CW
Gore
Arizona, 1968
The boy, Merlin, looked down thirty feet to the dark surface of Spirit Lake. Broken pilings, the remains of a previous dock, jutted up from the water. Some rose as high as six feet above the lake, but all had jagged edges. They creeped him out. He imagined appendages of a large monster hidden in the shadowed waters, waiting patiently to ensnare or impale its prey—a shudder overtook him as he tried to shake that thought. He shaded his eyes and looked up at Jay, his best friend, about to climb up the wobbly wooden railing of the ferry dock ramp. Merlin looked down again. The pilings were a dozen feet apart. He saw his own broken, bloody body, impaled on a piling, his blood turning the lake red. A violent shiver started in the back of Merlin’s neck and moved down his spine, but it failed to erase that image.
“You boys oughta take some care, jumping into this lake like it’s a swimming pool,” a scratchy voice warned. Snoose, the ancient, and only dock hand on this side of the lake, was bow-legging his way up the inclined ramp.
“I ‘member ‘08 when they built this dam and flooded damn near ninety miles of the canyon. The water disturbed things in the deepest part of the gorge; things that should be left buried, predatory things that are now part of the lake.”
Snoose stepped up onto the bridge and rooted Merlin in place with a penetrating glare. Merlin accepted the challenge of a stare-down, but the decaying face, brown tobacco-stained teeth, and a mouth frozen in a grimace, proved too much—Merlin broke eye contact.
“There’s a reason they call it Spirit Lake.” He let out a dry cackle. “They jus’ forgot to put the word evil in front.” Snoose turned and headed back down the ramp.
“Crazy old bastard,” Jay said, as he climbed up the railing. “Come on… get up here, you can do this,”
Merlin grabbed the railing, put one foot up, then paused. She’s watching me. He glanced over to the cantina that sat on the edge of the cliff overlooking the lake. His mother stood on the deck in her waitress apron. She did not shake her head in disapproval, or wave, or smile. She just stared at him.
He leaned back from the rail. “Nah, not today. I mean… you’re four years older than me.”
“Hell, you’re ten. I jumped from here before that. You’re not buying Snoose’s stories are you. ‘Fraid of the lake monster?” he taunted, and then waited for a response that never came. “Okay, be a pussy.”
A powerful yearning took hold of Merlin, something deep in his gut, something he had been born with. Spirit Lake called to him, and he felt compelled to answer. But the pull of his mother prevailed. She would be all alone without him. He was all she had.
He stepped down and watched as Jay gathered, and leaped, hollering with excitement. Merlin gasped as the broken pilings appeared to reach for Jay as he fell, but then sprung back at the last moment, and he splashed into the water. Merlin relaxed when he saw the reflection of waves from a passing boat had created the illusion of the piling’s movement.
Raven watched her son from the shade of Eagle Cantina’s covered deck. He was the magic that had saved her at the brink, and a wave of panic washed over her as Merlin climbed the railing. Spirit Lake had not taken anyone for years, but she knew it wanted him, felt cheated, a day of reckoning long overdue. She struggled to remain stoic as he turned to look at her. A strand of her dark hair fell across her eyes. She did not brush it aside.
There were so many ways she could lose him: to a gang, to one of Jay’s risky stunts, or she could suffocate him with love. Her heart resumed beating as he stepped back from the railing. She sighed. Today, he would be safe, but it would not last. A wild streak was in his nature.
Talon roared down the blistering desert road, his long dark hair streaming above the Predator logo on his leather jacket. Undulating heat waves animated the roadside Joshua trees. Their waving arms spurred him on to greater speed. A series of dips made his speed reckless, but fun.
He sailed over the top of a rise, and startled a turkey vulture in the oncoming lane, feasting on roadkill. Talon took his hand off the throttle and braked hard. As the bike slowed, he drew his 45 Automatic Colt Pistol. He fired three quick rounds at the buzzard as it took flight. It burst apart in a shower of feathers and blood that hit Talon on the left shoulder and sent him off balance. He regained control and gave a victory yell.
“Got you fucker.” No scavengers allowed on this road… just us predators. He came to a full stop and checked his ride. No blemish on the Chief, his vintage Indian motorcycle, that he had paid cash from the last big job he’d pulled.
Talon had just finished a trip south of the border with orders to evaluate a new supplier. It looked good and he planned to meet up with the rest of the Predators later that day. It would be his last meeting. He was tired of taking orders. He would go solo from now on. I won’t owe nothin’ to nobody.
Sparse desert vegetation gave way to pine forest as he approached Spirit Lake. The highway turned to follow a bluff above it. Glimpsing the bridge that led toward the water, he slowed. A ramp extended down from the bridge to the floating dock. The tiny ferry had not yet come into view.
