FROM AWAY ~ BOOK THREE Read online

  “Nearly there, now.” Without removing the bandages, Dr. Ramsey leans across. Accesses the woman’s other stump. “I’ll remind you: I remain in the trial-and-error phase of my research. To this end, each procedure is purposely varied, in the hopes of eliciting differing results, and defining a fully-customizable and predictable outcome.”

  She nods. Watches him scissor through the other bandage. Far more interested in his actions than his words.

  “You’ve noted Wanda’s results, I assume?” The two look over at her strange extremity. “Atypical. The closest we’ve come to replicating the original appendage.”

  Wanda wiggles her elongated fingers at them. The black talons flash.

  “Okay... Okay.” Dr. Mendez blinks. “That would be... Feasible. I could, I could, I could work with that.”

  “That’s the spirit, Dr. Mendez!” Dr. Ramsey grips her shoulder. Firm. Reassuring. “I followed a very similar process for your procedure. Nearly identical, with a few educated augmentations. I have extremely high hopes for our results.”

  Dr. Mendez’s cheek tics. Quivers into an almost-smile. “High hopes?” If the great and powerful Dr. Ramsey is confident in the outcome, who is she to doubt?

  Dr. Ramsey takes hold of both wrappings. Tug-tug-tugs them off. Revealing the misshapen ends of his patient’s arms. Gnarled skin twisted. Coiled around itself.

  Like Wanda’s own stump, when she’d first removed her bandages: Knotted flesh. Looking for all the world like a little fist. Then, hers had opened. Revealed itself to be exactly that. The skin ending each of Dr. Mendez’s arms is wrapped in a similar fashion, though the ropey ‘fingers’ of her fists appear braided.

  “Excellent. Excellent. This is very promising, Dr. Mendez.”

  “This is?” The shriek in Dr. Mendez’s voice surprises even herself. Staring at still-handless arms. Whatever she’d been expecting, this isn’t it. “There’s nothing there!”

  “Compose yourself, Mendez.” Dr. Ramsey leans back to invite Wanda into the discussion. “Wanda? From your experience... Would you say Dr. Mendez’s arms bear any resemblance to your own when the bandage was first removed?”

  Dr. Mendez looks over. Suspicious. Wanda nods. “More or less exactly.”

  “You see?” Dr. Ramsey squeezes the back of his patient’s neck. “I’d like you to close your eyes for me now.” She looks at her stumps. Unwilling to do as she’s told. Given what it’s netted her thus far. “Dr. Mendez, I... Maureen... I need you to trust me.”

  Surprised by her given name - this tiny acknowledgment of personhood by the unsentimental chief surgeon - she calms. Breathes deeply. “All right. I will. I do.” She shuts her eyes.

  “Thank you, Maureen.” He pats her shoulder. “Now... We’ve spoken of the phantom sensations you’ve experienced since the incident. All very normal. A natural response. But now, I’d like you to hone in on those feelings. Focus on the hands you still perceive at the ends of your arms. Feel them there, for me.”

  “I feel them.” Her stumps move: The nests of knotted flesh shift.

  “That’s very good, Maureen. Think of your hands as being balled into tight fists. Clench them together. So. Very. Tightly.” The injured skin quivers. Throbs. “And now... Simply... Open them.”

  Wanda recoils as the ends of Dr. Maureen Mendez’s arms unravel. The knotted ridges of flesh separate. Boneless. Rubbery. Not fingers, as Wanda’s had been. Something else entirely:

  Tentacles.

  Ten flailing tentacles sprouting from the ends of Dr. Mendez’s arms.

  “Ah.” Dr. Ramsey nods to himself. Watching the gesticulations of his protégé’s new extremities. “Fascinating.”

  Dr. Mendez hasn’t been told to open her eyes, but can’t keep them closed any longer. Moments later, her mouth opens as well.

  And Dr. Mendez screams.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The pile of earth at the edge of the clearing is already mountainous when Mr. Hunter arrives with another full garbage can. This late in the day he’s too sore to consider dragging it up the hill. His back will not permit him to hoist it into the air. Muscles too abused to toss the contents atop the pile. Instead, he simply tips the thing over. Dumps out the fresh dirt at the mountain’s base.

