The Melting Read online

  My mind suddenly fills with the memory of our escape from the mad colonel back on the exit ramp. It was a surreal scene, he and his soldiers emerging seemingly from nowhere, appearing on the road like some deranged military oasis, a beast of metal artillery at their backs, one that was subsequently turned loose in an attack that was nothing less than an attempt to blow us off the planet.

  The colonel—and, presumably, some other government entities whom we’ve yet to meet—had engaged in some kind of devil’s pact with Stella’s business partner, Terry, with the intention of carrying out their demented experiment of bombs and snow and crabs at any cost. I fear now if these organizations are willing to employ a tank to patrol the grounds of College Valley, it isn’t unthinkable that some type of comparable vessel was currently patroling the Maripo River. Suddenly I begin to feel very agoraphobic.

  “But I’ll leave it up to the group,” I say, now hedging a bit. “If this seems like a less than brilliant idea, too dangerous, I mean, then we’ll keep going.”

  I can see Tom give a slight nod, almost a reflex of affirmation to the idea, with James seeming to concur by taking a deep breath, thankful I’d come to my senses.

  “Well, shit, Dom,” Stella says, shaking her head in frustration, “you had me convinced ten seconds ago that we should loot this beauty, and now you want to scrap your own plan?”

  “It was never a plan, and I didn’t say I wanted to scrap it. I’m just willing to take a vote.”

  Danielle speaks up, filling in my indecisiveness with a calm resolution. “I think your first instinct was the correct one, Dom. I think we should investigate. We’re going to need supplies at some point, and there’s no guarantee they’ll be anything waiting for us on the other side.”

  “Well if there’s nothing waiting for us on the other side, then we’re dead anyway,” James whines. “So what difference is a few cans of tuna going to make?”

  “I’m actually more interested in the possibility of weapons. We have one shotgun, and we’re down to our last box of shells. We need to start stocking up on things other than food. There could be medicine, fuel, flares, a dozen other things we could use. In fact, if you ask me, I think we should make the rounds through all of these boats and get as much as we can.”

  “Are you kidding?” James is flabbergasted, and I can see the tears forming in his eyes as he throws up his hands.

  “So let’s take the vote. Like Dom said. Everyone who thinks we should give it another minute and then board the...what is the name of this thing?”

  Danielle cranes her neck toward the bow, struggling to read the two-word moniker painted in fancy gold script along the hull.

  “The Answered Prayer,” Danielle chuckles. “Just in case anyone was conflicted in their decision.” She raises her hand, casting the first vote to board.

  My hand goes up second, followed by Stella’s. We give a couple more beats to allow either Tom or James to join, but they abstain. Their votes don’t matter though, we have a majority.

  “Great,” James says, calmly this time, resigned to his fate. Tom remains pragmatic, unmoved by the result.

  “Boarding wins by a nose,” Danielle announces.

  I feel it’s time to exert my leadership role again, and I quickly declare, “It’s going to be me though. Alone. That was the deal.”

  Danielle frowns and raises her eyebrows. “First off, I never made any deal. Second, why would you be the one to go? Because it was your idea? Sorry, it was your idea to go in that house alone, and if it hadn’t been for me, your bones would still be there getting picked over by buzzards.”

  “That’s a bit of a low blow, but one I’m willing to forget about this time.”

  Danielle shrugs, and a tense silence fills the boat.

  “So then it should be you that goes alone?” I ask finally.

  Danielle nods confidently, as if the answer is obvious. “It should.”

  I feel the rest of the group staring at me, as if this moment is a decisive one in determining the leadership dynamic for the rest of our time together. I consider, however, that perhaps it’s not the group who is judging the moment in these terms, only I.

  “Well, you’ve proven you’re a good shot, and we’ve only the one gun, so I’ll stand down. If everyone else is comfortable with you going, then I am too.”

  I search the faces of the group for tacit responses, and Stella and Tom give me soft nods of approval. James just shrugs and looks away, rolling his eyes, a signal that his views aren’t considered anyway, so what difference does it make what he thinks?

