F. Paul Wilson - Gateways

A large, skiff-style boat,Bull-ship across its stern, rocked gently against the far bank. Its crude, ramshackle superstructure looked like it had been built by someone with only rudimentary carpentry skills. Another smaller, equally rundown skiff, theHorse-ship —cute—lay directly to their right. They looked like floating tenements.

As he and Carl glided toward the center of the lagoon, Jack searched the banks for stray members of Carl’s clan. Just as predicted, the place was deserted.

Well, itlooked deserted. Somehow it didn’tfeel deserted.

“That’s funny,” Carl whispered, pointing to a small fleet of canoes beached on the far bank. “All the boats is here. If they went into town—”

“Well, well, well,” said a gruff voice from behind and to the right. “Look who’s here.”

Jack started at the sound and swiveled to see half a dozen men standing on the deck of theHorse-ship . As he watched, the snow-haired Semelee emerged from the superstructure and smiled at him.

“Hi, Jack,” she said.

Jack noticed the color draining from Carl’s face. “Oh, shit!”

Jack faced front again and saw another dozen or so men gathering on the deck of the biggerBull-ship .

“Paddle!” Carl cried as he began yanking on the little motor’s starter cord. “We gotta get outta here!”

Jack thought that might not be a bad idea. He reversed his oar stroke to turn the canoe around, but then noticed that the men in theHorse-ship were poling it across the lagoon entrance, blocking their escape route.

He laid a hand on Carl’s shoulder. “Forget it, Carl. Looks like we’re staying awhile.”

“Long time, no see, Carl,” said the big guy Jack had run into in town. His grin was feral. “I knew you’d be back someday.”

“Hey, Luke,” Carl said in a faint voice. His shoulders slumped. He looked defeated.

Jack checked the comforting weight of the Glock at the small of his back. Not the right time to reveal what he was carrying, especially when they were such sitting ducks out here on the water. Better to wait and see what happened, wait till these guys got closer, or things got ugly.

Who knew? Maybe he wouldn’t need artillery. Maybe he’d even come away with some answers. Like, what do you have against my father? Or, who hired you to kill him?

“Knew I shouldn’ta come,” Carl muttered. His good eye veered right and left like a frightened rabbit on the run.

“Easy,” Jack whispered. “I promised I’d get you back to your trailer, and I will. Let’s just go with the flow here for a bit.”

“Don’t see’s we got much choice.”

Luke pointed to the row of canoes on the bank. “Why dontcha beach it over there with the others,” he called, “and we’ll all get real friendly like.”

Jack started paddling. “Let’s do like the man says.”

Carl hesitated a few heartbeats—he seemed frozen in place—then shook himself and joined in.

5

When they reached the far bank, some of the men from theBull-ship helped pull its nose onto the dirt. Jack recognized the flat-bottomed motorboat he’d seen Semelee ride away in—theChicken-ship . Next to it was a canoe labeledNo-ship . Someone in the clan was a regular Shecky Green.

He managed to step ashore without resoaking his sneakers, but Carl got out and waded.

They all seemed to know Carl. A few acted genuinely glad to see him but most were standoffish, some even hostile.

As Jack and Carl stood together and waited for theHorse-ship to be poled over, Jack looked around. Close up, the vegetation looked even more demented. Back from the banks, maybe a hundred feet, stood half a dozen hutlike structures with open sides. Each seemed to be little more than half a dozen wobbly poles, three to a side, topped by a pitched roof of dried palm fronds. A small fire smoldered between two of the nearest. When they weren’t on the boats, Jack guessed they lived there.

Crooked men in crooked houses. He had little doubt that each contained at least one crooked mouse.

“Old Indian huts,” Carl said, following his gaze. “Been there forever.”

When the smaller boat arrived, Semelee was the first to step off, followed by Luke, bulge-browed Corley, and the rest. Soon the whole clan was assembled behind her, facing Jack and Carl in a semicircle.

Circe and her pigs.

A single woman with—Jack had made a quick count—eighteen men.

One scary looking bunch, Jack thought, eyeing their misshapen heads, mismatched limbs, and twisted bodies. Looked like they’d suffered an algae bloom in their gene pool. But he knew that, just like the trees, it must be due to the nexus point. The trees had no choice about where they grew, but these folks…why did they stay?

Only Semelee and Luke looked reasonably normal…if you discounted her wild white Medusa hair. Storm from the X-Men had nothing on Semelee in the hair department. She wore the same Levi’s and tight black vest as yesterday, but her long-sleeved shirt was red this time, with the top two buttons left open.

“Who’s this one?” she said, pointing to Carl. “He’s one of us, ain’t he.”

Luke flashed his nasty grin at Carl. “He sure is. He just don’t act like it.”

“How come I ain’t never seen him before?”

“You probably did but just don’t remember. Carl decided to leave right after you showed up. I don’t think we’re good enough for him no more.” He stepped closer. “Ain’t that right, Carl? Ain’t that right? But that was okay. This ain’t no prison. You can come and go as you please.” He got into Carl’s face. “But that don’t mean you can bring outsiders. You know the rule about outsiders.”

He reached to grab the front of Carl’s shirt and Jack laid a hand on his arm—gently but firmly. He wasn’t looking for a fight, not against these impossible odds, but he was not about to let Carl be manhandled.

“Don’t,” Jack said.

Luke’s fingers stopped inches from Carl’s shirtfront. “What?”

Jack kept his voice low but gave Luke a hard look, hoping he’d think twice. He didn’t have a plan—he’d been expecting an empty lagoon—but he was willing to ad lib, maybe do something quick and very nasty to make a point and throw the crowd off balance.

“Just…don’t.”

Luke glared at him, then glanced toward the water. “Back off or you’ll be goin for a swim.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

“Yeah?” He grinned. “Look who you’ll be swimmin with.”

Jack turned and saw what appeared to be a giant turtle gliding toward shore. Its head was down but its mossy, four-foot long shell looked like a relief map of the Himalayas.

Then it raised its head—and then its other head. Christ, it had two—big, ugly, rough-hewn things—both of which were now angled up, their beaked, sharp-edged jaws agape, showing huge mouths that could fit a regulation NFL football with room to spare. Its four beady black eyes were fixed on Semelee as it reached the bank and waited with its long, snakelike tail thrashing back and forth in the water behind it.

Luke grabbed a fallen tree branch and shouted, “Show time!” He stepped closer and lowered the branch toward the waiting jaws. “This here’s a alligator snapper. When you take your swim—and we’ll see that you do—here’s what’s gonna happen to your arms and legs.”

The branch came to within a foot of the left head and in a flash the neck telescoped out and the jaws chomped, breaking it in half with a loud crunchingcrack , as easily as Jack might snap a toothpick. One of the halves tumbled into the right head’s strike zone and suffered a similar fate. Three pieces of branch floated on the water.

Jack’s tongue tasted dusty.

“‘When’?” Jack said, knowing this many guys would have no trouble tossing him into the water. But he couldn’t back down. “You mean ‘if,’ don’t you?”