Black Tide, page 7
Beth doesn’t call me out. She’s grabbing for some way to stay afloat too. Without further ado, we both get into the Subaru and gently tug the doors shut and turn to watch the dunes, as Jake has done since we got out here.
He glances at us with a mournful look. I tried to tell you.
“What if he doesn’t come back?” Beth croaks. That shriek got into her like a damp chill. She’s shaking despite the temperature inside the car.
“He will,” I reassure her. “He’s trained, and armed. You heard the gunshot. And I haven’t heard that … other sound since.”
“I heard the gunshot before whatever that other thing was. Doesn’t that seem like the wrong order?”
I cannot dispute this, as much as I want to, so I keep my mouth shut. The catamaran is already disappearing into the fog far to the south of us, speeding toward Tillamook Head, its angle suggesting an open ocean trajectory. Getting as far away from land as they can. From whatever the cop was trying to warn us about.
“Don’t you have a spare key?” Beth asks. “One of those magnetic lockboxes?” She’s so hopeful it breaks my heart to answer.
“Sarah had it.” It’s the first time I’ve spoken my wife’s name aloud in so long it doesn’t even sound right. Doesn’t sound real, much like the shriek from the dunes. “She kept it in her purse. It’s probably still there.” I search for a way to steer the conversation away from lost keys. “Oh, your phone!”
“Genius.” She pulls it from her hoodie. Of course, it’s the phone she managed not to drop. “Police?”
“Given the circumstances, I think that would be best. Make sure to mention there’s an officer in trouble. They’ll be here in a blink.” And ideally take us with them. I’m glad to be thinking clearly again.
“What is with your car? I can’t get any bars!” She starts to get out, but I grab her arm to stop her.
“It’s fine. You’ll still get Emergency Dispatch. Probably.”
Beth dials with trembling fingers and holds the phone to her ear with both hands, as if it’s heavy as cast iron. She pulls it away immediately. Red-hot cast iron, apparently. “Are you kidding?”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s busy. Can that even happen?” She tries again.
I almost ask her to put it on speaker, so I can hear too. As if that might somehow make a difference. Guy logic.
She ends the call. “Wow.”
“That’s okay, we’ll try again in a few. There are probably a lot of calls coming in.”
“About what?” Beth asks. “What do you think that cop was talking about?”
“I don’t know. Natural disaster, people freak out. If the highways are in bad shape, it’ll be an all-hands-on-deck kind of day.” Stay focused, Mike. Don’t get caught up in the peripheral details.
Beth holds her phone up to the windshield and practically squeals when a single bar appears. “Oh! It’s back!”
“Do you have an emergency contact or anything local you could try? A veterinarian’s number?” I ask.
“On a piece of paper at the house,” she says, biting her lip, still holding that phone up as if the slightest dip in height will snatch the service away.
“But what about your employers?”
“They’re in Vietnam!”
“I mean, can’t you call them? Have them put us in touch with somebody?”
“Can’t you? You live here!”
“I don’t know any numbers off the top of my head! That’s what a contacts list is for!”
“For a guy who doesn’t have a phone, that’s pretty stupid, Mike!”
We both realize we’re screaming and simultaneously hush ourselves, casting wary glances back toward the dunes. Whatever produced that unearthly shriek still hasn’t revealed itself. Which is a good sign, as far as I’m concerned. The cop is probably standing over it, shotgun smoking. I try to draw a mental picture of that action hero again, but my imagination locks up on what the source of the shriek might have been. Maybe it wasn’t anything—maybe we were just hearing a mix of feedback from his radio, accidentally broadcast over the SUV’s PA system. Yeah. That actually makes sense. Kind of.
“Goddamn, Mike,” Beth says, voice raspy but calm. “When we get back, you’re going to start paying your cell phone bill again. No ifs, ands, or buts.” She opens her contacts and hovers her finger above the screen, but can’t bring herself to tap. She probably doesn’t want to have to admit to them that she’d left the house unoccupied during a time like this.