  I push the lever forward and guide the motor boat in a circle until we’re now parked perpendicular to the cruiser’s stern. At this point, Danielle can step easily onto the low swim deck of the Answered Prayer, and within seconds, she’s on the mysterious craft, shotgun in hand, moving toward the front of the boat.

  And then we hear the first splash.

  The sound explodes in my ear with no less force than the blast that started this whole story. I can’t immediately tell from which direction it’s come, but I have my suspicions.

  “What the hell was that?” James asks.

  I turn to look up at the bridge and the line of roosting crabs, and at first glance, the formation looks unchanged, an immobile grouping of alabaster statues. But as I scan farther down the line, toward the far end of the bridge, I can see the first gap of light shining through. I follow the sight line down from the railing to the water just below it, and I can see the ripples flowering out and then dissipating.

  “Look!” Stella whispers, pointing back towards the railing.

  I follow her finger and can see one of the crabs standing straight up now, tall and stiff like a bowling pin, its feet still appearing to be wedged between the railing and the barrier. It stands that way for a beat, and then, with no signal at all, it topples forward, tumbling over the side of the bridge as if it had been shot from the back. Two more crabs rise in the area of the previous one, perhaps two or three crabs down, and each fall into the water as casually as if they were preparing to lie down on a mattress. Two more follow over the side, then two more, all collapsing from the same general vicinity into the Maripo River. This continues for several minutes, as more crabs fill in the empty spaces left by the jumpers, and then jump themselves. Four, five at a time, nonchalantly, until dozens have gone over the side.

  The gruesome sounds of the crashing bodies makes me cringe, their flesh splashing and slapping violently as they land. But I can’t look away, and within seconds, the river directly below the bridge becomes a battlefield of white, the crabs hitting the water and one another like mortar fire.

  At first, there’s not much movement from the creatures once they enter the water, and many appear not to have survived the impact. Most disappear for a few seconds and then bob to the surface for a moment, and then ultimately sink beneath it again. Others lie listlessly atop those crabs that have survived and which are attempting to tread water, flailing their arms desperately, searching for the skill to swim.

  But then the activity in the water begins to increase, and it seems that the impact has only stunned those I thought dead. Almost all of them seem to have survived the fall now, and those that had sunk beneath the water a second time have resurfaced, desperate to keep their heads above water.

  They learn quickly, and now there are dozens of crabs, floating together in an island of albino flesh. The stragglers who missed the mark from the bridge and are on the outskirts of the island drift in to join the huddle, and the floating mass of crabs waits patiently until those that form it have collected all of their viable mates.

  I have to assume that it is we on the boat who have precipitated this bizarre display from the crabs, but at first they don’t appear to be making any effort to swim towards us.

  But they continue to tighten their huddle, patiently waiting for those who haven’t quite mastered the treading technique to do so. There are at least seventy-five of them now, perhaps a hundred, a
nd the sight of the white bodies on the black water conjures thoughts of cancer.

  And then it begins to spread.

  The white splotch suddenly starts to change, extending from a circular blob to one more elongated, forming into something resembling an éclair. The mass continues to stretch in this way, growing longer and thinner, and, after several minutes, has a true design. It’s a bridge, an extended span of bodies about four crabs wide.

  And, of course, the bridge is building in our direction.

  “What are they doing?” Danielle calls from atop the cruiser, her attention aimed in the same direction as the rest of us.

  “Hey,” I snap, “you can’t lose your focus.” I’m as riveted as anyone by the beasts spanning out towards us, but I understand the potential for danger aboard the cruiser as well. “I don’t know if we have a lot of time. I would go ahead and assume not. So stay on task and if there’s treasure to be had easily, grab it. Otherwise, don’t linger. Let’s not push this anymore than we need to.”

  “Push what? What do you think they’re...you think they’re coming for us? No way. There aren’t nearly enough of them.”

