Jon Fore - Black Water

Ethan pulled free his revolver as Abby screamed again. His heart wrenched painfully at the mournful death screams, and he fired into the thing’s grape-like body. It tore open sickly and splashed free gruesome puss. It roared its roar, and Ethan’s legs threatened to drop him on the ground. The thing dug its claws a bit deeper, and Abby screamed again. Before she finished, the thing ripped her in half, snapped like a pencil, torn like a length of sodden leather.

This time, Ethan screamed and fired again. Not afraid of hitting Abby any longer, he aimed for the chest. The bullet entered above the thing’s left nipple and burst out the other side with more of the sickly fluid. Then Ethan ran, ran out of pure desperation to escape. He could hear the thing rasping behind him, and he pushed himself harder, trying to put distance between the hunted and the hunter.

The tree line broke suddenly, and Ethan ran headlong into a lake. He did not think or consider his options, but began to swim into the deeper parts of the lake, ignoring the frigid spike it sent through his body, desperate only to be far away from the pursuing creature. He swam for some time until he thought he was near enough the center. He stopped and began to tread the icy water. The thing screamed again, but this time it was ragged, as if the last shot might have actually wounded it.

Ethan searched for and found the thing on the banks, refusing to enter the water, but stalking back and forth, waiting. In one hand, it still held a large piece of Abby, the upper part, which swung back and forth as it walked. Ethan tasted the bitterness of vomit but held himself. The sheer helplessness of his situation drove him to sob, to mourn the loss of his Abby and most likely himself.

When the water become too cold for him to tolerate, he attempted to swim to the other side of the lake, but each time, as he started out, the thing would move with incredible speed to where he would reach the bank. Ethan’s arms began to weaken, and his breath was coming in quick, shallow breaths. He knew that hyperthermia was closing fast, and if he did not get himself warm soon, he would die in this lake.

He decided to try for the shore once more, but the creature raced around the bank to meet him. This time, a little out from shore, he came upon a small floating dock, wood fixed to large metal barrels, but dry on the top. Using the very last of his strength, he hauled himself up, collapsed on the rough but dry wood, and slipped into a frozen unconsciousness.

Cold, deep, bone-chilling cold—it was the first time Ethan’s heart had felt chilled, slow, and lethargic. It brought him to consciences with a painful desire to survive. It was still dark, but the inky blackness of night was slowing giving way to the approaching sun. Ethan knew he would not last to feel its warmth. He had to do something now before blacking out again, this time to his own death.

His arms were frozen and hard to move, as if they had been asleep for too long. His hands where thick and clumsy and he had trouble opening his pack. When he did, a small rush of cold water greeted him. He began to dig about the pack, searching for the small silver packs he knew were there. His hands had almost no feeling left to them, but his slow grip, tightened with much effort, was able to guess the correct size and he drew forth a package of three aluminum squares.

Ripping and tearing at the package, he finally succeeded when he brought his teeth to it and bit through the cellophane sheathe. That is when the warmth set in. He felt the gentle oozing of heat through his body and he knew that he was coming dangerously close to death. It was not a real heat, but the final effect of hyperthermia. He pulled out the first pack clumsily, and made many attempts to break it before he finally put it on the wood decking, and smashed it with the side of his forehead. The small pack burst in heat, real heat, not like that lie creeping through his torso.

He worked the small heat pack into his shirt and under one arm. It burned painfully, too hot for frozen bare flesh, but he had to bring his temperature up, the temperature inside his chest. He smashed the next with his head, and worked that under the other arm. He felt as though he were about to burst into flame. The final pack he was able to break with his hands, and he jammed it into the front of his pants where he held it between his thighs. The pain was incredible, but he had not given up on himself just yet.

He rummaged his pack once more, this time pulling out a silver tube. He broke the seal with his teeth, unwrapped a thin silvery blanket, which he worked around his body by rolling a short distance across the dock. There was nothing that he could do for the wet clothing, but this should ease him back from the precipice of a frozen demise. The sun would rise soon and then the silvery blanket would really begin to warm him. That should be about when the small packs would begin to expire.

Cold started to fill him again, and he knew his simple design was beginning to work. There would be a couple of hours of the worst deep aching pain he had ever felt followed by uncontrollable shivers. He hoped the sun would be high enough to help warm him with the solar blanket. Then he remembered calories; he had to give his body something to burn. He fished out a power-bar and crunched on it with chattering teeth. He could not bring himself to drink water as wet as he was, but the bar went down easy enough.

The creature screeched again in rage and sheer hatred. It knew the sun was approaching, and it would have to give up the chase for another day. Even though he was almost frozen, Ethan felt a chill run through him at the thing’s voice. His focus on survival waned as his thoughts drifted back to his friends, now dead, and this rather dangerous position.

There had been plans, a future plotted if only with pillow promises, but one he had looked forward to, one he had thought about often. The thing hunting him had ruined them, and Ethan began to realize their loss. Abby was not gorgeous, but beautiful in her own way. She had been rock-stubborn, but Ethan had learned to handle that, and she would relent if she understood his passion. She was not going to be a perfect wife, but she was going to be his wife, and he had wanted that desperately.

The sun had lifted itself beyond the edge of the horizon, and almost above the tops of the trees. Color was blooming everywhere, replacing the bluish gray of early dawn. His shivering was now under his control as the solar blanket began to ply its effectiveness. Even the small heat packs were still hot, although no longer painful. He sat up, careful not to release warmth from under the shiny silver blanket, and surveyed the banks.

He was some thirty yards from the closest shore, and he could not see the creature anywhere. He decided, after a long search, it had abandoned the hunt and returned to the blackness it had come from, that he himself had come from. He did not like the idea of entering the frigid water again, but knew he had to make it to Brighton’s before dusk…or be prey once more.

He woofed down two more of the power bars, saving the last for midday, and drank an entire bottle of water. He was not sure how far he had to travel today and wanted to be prepared. He stripped the solar blanket away, and the chill air bit at him through his still damp clothing. It hurt enough to make him moan, but he forced himself to wrap the heat packs in the blanket and stow them in the pack.

After many moments of mentally preparing himself, he eased down into the water. Like the air, it had teeth as well, but not quite as sharp as he had imagined. He lifted his pack, held it above the water, and did a side stroke for the shore. His teeth began to chatter again, the unbearable cold working its way to the very core of him. He made the shore before losing too much of his heat and drug himself out and onto the dry bank. He drew out the solar blanket and wrapped himself again, the heat packs tucked tightly in his arms and groin.