  His back spasms. He flinches. Lets the twinge pass. Then, tilts the can onto its wheels. Rolls it back across the clearing. Pushes it into the hole.

  Stretching his arms above his head, the man walks to the Jeep. Kicks open the winch release. Grabs two sun-warmed bottles of water from a nearly empty thirty-six pack on the passenger seat. Drops each into a hip-pocket. Pulling the hooked end of the winch cable after him, he descends into the hole once more.

  There, he trades hook for empty garbage can. Rolls it out of the sunlight. Along freshly laid plywood flooring. Moving from the glow of one LED tap-light to the next. Beyond the rattling of the garbage can wheels, a soft rhythmic thumping is audible. Shunk. Whump. Shunk. Whump. The sound of progress. His wife at work. Her shovel slicing into earth: Shunk. Dumping it into a can of her own: Whump.

  Arriving at the top of the stone staircase, he looks down at her. Ten steps below. Toiling to uncover a solid rock floor. Digging away to stone on all sides. No further need to shore up the walls and ceiling with wooden braces. They’ve reached the entrance to some sort of cave. And still, the missus works like a machine. Tireless. Garbage can nearly filled in the time it took him to replace the last one.

  He carries the empty to the bottom. Sets it down. Taps his wife with a water bottle. Irritated with the interruption, she glares over her shoulder. Sees the bottle. Shakes her head: No. Pausing now would be tantamount to stopping. Energies already dwindling, the full extent of this room needs to be revealed before they can stop. Only then can she consider the day a success.

  Shunk. Whump. Shunk. Whump.

  Sighing, Mr. Hunter slips the bottle back into his pocket. Replaces the nearly-full garbage can with the empty. Preparing himself to tote thirty gallons of dirt back up the uneven stone staircase.

  But two shovel-loads into the fresh can, the sound changes:

  Shunk. Whump-clacketta.

  Something more than dirt hits the bottom of the bin. It could be anything. Probably is nothing. Curious, Mr. Hunter peeks in before the automaton that is his wife can cover whatever caused the clatter. He catches a glint. Braves a possible load of dirt in the face, grabbing for it.

  Cold. Flat. Circular. On contact, he knows what it is. Holds it up to a tap-light to be certain. Two inches across. The pattern once pressed into the silver has worn mostly smooth over time. Now rendered illegible. Its origin unknowable, but unmistakably: A coin.

  He whistles for his wife’s attention. Holds his find out for her to see.

  Glancing back, she freezes. Eyes saucers. Looking from the coin to her husband and back again, before settling on his beaming smile. Matching it with one of her own.

  Throwing the shovel to one side, she catapults herself into her man. Slamming him up against the rock wall. Grinding her hips against his. Kissing him hard enough to bruise them both.

  Reinvigorated, Mrs. Hunter ends the embrace. Resumes her task. Carving earth away in giant chunks. Reeling from the smooch, her husband gets his bearings. Slides the coin into his back pocket. Grabs hold of the full garbage can. At the rate his wife is going, she’ll need an empty very soon.

  He’s gotten as far as the second step when: Whack! She smacks him in the shoulder with the flat of her shovel. Shocked, he turns. Finds her holding an open hand toward him. Impatient.

  Sheepish, he reaches into his pocket. Pulls out the silver coin. Places it onto her palm. She takes it. Returns to work.

  He does the same.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “How the hell does somebody fuck a fish, Mandi?”

  Allison is shouting. The only way to be heard over the wind pounding past the convertible. Her question is not entirely unreasonable.

  Mandi turns in her seat. Offended. “How should I k
now? Do I look like some sort of... Perverted... Fish-o-phile?”

  “You don’t really want me to answer that, do you, Sex-Fiend?”

  Mandi rolls her eyes. “All I know is: Fishermen get lonely out there. And maybe they don’t have a lot of options, and one thing leads to another, and then...”

  “Fish-fucking.”

  “Exactly.”

  Max groans. Scrunched into the backseat. Exasperated by the conversation. Embarrassed on their behalf. Next to him, Dawn laughs. The sound is carried away by the wind.

  “Do fish even have, like... A place for a guy to put it?”

