The Saltwater Marathon (A Novella) Read online

Bossing me around is her only salvation, her only form of retribution, especially since I told her it was over following Sirena’s death.

  Naturally, Carmela didn’t give two shits about that. She’s a woman who gets what she wants, whether it’s corporately driven or carnally driven.

  When I told her about Sirena’s death, all she told me was that she was sorry to hear that.

  Followed by, “What are you doing this Saturday? I’m going to be in town conducting an audit.”

  When I told her that she was the worst thing that ever happened to me and our pseudo-relationship was over, she told me I would regret those words.

  What was she going to do? Memo me to death? Fire me?

  Like any of that matters–

  “Please!” a woman screams. “We see a light on! If someone is in there, please open up!”

  The cheap plastic clock on the wall tells me it’s 11 a.m.

  Whoops. We were supposed to open an hour ago.

  But whoever is knocking on the door, is doing so as if their life depended on it.

  Ok, either a customer or an employee.

  But how did they get in? I dropped the gate.

  Or did I?

  “PLEAAAASSEE!!!” The way this woman screams tells me she’s probably not shopping for a PlayStation.

  And I definitely don’t recognize her voice. She’s not one of my employees.

  And she’s not Carmela.

  And this voice is not in my head.

  The doorknob shakes and I cautiously peer through the peephole. There’s a young blonde woman, probably nineteen or twenty, chubby, wearing a UCF sweatshirt. She’s glancing over her shoulder, antsy. With her fingers spread wide, she smacks at the door.

  “Don’t you have master keys or something?” The woman asks someone standing next to her – someone I can’t see.

  “Mija, I don’t have keys to every door in the mall,” a man answers. “We don’t get copies of keys for interior doors like this one. Only the tenants have those.”

  She puts her hands over her face like she wants to cry. Chants, “ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod. I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Move. Let me try,” he says.

  Now the man comes into view. Fifties. Balding. Hispanic. Thick bronze skin. He’s wearing a black polo with the words SunCrest Mall. Must be one of the new maintenance guys. As he pulls his face close to the peephole, his head elongates. Kind of reminds of me of a grouper.

  “Mr. Combs,” he says, “If you’re in there, please open up!”

  The woman looks over her shoulder once more, flinches, and then whispers, “Pedro,” another shifty glance towards the front of the store, “One of those things is here.”

  Pedro spots what she’s talking about then, whispers to me through the door, “Mr. Combs please… you have to open the door.”

  “We can’t go back out the front.”

  “Mr. Combs?” Pedro sounds like he’s about to cry now. “Pleeeeaaaseee.”

  Well, they don’t look like they are going to rob me. But I grab a pair of scissors off my desk just in case.

  “Alright,” I say though the door. “But I’m still not sure how you guys got into the store.”

  “You left the gate open,” Pedro says. “Now please open up. We don’t want your money. I fucking promise.”

  The young woman starts to jump up and down like she’s got to piss. Tears slide down her cheeks. “Pleeaaaase,” she whimpers as she looks over her shoulder yet again. “Pleaassseee. Oh god.”

  Something tells me I should let them in, even though I haven’t got the foggiest idea what the hell is going on.

  “Ok, but no cute stuff. I know jiu-jitsu,” I say as I tighten my grip around my scissors… the only lousy weapon in my office.

  Even though most of our business is done with credit cards, we still have a safe – and this is just another reminder of why I should keep a can of mace stocked back here.

  “It disappeared,” the woman tells Pedro.

  “Mr. Combs, open the fucking the door, already,” Pedro says. “Please!”

  Not sure what’s going on, but I will have a long conversation with mall management about Mr. Pedro’s language.

  They’ll hire anyone these days.

  “Fine,” I say as open the door – and the two of them nearly knock me over as they rush inside.

  Pedro slams the door behind him and presses himself against it.

  For a second I regret the logic of my wine-soaked brain. I lost a friend in a robbery who did something as equally dumb as I just did. Why the hell did I let–

  Pedro spins on his heels, looks through the peephole. Sweat slides down his temples as if he had been in the sun all day.