She quickly scrolls down and finds a different number.
“Who are you calling?”
“My parents.” She slumps in defeat, as if this call is going to be even worse. “They live in Portland, so I don’t know what help they’ll be. Probably none. But if Dad’s having a good day, maybe he can tell me how to hot-wire this stupid thing.”
“Have you heard from them otherwise? Texts or anything?”
“No.” She shudders, taps the number, and puts the phone to her ear. “It’s not even ringing.” She looks at the screen, swears under her breath, and holds the phone up to the window. The one bar disappears and NO SERVICE takes its place in the upper corner of the screen. She lets out an exasperated sigh and looks toward the police SUV. “If he doesn’t come back—and I’m just saying if—then they’ll send somebody out to check on him, right?”
“Eventually. Depends how stretched thin they are. We might be better off just walking home.” Which is the last option I want to consider right now. The cop’s orders come back to me. Get home, lock your doors. The takeaway being that we should minimize time outside.
“That idea sucks,” Beth concurs. “We should just wait.”
We’re both dancing around the obvious: There’s a police officer right on the other side of that dune. We could just climb up there and see what the deal is. Except there’s also whatever made Natalia’s dad vanish. She’s safe out here, he’d said into the phone. I can see for miles in both directions. Up there, in that tall grass, visibility decreases. He learned that the hard way. And as much as I want to believe that shriek was just radio interference, the cop did shoot at something.
“I keep thinking about that smell,” Beth says. “It could be toxic. It makes sense that they want to keep people indoors and away from it. Like, maybe it’s … I don’t know, affecting us somehow? You said touching the things made your hands burn. Could that explain those horses? Or that sound?”
The horses again. My poor mind keeps doing its best to sweep that bit as far beneath the rug as possible. Their white, terrified eyes; the vacant riding saddles; the blood.
“Do you think we could be hallucinating?” Beth clarifies.
“It would have to be a shared hallucination. Should we compare notes? I’m pretty sure everybody saw those horses. And you and me both heard a noise. Like a shriek of some kind?”
The way she shrinks from the word tells me we heard the same thing.
“There are mountain lions on the coast. It would explain Jake’s behavior.” At the mention of his name, I realize it’s been a while since Jake last vocalized his disapproval. I look for him, but he’s melted into the back somewhere behind the seat, panting hard enough to tremble the car. “Have you ever heard one of those? They’re scary enough without being high on extraterrestrial happy gas. It’s probably been out here since last night, terrified out of its mind by the sky falling. It attacked those riders, made its way up the coast, and went after that guy next. Maybe it’s being affected by the smell too.”
Beth runs a hand through her hair. “I want to get out of here, Mike. Before I start seeing you differently.”
“Sorry, I don’t know how to hot-wire the car either.” It’s been done in plenty of my own movies, but always as B-roll picked up by the second-unit guys. I was never around for it. I never seem to be around when it really matters. Sarah could tell you all about that.
But I’ve got a firm hold on my mountain lion explanation now. I can wrap my head around that, and therefore the next logical move seems far less daunting. “Luckily, worst-case scenario, we have another way off the beach.” She follows my eyes up to the ridge. To that police SUV.
She grabs my forearm, fingernails digging in. “You’re not going up there.”
“Beth, that cop probably killed it. He could be up there right now, administering first aid, waiting for an EMT response. He might be hurt himself. Bleeding out while we’re down here arguing.” She’s not impressed. That’s fine. She can wait here.
I climb over the back seats and into the hatch. Jake remains limp, deadweight, managing to whine woefully only as I slide him aside and pull up the floor mat. There’s a tire iron in the spare compartment.
“Oh, that’s great.” Beth rolls her eyes. “What are you going to do with that if you get attacked? Besides trip and impale yourself?”
“It’s just backup. I’m taking Jake with me.”
“The hell you are. This dog is my responsibility. I’m not sending him out there with you to use as bait.”
“I was more thinking of protection,” I protest. Despite my rationalizations, I still don’t like the idea of going up there alone. A crazed wildcat is nothing to scoff at. But there’s no way I’m persuading her. And from the look of it, I’d have to drag Jake behind me anyway. “Fine. But when I get to the base of the hill, I’m going to lose sight of the ridge. Would you at least be a lookout? If you see anything moving around up there, and it seems like I don’t, just lay on the horn. Please?”
Beth scowls, but grabs her camera bag, takes out her Nikon, and attaches the zoom lens.
“Good thinking,” I say, and manage a smile.
She doesn’t reciprocate. “That makes one of us.”
8
BETH
The second Mike opens the door, the thunder of crashing waves floods in. I can practically feel the sea spray against my face as the breeze cools the sweat beading at my hairline. Summer still has its claws sunk deeply into the North Coast, clinging on for dear life. The sand, reflecting the afternoon sun, is hard to look at. I slip off my hoodie as Mike gets out of the car.
He doesn’t immediately start for the dunes. First he looks toward the red Jeep that belongs (belonged?) to Natalia’s dad. It’s empty, parked about an eighth of a mile away and shimmering in the heat haze rising off the sand. Natalia herself escaped with the others, though I didn’t see who in particular grabbed her. I wish they’d extended that same courtesy to us.
Mike looks back at the ocean next, searching for that boat maybe, but it’s long disappeared. That fog has appeared almost every day that I’ve been here, rolling in around midday and burning off with the afternoon sun. Another side effect of this strangely warm weather, I’m sure. Today, however, it fills me with deep dread. Like if we’re not safely inside by the time it makes landfall, we’ll be lost forever in it. Even the most benign things seem sinister and hungry today.
I hold my phone up to the windshield. Two bars appear, so I call my parents again. Nobody answers the landline, so I try Mom’s cell. After four rings, a robot voice offers to take a message. I didn’t really expect her to answer.
“Hey, it’s Beth,” I say.
Mike jumps at the sound of my voice behind him.
“I just wanted to check in with you guys. It sounds like things might be pretty bad in the city, after last night? I’m sitting a house on the coast. Neacoxie Beach. I’m okay, but things are still a little chaotic. Power’s out, roads closed, people freaking out.” I don’t go into poisonous bowling balls and shrieking dune creatures and vanishing men. Unless the same things are happening there, it would only convince her I’ve backslid into substances much harder than mimosa, and she’ll be even less likely to pass on the next part of my message. “Anyway, if Dad’s around—you know what I mean—would you have him call? I have a car question. He shouldn’t worry if I don’t answer, cell reception is weird here. Tell him I’ve got some good pictures for him.” That last bit was just for her. I hope it stings. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about such petty shit at a time like this. Like mother, like daughter.
But it’s better than the things I should be thinking about. Like what I heard Natalia’s dad saying to the woman on the other end of that phone call. Stay where you are, stay in your car, conserve your battery. The cop said something similar. Go home, lock the doors, wait for further instructions. As much as I try to rationalize how those suggestions could possibly apply to a meteoric event, I can’t do it. Makes as much sense as telling people to arm themselves because a tornado’s coming.
Mike finally heads out toward the dunes at a determined pace, clutching his stupid tire iron like it’s a broadsword. If he runs into a mountain lion up there, he’ll be killed for sure. If that’s even what it is. Would a mountain lion really attack three riders on horses, then flee down the beach to ambush two grown men?
If it’s scared enough, maybe. If that fetor from the bowling balls drove it mad. If the smell is behind our own increasing paranoia—and that of everybody else who’s been downwind of them today—how long until it drives us into a murderous rampage too? Is this how the zombie apocalypse begins?
A picture of Mike pops into my head, stumbling down the dunes and running toward me, swinging that tire iron and screaming like an animal, eyes red and strings of saliva whipping about. It’s as ridiculous as it is horrifying. I have half a mind to yell at him, call him back, but he’s right: reaching the cop’s SUV is the best plan. And speaking of which, I have a job to do.
