explore (and let me point out I was happily not among them), and they didn’t come back. We couldn’t yell them up, and the parties that went to search, carrying fire from car metal sparked against dried seaweed and such, didn’t come back either.
“We could see their little lights, all Prometheus and such, and then, gentlemen and two ladies, they were gone.
“Here a moment. Gone the next.
“No one else went down there. We yelled a lot, whistled some, but no folks come up.
“Let me add this, though. Just before one of those weak-ass torches went out, I thought I saw something shaped like… well, something shapeless, you know. Like shadows that got no shape, like that. Figured I saw it under hot lights it would have shape all right, but not a pretty one.
“Then what light there was got stolen and there wasn’t even a flutter of shadow, just this snatching sound like a bullwhip cracking and wrapping itself around something there in the pitch-ass darkness, and that was enough to tell me, don’t worry about staying away from the light like those I’m-going-to-God sonsabitches. No sir. Go the other way. The way you’ve known since you were small. Since cavemen first lit torches and poked them in caves. Stay the fuck away from the dark. Dark bad. Dark final. Stay away from the dark. In the dark, it’s dark, gentlemen and two ladies. Dark. Just plain ol’ dark.
“Anyway, I think it-whatever the fuck it was-nabbed the torch guy. Hell, I know it did. ‘Cause there was a grunt, then the light went out. We scampered quick as frightened mice back toward the hottest and brightest part of the light, all us sonsabitches who had been watching at the edge of light and shadow. And when we arrived beneath the bestest lights and their warmy, not quite toasty yellow, we was goddamn proud to be there.
“Now, that wasn’t bad enough, there being something down there in the dark, and it not being good, another concernful-type thing happened.
“The goddamn lights back there started going out a bit more regular.
“That was bound to have made the things, the shadow guys, the Scuts, happy. Unless they are fifty feet tall, they can’t reach the lights. Like here, there must be ladders back there. And that may be why it’s all dark to the rear of our fishy boat, them beasties, the Scuts, having climbed up there and done those lights in. But their sliding ladders, they don’t come this far. Their ladder rails play out about where all them cars are piled, so they can’t just keep taking them out, not unless they’re willing to come into the bright lights for any time at all. Find their way to the ladders.”
“What are they?” Reba asked.
“Not sure. But I think they are built-in disease. You know, the robots were maintenance, and these guys, these shadow motherfuckers, they are dis-maintenance. Just like us, gentlemen and two ladies. We are built in such a way that cells repair, and all manner of such shit, but, we are also built to age and go obsolete-o, baby.
“These Scuts. They are the Big Boy’s Obsolete-o team.
“Someday, they win.
“And the fish, he’s all done in.
“And so are we. And now we’re here. And we just might give them a fight.”
“Why did the lights last as long as they did?” I said. “I mean, why didn’t they put them out early on? And if they put out the ones they put out, why didn’t they venture into the light to get rid of these?”
“I can’t answer that. I don’t know. Maybe they were happy back there in the dark, eating fish shit, and then one day they find out we’re here, get a taste of long pig from our little torch-carrying adventurers. And being so delicious-and it is delicious-they decided shit wasn’t quite the delicacy they once thought.
“And it’s different coming up on a light from the dark, reaching out quick-like and banging it. But to get these, they got to come seriously into the light for some time before they can even get to a ladder. That gap between us and them is enough to hold them, I think. Unless all the lights go out. You know. Just play out without help. It could happen. I’ve seen a couple die, no Scuts needed.”
“Is there anything in those cars that’s useable?” Grace said, always the utilitarian.
“In those cars, in one of them, I found a lady. A beautiful lady. She washed in one day while I’m up here watching the water flush, and her car washed in with it. Washed along the grid and flowed to the back and banged up against them other cars. I went down to investigate, ‘cause I could see someone was behind the wheel.
“She was all drowned, her blonde hair pushed tight against her head, her lips purple. But God, did she look good.
“And the water, well, it had tenderized her.
“So, of course, we ate her.
“Rest of the cars yielded skeletons, tires, and greasy jacks. Nothing special. I figure they were folks drove off from the drive-in, tried auxiliary trails, same as us, but it hadn’t worked out. Flash floods may have got them. Or they could have died in their cars, and in time, rain would slippy-slipslip them down muddy paths twixt great trees and hungry critters toward the great body of water under which we are now, doing the Nautilus shuffle, only to be swallowed by our larger-than-average-and-then-some fish. Who, by the way, we affectionately call Big Boy or Ed. Let me tell you something about Ed. Sometimes the plumbing backs up, and what can only be described as about a whale’s ass-load of fish shit, flows back this way on a real serious schedule. You can smell it before you see it. It usually gets to just this side of all them cars and such. It ain’t pretty, and whatever it is that lives down in there must be tougher than a Christian lie, because when it washes back, now and again, you still see those creepy- shadow-shapes moving amongst the cars, all shitshined, I guess.
“Nasty as we are here, back there, man, we got to be talking nastier than you want to be times ten. Know what I’m saying? And when that fish fart smell comes sailing back this way, it’s so solid, you had a club, you could beat it back.
“Oh, Lord. What kind of life is this? Here we are. Jonahs all, with electric lights and bad fish plumbing.
“I need drink. I need love. And figure what I’ll get is a drink from yonder skull.
“Let me stop for a drink.”
4
Okay. Enough of this guy’s story. We’ll get back to him.
It’s me, diary. You know, Jack. Me. I’m talking here.
Writing here… Whatever.
I’ve come to tell you this Bjoe’s story, but, seeing how my world, our world, is a weird movie, and I’m writing this down, and I’m sleepy, I think at this moment in time I’ll pause Bjoe’s story and pick up on it when I feel less tired.
Also, this pen is playing out, and it’s harder to get a dark inky impression… shit, I’m starting to sound like that insane nut Bjoe, wandering this way and that with thoughts and pen.
I think this world does it to you. Scrambles the brain waves, dear hearts. Sometimes I feel as if my mental impulses, like a ball, bounce off things, ricochet, and are caught by a catcher not intended, so to speak. And that when he! she! it! throws the ball back at me, it’s not the same ball first thrown.
Too tired. Too hypoglycemic.
God, what I’d give for a glass of iced tea, a fine fresh dinner salad with ranch dressing and that little crumbled-up bacon stuff, a medium-rare rib eye, and afterward, a big clean bed with crisp sheets and a nice soft pillow.
Going to stretch out on a bus seat, alone. Reba has already stretched out on another, and these seats are not roomy. It’s one thing to be seriously doing the dirty deed, ‘cause you want to do that, you’ll do it on a goddamn toadstool. So the seats are not too small for that, but for sleep, it’s nice to have a bit of room.
So, I’ll lay me down to rest, and call for INTERMISSION
And now, refreshed, somewhat, we return you to your movie 5
After resting, as well as one rests here, I started my day. No matter if it is day or night, I call anytime I’m awake and functioning a day.
There is really little left of Bjoe’s story worth telling, so all I’m going to write down is this:
We woke Cory up, and Grace slapped him a bit, and he was sober enough then to climb down the ladder, our