A cantina perched on the bluff overlooked the ferry landing. He dismounted onto the gravel parking lot and posed for a moment. Tall and solid, with long sideburns, and a bushy Fu Manchu mustache, he considered himself dangerously handsome. He looked down and frowned at the left front side of his jacket. The carrion eater’s blood and feathers were stuck to it. He hated vultures, they never kill anything. He grabbed a rag from his tank bag and wiped the mess off before sauntering into Eagle Cantina.
His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim interior–a rustic, rundown dive. Dark smoky beams traversed the ceiling; a sticky, uneven, wood floor stretched to a small stage in one corner. It looked familiar, but then there wasn’t a roadhouse in the state that he hadn’t been pissed drunk at. He took a seat on the deck and waited for the ferry. The intense heat had him taking off his jacket and laying it over a chair. A welcome breeze wafted a sharp refreshing scent from the pine forest.
The bridge had seen better days, with only rickety guardrails on either side. Talon spotted two boys standing on the bridge. The taller of the two took off his shirt and handed it to his dark-haired friend, then climbed up onto the railing. It wobbled and he took a moment to get balanced on top. He looked down at a spot between two broken pilings. He gathered himself, let out a yelp, and jumped into the water.
He swam to shore and started climbing a steep path to the top of the bluff. The path topped out in the pine forest next to the cantina. I bet I can make this more entertaining, he thought as he watched the boy struggle up the rocky trail.
A waitress with long dark hair approached. She fiddled with her apron strings and her lips were pursed. She’s nervous, she wants me. Talon eyed her from top to bottom and then back up, settling his eyes on her ample breasts. A little heavy and plain in the face, but I’d do her. Her nametag identified her as Raven.
The waitress cleared her throat. Talon kept leering at her chest.
“Can I get you something?”
“Is that what you do for excitement around here, watch kids jump off the bridge?” Talon asked as he forced his eyes up and smiled at her.
“Not much else to do. On the weekends we have live music and dancing, but it’s dull around here most of the time.”
“What’s up with the short kid? He too much of a coward to jump?”
“He’s no coward… he’s too smart to jump,” she replied in a flat tone. “You’d be surprised at how many people have drowned in Spirit Lake. It runs deep and they don’t often find the bodies.”
“Well… deep or not, if he was my son he’d jump, or I’d throw him in. That’s what my father would have done.”
“Can I get you something?” she repeated.
“A cold beer, chips and salsa,” Talon replied.
“What kinda beer?”
“Not my job,” Talon responded.
“Not your job… I don’t understand,” she stammered.
“Your job is to choose a cold beer and bring it to me. My job is to drink it.”
“So… any beer?”
Talon just stared at her and then motioned for her to go.
She turned and hurried away.
When she returned, she fumbled the mug and sloshed beer onto the table and pulled out a dishtowel to wipe it. Talon stopped her; he wiped up the spilled beer with one hand, then used it to clean some blood and a bit of feather from his jacket, then he licked his fingers clean. The waitress left without a word. Talon smirked—confident in his effect on women—she wants to jump my bones.
He took a gulp of beer and watched the boy reach the top of the bluff, still dripping wet.
“Hey kid, over here.” He motioned. “Pretty good jump. What’s your name.”
“Jay.”
“Well Jaybird… what’s up with your friend… doesn’t want to jump? Can’t swim?”
“Nah, Merlin’s a good swimmer, but he doesn’t like heights. And my name’s Jay not Jaybird.”
“Okay Jay, can you do a back flip?”
“Maybe.”
Talon pulled out two five-dollar bills and laid them on the table. “I have five dollars for each of you if your next jump is a back flip.” The boy looked at him with doubt in his blue eyes, but he reached for one of the fives. Talon snatched it back. “Jump first and it has to be both of you.” The boy shrugged his shoulders and headed back to the bridge.
Raven hurried to the kitchen, angry with herself. Her heart had stopped like it was compressed in a vise when she first saw him, and for a moment she could not breathe. Idiot, what did you expect, that he’d remember you? She was flustered and needed time to recover.
Eleven years ago, the Predators had roared in, like a plague of locust, and taken over the cantina. They were loud and demanding. The place hadn’t been that full in years. Raven had been attracted to him and his stories of freedom and adventure on the open road. It seemed romantic, and so much more than a life waiting tables.
When her shift ended, he asked her to join him in the bar. At sixteen she knew she shouldn’t, but the bartender turned a blind eye—tonight, the Predators owned the place.
He bought her a boilermaker and directed his full attention, and powerful charm, on her. His rakish smile and physicality captivated her.
“I’ve been on the road since I was sixteen,” he boasted. “I wasn’t about to let my old man beat me again. I turned the tables on him and gave him a beat down with a tire iron. I left and never looked back.”
