The Saltwater Marathon (A Novella) Read online

  “Stay with me, buddy,” I tell him.

  He’s wheezing, struggling to breathe. Might be a combination of his weight and the blood loss. He’s lucky that thing released him when it took off – otherwise it would have ripped his skin off.

  “My chest…” and he leans over again, “it hurts.”

  “We’re almost there.”

  Pedro takes another few moments, gasping. Then says, “I’ve got a bad heart,” more deep breaths, “and this ain’t helping.” Swallows one big gulp of air. “I’m probably not going to make it.”

  “I’ll take you to a hospital,” if there’s still one open, “just keep moving.”

  “I’m just going… to slow… you down.”

  “Bullshit. We’re leaving together.”

  Pedro holds up a hand. “Ok then… just…” his breathing settles, “just give me a second.”

  Seconds are something we just don’t have.

  Still… either I give him a moment to recover or he face-plants in the parking lot, which would be worse.

  “Alright,” Pedro says with a huff. “I think I’m good.” And as he straightens back up, his eyes get big again – big as hardboiled eggs. “OH SHIT! MOVE!” And suddenly he’s pushing me aside–

  I’m face first into a rack of clothing, then on the ground. Pedro must’ve played football as a kid.

  I hear screams, then shove the bundle of clothing out of my face to find one of those jelly-heads next to Pedro. He’s tangled up in its ropes, squirming like mouse in a glue trap.

  I pull out my scissors. Raise them. Go for the kill–

  Then feel hooks dig into my shoulders.

  Then a shrill scream behind me.

  I whirl around and come face to face with a jelly-head staring me down. Instead of letting it pull me into him – I run towards it, and stab it repeatedly in the neck. Saltwater sprays me in the face as it goes berserk. I yank the hooks out of my shoulders and kick it away as it collapses and melts onto the floor.

  Meanwhile, Pedro is still fighting with his jelly-head.

  “Pedro!” I charge – but two more jelly-heads emerge from behind the two of them.

  “Go!” Pedro yells, “I’ve got this, papa!”

  My gut doesn’t believe him.

  “I SAID GO!”

  The last image I have of Pedro is of him hammering his fists into the jelly-head’s mouthpiece. The two of them struggling, predator and prey – then the other two jelly-heads charge me.

  To my left, the southern entrance. Freedom. My car just outside. But now these two jelly-heads stand in the way. I’ll never make it past them–

  I turn back and run, cutting between clothing racks and display cases. I hear things crashing and breaking behind me in their wake.

  And I hear their cries.

  Those goddamn shrill screams I’ve grown to hate.

  They sound like they’re hungry.

  Up ahead, the changing room. No time to think. If I turn around, they’ll swarm me. Maybe I can duck in there. Lose them temporarily. So I rush inside where it’s dark as a cave. Using the flashlight of my cell phone to guide me, I count five stalls, some open, some closed. I make for the fifth one, locking the door behind me.

  Unfortunately, there’s no roof to these changing rooms, so if the jelly-heads can fly like their counterparts, I’m screwed.

  Fear wants to set in, but I do my best to steady my breathing. I’m definitely in better shape than Pedro, but that doesn’t mean I’m not scared out of my mind. This is a dead end after all.

  A stabbing pain rocks my head and I almost stumble. The migraine has resurfaced.

  This time with a vengeance.

  I almost let out a groan – but catch myself. Instead I place my palms against my temples and press. I’m sure there’s some musculoskeletal trigger point somewhere that I need to hit to keep the pain at bay… at least until I can get out of here–

  Baby…?

  Where are you?

  “Sirena.” Her name escapes my lips.

  I need you. It’s cold down here without you.

  There’s a faint clicking noise. Then the infamous shrill scream of my aquatic friends – a scream that chills me to the core. I’m cornered and they know it. If I’m going to die today, at least let it not be in a changing room at a Sears at the waterlogged hands of a pair of deep-sea dickheads.

  Bryan – are you listening to me?