  “Allison! Gross!” Mandi gives her friend a shove. Unprepared, she jerks the wheel. Veers into the other lane. Then, back again. Fishtailing slightly before regaining control. Their lives only saved from catastrophic collision by the complete emptiness of the rural road.

  “Guys!” Max pulls himself forward. Leans between the front seats. “Maybe you could focus on driving for now?”

  “She’s the one telling the repugnant fish-sex story.”

  Mandi protests: “It’s not like it’s my Friday night bathtub fantasy or anything. It’s history.”

  Max sits back. Scoffing. “History!”

  “Hey! This chick asked about Adderpool.” She gestures into the backseat. “I’m telling her what happened to Adderpool.”

  “I just want to go on record...” Max turns to Dawn. “This is not even close to what I’ve heard.”

  “Me neither.” Allison concurs.

  Dawn laughs. “Duly noted. And you two’ll get the chance to tell your versions. Just let Mandi finish hers first, okay?”

  “Thank you, Dawn. Geez!” Mandi resumes her tale. “Anyway, that’s how it started: This guy did it with a fish, and little did he realize... He caught something. Something bad.”

  “A fish-TD.” Max offers.

  “So when the guy got home, he was sick. All shivery. Couldn’t stop sweating. But it wasn’t like a fever, it was... What’s the opposite? When your body’s colder than it’s supposed to be?”

  Dawn suggests: “Chills?”

  “Chills!” Mandi likes that. “He came back with the chills. Barely talking to his wife at all except to say he was done with fishing. And he’d disappear for hours on end. Eventually, they found he’d been going down to the beach. Every day. Standing in the water up to his chin. Looking out at the ocean. But when they asked him about it, the fisherman could never explain why.”

  “Weird!” Fiction or not, Dawn is invested in the story, now.

  “Serves him right.” Allison snarls. “Stepping out on his wife with a fish.”

  “She was no better. It might’ve ended there if she’d stayed true. But she had all her own shit going on. Whenever her man was on the water, she got lonely too. And with him acting so screwy...”

  “She spread it around.”

  Mandi nods. “Pretty soon? Almost everyone else in town was coming down with their own case of the shivers. But that wasn’t the end of it. The fisherman was still changing. His hair fell out. His skin became all smooth and shiny. His eyes got bigger and started spreading apart.

  “He wasn’t sick anymore. He’d just spend all his time standing in the ocean. Water up to here.” Mandi taps her jawline. “And soon, his wife came and joined him there. Then, her love-buddies. And so on, until the whole town was standing out there, just their heads sticking out, and then one day? They all just kept walking. Over their heads. Out into the ocean. And that’s how Adderpool got abandoned and became a ghost town.”

  Story told, Mandi sits back in her seat. Content she has laid out events as they occurred without addition or omission. The convertible is quiet, but for the wind whipping past.

  Until Allison breaks the silence. “That’s maybe not the stupidest thing I ever heard. But it’s basically tied for number four.”

  Mandi gasps. Severely exaggerating her degree of offense. “Who’re you calling stupid, you cu--”

  “Augh!” Allison abruptly leans on the horn. Brakes. Her passengers all cover their ears as the convertible grinds to an unexpected stop.

  The nuns crossing the road ahead don’t seem to notice the car at all. They simply continue on. Eyes forward. No acknowledgment of the noise. Nor the inconvenience they may be causing the four teenagers waiting for them to pass.

  Dawn is still amazed by the roadside signs. She studies the orange diamond while they wait. Gets a better look at the image of three penguins crossing. Graphic, but not cartoony. Why wouldn’t the sign just include nuns?

  When the fifth nun reaches the shoulder, Allison lays off the horn. As she follows her sisters into the woods, the convertible resumes its trek.

  “Stupid penguins.”

  “Honestly, Allison...” Mandi uncovers her ears. “You’re not legally required to be a complete bitch all of the time.”

  “Not legally. It’s more of a moral imperative.” Allison smiles. “If I’m a bitch, it’s only because I care. If I didn’t, I’d just let the penguins go on thinking everyone’s cool with them having their own special crosswalks all over the island.”

  Max rolls his eyes. “That’s big of you. Wouldn’t want the sisters to feel like an accepted part of the community.”

