TODD
Todd could do without the dark. He really could. Didn’t anyone who worked for the water department believe in lights? Or signs? Or… something?
It wasn’t that he couldn’t find ways up - they were all over the place. The problem was, to prevent scrap metal thieves from stealing them and selling them to China, the manhole covers were all bolted down.
He had tried standing under one at what sounded like a busy intersection, hanging on to the ladder and shouting, but it was all car traffic; no one could hear him. Even if someone walked by, which they didn’t, they would be past him in two strides and never notice a thing.
So he kept moving in what he thought was a fairly straight line, hoping for an exit. Because there had to be one eventually, right?
Too bad they don’t teach sewer survival skills at the community college, said the voice in his head.
“It’s amazing how little you know about such a common thing,” he agreed.
At least you’ve had ‘An Introduction to Giant Leeches’.
Todd laughed. “You’re right.” Oh my God I’m talking to myself. How long have I been down here?
You’re probably just still in shock. I would be, too, after everything that’s happened. I’m sure you’ll be fine, once we get out of here, maybe spend a little time with a therapist or ten.
Now I’m talking to myself about talking to myself.
“Karyn, I’m sorry!” he said, to no one but her. “I should have been there. I should be there.” What would she have done, when he didn’t show? What must she think?
Nothing that isn’t true.
“She probably called my house. And then the store,” he said, playing it out, step by step. “Work would’ve called my house, too, when they found the store empty. My folks would say I didn’t come home, so they probably watched the video recorders and…”
Someone knew he had been kidnapped. By now, maybe several someones. And he hoped to God that one of them was Karyn. That had to be better than abandoning her, right?
Six of one…
“The first thing I’m going to do when I get out of here is put a cork in you.”
Promises, promises.
CURTIS LANGLEY
On the far north side of town, where Black River was little more than a brook with ambition, there were dozens of family farms. Some grew sugar beets, many grew corn, and one, in particular, raised a few cows for the farmer’s market crowd: CowTown.
Bad joke, thought Curtis for the umpteenth time as he lugged the big bale of alfalfa up to the fence. Joke or not, the lake dwellers would pay half again as much for pasture-fed as they would for grocery store beef. Sure, it was hot, sweaty work, but it beat pumpin’ gas.
Moo!
Holy christ, thought Curtis, did that cow just say moo? He had literally never before in his life ever heard a cow moo. Cattle made all kinds of noises, most of’em farts, but ‘moo’ was a storybook word.
Moooo! said the cow, emphatically. It was over by the pond, and it seemed to be caught up on something. Cows were incredibly stupid. You could give them a basketball, and they’d find some way to break their legs on it. That’s just the way beef was.
Curtis pushed the bale up and over the fence, and the other cows immediately began to wander over. At least they were smart enough to eat. He climbed over the fence before they got in the way and strode toward the pond.
The cow at the water turned and looked at him, its eyes rolling white. That meant pain. Could it have gotten ahold of some barbed wire somewhere and gotten tangled in it? As he got closer, Curtis could see that it was holding one leg up off the ground.
“Hey, there, girl,” said Curtis, looking under the cow to see what it was caught up on. He reached out with one gloved hand to pat her reassuringly on the back.
Something shot around from behind the cow and grabbed his arm. It was like a slimy pink rope, and it pulled him right off his feet and over the cow. He landed hard on his back in the mud at the edge of the pond, and it knocked the wind right out of him.
He looked up, and he could see three or maybe four shiny black diamond-shaped things on the cow’s belly. One of them had hold of his arm. As he watched, it dropped off and used the pink rope to pull itself toward him.
“What the fuck?” Curtis said. He tried to shake it off. The rope was cutting off the circulation in his arm. He reached into his pocket and brought out his flick-knife. He popped the blade and cut the pink ropey thing, then stabbed the thing’s body with it, over and over.
Flap! He turned, and another had dropped off the cow’s belly. He got to his knees, rubbing the injured arm, then got to his feet and staggered toward the fence, keeping an eye on the slimy thing on the ground and the cow, which seemed to be trying to cut him off.
“Whoa, Bessie,” Curtis said. The cow didn’t pay any attention; it was definitely pushing him toward the pond. Quick as he could, Curtis swung himself up and over the fence. When the cow came for that, he backed away. The slimy thing on the ground seemed to have given up; it was inch-worming toward the pond.
The cow stopped and stared at him.
“What the fuck?” said Curtis.
Moo! the cow said.
“Moo yourself.”
Wait a minute - weren’t there three of… ?
THAT NIGHT IT RAINED
Local weathermen (why did there never seem to be weather women?) predicted afternoon showers, talked knowingly about how long they’d last and compared the number of inches of rain that the county’s residents could expect in comparison to this same time last year. And, in keeping with cherished tradition, they were wrong on all counts.
If it was a shower, then Noah’s Flood was a Slip’N’Slide.
The first night and day were no big deal. Living near the Lakes, you expected weather. The second day, everyone’s yard was a pond, but that had happened before, too. On the third day, the basements of houses at low elevations began to flood.
It wasn’t until day four that monsters began to climb out of toilets all over town.