  I shake my head, shake the voice from my mind.

  This isn’t Sirena’s voice. She died.

  This is not happening.

  This is an anxiety-induced psychosis–

  Another flash of pain. I squeeze my eyes shut and buckle over. Head throbbing so badly, I feel like my eyeballs are going to pop out.

  Are you listening?

  “I’m listening,” I whisper a little louder and realize not only that those things might have heard me, but now I’m officially talking to myself.

  Or her.

  Or whatever.

  You tore my heart apart, Bryan. You know that.

  “Yeah, I know.” I whisper under my breath this time. “I’ve thought about it every day for the last six months.”

  But if you’ll follow me into the water, all will be forgiven.

  Yes, sir.

  It’s official. I’ve gone crazy.

  Maybe this is all a dream, and I’m still drunk at my desk. Six angry voicemails from Carmela, bitching at me for dumping her. Arman banging at my door, letting me know that I just might have left the gate up during one of my walks.

  The unnerving sound of metal on wood, followed by a loud thud, tells me that perhaps I’m not dreaming after all…

  But I’m stuck in some nightmare.

  A nightmare that feels very real.

  You want me to forgive you, don’t you, Bryan?

  The words come out on their own, “More than anything.”

  Then come find me.

  “Where are you?”

  You know where I am.

  “Where’s that exactly?”

  Where your flowers float.

  The flimsy walls of my stall shake as another door is yanked off its hinges. I peek under the door and my eyes have adjusted just enough to catch the outline of the boots of the two jelly-heads. I hear their squishy footsteps as they draw closer, followed by the clanging of their beloved hooks jangling on their chests.

  Come join me at the bottom, Bryan.

  I get it now.

  She wants me to kill myself. Go out the way she died.

  Or at least my own mind wants that. It wants freedom from the loop of regret.

  Come join me at the bottom.

  I shake off the thought.

  My mind own mind has turned against me. Penance for my infidelity.

  I traded lust for lunacy.

  I hear several ticks as the hooks bite into wood. Another door is ripped away.

  My stall might be next.

  If you want to understand the peace found at my grave, you will come find me.

  The migraine promptly fades away and I press my body as close to the back wall of the booth as possible, keeping a death grip on my scissors.

  My breathing picks up. There’s this intense rush of adrenaline that’s pumping through me. I hold my scissors out in front of me, throat height.

  Not sure how this is going to go down, but I’m sure it’s going to suck.

  Several hooks dig into the top of the door and there’s an explosion of wood and dust as it’s torn away like a page from a book.

  For a moment, the jelly-heads and I exchange glances in the darkness. I’m staring down two black silhouettes. Two grim reapers from a deep blue hell. A faint twinkle of light reflects off of their sea goggles.

  They arch their backs and shriek as if they’ve just found lunch.

  But before they can take a bite out of me, I rush the first jelly-head – stabbing the shit out of its neck, its head, its torso.

  Chaos ensues. I caught them off guard. Ther
e’s a flurry of movement. Their arms flailing. Screams. It’s impossible to see. Everything is a blur of shadows and water, but I just keep on stabbing, and stabbing, and stabbing. Saltwater sprays into my mouth and my eyes. It’s like I’m having a knife-fight with a waterbed… and winning.

  Clicking sounds above my head, followed by a rush of air as the ropes zip past my ears. Thankfully they miss.

  I dig my fingers into the first jelly-head’s torso. Feels as if I’m squeezing pizza dough – the thing is rapidly deflating. Using it as a shield, I ram it up against the other jelly-head, pushing until I’ve pinned them both against the wall.

  Arms thrashing, number two tries to grab me, but I duck, and as the first jelly-head’s suit slumps to the ground, I jam the scissors into the second jelly-head’s throat repeatedly. It drops and I take a moment to catch my breath–

  Crap.

  I see movement out in the store. Shadows weaving between shelving and racks.

  These shadows are headed my way. They heard the commotion, no doubt. If I try to slip out of the changing rooms, they’ll nab me. I’ll never make it past them.

