Zombie Pulp Page 11

  “They smell this for miles,” he said.

  The men tossed their lines into the water.

  Rico rolled a cigarette, told a story about Isobel, his first wife, who was so crazy she’d once chased him down the muddy, winding streets of Cerro de Pasco with a baseball bat. She had been naked at the time. “And that, my friends, is no thing to be looking on first thing in morning.” He shivered. “Yah!”

  Then the waiting began. Elise sat there, beads of sweat rolling down her face. Swarms of gnats and mosquitoes hovered over the water. Dragonflies buzzed about. Howler monkeys wailed in the treetops. Elise listened to the blue macaws screech and watched palm vipers thread through the spoking branches.

  Basille suddenly stiffened, his bovine face beaded with perspiration. “I…ah…I think I have a nibble,” he said.

  “Easy,” Rico told him. “The piraya is sneaky little devil. Don’t scare him off. Let him take good bite first…then he yours.”

  Basille waited, looking very nervous. Suddenly his rod jerked, then bowed as something below tugged at the line. He pulled up his bamboo pole and there was an oval-shaped fish on the hook. It was silvery, its belly a dull orange. Jack and Cutler cheered. Elise was the only one that saw something was terribly wrong with the fish. But as Basille swung it on board they all saw it. On one side the fish looked like any other Red-Bellied Piranha, though maybe faded in color, but on the other: just bones. The head was intact, but it was just bones straight down to the tail.

  “You hooked a dead one,” Cutler said.

  Jack laughed.

  “It wasn’t dead,” Basille said. “You saw how it attacked my bait.”

  Rico swallowed. “Yes…but they are the cannibals, them piraya. They attack one another. You hook a live one, but its fellows… ha!…they strip it before you pull him in.”

  And that seemed a perfectly logical explanation…but then the fish moved. Stripped to bone on one side or not, it began to flap its tail and writhe on the line, its hooked jaws snapping.

  “That’s not possible,” Jack said.

  Elise was getting a real bad feeling now. She didn’t believe for a moment that other piranhas had cannibalized this one, at least not recently. Because the fish stank…it was putrescent.

  Basille, a look of horror on his face, just stared at the fish dangling over his lap. Then a slender green worm slid out of its side and dropped into his crotch. He tossed the pole, shrieking, brushing the corpse worm off him and smashing it beneath his shoe.

  Cutler jumped away from the dropped pole and what flopped on the end.

  Rico, looking dead serious now, grabbed it and threw the line overboard. He slashed out with his knife and cut the piranha free. The fish hit the water and swam away like it was perfectly healthy. Nobody said anything for a time. They listened to the jungle. The silence was deadly, ominous.

  Then Jack’s line was hit. Cutler’s, too. Both men looked at each other, for the first time in their lives almost afraid to see what was on the end of their hooks.

  “This not right,” Rico said.

  And then, from below, something hit the boat. In fact, several things hit the bottom of the boat in rapid succession. One after the other, like hammers. Then it stopped. Everyone just sat there, wide-eyed, the boat moving in a slow counterclockwise rotation from the impact. Then it started again and this time there was no stopping it. From below it was hit again and again and again, maybe hundreds of times. The boat shook. It canted this way and that. Bamboo poles were yanked from hands and dragged beneath the surface.

  “This is crazy!” Basille cried out. “We’re being attacked!”

  Jack held Elise to him, either for her protection or his own. He looked frantically at Rico. “Croc? Is that what it is? A croc? A big fucking croc?”

  The boat was hit so hard from beneath that it jumped an inch out of the channel and came back down with a cascading splash of murky brown water. Basille lost his nerve. He screamed, elbowed Cutler out of his way in a frenzied attempt to get out of the bow. Cutler took hold of him. They wrestled, they swore. Rico shouted for them to stop it, stop it, stop it But it was too late.

  Tangled together, they fell over against the lip of the boat and it flipped up out of the water from the sudden shift in weight. For one frightening second it hung there, its side parallel to the river, while everyone tried to hang onto the seats for dear life.

  Then it flipped right over and all five of them went into the drink.

