Dead Waters - Anton Strout [70]
Connor tested the line. It was coiling up onto the reel, tension still on it.
“Whatever it is,” he said, “it’s heavy.”
I looked at him, hopeful. “You think we’re pulling up a whole boat?”
“Doubtful, kid,” he said. “It’s probably just caked in weeds and river bottom. . . maybe some old, dead gangsters in cement shoes, even. All of that is making the going tough.”
I watched the surface of the water in fascination, waiting for our catch to unveil itself. Pockets of air rose to the surface and bubbles filled the water, increasing until the water was white with foam all along the back of the boat.
Moments later, a solid rectangular shape broke the surface, roughly the size of a man.
“A door,” I said, not all that enthused with our find.
“Hey, a door is a part of a boat,” Connor said.
I shrugged. “Just not a particularly exciting part.”
Connor looked at me and shook his head. “At least it’s something you can hopefully get a read on. Help me haul it in.”
The two of us leaned over and began wrestling with the cable as we struggled to get a grip on the bobbing door. It was harder than I thought with the boat rising up and down as well. The door, as Connor had suggested, was covered with enough river bottom slime that I couldn’t get a good grip on it. I was about to start swearing when Jane spoke up.
“Hey, guys. . .” she said.
“Hold on,” I said, fighting for my grip on the cable itself as I leaned out over the water. “Trying not to go swimming here.”
“I’ve got some swimmers for you,” she said. “We’ve got company on the railings.”
The mention of company got our interest, and the two of us forgot about the cable and door as I pulled myself back onto the boat and turned. At first I didn’t notice anything, but then I saw them. Rotting, waterlogged fingers were grabbing for purchase along the edge of the boat in several spots on both sides.
Connor noticed them as well. “What the hell. . . ?” he said, and ran over to the right side of the ship.
I joined him, stopping short of the railing. I craned my neck out a little farther, looking over the side. The ancient, bloated remains of a human were recognizable as one of them pulled himself out of the river, the water soaked into it like a sponge instead of rolling off it.
“The door. . .” Connor started, but couldn’t finish as he stepped back and got into a fists-raised fighting stance.
“When God closes a window, he opens up a door,” I said, pulling my bat from its holster and hitting the button to extend it, “a door from the bottom of the river that releases aqua-zombies, apparently.”
The rotting creatures were coming up on all sides of us now. Connor shoved at the one nearest him, and thankfully he was still wearing the work glove he had been using on the cables. His left hand sank into the creature’s chest, but the force was enough to send it toppling overboard, but not before it sucked the glove clean off. Connor snatched his hand away from the next creature and stepped back.
“What’s grosser than gross?” he asked. “Now I know.”
The squelching sound of the glove pulling off was still fresh in my ears and I did my best to keep from vomiting from the ick factor of it all. I turned to Jane. Nothing had come up on her side, but I could see the movement of more hands clawing for purchase along the side of the boat. It was only a matter of time before they came up.
“Jane!” I shouted. “Go to the front of the boat!”
“I can help,” she insisted.
“I know you can,” I said, “but this isn’t me being chivalrous. We’ve got enough baddies for all of us to fight. Just check and see if we’re okay up there.”
“On it,” she said. Jane kicked into motion and dashed off toward the thin walkway that led around the wheelhouse to the bow of the ship.
Connor grabbed up his trench coat, balling it around both of his hands. “I’m gonna miss this one,” he