The Montauk Monster (16 page)

“I’ve got you. Just lean over and fall into me.”

Tossing her crutch ahead of her, she didn’t hesitate to do what he asked. True to his word, he caught her with strong, sure hands.

They turned to face the first wave of worried citizens.

“Are you okay?”

“Is anyone else on board?”

“What happened?”

“Holy Christ, thank God you’re alive.”

“Was it a terrorist attack?”

They didn’t have time for questions. Dalton pointed to the badge on his chest. “If you’ll please stand aside, we have official business we have to tend to. Someone will be here shortly about the ferry. No one is to go on the ferry. I repeat,
no one
. Anyone caught on board will be arrested.” The last thing he wanted was a concerned citizen slipping on Robert’s and the creature’s blood and getting infected. The deck back there had buckled badly, but he had to stress the area was off-limits.

He bullied his way through the crowd, which was actually more interested in the state of the ferry and the dock than the lone couple who had walked off it in one piece.

“Rubberneckers,” Dalton said, his voice heavy with disappointment.

“Don’t knock it. That works in our favor. Let’s get in my car and get out of here.”

The inside of Meredith’s car was like a furnace. The summer sun had baked it all day while it sat in the blacktop parking lot. Meredith hit the AC as high as it could go. Dalton found his phone on the dashboard. It scorched his hand and he dropped it to the floor.

His head throbbed as they hit the road.

Tom Morton read through over a dozen texts on his phone. The news wasn’t good.

“Yo, Jay, I think we’re screwed tonight,” he said.

Jason had just rolled out of bed, or couch, to be more precise, when
Jeopardy!
came on TV. He’d just shouted out the answer to the Daily Double and fist-pumped when he got it right.

“I do know my Potent Potables,” he said, leaning back into the couch as the show faded into commercials.

Tom jabbed his leg with his foot. “Are you listening to me?”

“I’ll be honest with you, no. When my head’s in the game, the rest of the world is just white noise. What’s up?”

“Everyone’s been texting me that the beaches are totally closed off.”

“We already saw that this morning on the news.” He leaned over to grab a warm can of Pabst from the coffee table, downed the dregs and let loose with a heavy belch.

“That was about the water. It’s more than that now. Kara, Greg, Skeets and Finn all said that the entrances to every beach have been blocked. There are cops and weird unmarked vans all over the place. I’m thinking we should postpone the party. With so many five-oh around, you know we’re going to get busted fast.”

Jason closed his eyes, lost in thought. “We could always have it—right here.”

“No fucking way. They’ll tear this place up so bad, I’ll never have enough time to put it back together before my parents get home.”

“I’m just putting it out there. I didn’t get all this beauty sleep so I could waste it on you tonight. I got a lot of love to share.”

“You’ve got a lot of crabs to share.”

Tom opened the mini-fridge and grabbed two cold cans of Schaefer. They believed in spending most of their money on good weed. Bad beer wasn’t a problem.

He had to sit through Jason screaming questions at the television for the next ten minutes.

When the show ended, rolling into
Wheel of Fortune
, Jason jumped from the couch. “Don’t cancel the party! All is saved. Your little bud Jay knows exactly what to do.”

“I told you, it’s not happening here.”

Tom folded his arms across his chest for good measure.

“You’re right, it ain’t. I have a better place in mind. You said all of the beaches were blocked, right?”

“That’s what everyone says.”

“I’ll bet the cops only took the time to close down all of the
official
beaches.” He pumped his eyebrows up and down like a modern-day Groucho Marx.

Tom’s eyes lit up. “You’re right. That leaves—”

“Our party central for tonight. No one’s going to be able to even get to us there. And that means I’m setting off all the fireworks in my trunk. I want to get drunk, laid and blow shit up. Failure is not an option.”

Stopping at the light at Edgemere Street, Meredith’s car was almost creamed from behind by a guy driving a white van. She was about to jump out of her car to let the driver not-so-gently know he’d nearly hit a cop when the van jerked over the divider line and blew through the light.