  Now what?

  Think, dammit, think.

  As I step back into the stall, the saltwater puddle splashes at my feet. My gaze trails down to the pile of wet suits and masks the jelly-heads left behind. Even in the darkness, I can still feel their empty gaze glaring up at me–

  Then it hits me.

  A random idea, but it’s worth a shot.

  The screams are almost inside the changing rooms, so I move quickly. I grab one of the masks. Dump out its fish brains. Then cut the suit in half along the waist using the scissors. I throw the top on. It’s bulky and heavy with all those ropes. I’m guessing there is some sort of built-in winch, but have no idea how they activate it.

  I hear movement in the changing room now and my heart jumps.

  I slip on the wet suit pants, which proves to be about as easy as putting on wet jeans. Then the mask, which reeks of rotting fish. Breathing through the mask is like breathing through a plastic bag with tiny holes punched out. Clearly it was not designed for human use. To make matters worse, fear is filling my lungs faster than air at this point.

  Steady your breathing, Bryan. Just like Pedro said, stay focused.

  I wonder if Pedro was able to get away.

  I rub a finger across the foggy goggles just as three figures come into view.

  Three jelly-heads.

  Standing there.

  Studying me for what seems like an eternity.

  And in that eternity, I realize I dropped my scissors in my haste. I could reach down, grab them, and shank one of these assholes, but the other two might overwhelm me – a thought does nothing to steady my breathing.

  There’s a soft gurgling coming from their mouthpieces, almost like a wet purr. I’m hoping they don’t have fantastic hearing, otherwise they might hear my heart slamming against my chest. Or my shallow breathing – though I’m doing my best to not breathe – at least not too loudly.

  But they don’t seem to notice. Instead, they turn away, disinterested. Perhaps even a little disappointed? Their screams, their hunting cries, now reduced to this quivering, faint purr.

  I watch them disappear back into the store, and let out a huge sigh. I may have just bought my ticket out of here with this suit.

  Why didn’t I think of this sooner?

  I grab the scissors and slip out of the changing rooms, feeling a bit more confident now given my sodden disguise, though my heart is still thumping like a bass drum.

  There are at least a dozen jelly-heads wandering about, like hungry shoppers scouring for red tag deals, discounts, or more realistically… food.

  The rush of fear inside me is fueling me with more adrenaline than any energy drink could deliver.

  I want to make a run for it, but I know that would only draw attention. Instead I walk at a slow and steady pace, heading for the prized southern entrance, moving with as much confidence as I can fake.

  As far as clarity, the goggles suck. They must be polarized to accommodate their jelly fish brains, because they are hard to see through. It’s like looking through the bottom of a pair of beer bottles. Still, I just need enough of that gray light pouring in from outside to guide me.

  Several of those jelly-heads cut in front of me, seemingly still hunting for survivors. Thanks to these shit specs, I nearly bump into them – but they walk by me, aloof.

  I let out another small sigh.

  Very small.

  Cutting between the clothing racks would be the shortest path to the exit. However, thanks to the goggles, I can’t see crap, and don’t want to risk taking down a rack, so I instead stick to the tiled walkways–

  Where I nearly trip over something.

  I look down as thunder growls above me, followed by a flash of lightning which splashes over a shriveled body clutching a gold cross.

  Pedro.

  From what I can make of his face, it looks like a discarded Halloween mask, crumpled and hollow. I wonder if he said a prayer before that jelly-head sucked the life out of him. I doubt he had much time to.

  I free the cross from his wilted hands. Sucker is solid, though I doubt it’s solid gold.

  A cell phone goes off – Pedro’s phone.

  “Shit!”

  It lies just inches away, tucked under a shelf, buzzing and beeping. Either he’s got signal back, or it’s an alarm. These guys do work odd hour shifts. Regardless, it makes just enough noise to attract–

  Three jelly-heads. They’re storming towards me.

  Oh boy.

  My cover’s blown.

