Curtis reached Norwich in darkness. He opened a fresh pack of cigarettes and lit one. The wind viciously slammed against either side of the truck, causing it to sway, and even though it was in four-wheel, it still worried him, never haven driven in such chaos. Other with the weather, and what worried him most was his stubbornness. He knew the second he pulled out of the driveway; it was a bad idea. It wasn’t so much the idea of potentially poor driving conditions and being involved in an automobile accident, but mainly leaving after a blowout with Amy and the repercussions to follow.

Driving through a hurricane after nearly suffering a mental breakdown at his workplace didn’t much help either. He was at a constant internal battle—a battle often lost to abated restraint; it was much easier to make justifications, to shift blame elsewhere, and it felt safe to do so. And as much as he would sometimes want to show a little vulnerability, such as this very moment, he was unable to stand up, face his subconscious, unable to push back, shut out that little, detrimental voice inside his head.

There wasn’t a soul on the road. It wasn’t surprising. One would have to be out of their goddamned mind to be out in this shit. The bright lights of the truck only shone so far, allowing Curtis to nearly miss driving through fallen branches and busted tree limbs, albeit speeding forty-five miles per hour. Powerlines and traffic lights swung wildly in the blotted night sky. The rain had let up a bit by the time Curtis reached Forest Street. He was expecting to see his house as he drove down, but there was nothing; it was like passing into a void. He thought back to the afternoon and couldn’t remember if he had fueled the generator, although he was pretty confident he did. Maybe Amy didn’t know how to use it? Curtis was then agitated by that notion.

The garage door was open when he pulled up, lights shining in. Everything inside, wet, as if someone hosed out the room; the workbench and everything on it—drenched, as well as the metal shelving that housed his electric tools. His face flushed with anger as he peered through the cracked windshield. He grabbed the Maglite, stepped out into a mini stream that was the driveway, and sloshed through the muddy lawn to check the generator’s fuel line. After seeing it was full, he started it up.

“Amy? Any reason you’re sitting in a dark house? I had the generator all set up in the garage there.” Curtis said calmly, desperately trying to keep his cool. “What are you doing—Amy!?” He grabbed a dishtowel hanging from the oven handle and began drying hair, then threw his wet jacket on the back of a chair in the dining room where he saw the finished yet abandoned dinner. He picked up the boxed wine, light in his hands, and stared at it, exhaling deeply.

While he paced through the house, it slowly began illuminating. Assuming Amy had passed out, he walked up to the bedroom to check on her, feeling relieved, the argument wouldn’t continue—at least for tonight. When he saw an empty bed, he turned for Wes’s bedroom, which soon yielded the same vacant space. Starting to panic, he called her cell phone that immediately went to voicemail.

“Amy—you here?” Curtis yelled. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he called out again.

Amy’s eyes lit up. She took a few seconds to muster up the nerve to call back as she trembled, trying not to move in her elevated position. Hesitant to even speak, she announced they were stuck in the basement with few words, peering down for the beast through dim lighting. Curtis, now annoyed his wife, locked herself in the basement, sauntered over to the door, and pulled at the knob but couldn’t get it to budge. Scraping below caused Amy to turn her head to the horrifying sight of the beast attempting to climb a large, metal storage shelf it had turned over. Amy shrieked!

“Amy!? What’s going on in there!?”

Now concerned, Curtis yanked at the knob, vehemently trying to shimmy it open to no avail. He decided his steel-toed boot was the next best solution and stomp the door, a tactic learned in the Marines, which had come in handy in a few situations. A few swift kicks and it began to crack, but he kept losing footing with the stairs in his way. He backed up as far the landing would allow, and with his shoulder, he laid into it, busting through the door with such force, the momentum fired him down the broken steps crashing into the water.

He found footing and stood up; the water streamed off his body, in shock from the cold as he gasped for air, puzzled.

“Jesus Christ! What—what the fuck happened down here? Amy!?” Curtis yelled, looking for her around the room, but more so assessing the damage.

“Curtis!” She called out.

