Fossil Lake: An Anthology of the Aberrant (25 page)

I have begun to consider using the pressure suits to escape the habitat. It would mean being out in the dark water while that thing swam around us, but the pressure suits are rigid, so I don't think the thing could crush us or bite us, although it might convince us to kill ourselves by opening our suits as we ascend. But it's been trying to convince us to die for two days now, with some success. The ascent would last only hours, minutes if we decide to embrace the bends. What stops me is that I have no idea if there is a ship up there. Without a ship we'd just bob around on the surface until we ran out of air. We'd have to open the suits to breathe. The rough waters of the lake would soon drown us. Still ... if our last few hours are free of that voice...

...

The suits have been sabotaged. Their seals have been cut. Maybe Ryan did it before he killed himself. Perhaps it was Sheila or Leslie. Maybe it was me. There are no rounds of incriminations, no accusations. None of us is certain that we have control of ourselves anymore.

I need to sleep. I will dream of the voice. Or perhaps I need to wake up, and I will think about the voice.

October 10th, 2013

I awoke with my arms wrapped around Leslie. I do not remember her lying down with me. I found myself with my hands around her waist and her back tight up against my chest. We were fully clothed. I do not think anything unprofessional had occurred, but I confess that the warmth of her body felt nice.

The voice told me that if I let it in, I could be with her forever. Her red hair was in my face. I gently brushed it aside exposing the sweat slicked skin of her neck. She smelled human. She smelled of fear.

She awoke suddenly and clambered out of the cot. She looked around with fast, spastic movements. She looked at me with wide open eyes.

"Where's Sheila?" she asked.

It's an odd thing to lose track of someone in such a small space. It was not as if Sheila had many places she could go.

Ryan is the easiest to keep track of. He is still where we found him yesterday - in his cot with his arm sliced open and hanging out over the floor. His eyes are wide open, staring at the ceiling. His mouth is open and his lips are curled back in a silent scream. His skin is an ashen white.

We found Sheila in the entrance pod. The entrance pod is connected to the flood room and the flood room is where our closed diving bell rests. When we want to use the bell, we go into the flood room, enter the bell, and use remote valves to fill the flood room with water. Then we trigger the top hatch to open and a crane on the support ship slowly lifts us up.

Sheila was standing by the hatch to the flood room. I could tell by looking at the small window in the hatch that the flood room had been filled with water. Sheila had both hands on the metal bar that would open the hatch.

There are a half-dozen safety features, both mechanical and electronic, designed to prevent the entrance pod hatch from being opened when the flood room is filled with water. Your average biologist would never figure out how to override those features. Dr. Sheila Batroni designed most of those features. I knew instantly that Sheila could open that hatch if she wanted to.

Leslie tried to rush past me. I grabbed her. I knew that if Sheila opened the entrance hatch, our only hope would be to shut the hatch to the central hub, so I held Leslie at the entrance to the pod.

Leslie squirmed and kicked. She reached out toward Sheila and screamed, "What are you doing?"

Sheila looked at us with tears streaming down her face. She said, "I'm sorry," and she opened the hatch.

The force of water at a thousand feet is something that is hard to imagine. As soon as the mechanical mechanism that held the hatch shut was clear, the door swung open and hit Sheila with such speed that she simply vanished from view. A torrent of water burst towards us like a horizontal waterfall. Leslie was struck by the water and torn from my grip. I was spun around and fell back inside the central hub. Luckily, I landed with reach of the close button. I reached up and slapped it. A motor hummed and then whined under strain as it cranked the door shut.

Leslie has suffered some cuts and bruises. Ryan remains the same. The central hub has filled with about a foot of ice cold water.

Oct 11, 2003

I've been watching the thing swim around in the entrance pod. The lights in the flooded pod have remained functional, so I have a very good view of it through the window in the central hub hatch.

The creature is about fifteen feet long. Its body is green at the tail and then blends into a shade of tan human flesh at its front. It has top and bottom fins that ripple as the creature moves. The creature is incredibly agile. It moves through the water with an eerie grace.

It has Sheila's face now. Her blond hair flows out behind it as it swims past the window. It twists and turns like a serpent and then comes around again. Her blue eyes are flat and lifeless. I hear her voice in my head.