  I peel the mask off my head, throw on the necklace, and start running for the exit ahead – but running proves to be a real bitch when you’re wearing a forty pound backpack.

  Behind me, the eager shrieks are closing in, so I stop short, take out the scissors, cut the suit from the waist up and rip the rope pack off as I feel their hooks dig in–

  The whole assembly slingshots right into one of their ugly faces.

  This gets a loud scream out of that one – I enjoy a millisecond of satisfaction – but no time to celebrate. The others are hauling ass now.

  Back to running again, this time without the hindrance of jellyfish gear, and as I make for the exits, I pull down every shelf, every clothing rack in my wake, making a nice toppled mess of shit for those clumsy pricks behind me to deal with.

  A brief glance over my shoulder, and I see my two pursuers stumbling, tripping, and tangling themselves in the latest summer fashions.

  I’m running at full speed now, faster than I’ve ever run in my life.

  I bust through the entrance doors like a kid escaping school for summer break, and I’m greeted with a torrential downpour. The wind is whipping sheets of rain in sideways waves. Up above, a blackened sky roars like it’s the apocalypse.

  There’s something else in the sky, hovering above like a canopy of rock – one of those sand dollar ships, only it’s about a hundred times bigger. About as big as football field. It has a mouthpiece too, a mouthpiece that’s the size of a swimming pool.

  “Dear… God,” I say between breaths.

  Behind me the doors swing open and my pursuers spread their arms wide, lean back, and let out a monstrously loud cry from their ashtray mouths. Several blue-green circles appear on the ground around us. They sweep across the asphalt like prison spotlights and lock onto me.

  I glance up, blinded by the light.

  Perfect.

  They’re targeting me.

  This level of exhaustion is normally where I would kick on my power song on my iPod. Give me that last push to get me across the finish line – which is straight ahead – a yellow line near the end of the lot dividing the employees from the customers.

  And just past that yellow line… my car.

  Freedom from this freakish nightmare.

  I hear the sound of chains dropping down from above, but I know they are not chains
or ropes per se, so let’s just call them what they really are – fishing lines.

  The sea has come back to fish for us.

  We’re their food now.

  This is the feeding that Sirena was talking about.

  But how did she know?

  Doesn’t matter now. Fuck them. If I’m going to die, it will be on my terms. Not theirs.

  As the chains drop, my power song, Breathe plays in my head. My Nike’s come to life. My heels lift off the ground and I’m running.

  Not just running.

  Charging towards my car like a crazed shopper on Black Friday.

  My power song from my power album echoes in my brain and I’m suddenly in my element. Senses are on fire. Adrenaline is pumping. All valves are open. I’m in tune with everything around me.

  I hear the shrill screams behind me.

  The sound of my own heaving breaths.

  The feel of the rain pelting my skin.

  It’s hard to see with a million droplets of water shooting into my eyes – but I know where I’m going – straight ahead.

  Just under the oak tree.

  The blue-green lights are still trained on me, tracking my movement with the skill of a cameraman.

  As the screams draw close, I have to tell myself not to look back.

  Keep running, Bryan.

  Keep running.

  But I do look back – can’t help it – and surprisingly those things are not chasing me anymore.

  However, the spotlight is still with me.

  So I move in zig-zag patterns, juking like a football player, trying to shake off the blue-green light. I’ve got my scissors ready in case one of those pricks jumps out in front of me. I cut in between a row of cars, and when I’m back out into the lane, the blue-green light has vanished.

  Keep running, Bryan.

  Keep running.

  When I’m almost to the oak tree, I dig my hand down the wet suit pants, feel for my pocket, then fish out my key fob. I aim it at my car and hit the unlock button continuously until I see her tail lights flash–

  The world goes sideways and my face slams into a puddle.

  Something straddles me.

  I blink several times, and see a jelly-head on top of me. It screams, grabs my throat, and chokes me with surprising force. My free hand fumbles for my scissors, but I seem to have lost them when he knocked me down.