Black Tide by KC Jones

Author:KC Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

* * *

I sling the patrol bag over my shoulder. It weighs five thousand pounds. Balancing it, I grab the window frame, but I don’t have the strength to lift myself. That conversation sapped me utterly. Perching on the steering wheel is enough of a boost that I can get my forearms out, gaining a bit more leverage. I still feel like I’ve had more functionality after a four-hour pub crawl, but I manage to get back out into the open air.

There’s a second bowling ball half buried in the sand by the back tire, which explains the powerful odor. Either Mike didn’t notice it when he passed this way on foot, or it was beneath the SUV up on the ridge and he dragged it down with him. Either way, it’s been hard at work tainting the air here. The Tacoma Aroma has got nothing on the bowling balls. I also smell the sharp fragrance of leaking gasoline. The bouquet makes my eyes water and turns my stomach.

More creeping tendrils sprout from this ball too. They grow fast. One creeper is wrapped around the SUV’s exhaust pipe, while another stretches lazily across the sand, searching for something to grab hold of. Or maybe waiting for something to wander by. How big can they get? How far will they reach?

Delightful questions, these. Pity I don’t have time to sit around pondering them.

The fog is beginning to burn off in the afternoon sun. I see a bit of blue sky up there, but nothing else. I don’t hear anything either. It’s too dangerous to fly right now. It’s dangerous to be sitting out in the open too. Time to quit dawdling.

Something snaps around my wrist.

It’s cold and damp and covered in what feels like thousands of bee stingers. The pain is electric; every muscle in my arm turns to jelly. What happens next is instinctive. A primal reaction when something startles the piss out of you, especially when that something is a predatory alien creeper vine.

I scream.

Not a short yelp either. I bloody howl, because those bee stingers burn. The vine constricts, driving them deeper into my arm. Feels like they’re boring straight into my wrist bones. I yank the other way, and the awful thing squeezes tighter. I hadn’t even seen it, coiled up and waiting in the front wheel well like some kind of snake. I really need to start paying closer attention to my surroundings, especially now that those surroundings all seem to possess pulses and appetites.

The shriekers respond to my outburst. So does Mike. Every living thing in the immediate area code heard my racket.

“Beth! Are you okay?” Mike shouts. Jake barks his concern too.

I don’t answer them. I don’t want to give away my position any more than I already have. The grass along the ridge bends flat as the shriekers mow through it, chirping eagerly. I tug the pistol from my waistband and fire three shots in their direction. They skitter back, briefly revealing themselves to me as they hiss their disapproval.

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