Parasite Deep Read online

  PARASITE DEEP

  Shane McKenzie

  Copyright 2014 by Shane McKenzie

  PROLOGUE

  “Where…where are you going? What did Cheri say on the phone? Goddamn it, Pete, talk to me!”

  Grace grabbed hold of Pete’s arm and tried to pull him back into the house again, and this time, he shoved her in the middle of the chest with both hands, harder than he meant to. She didn’t even stumble back, but hit the ground almost instantly, her housedress pulled up to mid-thigh so Pete could see the frayed white cloth of her Hanes panties.

  “Mommy!” Aaron tossed his Hot Wheels aside, nearly tripping over the plastic highway Pete had bought him for his last birthday. The boy wrapped his arms over his mother’s neck, scowled up at Pete. “Don’t do that, Daddy. Don’t do that to Mommy.”

  In that moment, Pete had forgotten about the phone call from his sister-in-law. Just for a split hair second. Instead, he was proud of his boy for standing up to him, for protecting his mother. A smile nearly crept onto Pete’s mouth, but the muscles in his face seemed to be locked in paralysis.

  Grace looked up at him with wide, watery eyes. The fall didn’t seem to hurt her much physically, but the way she was looking up at him, Pete knew he had hurt her feelings, damn near snapped them in two. But instead of crying or yelling at him, she put her hands together, rose up to her knees with Aaron still hanging on to her.

  “Don’t go, Pete. Don’t. Stay here with us.” Grace’s eyes swung to the shattered phone lying in pieces on the living room floor, a tiny dent in the drywall above it. “What’d Cheri say? Pete, what’s goin’ on? What’s happened?”

  Grace and Aaron became blurry, melting shapes of color, and the next thing Pete knew, his ass hit the floor. He pressed his calloused hands against eyes, tried to press hard enough that the tears would stop. His palms were rough, smelled slightly of fish and squid, which was an odor embedded into his skin. When more tears came, he wrapped his head in his arms and wept, clenching his teeth so hard he thought his gums might split.

  Cheri’s words swam through his mind like starving piranhas, and no matter how many times Pete played back the conversation, he still didn’t believe it. It couldn’t be true. Not his brother. Not his big brother. Sean was supposed to be invincible. Nothing was supposed to be able to hurt him.

  Small arms wrapped around Pete’s neck, and a soft cheek pressed down against the top of his head. “Daddy, don’t be sad.”

  Pete lifted his head out of the cavern of his arms and torso and looked the young boy in the face. He quickly wiped the tears away, then ran the back of his hand under his nose. Grace was on her feet now, staring at Pete with both her hands covering her mouth, her eyes like red pool balls in her sockets.

  He loved Grace, he really did, but he had to teach himself to love her over the fifteen years they had been married. She wasn’t his first, second, or even fifth choice, but Pete had to come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t much to look at himself, so he went out and got a woman just slightly prettier than he was himself. Settled, got married, because his daddy told him that’s what a man is supposed to do.

  My daddy’s dead. So’s Mama. And now my big brother.

  I’m alone.

  He had Grace, a woman who truly loved him, no matter how shitty he could get toward her. Pete tried to treat her nice, did his best to be chivalrous, but it could get hard. She would get this look to her whenever she was concentrating on something. Face hanging from her skull like biscuit dough, lips mashed together like two slugs fucking. When she had that look to her, Pete got mean, even though he didn’t mean to. He told himself if he had a pretty wife, he might be a better man.

  He was going to leave her. Even though his daddy said a real man don’t get divorced, that a real man sticks with his family. Daddy was dead and Pete was miserable.

  “Doctor says I can’t get pregnant,” Grace had told him. “Besides, I’m far too old now.”

  That’s what she had said, and Pete believed her because as many times as he had bent her over and had his way, a baby never took. Pete had convinced himself that Grace knew he was going to leave, and suddenly, she comes waddling out the bathroom with a white stick in her hand, her goddamn piss still dripping off the thing.

