Flood Plains by Mark Wheaton (best reads txt) 📗

“So, you think these aren’t animals or anything but ghosts?”

“Yeah. Lots of them. Trapped in the oil. You know how you always see ghosts in movies with a sheet over their head, as you can’t see them otherwise? These ones move with oil.”

“Where’d they come from?”

“Sineada thinks they got dredged up by the storm. They were under the sea floor.”

Alan scoffed. Ghosts? He’d seen some crazy stuff that day, but that was too far for him.

Sineada may have had her eyes closed, but she was listening to Mia talk with her father. She’d been puzzling over Alan’s question for much of the day. Sure, they came from under the sea floor, but how did they get there?

Then it came to her…the 1900 storm.

She knew the stories well. No place to bury the bodies, tens of thousands buried at sea or burned on great pyres. She imagined the bodies that didn’t wash back on shore descending onto the sloping continental shelf. A century of decomposition later, and whatever was human in them once was now co-mingled with silt and sand and the oil that was trapped beneath the sea floor. Discarded without a proper burial as these souls might’ve been, she imagined this collective fomenting a great anger towards those who had imprisoned them at the bottom of the ocean. With Eliza came release.

Now, embedded in the pitch that had become their vessel, they were able to use the water to travel without dissipating in the liquid. Their numbers stayed concentrated.

Concentrated. That was the key.

Sineada opened her eyes.

“Abuela?” Mia asked.

“I know how we can stop the thing. It’s not going to be anyone’s idea of easy, but it might be the only way.”

•  •  •

It took only a few minutes to throw all the computers off the side of the bridge. Big Time had backed the trailer right up to the guard rail as Scott attacked each pallet like a demon. A quick swipe with a key tore apart the plastic wrapping that kept them together, and then a few quick kicks knocked them on their side. Zakiyah and Muhammad would then shove them the rest of the way, a great splash erupting out of the water with every hit.

“Keep ’em coming!” Big Time bellowed.

He stared out at Tony, wishing he could say something. He could tell his son was terrified. The canopy shuddered violently every time the sludge worms smashed into it. It was clearly only a matter of time before it couldn’t take any more and collapsed into the floodwaters.

“Last pallet,” called Scott. “Everybody out.”

The final eight computers tumbled over the guard rail and into the drink. Some of the saturated boxes had sloughed away from the computers they housed, leaving a junk pile of beige chassis stretching away from the bridge. There were nowhere near enough to bridge the gap between the highway and the canopy, but this was only half of Big Time’s plan.

He waved to his son, trying to indicate for him and the convenience store owner to move back. He then cranked up the landing legs and hurried up to the cab, clambering inside.

“All right!” he yelled, signaling Scott in the mirror.

Scott slammed the trailer doors shut and locked it. As several of the computer boxes had been wet inside the trailer, they knew it wasn’t watertight. Still, they only needed it to remain partially buoyant for a moment.

“Come on back!” called Scott.

They’d uncoupled the trailer from the fifth wheel “yoke,” but Big Time knew that if the trailer was still attached to the cab when it went over the side, it could still pull him right down. But he had a job to do, regardless of the risk.

Shifting the truck out of neutral, he drove forward a few feet, pulled the brake, and threw the rig in reverse. Keeping the wheel steady, he hit the accelerator, and the eighteen-wheeler rolled backwards until the trailer’s ramp gate hit the side of the bridge. Now came the moment of truth. He gunned the engine and pushed backwards. He could hear the infernal screech of the gate being bent and felt the rear tires go up on the curb. Smoke was now billowing out of the smoke stack. Big Time punched the accelerator again, but the truck stayed put.

“Goddammit,” he swore under his breath.

Throwing the rig into drive, he rolled forward, the cab jumping the median. He stopped only when the front bumper touched the guard rail on the opposite side of the bridge. Then he threw it in reverse, hit the gas, and raced backwards.

This time, when the rear wheels bounced over the curb, they stopped for a moment upon hitting the guard rail but then kept going. The guard rail crunched aside and suddenly, the trailer began picking up momentum as it tumbled over the side of the bridge. Big Time tried to slow it down, but it wasn’t happening.

“Oh, shit!”

One of the tires blew and then a second one, causing a massive bang, but Big Time was already kicking open the cab door. The second before the trailer carried the cab over the edge, Big Time launched himself out the door, got smacked in the head by the cab-step for his trouble, but then rolled away as fast as he could.

The rig went over the side, crashing down into the water and landing on the junk pile of computers. It wasn’t perfect, the trailer having landed on its side a good six feet from the canopy, but it wasn’t insurmountable.

Big Time scrambled to his feet and joined Scott at the guard rail. Edwin, having figured out what Big Time was attempting, grabbed Tony by the collar and hefted him to his feet. The trailer looked as if it might continue listing over, so he wasn’t wasting any time.

With Edwin’s help, Tony made the leap from the canopy to the trailer. It wasn’t a graceful landing, but he managed to stay out of the water. Edwin jumped next but missed.

“Crap!” he yelled over the noise