  “Exactly. They should know the truth. It’s the same reason I can’t let you guys go on believing Ms. Mandi Dunlop’s bullshit fish-fucker story. Because I do care so very much and I’m okay with being seen as a bitch, in order to provide correction.”

  Mandi sneers at her. “So, tell us, O Wise-one: What happened to Adderpool?”

  “Nothing happened to Adderpool. They did it all to themselves. They cut the town off from the rest of the island and built a wall around the place. They destroyed the road that led to it and disguised the turn off. All just to keep people out.” She flips on her left-turn signal. Slows the car towards an intersection. A single four-sided traffic light hangs over the center. Red pointing at the teal convertible.

  “It was just after World War II. A lot of men were drafted from Adderpool. Sent to fight overseas. Nobody came back. Not even one. So the town was pissed the feds had stolen their kids. Shipped them off to die for strangers halfway around the world. It wasn’t going to happen again. They wouldn’t let it.”

  The light changes. They make a left. The new road is bumpier. More narrow than the previous. The trees grow closer along the shoulders. Providing more cover.

  “They’d always kept to themselves anyway. Pretty much self-sufficient. Wasn’t a big loss to stop associating with outsiders. And truthfully, the rest of the island didn’t give a shit. So they cut themselves off. Shut themselves in. And everyone lived happily ever after.”

  “Or did they? Bum-bum BUM!”

  “Shut up, Mandi! I didn’t interrupt your story, did I?”

  “Bitch, are you cracked? You were constantly interrupting!”

  “Well, duh! If I hadn’t, I’d’ve fallen asleep and crashed us all into a tree. You should be thanking me. I only probably saved our lives.”

  Dawn leans forward. “So did they live happily ever after, or what?”

  “They did not. They lived happily-for-only-just-a-little-while-longer... Their kids grew up without ever setting foot outside Adderpool. Grew up. Got married. Had kids of their own. But soon they ran into a problem: The population of a small town has... Limited options, romance-wise. Before long, they found they’d run out of choices.”

  “Um, ew!”

  “Really, Mandi? Fish is okay. Family is ew?”

  “I think we can all agree: Both bestiality and inbreeding are pretty firmly in the ew column.” Dawn unzips her backpack. Shivering.

  Since driving onto the shady road, the temperature has dropped ten degrees. Unlike the others - more suitably attired for late-summer, early-autumn - she’s still dressed for the beach: A t-shirt and wrap-skirt over a damp bathing suit. Of course, having the convertable’s top down is not helping.

  “Anyway, it was obvious what they’d resorted to
. Every new baby had something wrong with it. Extra fingers. Not enough arms. And mentally, they were all...” She wiggles her fingers next to her head. Scrambling her brain. “The ones that lived, anyway. But soon, the town was overrun with defectives. Couldn’t even take care of themselves, let alone their kids. Eventually, Adderpool had to call in the penguins to find homes for them.”

  “Aww, that’s so sad.” Mandi has fully bought into Allison’s story. She looks back at Dawn, now pulling a brand new Mossley Island souvenir sweatshirt from her backpack. “Isn’t that sad?”

  “Uh, sure. Sad.” Dawn pulls the sweater over her t-shirt. Staves off frostbite with flannel.

  “Even sadder?” Allison continues. “Nobody on the Island wanted them. So the penguins just ended up shipping them all away. Most ended up on the mainland, working in carnivals. Showing off their deformities. The ones that stayed, abandoned the town. Tried to fit back in with the rest of the island. Some of the most horribly mentally crippled are still living among us even today.”

  “Oh my God!” Mandi’s eyes are wide. “Really?”

  “Really. And they call themselves... The Dunlop family!” Allison cackles madly.

  Mandi Dunlop is faux-outraged.“You cunt!”

  Dawn cringes at the c-word.

  Allison’s laugh calms to a chortle. “No, no. True story.”

  “It is not a true story.” Mandi turns to assure the backseat of her lineage. “My parents have traced our roots back forever.”

  “Don’t worry about them.” Allison waves off Dawn and Max. “They don’t care about your inbred family.”

  “Okay, seriously, though...” Mandi’s whining now. “My family is not--”

  “All right, all right. Fine. Shut up.” Allison slows the car. Closely examining the woods to the right of the road. “We’re getting near it now. You have to help me look for the black tree.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY