Repairman Jack [07]-Gateways (31 page)

Carl said, “I got Miccosukee blood in me, you know. At least that’s what my momma told me. They’ve got a reservation north of here off Route 41, and even a casino, but I ain’t never been to neither. The Miccosukee’s on my momma’s side. Don’t know bout my dad. My momma met him at the lagoon. I hear he didn’t hang around after he seen me. Just took off and we never heard from him again.”

Jack flicked a glance at Carl’s covered right arm. Should he ask about it?

Maybe some other time.

Instead he said, “So there’s been people living around this lagoon for generations?”

“Yeah and no,” Carl said. “The only people livin’ there now are the kids of the ones who used to live there. Everybody moved away when we was itty-bitty babies because they thought the lagoon was makin’ us all strange. But we kids came back.”

“Why?”

“Cause I guess we didn’t seem to fit no other place.”

Jack tried to think of a delicate way to say this. “Because of the way you all looked?”

Carl shrugged. “Some of that, maybe. But mostly because the lagoon seemed right for us. It felt like…home.”

“You moved out, though.”

“Yeah. But not far. That’s why I wasn’t too excited bout goin’ back. I’m afraid I might get sucked in again.”

“So how many live there?”

“Bout twenty. We’re all bout the same age too, give or take a couple years.”

Jack ducked as a big bird with an enormous wingspan swooped above them.

“What the hell is that?”

“Just a big ol’ heron.”

“Oh.”

For a moment there Jack had thought it was a pterodactyl. Or maybe a pteranodon. Whatever. The one with the tail.

They began to pass alligators of various sizes sunning themselves on the banks, but none came even close in size to the monster from yesterday.

Jack heard a scraping sound from the bottom of the canoe.

“That’s all for the motor for a while,” Carl said.

They used their paddles until the channel grew too shallow even for that.

“What do we do now?”

Carl rose and stepped out of the boat. “We carry her till the water gets deeper.”

Easy for you to say, Jack thought. You’ve got boots.

The hauling itself wasn’t so bad—only about thirty yards before the water deepened again—but the knowledge that a gator might step out of the surrounding greenery at any second upped Jack’s pace until he was fairly dragging Carl behind him.

“Too bad they don’t do a
Survivor
down here,” Carl said.
“Survivor: Everglades
…they’d never let me on, but I know I could win that million.”

Another reality show. Carl did like his TV.

Jack looked over his shoulder. “If you did win, what’s the first thing you’d do?”

“Get me a new TV.” He grinned. “One of them big sixty-inch models. Oh, and a new easy chair, an electric one that massages your back while you’re sittin’ in it. And get my car fixed.”

“How about travel?”

“What for? I’ve already been all over the world watchin’
Survivor
and
Celebrity Mole
and the Travel Channel.”

“But it’s not the same as being there.”

Listen to me, Jack thought. The guy who never leaves New York.

“Is for me,” Carl said. “Oh, yeah, and I’d probably give some money to Mrs. Hansen. She’s havin’ a hard time. Might lose her trailer.”

“That’s a nice thought, Carl.”

He shrugged. “Just bein’ neighborly.”

Back in the water and putt-putting along again, Jack saw larger plants starting to crowd the saw grass off the banks. Ferns and trees fought for space. Jack spotted a fruit-bearing tree.

“What’s that?”

“Pond apple. Don’t even think about eatin’ one less you’re partial to the taste of kerosene.”

He went on to point out willows that didn’t look like willows, live oaks that didn’t look like oaks, and trees with exotic names like cocoa plum and Brazilian pepper.

Jack pointed to the tall, scraggly, droopy-needled, cedarlike pines that loomed ahead.

“What are those?”

Carl looked at him as if he’d asked if the sun rose in the east or the west.

“Them’s cypresses.”

“They look like pines.”

“Yeah, I guess they do. But they drop their needles come winter. Pines don’t do that.”

Jack noticed that the leaves on some of the live oaks were turning red or orange, as if it were fall. The drought, he guessed.

As they glided nearer the cypresses, Jack saw long, gray-brown Merlin beards of moss hanging from the limbs and swaying in the breeze.

He spotted other trees. He knew a Nelson pine when he saw one; royal palms had that distinctive smooth sleeve of green at the upper end of the trunk, and of course coconut palms and banana palms were identifiable by their fruit. But the rest were mysteries.

Carl pointed to a couple of dragonflies, one riding on the back of another.

“Looky there. Makin’ baby dragonflies.”

“And in public,” Jack said. “Have they no shame?”

Carl laughed. “Hey, don’t knock it. Dragonflies eats up tons of mosquito babies.”

“Yeah?” Jack raised a fist in salute. “Go for it, you two!”

Carl shut off the motor.

“What’s up?” Jack said. “More shallows?”

Carl shook his head and pointed. “We’re getting close now. See that big hardwood hummock dead ahead?”

Jack saw a rise studded with trees of all different sizes and shapes that blocked most of the western horizon.

“The lagoon’s in there,” Carl said. “So we got to go real quiet now.”

“I thought the place was going to be deserted.”

“Y’never know. Sometimes somebody’s feelin’ poorly and they don’t go to town.”

Jack pulled the Glock from itsSOB holster, worked the slide to chamber a round, then tucked it away again.

They paddled ahead to where the channel ran into a dense green tunnel of vegetation. Speaking softly, Carl pointed out gumbo limbo trees, aerial plants, orchids, ferns, banyan trees with their dangling aerial roots, coffee plants, vines trailing from tree to tree, and every imaginable variety of palm.

“Looks like a rain forest,” Jack whispered.