  “Is it still out there?” the young woman asks him.

  I suddenly feel like I’m invisible. I tuck the pair of scissors in my pocket.

  Pedro shakes his head. “I dunno,” he says with a thick Spanish accent. “Fucking things move too quick.”

  “What things?” I ask and they both turn to me now, staring at me as if somehow asked a stupid question.

  Pedro’s eyes fall to the wine bottle, then back at me. He makes a weird face, his mouth squaring off as if he smells something really bad. I sniff the air myself wondering if the office stinks. I did forget to empty the trash the other–

  “Did you sleep here?” he asks me.

  “What?”

  He sniffs the air. “Smells like you did.” Sniffs again and gestures with his hands as if trying to distinguish the exact scent. “Smells kinda stuffy.”

  Jesus, is this guy a bloodhound?

  “Um. Yeah, I did,” I say. “Not the first time.”

  “Why?”

  “I had to do inventory last night.”

  “Is that why the gate was left open?”

  I make a face myself as I suddenly remember that I had opened it between 2 a.m. and who knows when. “I sometimes go for walks when no one is here.”

  “But the alarms?”

  “Yeah, your boss, Arman, gave me the code,” I say and I don’t know why I’m telling him this.

  Oh yeah, it’s because my brain is working as efficiently as a gas engine that was fed diesel.

  “Interesting,” Pedro says with his chin up.

  With that one word, I realize he’s probably going to speak to mall management.

  “Well thank god he left it open!” The young woman says as she wipes the drying tears off her face. “Otherwise we’d be fucking prunes like the rest of those people out there!”

  “And who are you?” I ask still wondering if this might just be some weird dream brought on my choice in cheap wine and my deep-seated sense of regret.

  “Stacy.”

  “Well may I ask you both, what exactly is going on?”

  But before anyone can answer…

  Something else answers for them.

  Something piercingly loud.

  A shrill, trumpeting sound, reminding me of the rumbling cries that elephants make.

  Our heads snap in the direction of the noise – it’s definitely close to the door.

  “Um,” I say, “What… the hell… was that?”

  “We’ve got to go.” Pedro paces and throws fist in the air. “Of all of the goddamn offices!”

  “What?”

  “We picked the one that doesn’t have an exit!”

  I shrug. “That’s because we get all of our deliveries via UPS. So what?”

  “So, we can’t get out of the fucking mall!” Pedro says.

  “And why would we need to get out of the mall?”

  “Because they are out there, that’s why!”

  Not following, I shake my head in frustration. “I might be seriously hung-over,” I laugh, “in fact I know I am, but I am going to get to the bottom of this–”

  Pedro grabs me and shoves me against the wall so hard, my teeth rattle. His brown eyes widening now as if he’d stuck his finger into a light socket. “Don’t you open that door, you
hear me.”

  Now I really regret letting these two nut-jobs inside.

  Although…

  I still have the scissors–

  “Calm down.” Stacy puts her hand on his shoulder.

  Pedro stays locked on me for a moment. His nostrils flaring open wide, so wide I can see his forest of nose hairs.

  “Are you going to rob me?” I ask.

  “If I wanted to, I would have. I told you we don’t want your fucking money.”

  “How do you know I didn’t press the panic button already?”

  “I don’t, but it doesn’t matter if you did.”

  “Why?”

  “Because no one would’ve answered!” He snorts, then pushes me away, throwing his hands up in the air. “Estamos jodidos!”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we’re fucked.” Stacy wipes fresh tears from her eyes. “Did you hear about that light show?”

  “Uh...” I search both of their faces as if they might be able to clue me in. “I don’t know anything about a light show.”

  “South Beach?” she asks.

  I shake my head.

  “Were you under a rock for the last twelve hours? It’s been all over the news.”

  More like under the influence. Besides, how many people really watch the news between 11 p.m. and 11 a.m.?

  “I was working.”

  Pedro snorts as he laughs. “Working? Right. And I’m fucking Chinese.”