By the third boilermaker she found herself sitting on his lap in the darkest corner of the bar. He leaned in; the smell of leather mixed with sweat overpowered her as he whispered in her ear.
“You should come with me. A beautiful, exciting woman like you deserves more than this dump and has-been town. I’m staying the night. Tomorrow morning, I’ll wait for you.” He kissed her neck while at the same time his hand snaked under her blouse and cupped her breast. “You’re the woman I’ve been waiting for.”
She didn’t recall much from the rest of the evening except for his tight grip, hot breath on her neck, and violent thrusts. She woke up the next morning at another waitress’s apartment with a horrendous headache. The predators were long gone. He had cast her aside, and she didn’t even know his name.
Five months later, in the dead of night, she stood on the bridge looking down at Spirit Lake. She was desperate, just beginning to show. The lake seemed to offer her a solution. At a broken gap in the railing, she stepped to the edge keeping one hand on the rail. She could not swim, but the gentle waves called to her with a promise of peace and oblivion. She let go and moved one foot off the edge. The waves gathered and rose to greet her. Taking a deep breath, she gasped and committed, but a hard kick in her belly brought her up short. She fought to regain balance as the waves surged in expectation. The feel of the first kick from the life inside her drew her back. She left the bridge. The lake returned to brooding, patient, silence.
A chill descended on her at that memory; it had been so close, Spirit Lake, so ready to receive her. From then on, her fierce love for Merlin never wavered. The Predator would leave on the next ferry; she and Merlin would continue on as if he’d never existed.
“Who’s that guy you were talking to?” Merlin asked when Jay returned to the bridge.
“Crazy biker dude. He offered each of us five dollars to jump into the lake doing a backflip, but we only get paid if we both do it,” Jay said, giving him a pleading look.
Merlin took a quick glance at the cantina deck, no sign of his mother. “Hell yeah, I’d dive into a prickly pear for five dollars.”
“I’ll go first… show ya how it’s done,” Jay bragged.
Merlin watched him climb to the top of the railing. He held on with both hands and turned his back to the lake. He let go with one hand and then froze. He looked scared. He released the other hand and leaped back into an awkward three-quarter rotation. Merlin held his breath as the broken pilings reached for him, and then exhaled as Jay belly flopped into the Lake.
“That’s an ugly shit flip,” Merlin yelled as Jay surfaced. “I’ll show you how it’s done.” He climbed up without hesitation, turned and jumped, pulling his knees up into a tight tuck. He pulled out of it and hit the water feet first, dead center between two hungry pilings.
As Talon waited for the boys to climb the bluff and claim their money, he watched an osprey hit the water but come up empty. Further out, an eagle circled, watching and waiting for an opportunity. Higher up, riding the thermals, vultures waited for the real predators to kill something.
The boys crested the top of the bluff grinning as they approached him. “That was easier than I thought it would be,” the smaller one said.
“How would you like to triple your money?” Talon added a ten-spot to the fives and pushed them all toward the boys. “First one to do a back flip blind folded, gets both fives and the ten.”
“How about I just close my eyes?” Merlin asked.
“Not good enough,” Talon replied. “Have your buddy tie your shirt around your eyes.”
Jay shook his head. “I’m not doing it. That would be just plain stupid.”
Talon looked at Merlin. “You said yourself the back flip was easy. This is no different at all… the exact same move. Come on… don’t tell me you’re afraid.”
Talon could see the boy’s face scrunched up in deep, painful thought. He saw fear in his eyes, but also determination. He looked at the money.
“Yeah… I can do it,” he replied, with what Talon suspected was false confidence.
“The money will be right here,” he answered as he tapped the table.
Talon saw the small ferry about a quarter mile from the dock. “You better hurry kid, I’ve got to catch that ferry and I’m not waiting for the next one.”
As the boys ran back to the bridge Talon stood up for a better view and chugged his beer.
“I’m gonna get twenty dollars for just doing a backflip,” Merlin exclaimed as they headed back to the bridge.
“Blindfolded… are you crazy. He’s not gonna pay you. He didn’t give us the fives for the last jump,” Jay explained.
“He said he’s gonna pay me, and I’m gonna do it. He’ll pay up or he’d owe me.”
“Shit Merlin… he’s not going to pay no matter what you do, and I don’t want to jump in and save your skinny ass if you miss.”
“He will pay.” Merlin took off his shirt and handed it to Jay. “Now cover my eyes,” he said as he held out his shirt. “Just tie it in back.”
Talon watched the argument from above. That pussy’s gonna refuse to help. Jay looked up at him and raised his arms in a questioning fashion… like he couldn’t believe what Talon had asked them to do. The smaller boy faced the railing. Jay gave in and tied the blindfold in place.