Carl nodded. “Yeah. Even now, when there ain’t no rain. It stays wetter here cause the sun can’t get through.”

As they paddled around a few more bends in the channel Jack started noticing subtle changes in the greenery, most obvious in the royal palms. Every one Jack had seen till now had had a ramrod-straight trunk. These were bent here and there at odd intervals along their lengths.

Was this the first evidence of the mutation effects of Anya’s so-called nexus point?

Then Carl turned to him and put a finger to his lips. He nodded and made a hooking motion with his arm.

Jack got the message: almost there…around the next bend.

And then they rounded that bend and the right bank fell away, opening into a wide pond, 150, maybe 200 feet across. The surface lay smooth and placid, but the surrounding vegetation was anything but.

The willows, oaks, cypresses, and palms lining the banks had been twisted into grotesque, unnatural shapes, as if they’d been frozen mid-step in some epileptic ballet. And in one area they all appeared to be leaning away from an opening on the edge of the bank, as if trying to escape it.

That had to be it—the nexus point, where a little of the Otherness slipped through a couple of times a year. Anya hadn’t been exaggerating about the mutations. The vegetation looked like it had been designed by someone with PCP for blood.

All we need to make this scene complete, Jack thought, is the Creature from the Black Lagoon rearing its ugly head.

A large, skiff-style boat,
Bull-ship
across its stern, rocked gently against the far bank. Its crude, ramshackle superstructure looked like it had been built by someone with only rudimentary carpentry skills. Another smaller, equally rundown skiff, the
Horse-ship
—cute—lay directly to their right. They looked like floating tenements.

As he and Carl glided toward the center of the lagoon, Jack searched the banks for stray members of Carl’s clan. Just as predicted, the place was deserted.

Well, it
looked
deserted. Somehow it didn’t
feel
deserted.

“That’s funny,” Carl whispered, pointing to a small fleet of canoes beached on the far bank. “All the boats is here. If they went into town—”

“Well, well, well,” said a gruff voice from behind and to the right. “Look who’s here.”

Jack started at the sound and swiveled to see half a dozen men standing on the deck of the
Horse-ship
. As he watched, the snow-haired Semelee emerged from the superstructure and smiled at him.

“Hi, Jack,” she said.

Jack noticed the color draining from Carl’s face. “Oh, shit!”

Jack faced front again and saw another dozen or so men gathering on the deck of the bigger
Bull-ship
.

“Paddle!” Carl cried as he began yanking on the little motor’s starter cord. “We gotta get outta here!”

Jack thought that might not be a bad idea. He reversed his oar stroke to turn the canoe around, but then noticed that the men in the
Horse-ship
were poling it across the lagoon entrance, blocking their escape route.

He laid a hand on Carl’s shoulder. “Forget it, Carl. Looks like we’re staying awhile.”

“Long time, no see, Carl,” said the big guy Jack had run into in town. His grin was feral. “I knew you’d be back someday.”

“Hey, Luke,” Carl said in a faint voice. His shoulders slumped. He looked defeated.

Jack checked the comforting weight of the Glock at the small of his back. Not the right time to reveal what he was carrying, especially when they were such sitting ducks out here on the water. Better to wait and see what happened, wait till these guys got closer, or things got ugly.

Who knew? Maybe he wouldn’t need artillery. Maybe he’d even come away with some answers. Like, what do you have against my father? Or, who hired you to kill him?

“Knew I shouldn’ta come,” Carl muttered. His good eye veered right and left like a frightened rabbit on the run.

“Easy,” Jack whispered. “I promised I’d get you back to your trailer, and I will. Let’s just go with the flow here for a bit.”

“Don’t see’s we got much choice.”

Luke pointed to the row of canoes on the bank. “Why dontcha beach it over there with the others,” he called, “and we’ll all get real friendly like.”

Jack started paddling. “Let’s do like the man says.”

Carl hesitated a few heartbeats—he seemed frozen in place—then shook himself and joined in.

5

When they reached the far bank, some of the men from the
Bull-ship
helped pull its nose onto the dirt. Jack recognized the flat-bottomed motorboat he’d seen Semelee ride away in—the
Chicken-ship
. Next to it was a canoe labeled
No-ship
. Someone in the clan was a regular Shecky Green.

He managed to step ashore without resoaking his sneakers, but Carl got out and waded.

They all seemed to know Carl. A few acted genuinely glad to see him but most were standoffish, some even hostile.

As Jack and Carl stood together and waited for the
Horse-ship
to be poled over, Jack looked around. Close up, the vegetation looked even more demented. Back from the banks, maybe a hundred feet, stood half a dozen hutlike structures with open sides. Each seemed to be little more than half a dozen wobbly poles, three to a side, topped by a pitched roof of dried palm fronds. A small fire smoldered between two of the nearest. When they weren’t on the boats, Jack guessed they lived there.

Crooked men in crooked houses. He had little doubt that each contained at least one crooked mouse.

“Old Indian huts,” Carl said, following his gaze. “Been there forever.”

When the smaller boat arrived, Semelee was the first to step off, followed by Luke, bulge-browed Corley, and the rest. Soon the whole clan was assembled behind her, facing Jack and Carl in a semicircle.

Circe and her pigs.

A single woman with—Jack had made a quick count—eighteen men.

One scary looking bunch, Jack thought, eyeing their misshapen heads, mismatched limbs, and twisted bodies. Looked like they’d suffered an algae bloom in their gene pool. But he knew that, just like the trees, it must be due to the nexus point. The trees had no choice about where they grew, but these folks…why did they stay?