  And here Pete was. Fatherless, motherless, brotherless. A fifty year old man with a homely wife and a fucking seven year old son. And a deep sea fishing boat his daddy had left to him and Sean. Said that his dream was for his boys to take over the family business. Become fishermen. Said seawater was in their blood. That it’s what their family was put on Earth to do.

  Pete spent his life wanting to be like his daddy. Nothing seemed better than going out on that boat into the Gulf and using the ocean to provide for his family.

  “Anything we could need, the ocean will provide it,” Daddy used to say.

  But Sean didn’t feel the same way. Sean thought he was too good to be a fisherman. After Mama died, he took Pete aside, said that when he had a family, he didn’t want to live in Palacios. Said he wanted more out of life. It wasn’t a week after Daddy had died that Sean took off like a bat out of hell, ran off to the big city, hadn’t so much as visited Pete once, said he couldn’t stand spending another second in Palacios, the place where he was raised. The place where Pete and Sean grew up together, playing on the beach, fishing off the pier, digging for seashells.

  And now he was fucking dead. Cancer. Probably from all that toxic city air he’d been breathing for twenty goddamn years.

  Pete stood up so suddenly, he lifted Aaron off his feet, the boy still clinging to Pete’s neck. Aaron dropped, landed on his feet, and stared up at Pete with those big brown eyes of his.

  “It ain’t none of your damn business what she said,” Pete said to Grace. “You hear me? None of y-your business. Now leave me be.”

  Pete slid into his coat and grabbed the truck keys. Grace was already bawling behind him, and when Pete heard her feet slapping against the floor toward him, he spun around with his fist raised—not that he would hit her. Never had, thought a man who hit a woman was worth less than a dead sardine. But it stopped her cold.

  “You’re going on the boat, Daddy?” Aaron said. He raised up on his tiptoes. “Can I come? I don’t never get to go. I can catch fish. I can catch a shark! I can catch Jaws!”

  Aaron glanced at his crying mother, who was already shaking her head, trying to say something past her slobbery whimpers. The boy seemed less concerned for his mother now and more concerned about the boat. Pete had taken him out a few times, but not many. He didn’t have the patience that his father had. Aaron just got in the way and pissed him off more often than not.

  Pete scooped up his son and swung the front door open. The night was dark, blacker than usual, like a giant squid had squirt its ink into the sky. The moon was only a curved sliver, looked like a hook hanging in the sky, as if God was fishing.

  You won’t catch shit without bait, you dumbfuck.

  Pete ignored Grace’s screams as he tossed Aaron into the passenger seat and slammed the door. He didn’t even look Grace in the face as he rounded the pickup toward the driver’s door. She tugged on his arms, even resorted to swinging at him, but her pudgy little fists bounced off his back.

  “You asshole, don’t do this. It’s too goddamn dark to go out. You’re gonna go and get yourself and Aaron killed!”

  Pete shoved her away, just enough to get his door closed, then locked it. Grace slapped the glass, her teeth bared, face beaded up with sweat. She jogged around the front of the truck toward Aaron’s door.

  “Lock it.” Pete’s voice was like a growl, and he started up the truck, wiped the new tears away.

  “But…can’t Mommy come too?”

  “Lock that fuckin’ do
or!”

  Aaron flinched, bottom lip starting to quiver.

  “Jesus Christ!” Pete reached over Aaron and slammed the lock down. Just as Grace tried the handle, Pete threw the truck in drive and slammed his foot down on the gas.

  ***

  The boat bounced from side to side, threatening to tip over. Pete tossed the anchor overboard, took another swig from the Jameson bottle he kept in the bridge room. He didn’t drink from it much, saved it for those especially cold nights when a little warmth in his belly could do him good.

  Aaron clung to the rail on the side of the boat, staring out at the vast, violent ocean as it pummeled them. Another surge of seawater crashed over the side and filled the deck, soaking them both. Aaron whimpered as he rubbed the salt water from his eyes.

  “I wanna go home,” he said.

  “Home?” Pete slammed the rest of the whiskey, flung the empty bottle into the ocean. “The ocean is our h-home. Always has been.”

  When another wave spilled over the side into the boat, Aaron screamed, coughed and gagged like he took in a belly full of ocean.