  *

  Elise surfaced, her legs bicycling and arms thrashing. She spat out a mouthful of water that was brown, slimy, and warm like some primordial ooze. Rico was only maybe five feet away, pulling himself up onto the overturned boat. Crying out, she swam towards it as it drifted away from her. She could see several fish attached to Rico’s legs as he dragged himself out of the river. They had bitten right through his pants and blood was blossoming from the wounds.

  Somebody shoved her forward and she was never sure if it was Cutler or Basille. She heard Jack shouting out in a high, almost girlish voice: “Swim! Elise, swim for the boat! Swim! Swim! Swim!” His voice broke into a note of absolute terror.

  Elise pounded through the water to the boat. She felt something bite into her knee. Her ankle. Her hip. Then she was at the boat and Rico hauled her aboard by grabbing her hair and yanking her up out of the water with considerable strength. She flopped onto the bottom of the overturned boat, glad to feel the hot sun upon her. She spit out more water, coughing and gagging. Cutler pulled himself aboard and so did Basille, both men tearing biting fish off their legs. Rico grabbed the one chewing on her knee. It was bloated green, eyeless, its triangular teeth red with her blood. It was so rotten it went to a soft, oozing pulp in his fingers. He tossed it away.

  “Jack!” Cutler cried. “Jack!”

  Elise, shocked and trembling, looked for him. In her panic she had forgotten about everything but survival, everything but getting out of the water and getting away from those flesh-shearing jaws.

  Jack was still in the water.

  For whatever reason, he had been thrown out farther from the others. The drift of the overturned boat had put him even farther away. He was closer to the trees so he swam for them. They saw him grip the solid spiraling anchor roots rising from the water. He got his hand on one and pulled himself to it, then up out of the water and it seemed like he was going to make it, he was really going to make it And then, as he pulled his upper body out of the slop, the water around him began boiling like a pot, seething in a great fountain of thrashing silver bodies. Jack screamed. Screamed with a wild, almost animal sound of agony and horror that echoed off into the jungle and sent a flock of birds winging into the sky. “Help me! Help me! Somebody fucking help me-”

  His cry turned into a moist gurgling sound as he swallowed water, fighting to pull himself away from all those razored, chomping jaws. But the limbs of the trees were damp, green with fungus and he couldn’t quite get a grip. He’d pull himself up an inch or two, then slide back down. His body was shuddering as he was hit by hundreds of piranhas and the thrashing water around him gushed a brilliant red.

  The agony.

  Oh Jesus, the agony. When they first started hitting him, Jack felt the impacts, boom-boom-boom, and the nipping pinpricks of their teeth. And within seconds, not a nipping, but a biting, a ripping, a feeding frenzy. It felt like a thousand razors were slicing into him, carving him, slitting him open. The water was churning with red bubbles, foaming with blood and tissue and thousands of fish, gutting him to the marrow Elise was screaming.

  Jack was making a gobbling, clotted sound in his throat as his own blood filled his mouth. The fish kept hitting him and with one last valiant effort he pulled himself up out of the water. Beneath the hips, he was nothing but bleeding red muscle, yellow ligament, and knobs of white bone. There were hundreds of fish hanging from him, biting and tearing. They were bloated green, looping with worms, many nothing but fleshy skeletons. They could not possibly be alive, yet the
inborn instinct to feed was driving them on. Blood burst from Jack’s mouth in a red mist, his eyes bulging, his face twisted in a silent scream.

  Elise was hysterical.

  Rico tried to hold onto her but she was hot and greasy in his hands, squirming wildly.

  Jack was pulled down into the water, still trying to yank himself up, but the fight was gone and he slid into the boiling mass, his body thrown from side to side, jerking and jumping like some grisly marionette. He broke out of the water, a bleeding husk that had been shredded down to basal anatomy. A fleshless hand groped over the surface. He let out one last cry and everyone saw that the left side of his neck and face were eaten right down to muscle-covered bone. He looked like a living, bleeding shank of raw beef.

  He went under.