She smiles at me.

Oct 12, 2023

This shall be my last entry.

I knew it was only a matter of time before Leslie or I broke. I considered smashing her head in with a pipe wrench, but there was no way I could be sure that she would break before me. I considered offering her the chance to smash my head in, but wasn't sure how to broach the subject. It's not the kind of conversation that you ever prepare yourself for.

Last night I went to sleep with Sheila urging me to let her back in. I awoke to find Leslie preparing to open the hatch to the entrance pod. She gave me time to get out of the central hub and close the next hatch. She waved to me and then let the water in.

Leslie managed to get out of the way as the hatch door smashed open. I watched her through the window of the last closed hatch in the habitat. The water tossed her around as it filled up the hub. She began to panic as the last of the air rushed out of the room.

The creature slid into the room. It stared at Leslie and Leslie stared back at it. For a moment they hung there motionless like two dancers in a grand outdoor ball, their hair moving about as if blown by a strong breeze. Then the thing screamed.

It could not have made a noise like that underwater. I must have heard the voice in my mind. It was Sheila's voice. I heard Sheila scream.

There was a flash of blue light from its eyes that quickly brightened to a blinding white intensity. I stumbled back and shook my head, trying to clear the strange after images that danced upon my retinas. I staggered back up to the hatch and looked through the window. I saw the thing swim by. A different shade of flesh marked its neck. The thing's body, then its tail slid past. The tail flexed and the thing arced around in a smooth turn.

The thing looked through the window at me. It had Leslie's face now. Her red hair flowed beautifully down the side of its cheeks. She smiled at me.

This endeavor began with noble intent. Its failure cannot be seen as an excuse to stop exploring. It is only with exploration that we can learn what is in the dark. I've come to accept that such knowledge can come with a high price. Someone has to walk into the pitch black room first. Sometimes we encounter things we are not prepared to face.
             

I have to stop writing now. I have to go let Leslie in.

PASSIONATE IN CHICAGO

John Goodrich

Nickolaus Passionate was the sort of man who lurked in the dark alleys and corners of Chicago, because he was a man of darkness. The landscape was forsaken as the prayers of children abandoned by their God. Trash of every sort littered the dark alley, the refuse of human refuse, where Nickolaus felt right at home.
             

The alley was behind a bar, next to a strip club. The air was redolent with the reek of stale beer and vomit. Used condoms squished underfoot like shelled oysters. Nickolaus was out here to take a leak.

As he was zipping up, a heap of garbage near the trash bin shifted. He stiffened. Ex-Navy, he was confident he could handle himself in a fight, but with so many people on PCP or crystal meth, sometimes the regular rules didn’t apply. On the other hand, it could be someone who needed help. Or just a city-dwelling raccoon.

Nick approached what he thought was a pile of trash, scuffing his boots to keep from startling anything. The sounds of traffic and humanity were far away. Something shifted. Did he hear a moan of pain?

He squared his shoulders, ready for a crackhead to explode out of the trash. With a few steps, he was enveloped in the darkness, and his eyes adjusted to the dirty yellow light thrown by the sodium lamps. A man crouched like a frightened dog among the bags of stinking garbage. Long hair hung over his face. His shoulders were well muscled, and he wore no shirt.

“You all right there?”

The main raised his head, and for a moment, Nickolaus would have sworn it was the face of Italian model Fabio Lanzoni. But he moved his head, and the illusion was spoiled. Still, he had a bodybuilder’s chest, heroic shoulders, and a chiseled jaw.

“Leave me alone.” His voice was an exhausted whisper.

“What’s your name?”

“Isaac Allen,” he said. “Just ... just forget you saw me.”

Nickolaus looked down at the wretched face.

“I can’t. You look like you’re hurt, and I won’t leave if you’re in pain.”

“No ... No, I ...” Isaac made a sound somewhere between a whine and a groan. “Go away.”

Nick was conflicted. He respected choice. But this man seemed so wretched, so determined to be alone that his defiant streak kicked in. He would not be told what to do. A man was suffering. He wanted to help.

Isaac shifted, and something was wrong. He was hunched over, but even Quasimodo didn’t have such a mass on his back. Isaac tried to re-adjust the filthy blanket that covered him, but the bulge on his back was so unwieldy that the blanket fell off, revealing pearly-white, feathered wings. Nick tried to conceal his astonishment. Was he in a Gabriel García Márquez story? How could those wings be real?