I slide into the driver’s seat and stick my legs out into the breeze. God, that feels good. It’s so hot in the car. The air current fans more of the stink in, so I pull my shirt up over my nose. Because that’s really going to help. Poisonous particles travel a million light-years through space, resist burning up as they fall to earth, but are stopped in their tracks by my cheap cotton filter. Movie logic—it’s going to get us all killed. At least me and Mike.
I turn on the camera, sighing with relief at the full battery indicator. Jake clambers to his feet like a drunk peeling himself off the pub floor. He stares at Mike, ears alertly perked, a whine building in his throat.
“It’s all right, Jake. I know he’s your new favorite human after last night, but you’re stuck with me until he gets back.” Jake shoots me some dubious side-eye, then ramps up the whining. “You know what? Fine. Knock yourself out. Please.”
I pop off the lens cap and aim at Mike. He’s lost a bit of the pep in his step, now that he’s near the base of the dunes. I scan the ridge through the viewfinder. Nothing up there but the swaying grass. Even that gives me the creeps. What’s hiding in there?
“Can you hear anything?” I ask Jake. He plops his butt on the floor, tail sweeping to and fro across the plastic mat. The whining stops, but his eyes bug out like they’re trying to escape from his skull and roll all the way home to the safety of his bed.
Mike stops at the bottom of the hill, assessing it like a mountaineer at the base of Everest. It’s steep enough here that I’m amazed the SUV made it to the top without tipping over. Mike’s best bet is to follow the trenches those beefy tires tore into the sand.
While he stalls, I take aim at the Jeep and zoom to max. Empty, the windows up. I wonder if Natalia’s father left it unlocked. And did he leave his key behind too? Beyond the Jeep, the beach is deserted. No sign of the horses. Farther south, a column of oily black smoke rises into the sky, and my first thought is the house. But, no, the fire is much farther down the beach. Seaside, maybe. Where the cop suggested we follow him. Great.
I turn to find Mike staring at me expectantly.
“Sorry,” I mutter, and give the ridge another sweep with the camera. Still nothing up there. Nothing I can see, anyway. I reluctantly communicate this to him with a thumbs-up. Mike won’t have to wade into the grass to reach the SUV, but something could still be waiting just beyond my sight line. This is all such a bad idea. I should just lay on the horn. Scare Mike shitless, bring him running back. Lie about seeing something, go try the Jeep instead.
Before I have a chance, Mike begins his ascent, the loosened sand making each step a comical effort. Any moment he’s going to slip, put his hands out to break the fall, and drive the pointy end of that tire iron right through his eye.
But he doesn’t fall and, more important, doesn’t impale himself. Two steps in the right direction.
Jake watches intently. His tail is still. Is that a good sign or bad? Surely he wouldn’t let his new best bud be torn to pieces without at least a word of warning, right? Unless he knows it’s too late.
Shut up, Beth!
Mike reaches the ridge and stands there, out in the open like an asshole general surveying the battlefield. I suppose there’s a chance the cop is just on the other side of the dune—I can’t see if Mike is speaking or not. And while that may be the case, I’d much rather he just get into the SUV and shut the door like an intelligent man with a reasonably strong will to live. Or at least turn around and give me a sign that says all is well, our imaginations have clearly been getting the best of us, c’mon up and we’ll have a good laugh about it all.
“What are you doing, Mike? Give me something. Or get in the car, get on the radio. Better yet, get down from there.”
Jake growls an agreement. I don’t like that. Growl is worse than whine. He’s upgraded the threat level. Next is bark. After that, it really will be too late. I know in my gut that Natalia’s dad is dead. So is the cop. And in a moment, the heroically stupid Mike will join them, leaving me here, with nowhere to go and God knows how much time to ponder it. I don’t want to be alone in that fog.
Jake lets out a single shrill yip and flattens his ears.
“Don’t you do it, Mike,” I whisper. “Don’t even think about it. Not without at least calling for help first.”