  “I really don’t know, Danielle. But why tempt it?”

  The fact is I do know what the crabs are doing. I saw the same type of behavior back at the college, immediately after I broke out the window with the Dutch oven in the student union. Maybe it was just the noise that had provoked them then, but it seemed to me, even at the time, they had recognized an opportunity. Before I could really process what I was seeing on the ground, the crabs had begun to build their bridge of bodies up the wall of the building and toward the new opening.

  And it’s what they’re doing now, seizing an opportunity, working with that same group relentlessness—like ants—attacking with commitment, willing to sacrifice themselves without thought.

  The white bridge of flesh extends rapidly, and now, after it has evidently been built to its proper specifications, four of the beasts that made up the structure are now atop it, traversing it like pedestrians, knuckle-walking like chimpanzees to the edge of the floating bridge. At that point, they plunge back into the water, connecting with each other in a line, forming the next piece of the expanse. It’s a type of natural genius, no doubt, instinctively understanding the process, like a spider forming its web or a beaver its dam.

  And I can see that the bridge makers are becoming increasingly at ease in the water—treading the river more effortlessly than before, perhaps rediscovering the skill from their past lives through some primal instinct or abominable undead evolution.

  The bridge of bodies continues to narrow and tighten in formation, and slims from four bodies wide to three, and it’s obvious to me that the crabs are learning. Not only how to tread water, but also the dimensions necessary to create a bridge that can reach our boat more quickly. Why waste an extra couple of bodies for the width of the bridge when they’d be better served lengthening it?

  The crabs at the very back of the bridge, those who served as the first planks of its construction, continue to climb up and make their way to the front, but for the first time I realize they’ve stopped adding bodies to the whole of the bridge, apparently having all they need now to get to us.

  I look back up to the remaining crabs on the bridge and see they’ve stopped falling, somehow seeming to understand that their troop numbers in the water below are now sufficient. There’s no sense wasting resources.

  “Are they coming toward us?” James asks, a comically obvious question as far as I’m concerned, but I realize the concept may be too outrageous to believe, particularly by someone who hasn’t seen this behavior previously.

  “It looks that way,” I say, no longer watching the water, my attention now back on Danielle and the Answered Prayer.

  “How can...?”

  “Wait,” Stella says from behind me. “Look. They’re...stopping.”

  “I noticed. They’re not falling from the bridge anymore.”

  “No, I mean they’ve stopped building.” Stella sounds rapt, as if entranced by the behavior, like a mad scientist taken over by wonder at his creation.

  I prepare to dispute Stella’s claim, until I turn back to the river and see that she’s right. They have stopped, about fifty yards away from us. The crabs in the water have settled into a steady tread, and the two beasts standing atop the fleshy bridge just stare at us, watching.

  “Danielle, how we doing up there?” I call, keeping my eyes fixed on the river. “Danielle!” I repeat, louder this time, but still no reply.

  I turn toward the cruiser and see that Danielle has vanished from sight.

  “Shit! Danielle!”

  “Danny,” Tom calls, his face white with panic.

  “She’s alright.”

  “You can’t know that, Dominic.” Tom’s voice is calm, always calm, but there is pain in his eyes, fear.

  “I’m going aboard,” I say, but as I make a move to board the cruiser, I hear a light splash, followed by another. I turn back to the water. “What was that?”

  “They jumped in,” James replies, stammering the words out past his fear. “The two on top, they just jumped in the water. Why would they do that?”

  I stare at the water around the crab bridge for several seconds, waiting for the creatures to resurface, but there is no breach of the water. “I don’t know, but keep an eye out. I’m going to look for Danielle.”

  I hop the narrow gap between the Sea Nymph and the Answered Prayer, and in seconds, I’m up the back of the boat and am standing in the cockpit scanning the view. “Danielle!” I call toward the bow.

  “I’m down here.”

  The voice is muffled and has come from below me, and I look down to see a small hatch in the floor. I pull up the door of the hatch and follow a ladder down to a cabin where Danielle is standing, a pirate’s smile on her face.