  Then he surfaced once again, more skeleton than flesh, fish clinging to him by their jaws. His skull was trembling as if there was still life in it, one single eyeball staring from its hollow of bone with a deranged look of absolute shock.

  Then he sank from view leaving only a slick of blood and tissue.

  *

  Elise was hysterical and it was Cutler who slid over towards her and slapped her across the face. And he didn’t just slap her once, but four times. Maybe he would have kept at it but Rico stopped him, shoved him away and almost into the drink.

  “That enough, you crazy punheteiro.”

  Cutler didn’t like being handled like that, but he took it and kept his distance because, white-haired or not, he had no doubt that the old man would have given him the beating of his life with those rough, callused hands. They looked like they could split kindling.

  Next to Cutler, Basille moaned.

  “Easy now, lady,” Rico said, pulling Elise to him. “There, my lady, easy now.”

  She was limp, face wet with tears, blood running from her mouth. Her shorts were stained red, her legs open in several places from the bites of the piranhas. He comforted her the best he could even though he himself was leagues beyond comfort.

  She kept shuddering, shaking her head from side to side. All she could see was Jack, Jack, Jack The school of living dead piranha hitting him again and again, chewing and tearing, engulfing him in a primal bloodlust of cutting teeth, and that look in his eyes, that terrified, agonized, insane look in his eyes as they reduced him to a bleeding pulp.

  She sat straight up and screamed.

  Rico held her tighter. “Easy, you got to be easy now.”

  “ You better shut her the fuck up,” Cutler said. “We got enough problems here.”

  Rico gave him a look that burned right through him. It was easy to read. It said: Just you and me alone, sonofabitch. That’s all I ask. You and me alone and, God above, how you gonna hurt when I put my hands on you.

  He looked away. “I fish these waters sixty year,” he told them in a wounded voice. “Never…never I see a merda like this.”

  Cutler offered him a sarcastic grin. “Zombie piranhas.” He shook his head. “That boat…that research ship. They must’ve spilled something in the water, set some bug loose, a virus or something…”

  Rico shrugged. “I not know. And what does these things matter, eh? God help us.”

  Basille had been badly ravaged and he kept moaning and groaning. He had lost consciousness now and was probably in shock. His white pants and shirt had nearly been ripped away. What remained were bloody rags. He was laid open in a dozen locations with deep, cutting wounds. Blood ran from him, pooled under him, and trickled down the boat into the water where it floated like a slick of grease.

  Cutler stared at it, his face sunburned, blue-eyed, and stark with fear.

  “ We gonna get out of this,” Rico said. “We gonna use shoes as paddles and get us to the riverbank. You see if we don’t.”

  Cutler laughed with a dead, hopeless sound. “We ain’t fucking going nowhere and you know it.”

  “ You shut that mouth, punheteiro.”

  Cutler turned away, staring at the blood seeping from Basille into the water. He started to make the connection. “His blood,” he said. “It’s in the water.” He looked over at Rico, his eyes wide and glassy like he was out of his mind. “You hear me, you goddamn idiot? His blood… it’s in the fucking water…his blood is in the fucking water…”

  Rico got it, all right.

  Blood in the water. Those devil-fish. And them floating on the overturned skiff, its flat bottom a scarce four inches above the river.

  Elise snapped out of her fugue. “Listen,” she said. “Listen…”

  Yes, they heard it, too. Beneath, in the water, the piranhas were hitting the boat again, one after the other. The sound of their gnawing teeth on the wood was almost like a muted sawing. They were trying to chew their way through it. It was insane but that’s what they were doing, driven by some malefic force to eat and kill. The water was filled with their darting bodies, slivery, scaly, discolored and putrefied…but alive, somehow alive.

  “ We have to get out of here!” Cutler cried out, beside himself with fear.

  More fish now.

  The water began to roil. The piranha were swarming like locusts, pouring themselves at the boat in a steady stream of teeth. They chewed from below, from the sides, so many pressing in that hundreds were pushed flopping up out of the water and hundreds more were pulverized by the greedy appetites of the expanding shoal. And they were not just centered around the boat, it seemed, but the entire channel as if there was not a school of hundreds, but perhaps a school of thousands or hundreds of thousands. The frothing of the water made the boat roll in the water like it was caught in a good swell.