  “Anyway – the light show. What about the light show?”

  Stacy gestures to my computer, “May I?”

  I extend a hand.

  Stacy pulls up YouTube. Finds an amateur video of South Beach at night. A crowd of people line the shore, staring up at the sky, where several hundred twinkling, star-like objects circle in crazy, random patterns.

  “What are those?” I ask, pointing at screen.

  “Just keep watching,” she tells me.

  The crowd oohs and ahhs, and then several jets fly over their heads towards the twinkling things.

  The jets open fire. White flashes fill the screen. Horizontal lines everywhere. Explosions. The twinkling things… seem to be firing back.

  More explosions.

  The oohs and ahhs become frantic screams.

  Horrifying screams.

  Hysteria ensues. It’s a mob scene, people scrambling in every direction as the battle erupts overhead.

  The footage gets real shaky.

  There’s a lot of cursing.

  A lot of oh god, oh god–

  And then this shrill scream.

  And then blackness.

  “Look at that,” Pedro says as he touches the view count just under the video window.

  300 million.

  “The whole fucking country watched this video.”

  Stacy turns back to me. “People on the beach thought they were watching some kind of light show, or some sort of celestial anomaly. But they weren’t. They were being drawn towards the lights like moths.”

  “Moths to a flame,” Pedro says, “that’s right.” Seems that every time Pedro speaks, he sprays me with spittle.

  “What the hell were those things?” I ask. “You sure they weren’t fireworks?”

  “Fireworks don’t chase people down and kill them, Mr. Combs.”

  “It’s Bryan.”

  He waves his big hand in my face dismissively and paces the room. If he were a baseball player, I’m sure he would’ve made a great catcher.

  “What about aliens?” I ask, though I don’t believe in such things.

  “I don’t think so,” Stacy says as her eyes hit the floor.

  “Those were not aliens.” Pedro peeks through the peephole again.

  “Then what were they then?”

  “Los pendejos del mar!” Pedro says through gritted teeth. “Assholes of the sea.”

  Stacy types away at my computer. Pulls up tons of websites. “They’re calling them Mer-men.” She taps at the screen.

  Pedro and I close in to get a better look of what she’s pointing out – a fuzzy picture of a dark figure, wearing some sort of suit, very reminiscent of early diving suits. Only the helmet is not as obtusely big – the helmet reminds me more of a gas mask–

  A sharp, stabbing pain hits me right behind the eye. I get them when I drink too much, which is often.

  I cup my eye socket and Pedro takes notice. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Migraine.”

  “I wonder why,” he says picking up the wine bottle. “Your boss know?”

  “I am the boss.” I let out a little laugh.

  Pedro curls his upper lip, the way a junkyard dog would if it wasn’t sure if it was going to bite you or not.

  “It’s a joke,” I say, but his expression doesn’t change. “Actually my boss is pretty aware of my drinking habits.”

  I take out my cell phone and start dialing.

  “What are you doing?” Pedro asks.

  “What does it look like?” I say holding up my phone. “I’m calling the cops.”

  “You think we haven’t tried that yet?” Stacy asks.

  I shrug.

  “We can’t get service,” Pedro says. “The towers must be down or something.”

  “I’ve got AT&T,” I say this as if it should mean something to Pedro, but he simply folds his arms across his man boobs and gives me this paternal look. “I’ve got like the best coverage in the world, guy.”

  “Verizon. AT&T. T-Mobile. They’re all down!” Pedro takes out his phone and sticks it in my face. “See for yourself. I’ve got no bars. No 3G. No 4G. Nothing!”

  I check my phone. He’s right. There’s no service.

  “Fucking thing is just an expensive flashlight at this point,” Pedro says as he shoves his phone back in his pocket.

  I pick up my landline phone and Pedro scowls at me.

  “We tried that too,” he says. “No service!”

  He’s right. There’s not even a dial tone.

  “Ok.” I put my hands up in surrender. “This is a joke, right? My DM put you guys up to this.”