“Asshole!” she yelled.

Dalton motioned for her to remain in the car and sit tight. “He went too fast for me to get his plate.” Seeing her hands tighten on the wheel, he added, “Campos called me to go on duty about three hours ago. You think he’ll be too pissed to notice we’re late?”

She hadn’t spoken a word about Robert, but then again, they hadn’t had time to think, much less speak. Something would have to give sooner or later. The question was, when.

“We’re not that lucky, especially today,” she said.

She hit the gas the second the light turned green.

Dalton said, “I don’t know. We made it off Plum Island alive. I’d say that makes us exceedingly lucky. I hope it holds out when I tell the boss about everything.”

Driving the next seven blocks to her house, they spotted two more white vans, both bearing official plates. But official what? An army jeep loaded with four soldiers in full gear trundled toward Eden Street.

“Okay, something happened while we were away,” Meredith said, stopping to watch the jeep disappear around the corner.

Everything seemed like an understatement to Dalton now. They drove the rest of the way in silence. Dalton’s brain whirled with thoughts of what was to come. How many people would die tonight? Who the hell were all these officials and what did they have to do with everything? Someone knew what was going on at Plum Island. Were these people here to prevent things from getting worse, or were they a cleanup crew?

The shadows of the trees painted Meredith’s house like a two-story canvas as the sun roiled like a sinking ship into the horizon. Dalton couldn’t believe they’d been gone for only a few hours. It felt like days.

Inside was hot and stuffy. Meredith turned on the ceiling fan in the living room. She tossed him an ice-cold bottle of water. He downed it in one long, loud gulp. “You want another?” she asked.

“Yes. I promise I’ll take the next one slow.”

Handing him a second bottle, she wrinkled her nose. “I hate to tell you, but you stink.”

He leaned against the back of her couch. “Since we’re being honest here, I’m not the only funky one. Safe to say we’re both covered in that smell.”

Whatever exuded from those creatures clung to them like an ominous fog. It got into the fibers of their clothes, the pores of their skin. He was tempted to ask Meredith if she had any whisky so he could burn it from his tongue.

“Follow me.”

At the top of the stairs, Meredith went into a linen closet, handing him a towel, robe and bar of soap. “I can’t do anything about your clothes except run them in the dryer with about a dozen dryer sheets. Just toss them out the bathroom door. You can take a quick shower. Save some hot water for me.”

As she turned toward her room, he touched her arm. “Thanks.”

“I’m doing this for my nose as much as yours,” she said with a wry smile.

“No, I mean for confiding everything in me. I know that took guts, no matter how crazy my own story sounded at the time. And for getting us off that island, crash landing and all. If we can somehow put an end to this tonight, it’s all going to be because of you.”

She considered his words for a moment. He waited for a wise remark. She gave a silent, half nod instead and closed her bedroom door behind her.

He stripped down quickly, folding his pants and shirt and laying them in the hall. The shower was ringed by a clear curtain with bright yellow rubber ducks. The shower racks were filled with shampoos, conditioners, body washes and creams. Everything was clean and devoid of mildew. He dreamed of the day his salary permitted a maid to come to his place at least once a month to make it quasi-presentable.

Despite the heat of the day, he stepped under a scorching shower, hoping the hot water would cut through the cloying stench that he imagined taking root in his bones. Lathering up until he looked like a bubbling snowman, he applied two different kinds of shampoo to his hair. The more scents the better.

Eyes closed, he turned to rinse the suds and let the water relax the muscles in his back. He staggered, hitting into the wall, when he heard the curtain pushed aside.

Meredith stepped into the tub, breathtaking in her nudity. Firm but full breasts with large, tan areolae, a belly that was flat but healthy with rounded hips. One of her legs was more toned than the other, an unavoidable result of her accident, as well as the crisscross of scars on her thigh. Her tan lines showed that she sunbathed in a very small, very revealing bikini. She probably wore it only in the privacy of her enclosed backyard.