  The carrion fish were whipped into a wild eating frenzy, driven mad by the taste of blood dripping into the water. Sawdust was floating to the surface as they chewed at the skiff. The flat hull Rico and the others sat on was greasy with water and blood. They gripped each other so they’d didn’t slide off.

  All except Basille.

  His unconscious form was sliding nearer and nearer the edge.

  Nobody made to grab him for there just wasn’t time. The boat was rocking under the onslaught of the fish, the water a churning maelstrom of snapping jaws and bones, piranhas and parts of them. And maybe the motion of the boat would have carried them to the treeline, but something happened first: the fish started leaping on board. Driven by a relentless hunger, they leaped out of the water and started landing among the survivors, grotesquely bloated and decayed, some little better than living skeletons held together by leathery sinew and ligament.

  But dead or undead, they were united in a single purpose.

  Rico shouted as he ducked away from two or three that sailed at him, swatted two more out of the air, and was hit by three more that fastened their sawtoothed teeth right into his flesh. He yanked them free, tearing out flaps of skin as he did so.

  They landed on the hull, flopping and chomping their jaws.

  Cutler kicked them back in, slapped at them, smashed a dozen to a foul putrid paste with his fists. But for every one he destroyed, there were ten more vaulting at him. They bit into his arms, his shoulders, his hands, dozens affixed to his boots, their teeth sunk into the leather. One caught him by the chin, biting deep.

  The air was filled with fish, a steaming brew of blood and corpse gas.

  They hit Elise, too. They fastened on her legs, her arms, one sank its triangular teeth right into her breast. She pulled them off, screaming, hitting and crushing them under her fists. She was completely out of her mind, ripping them free, kicking and slapping. She smashed them in her hands into a black gushing slime of drainage and tiny bones. She tore one off her left arm and the whole body came away in a pulping flap, but the small chambered skull remained, those serrated jaws holding tight, teeth punctured deep. She beat at it until it shattered to fragments.

  And when one clamped its interlocking jaws on the knuckle of her pinkie, she attacked it without thinking: clamping its foul, festering body in her own jaws and biting down until it exploded in a g
ushing spray of putrescence in her mouth. More hit her, but she craned her head and vomited putrid flesh, scales, and tiny bones along with a few squirming, severed worms.

  More and more were coming out of the water and there was simply no defense.

  Cutler fought through the rain of fish, shouting, “It’s him they want…don’t you see?” He ripped piranhas free, tearing one from the end of his nose and leaving several teeth sunk into the cartilage. “THEY WANT HIM! THEY WANT BASILLE! NOT US! THEY DON’T WANT US-”

  And with a sideward kick, he knocked Basille’s body into the foaming water.

  It was the sort of deranged diversion only a psychotic mind could come up with, but there is no sanity in survival. The water instantly went red in a swirling eruption. It frothed and boiled like a cauldron. Basille’s body was covered in a living, biting tarp of the monsters…and somewhere during the process, he came awake, thrashing and screaming, gulping in water, his own blood, and piranhas. His body rolled over and over in the churning wake, voracious jaws shredding him as the others watched. He was like a shank of bloody meat tossed into a shark tank.

  But it worked.

  The diversion worked.

  The school enveloped him and no more fish dove at the skiff. In fact, the very act of the piranhas abandoning the boat left the water roiling and this pushed it out of harm’s way, precious feet from the devouring shoal.

  Out there, you could not even see Basille any longer. He was buried in thousands of fish, their teeth in constant industrious motion in that simmering sea of blood. And when they finally fell away, glutted, there was nothing but a freshly-picked skeleton that bobbed to the surface for a moment or two, then sank from view.

  *

  Maybe Cutler expected some gratitude. Maybe in his crowded, twisted little mind what he had done to Basille was seen as an act of selfless heroism. But once the remainders of the biting fish were disposed of, gratitude is not what he got from Rico and Elise.