  “DM?” Stacy asks. “What the hell is a DM?”

  “DM,” I say, “as in District Manager. The big boss lady. Carmela?”

  Blank expressions on both their faces.

  “She sent you guys to screw with me, right?” My eyes fall to the bottle of wine. “Or to bust me per the will of her higher ups? She has it out for me now.”

  Pedro moves like he’s going to knock me out – but instead grabs a hold of my bicep like it’s a squeeze toy – and the way he’s squeezing, I feel like squeaking.

  He leans in close, like personal bubble close, and says, “Look, maricon, this is not a fucking joke”– his blue cheese smelling breath wafts up my nose–“Those things out there want to fucking eat us.” He squeezes harder and the pain in my arm makes my headache jealous. “Are you tracking with me?”

  Wincing, I give in with a nod.

  “Then drop that smug look of yours and help us.”

  He releases me and I let out a gasp. Jesus, the man’s got the grip of a coconut crab.

  “Is there another way out of here?” Stacy asks me.

  “No,” I say rubbing my arm.

  Pedro’s humungous eyes roll up towards the ceiling. “How about up there? Maybe hop the walls?” Judging by the size of Pedro’s gut, I’d guess that rock climbing is not one of his hobbies, so it seems like a silly question. He smacks the back wall as he says, “I know there’s an access hallway that runs behind your store. Leads right to the dumpsters.”

  “I don’t know if you noticed, but I haven’t got a ladder. Besides, even you should know that’s a firewall.”

  “HELP!” someone shouts from the other side of the door.

  Stacy looks through peephole, “Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!”

  “What now?” I ask.

  This time, I push her out of the way, and take a look for myself. There’s a blonde guy, college age, rushing betwee
n the aisles of video games.

  “SOMEBODY HELP!” He’s headed right for us.

  I look past him, towards the store entrance – there’s nothing there.

  The guy smacks on the door – whump, whump, whump.

  “IS THERE ANYBODY THERE?”

  Pedro shoves me aside, sees the kid, then looks to me, “We gotta let him in.”

  I shrug. “Sure, let’s keep this prank going. I’ll bite.”

  Whump, whump, whump.

  Pedro stares me down like he wants to eat me, then throws open the door–

  The kid plows into me, and we both crash on the floor. I feel my lower back pop. I groan as Pedro pulls him off me.

  “You ok?” Stacy asks.

  “Yep,” I say, “But my tailbone – not so much.”

  “I was asking him!”

  The kid nods. He’s covered in sweat. Looks like he just got out of the gym. He leans forward, propping himself on his hands on his knees – gasping for breath.

  “Take a minute, son,” Pedro says. “Relax.”

  “Relax?” The kid shakes his head from side to side. “Relax? Are you kidding me?” Tears welling up in his eyes. “How can I relax when my little brother is dead? He was just a kid. They didn’t care. They sucked him dry! Right in front of me!” He slumps to his knees, sobbing.

  “I’m sorry.” Pedro puts a hand on his shoulder. “Son, what’s your name?”

  He wipes his nose with his sleeve. “Trevor.”

  “Well, Trevor, you are with friends now. And don’t worry. We are going to get out of this mess.”

  “Oh really? How?” Trevor laughs sarcastically. “You got a sledgehammer? Cuz it looks like the only way out of here is back through that door. And fuck that–“

  Something smashes against the door. It’s as if those ‘things’ heard us.

  Stacy grabs her face, and screams like she’s on fire.

  The door makes an ugly noise and dimples inwards, like the lid of Jiffy Pop tray.

  “JEE-SUS!” Pedro yells.

  The hammering continues. Whatever is smashing into the door is either really big, really pissed, or both.

  Pedro looks back at me, “You still think this is a joke, pendejo?”

  “No, alright!” I say with a huff. “Now, you got any weapons on you?”

  “If you consider a ring of keys a weapon, then yes, I’m fucking Rambo.”

  “Forget it.” I move towards the desk. “Just help me push this in front of the door.”