“Oh God don’t look at them,” Isaac said. “They’re hideous. I’m deformed.”

Nickolaus’s eyes were wide with wonder, his hands reaching out to touch the marvelous pinions. The feathers were soft as an angel’s whisper, and glowed with a clean, comforting light in the alley’s dim confines. 

“Not hideous. They’re beautiful.” As Nickolaus stroked the wings, they spread, as if through some unconscious reflex. Nearly twenty feet wide, Isaac had to turn sideways so they wouldn’t touch the filthy walls that hemmed the alley. Far from being delicate, they were strong, the feathers soft but the underlying wing stiff, yet warm. Under his fingers, Nickolaus was sure he could feel the pulse of Isaac’s heartbeat. 

Isaac moaned and tried to pull away, folding his wings, hiding them as best he could. But Nick held onto his shoulders, not letting Isaac shut him out. 

“Hey, hey.” When Isaac gave up trying to escape, he rested his head on Nickolaus’s chest. “Whatever is happening, it’s a part of you.”

Could he comfort someone so miserable, so at war with his own body? It broke Nick’s heart to see someone reject themselves. Nothing good ever came from self-hate. Nickolaus stroked his hair, and Isaac’s breathing calmed. Isaac’s scent was musky, manly.  

“I understand something about what you’re going through. You feel adrift, a stranger in your own body.”

Isaac said nothing, his hot tears spilling onto Nick’s chest. There was nothing to do but wait for his anger to abate, to let the storm of emotional energy blow itself out. Nick promised himself that he would help this lost soul. He had once been adrift, full of hate, lashing out at everyone around him, jealous of their success. But he’d created the quiet mindfulness that allowed him to accept himself as he was, not some distorted perception others forced on him. And though his thoughts remained dark, they were a darkness of still and quiet, one that enveloped and protected. He sighed, and hoped that some of his peace would seep into Isaac.

“They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful,” he whispered into Isaac’s hair.

“I’m a freak,” Isaac whispered through his tears. Despite this, his wings rose, reflecting the alley’s yellow light, turning it into something softer, more pure.

“Special,” Nick gently corrected him. “No one else has wings. Think of how unique and glorious that makes you. They are a wonderful gift, not something to be hidden in a dark alley.” Isaac did not respond. What could Nick say? What could he do? “Accept who you are. If you let someone convince you to hate yourself, you will end up dead inside, like a fossil in a lake bed.”

Isaac looked up, searching Nick’s face. His eyes were a deep and soulful brown, still brimming with tears, terrible in their vulnerability.              

The kiss was unexpected. Nickolaus thought about resisting, but melted into the offered heat. Isaac’s mouth was warm, his tongue sensual and demanding. The sandpapery feel of his stubble added a frisson to the delight, a little discomfort that emphasized the pleasure. 

The kiss grew more passionate, Nick’s need surging and meeting Isaac’s. His hands roamed, his fingers tracing down Isaac’s sculpted pectorals, then down to his lean abdomen. Nick traced a hot line of kisses down Isaac’s neck, and then the great wings arched and beat at the air as he mouthed the small, sensitive nipples. A firm erection pressed at Isaac’s pants, against Nick’s stomach. Nick put his hands on the front of Isaac’s jeans, but soft hands stopped him.

“Not here.”

They disengaged, staring at each other, the weight of their love crashing like silent thunder. Neither would be the same again.

“Never let me go.” Nickolaus was not sure who said it. His heart hammered so much he feared his ribs would break.

Without a word, Isaac scooped Nickolaus up. He walked at first, and then began to run. He held Nick to him, the two sharing a heartbeat as they left the alley, and the majestic wings snapped opened. And then they were airborne. Nickolaus looked down, saw the streets of Chicago receding below. The city’s lights were beautiful, a luminous carpet spreading out as far as the eye could see. Mighty wings caught the air, and they soared higher. Isaac held him tight against his warm chest, his body hot from exertion. Exultation filled Nick, buoyed by the thrill of height, and the heat of Isaac’s skin.  

Nothing would ever be the same, and they would be together. Forever.