. It kept rising, even though the water couldn’t be more than 10 or 15 feet deep. But its neck kept coming until the head looked down at us from almost 12 feet high.

            It roared.

            The flare gun crate had slid toward my feet. I dropped my paddle and grabbed for the weapon. Aimed. I’d never fired any kind of gun in my life. But I clutched the handle with both hands and pulled the trigger.

            The flare shot upward and hit the creature in the neck. Close enough—I’d been aiming for its open jaws, but at least I’d hit the thing. Would that just make it angrier? But I couldn’t imagine the situation could get much worse.

            The monster twitched, as if stung by a mosquito. Then it slid back down into the water.

            “Good one.” Rachel thrust the paddle back into my hands. “Now paddle.”

           

We hit the beach a few minutes later, everyone jumping out to pull or push the raft onto semi-dry land. The sand was hard and rocky. We hauled the raft up a few yards, and Jim drove some stakes into the ground to tie it down.

            By now everyone was soaked and exhausted. We huddled together silently, trying to use the raft as protection against the chilly breeze that swept the air.

            After a few minutes April giggled. “Now what, Skipper?”

            “I don’t know, little buddy.” He leaned on his duffle bag. “I had 20 flares. Now it’s down to 18. I’ll shoot off a few in the morning. Maybe the Coast Guard will see them.”

            “Will anyone notice when we don’t show up in Benton Harbor?” I wrapped my arms around my chest. The wind was chily, and it would only get colder as the night grew darker.

            He shrugged. “I reserved a slip at the marina. They’re supposed to notify the Guard if a boat doesn’t show up.”

            “What—what time is it?” That came from Cecile.

            His watch lit up. “4:30. Sun should come up around six.”

            Conroy lurched to his feet. “What have we got for supplies?”

            Jim stood up. “Two coolers with food and water. The flares.” He nudged the duffel bag with his foot. “Flashlights, a lamp, matches and lighters, and a first-aid kit. Some granola bars.”

            “What about the monsters?” April sounded more curious than frightened.

            He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

            Rachel nudged me, so I stood up too. “We’ve only seen them in the water. Maybe they won’t come up on land.” I took a deep breath. I had to ask. “Does anyone know why this is happening?”

            Conroy turned on me. “What does that mean?”

            “I’m a—a reporter.” I almost forgot my cover story. Not that I cared now, but letting the truth out would turn into accusations and arguments that we didn’t need right now. “Strange things go on in Chicago. I never heard about sea monsters in Lake Michigan, and things get covered up. But this isn’t natural. I’m just wondering if there’s any reason why these things started targeting your boat.”

            Jim sank down next to April. “No idea.”

            She rubbed his arm.

            “Are we hallucinating?” Conroy turned on Jim. “Did you put something in the water? Or the beer?”

            “How the hell could I do that?” Jim shook his head, more confused than angry. “And why?"

            “You’re using coke, aren’t you? What else are you taking?”

            “A hallucination didn’t sink my boat.” Again Jim got up. “And what makes you think—”

            “He found them!” Conroy pointed a finger at me. “That’s why he’s here! I hired him.”

            Way to break my cover. I held up my hands. “Yeah. I’m not a reporter. I’m a private detective. Your brother wanted me to look for signs of drug use, and I found—”

            “You asshole.” Jim stalked forward. “You come on my boat, you invade my privacy, you accuse me of—what? Bringing these things after us?”

            “It’s our boat, Jim.” Conroy stepped between us. “And yeah, I hired Tom because I care about you. You’re my brother.”

            “And you’re not my father.” He looked ready to swing a punch, but then he backed away. “Once we get out of here, we’re through.”

            Anger and accusations, just like I’d expected. “This isn’t helping.”

“He’s right—don’t fight.” Cecile, still on the sand, hugged her husband’s leg. “Not now.”

            Conroy groaned. “Okay. Not now.”

            Then April rose up, just when I was ready to collapse next to Rachel again. She pointed toward the lake. “Look! It’s here!”

            Now what? I staggered around, and felt Rachel getting up behind me. What did April see?

            Out on the water, beyond the wrecked Sea Beast, another sea beast lurched from the lake.

            Tentacles around a long snout, glittering eyes on the top of its head, wiping gaping jaw and long fins jutting from bony shoulders—and maybe thirty feet tall. At least the part of its body we could see standing over the waves.

            “It’s Cthulhu,” Rachel whispered in my ear. “Or something like it.”

            “On steroids.” Suddenly my skin felt much colder.