  Pete didn’t know where they were. Once he got Aaron into the boat, he just drove aimlessly until there was no visible land in any direction. Just that deep darkness. A few gulls had followed them out, hovering above them, screeching every now and then to voice their displeasure at the lack of food.

  “Follow your instincts, boys,” his daddy used to say. “You’ll find the fish. Our family, we always find ’em.” But Pete didn’t like leaving things to chance, equipped the boat with sonar the second it was his.

  But tonight, he didn’t even power up the fishfinder. Didn’t know if his instincts had shit to do with it, but he stopped the boat. If Aaron wasn’t with him, he might have driven that boat forever, never looked back. But he stopped it here, where the water seemed roughest, where it felt like they were bobbing on the surface of nothingness.

  “You want to be a f-fisherman like your daddy?”

  Aaron wiped the tears and seawater from his face, but still wouldn’t let go of that rail. He didn’t say anything, just stared at Pete with begging eyes, strings of saliva like fishing line connecting his top and bottom lips.

  “Answer me!”

  “I wanna go home. I just-just wanna go home.”

  Pete had been tying hooks onto the first line with shaking fingers. He stopped, stepped away from the fishing pole, looked into Aaron’s eyes.

  What’s the matter with me? This is my son. My only son. The only family I got left.

  Pete dropped to his knees, clutched the back of his head so hard with both hands he thought he might tear the scalp right off his head. A scream, gruff and choked, erupted from his throat and was swallowed up by the black sky and crashing ocean. Tears ran from his eyes like boiling water from an overflowing pot.

  Sean’s dead. He’s really dead.

  “Dad?”

  He thought the voice was in his head at first, his own voice, as a child. Tugging on his daddy’s jeans so he would pay attention to him, teach him how to tie a hook to a line, how to bait it, how to keep the line from tangling in the reel. His daddy would smile down at him, run those calloused hands through his hair, bend down so they were eye to eye, and he’d show him. A patient man. The most patient man Pete has ever known. When he was a boy, he thought of his daddy as a superhero, the strongest man alive. Nothing could defeat him, not even the ocean. Not even God.

  And I bet his daddy before him was the same way, and the one before him. And now…it’s just me. And my son.

  My son…

  When Pete pulled his hands away from his eyes, he saw that he was nearly nose to nose with Aaron, who was on his feet again. The boy’s eyes were as wide as they could go, staring at something behind Pete, pointing out toward the sea.

  “Dad…what’s th-that?”

  Pete was overwhelmed with the urge to hug his son then. Something he hadn’t done since the boy could talk. Since Pete realized Aaron looked more like his mama than his daddy. But when he looked at his son now, he saw himself. Confused, scared, desperate for his father’s acceptance.

  The liquor coursing through his bloodstream nudged his thoughts over to his brother. How Daddy always loved Sean more, liked him better. How Sean was the natural fisherman, how he would one day take over the boat, the business, and keep the tradition going.

  It was supposed to be us. We were supposed to do this together!

  “Daddy loved you more, and you didn’t even want it, you fuckin’ cocksucker!” Pete had screamed this into Aaron’s face, not even realizing the words had found their way out of his head. The ocean crashed against the side of the boat, dumped another load of water onto the deck.

  Aaron was thrown forward, his mouth slamming into Pete’s forehead. Pete ignored the pain, tried to wrap his arms around his son, but the force of the water tossed Pete backward, sent him rolling across the deck until his back slammed up against the side.

  He winced, but quickly shook it off as he searched the deck for Aaron. Blood ran down from his forehead into his eyes just as another wave slammed into the boat, tipped it sideways so that Pete was staring directly into the ocean.

  And there was Aaron. Sliding. Clawing at the wooden planks of the deck as the seawater carried him away.

  Pete jumped to his feet, ran downhill toward Aaron, dove for him just as Aaron’s body flipped over the side.

  Pete caught the boy’s legs, slammed his own face into the rail, but didn’t let the pain weaken his grip. Aaron’s head and torso were submerged in the water, his legs kicking. When the boat righted itself, Aaron’s head pulled out, and he gasped, choked, cried.