She didn’t speak a word.

They pulled each other into a wet embrace. The crush of her lips against his own, the delicate probing of her tongue, hardened his cock. It pressed into her supple stomach.

There was no time for delicacy. Hands and mouths clutched and sucked and licked. Dalton hadn’t even realized he’d slipped inside her until she moaned urgently in his ear.

Oh God, this is even better than I imagined
, he thought as he cupped her ass in his hands, driving himself farther into her. Her nails dug moats into his back but he didn’t notice, couldn’t feel anything but his lust set free.

They fucked as only two people who knew there might not be a tomorrow could.

“Finish me from behind,” she commanded, her voice shaky, breath reedy.

He turned her around, gripping the shower rod with one hand, the fold between her hip and thigh with another.

When they were done, the shower rod lay on the floor, bits of shattered tile everywhere. When he apologized, she laughed.

“You can fix it some other time. And if you play your cards right, we’ll test it to see how good a job you’ve done.”

When Can Man heard that troops were at the Montauk Point Lighthouse, because he heard everything, he decided that being near armed soldiers was the safest place to be. Everything was off today. Folks talked in hushed tones, at least the locals, wondering what all of the strange activity meant. The tourists complained loudly about being banned from the beaches, their only reason for coming to Montauk in the first place. All of the shops along Main Street did bang-up business, as there wasn’t much else to do but shop.

It was a banner day for cans. The garbage bins along the sidewalks were brimming with empties. By late afternoon, he’d plucked so many, he had to stash his haul behind the latticework under an empty house, his secret hiding spot, and start with a fresh lawn bag.

After stowing away what would be cashed in for his return trip to Queens—things here were getting too strange for his taste—he walked several miles to the lighthouse situated at the very end of Long Island. By the time he got there, night was just beginning to draw across the clear sky. Park rangers were in the process of clearing everyone out. Everyone but the couple dozen soldiers in dress fatigues.

Can Man had been in the army back when he was fresh out of high school with grades insufficient for college and zero career ambitions. He was stationed in the 1st Infantry Division out at Fort Riley in Kansas. He’d never liked Kansas. The storms were a little too much for his taste. Plus it got too damn hot.

Come to think of it, he’d never much liked the army, either. But they did provide three hots and a cot and did their best to instill a modicum of discipline in his scattered life. The army did have something that he felt was needed in great abundance now—trained men with high-powered weapons.

He hid in a reed-covered depression off the sand-and-rock-strewn trail to the left of the lighthouse that led to the beach. No one would be able to see him, especially once the sun went down. More than a half-dozen soldiers were stationed below his vantage point, M16s slung over their shoulders.

Through the gossip train, he’d heard that soldiers had been seen all along the coasts on both sides of the island. As far as he knew, nothing bad or strange had happened out by the lighthouse, so it made sense to camp out here under the protection of the military.

The sound of straining engines drew his attention away from the beach. Metal doors slammed shut where he couldn’t see. Someone whistled, and a soldier staring across the ocean, a stocky guy with short arms, looked up, nodded and made his way back to the parking lot.

“Marching orders,” Can Man whispered, recalling his days in boot camp.

The other men on the beach assembled, turning their backs to the water.

Something emerged from the cold ocean, riding in on a wave of white spray. It leapt onto the rocks, pausing to shake the water from its body.

What is that?

The four-legged creature turned its long, heavy, undefinable head toward the gathering of soldiers.

Is it a wolf? Some exotic zoo animal?
He’d never seen anything like it. It was powerfully built. Even on all fours, it would come up well past a man’s hip. It exuded menace, from the twitching of thick muscles to the hard, calculating glare in its cold, clear eyes.

Can Man thought it best to rise from his hiding place and call their attention to the strange chimera. Before he could get to his feet, the creature bolted down the uneven rock path around the lighthouse, disappearing from view.