I bet he cheats and is still able to see a little. I’m not paying if it’s obvious… hell I won’t pay even if it’s not. He watched as the boy reached blindly, searching for the rail. He found it and climbed up with care, always keeping both feet and hands in contact. Jay helped steady him as he turned his back to the lake. Jay let go, and the boy stood. He wobbled and took a couple of short balancing steps to his right. He gathered in preparation to jump, but his right foot slipped. Talon watched in fascination as he pushed off and flipped back out of control. As he descended his head hit the edge of the bridge, careening him further to the right. Flailing, his head impacted against one of the old pilings, a glancing blow that sent him bleeding into the water. He floated face down and did not move. The lake turned red around his head. A moment later the other boy hit the water next to him.
Talon looked around, no one was watching. He grabbed his jacket and stuffed the fives and the ten in the chest pocket and jumped off the deck, through the pines to his bike. Time to beat cheeks outta here.
Raven went back to the deck and collapsed as she saw Merlin standing on the railing blindfolded. Please God, not my son, she prayed. Let the lake take another, let it take me. She struggled to her feet and ran toward the bridge.
An eagle glided above the lake, focused on an osprey perched in a pine tree. Spirit Lake pushed a large fish to the surface. The osprey took flight and dove, hitting the water with a smack. He came up with the wriggling fish in his grasp and gained altitude to pass over the bridge. The eagle dove as soon as the osprey hit the water. As the smaller predator rose above the bridge, the eagle was poised to hit it at high speed, its claws reaching for the fish.
Talon twisted the Chief’s throttle and sped toward the bridge, his jacket hung over the handlebars. He may have taken this a little too far, but damn that was fun to watch. As he turned on to the wet steel grid ramp that connected to the bridge, his rear wheel slid sideways and at the same moment a collision of two birds of prey exploded in his face. Flapping wings, feathers, and a fish, all hit his head, obscuring his vision. Talon lost control and hit the guard rail at speed. It collapsed and he flew over the edge, catapulting headfirst into a summersault. He looked up as he fell backward toward the jagged pilings eager to receive him and saw the eagle’s angry yellow eyes in a field of white feathers flying off with the kill.
Talon gasped in shock and excruciating pain as he opened his eyes. The pain turned to panicked horror at the sight of the piling protruding from his abdomen and a vulture pecking at his bloody entrails. Talon gave a weak croak; the scavenger spread its wings wide and lifted off but returned to its meal when it was clear that Talon could not move. The vulture cocked its head to get a better look at him; a bit of bloody viscera hung from its beak. It took a quick peck at his bloody entrails, then backed off uttering a low guttural hiss as two more vultures flapped down to vie for a spot on the carcass. With no room on the broken piling, one alighted on Talon’s chest. The newcomer hissed and flapped its wings but was not daunted. It pecked at Talon’s eye, and before they went dim, he saw a wake of scavengers descending toward their meal.
Merlin came to as Jay grabbed him and turned him over onto his back. He coughed and spluttered while Jay dragged him to shore. As his feet touched the bottom, Jay helped him stand and wrapped his shirt over the deep cut in the back of his head.
“You okay?” Jay yelled.
“What… happened? I’m okay, but man, my head hurts.”
A loud crash interrupted them and it was no illusion this time. The piling bent toward the airborne rider and impaled him on its jagged ends.
“Holy shit, what a way to go.” Jay said, as debris and feathers rained down on them. “Now you’ll never get paid.”
“The jerk deserved it,” Merlin stated with certainty. A leather jacket floated toward them, Merlin grabbed it.
He looked back at the grisly sight on the piling. The body did not move. Deep red blood ran down the post, and Spirit Lake’s waves lapped up the sides, hungry to taste it. More vultures were descending to take a closer look at the fresh meat.
Merlin held the jacket up and ran a hand over the red Predator logo. He slipped it on; way too big, but it had a smell he could not quite place. Somehow he knew it was part of him, like the jacket was meant for him. He saw bits of green in the pocket and plucked out the two fives and a ten. He held them up in triumph.
“I told you I’d get paid. He owed me, and this jacket is mine.” He looked at the piling, raised a fist in defiance, and shook it at the bloody ornament on top.
“Who’s the Predator now,” Merlin yelled, just as his mom barrelled into him, engulfing him in her arms.
Paul Clinton is a retired middle school teacher who started writing in his late sixties and is now hooked. His short stories have been published in Whatcom WRITES, Writers Corner Anthology, and HamLit. He is presently working on his first novel, a YA magical realism story set in 1968 Seattle.
Paul’s short story “Room to Grow” was featured in Special Issue ’25 After Dark.
<<< previous | next >>>