  “Pretty sweet, am I right?”

  I give the cabin a cursory glance and then nod. “It is. What did you find?” My voice is hurried, one eye on the hatch.

  “There’s not much food, unfortunately, but there’s plenty of booze. Rum mostly—kind of cliché—but there’s also a few bottles of wine, a bottle of—”

  “What about any weapons,” I interrupt.

  “I haven’t found any guns, but there is a set of filet knives that could come in handy.”

  “Did you find any keys?”

  Danielle’s eyes get wide and she smiles. “I didn’t even think to look yet. Let’s check the ignition.”

  “I did, they aren’t in there.”

  “Then why did you ask?”

  “I meant a spare set. Hidden somewhere.”

  “Is that common, to keep a spare set on board?”

  “I have no idea, but if I owned a boat, I would keep a spare key somewhere. I mean, what if you sailed to Tahiti and then dropped your keys in the ocean. How the hell are you getting home?

  Danielle shrugs. “Airplane?”

  I ignore the smart-ass reply. “Maybe Tom has an idea where someone might keep a spare set. Anyway, the crabs in the river are starting to act strange—stranger than usual—I don’t think it’s going to be safe for us out there much longer.”

  “What are they doing?”

  “I’m not sure, but those things are...I don’t know if smart is the word exactly, but they’re acting very organized. They seem to be in some type of holding pattern for the moment, but we need to get across this river. This may have been a bad idea.”

  “Okay, I’ll take what I’ve got and go check on the group, you keep looking for keys. Though truthfully, I’d much rather stay on this beauty for a few hours longer. No offense, but that rickety old motor boat is a pretty big downgrade.”

  I frown. “You know that’s not my boat, right?”

  Danielle shrugs and then heads up the stairs to the main deck. She’s carrying a satchel with a drawstring pulled tight, inside is presumably the alcohol and fishing knives she referenced, and whatever else she failed
to mention.

  I stay below as ordered and continue searching the cabin, opening several drawers and cabinets in the yacht’s small kitchenette, including several pull-down, glove compartment-like spaces that would be perfect for keeping a spare set of keys. I have no luck, however, and I quickly turn to inspect a carved-out sleeping area on the opposite side of the same room.

  I walk a few steps over to the foot of a twin-sized Murphy bed, looking for more compartments or drawers, but the bedroom area is essentially just a bed in a corner, and there aren’t many practical places where someone could hide a key.

  My search there ends quickly, and I turn my focus now to two thin doors that sit closed at the back of the cabin. The first door is of the sliding variety and looks to be a closet, but the second one is knobbed, with a silver passage-door lever which I assume opens into the cabin’s bathroom. It’s as good a place as any to search, I decide, and as I move to press down on the lever, a bumping sound penetrates the cabin wall from somewhere behind the door. I freeze for a moment and then slowly pull my hand away, and then I stand still for several beats, waiting for the sound again.

  I lean my cheek gently against the door now, placing my ear just barely against the panelling, looking off to the side like a doctor listening to a heartbeat. But I can’t hear anything. I put my hand on the knob again, and this time I push the handle down, releasing the latch. The door cracks just an inch, and then I hear the screams.

  They’re coming from outside.

  I inhale a gasp and my throat seizes the sound halfway in. It takes me a moment to place the sounds of the screams—my first thought is that one of the white monsters will come bursting out of the bathroom—but I eventually process the source of the cries and rush back up to the top cabin.

  From the cockpit, I can see them. Two crabs are surfacing in the water only a few feet away from the boat. I assume they’re the two that were atop the floating bridge and had entered the river just before I came aboard the Answered Prayer.

  “Danielle!” I call instinctively.

  Danielle is standing below me on the swim platform with the shotgun aimed at the water in front of the Sea Nymph, which is beginning to drift away from the yacht. It’s still close enough to jump the gap, but it won’t be for much longer.