  “I got you!” Pete called, and started pulling his son in. “Hold on, son. Just hold—”

  Pete heard the splash only seconds before the massive black body emerged from the sea’s surface. He saw a flash of white, then the slick, rubbery black again.

  And then there was red. So much red.

  Aaron’s legs stiffened, the muscles tightening until they felt like logs under the boy’s jeans. Then his feet sort of shook, spasmed.

  “No! Nooooo!”

  Pete tried to pull, but was yanked forward with ease by whatever beast had his son in its jaws. Aaron’s legs went over as Pete’s gut slammed into the rail. He managed to keep his grip on Aaron’s legs, swore he wouldn’t let go, even if he went under with him.

  “You can’t have him! Aaron! Son!”

  A mist of water erupted from the whale’s blowhole as Pete locked eyes with the creature. Its glistening black and white skin was infested with barnacles. Massive hexagonal shells the color of kelp, opening and closing like blinking eyes. The flesh around the barnacles looked infected, swollen.

  “Let go of my son, you motherfucker!”

  Pete was losing his grip as the whale began to lower itself into the water. The damn thing could have yanked Aaron and Pete down into the Gulf with ease, but seemed to be studying Pete. Its beady, black eye swirling and rattling in its socket.

  A series of splashes to Pete’s right.

  He looked just in time to see the massive gray body torpedo through the water, the dorsal fin cutting the surface. And encrusted in barnacles.

  The shark slammed into the whale’s side, and the water clouded with red immediately. The fish shook its head, ripped a chunk away, disappeared into the murky depths with its prize.

  The Killer Whale’s tail slapped the water once, and then it dove down.

  Pete fell backward, the legs still in his grasp. The back of his head slammed hard against the deck, and he almost lost consciousness. His vision swam, and bright points of light darted in and out, sparkled in his peripherals.

  “You’ll be okay. A-Aaron, you’ll be okay, son.”

  Pete reached past the legs so he could grip Aaron by the shirt, maybe grab an arm, pull him in close. Hug him, never let go. But his hand landed on something soft, warm. He wiped at his eyes to rid it of the blurriness.

  Aaron’s leg
s sat motionless in Pete’s lap. The rest of him, from about the waist up, was gone. Blood flowed from the ragged opening, ropes of severed intestine hanging out like dead eels.

  “Aaron! Jesus God… Aaron!”

  Pete clutched what was left of his son to his chest, rocked back and forth. Whispered again and again how sorry he was.

  He stood, rocking the legs in his arms like a newborn baby, and glared out into the ocean. In every direction, the water boiled with movement. Dorsal fins carved the sea’s surface, massive black and gray bodies splashed and flailed. Whatever seagulls had followed him were no longer there, as if they could sense that something wasn’t right.

  More blood ran from his forehead and into his eyes, and he shifted Aaron’s legs to one arm so he could reach up with his free hand. A tooth was embedded into his skin there, just above his left eyebrow. He yanked it out, rolled it around his fingers. A baby tooth.

  It was supposed to be both of us, Sean. We were supposed to do this together. That’s what Daddy wanted. That’s what I wanted. But you left me. You left me here alone.

  And now my son is gone.

  ***

  Pete stepped out of his truck, carrying what was left of his son. He didn’t make it ten steps before the front door on the house burst open and Grace came sprinting toward him, her fat bouncing freely beneath her dress.

  She took one look at what Pete held in his arms, and she collapsed. Her knees hit the concrete, mouth fell open.

  “Pete? Wh-what’s happened?”

  Pete slammed the severed legs into her chest and turned his back to her, quickly made his way to the toolbox at the back of his truck.

  “Aaron! This isn’t my boy. No, no, no. This isn’t my baby boy!”

  “Sean’s dead,” Pete said, and opened up the toolbox. “That’s what Cheri said on the phone. My brother is dead.”

  Grace didn’t seem to hear him, kept wailing and shaking her head. Her face was buried between the legs’ thighs, the ropes of intestine tangled up in her hair.