He glanced back and forth, taking shallow steps forward in the nearly waist-high, murky flood.

“I’m—I’m up here!”

“Huh?” Finally, Curtis looked up and saw his wife spread across the metal beams. “I don’t—What—what the hell are doing up there? What is going on here, Amy? Wh—Where is Wes!?”

“LOOK OUT!” Amy screeched, pointing her finger out.

At the opposite end of the room, the barbed back of the beast emerged, slithering through the pool.

“WHOOAA!” Curtis bellowed, his eyes fixated on the creature. “What—is—that!?”

“Curtis—get us OUT of here!”

POP!

The basement window shattered inward; the pressure of the flood had thrust its way through, and a cascade of water came rushing down.

Curtis quickly moved toward Amy. From under the rising flood, the beast rose, towering over him. It stood, piercing, white eyes staring, water rolling off its spiky, frizzled coat. Curtis froze, replete with incredulity, mostly dread. The beast snarled with such ferocity, deafening; saliva flew from its mouth, hitting Curtis in the face as it swatted downward at him. He ducked backward, tripped over a rolling object, submerging himself. While down, he scanned through the murk for anything in proximity for protection while feeling the floor under him. Within arm’s reach was the object that sent him down—a fire extinguisher, the only option. In a matter of seconds, the beast bounded over and was on top of Curtis, pinning him under the water, savagely snapping jowls inches from his throat and face. Grabbing the extinguisher, he obstructed the beast’s cavity, hindering the attack.

Blood splashed out, absorbing the fabric of Curtis’s shirt. He took a wallop against the shoulder blade while rolling from the beast’s clutches. The blow sent him sailing forward. He used the momentum to run to his workbench in search of something more provocative. He tore open every drawer with both hands, pulling out its contents, flinging them left and right. In the depths of a top left drawer was a dingy, red pipe wrench—he grabbed it. A large flat-head screwdriver—he grabbed that too.

Along with the sporting equipment, Amy came crashing down with the metal pipe giving away, sending her into the deluge. The beast shook its head, heaving the extinguisher, and moved in for her. She stood up, choking on water that shot down her nasal passage. Seconds after pulling drenched hair from her peripherals, she saw the beast closing in. In a panic, she ducked down and grabbed for the first object in reach—a ski pole; she jabbed at it, thrusting the tip into its upper front leg. From behind, Curtis plunged the screwdriver into the hind leg trying to draw its attention, then proceeded to strike it with the wrench. Howling with a prevailing, crepitant squeal, it turned to Curtis. He yelled to Amy, instructing her to grab Wes and get out of the basement.

Amy, needing to pull herself together, was crying so hard, she could barely breathe, gasping for air between every whimper as she trudged through the flood. Wes was catatonic as she pulled him down from the cupboard—dead weight falling into her arms. His skin was pale, almost translucent, in complete contrast to his purple lips and dark ocular cavities. She caressed his cold, little, damp face while saying his name over and over in hopes of waking him. He continued to be unresponsive. Amy took a few deep breaths, then climbed up the broken steps with Wes draped over her shoulder and exited the basement.

The creature whacked the wrench from Curtis’s clutch, easily ripping flesh from his hand and forearm. Quickly, he reached behind for a floating wooden plank, blocking another incoming snap. The creature was inches from his face spewing a thick, matted liquid from its musty orifice. He held the plank in its mouth, using all his might to push back, but this thing was just too strong. Blood coursed from the exposed muscle down the back of his arm, trickling onto his neck and face.

The beast drove Curtis backward through the room, up against a cube shelf, knocking its contents to the water. An old emergency kit floated in the debris, and Curtis reached with the injured hand while the other held tight to the plank still wedged in its jaws. From inside the canvas pouch, he pulled a road flare. He needed two hands for a few seconds but couldn’t risk letting go, keeping the beast at arm’s length splashing in flood. The opportunity arose when, finally, the mighty mouth snapped through the plank. The jagged piece was lodged in, giving Curtis enough time to light the fuse. He struck it several times with the scratch before it was ready, and as it ignited, he stuffed it behind the block in the beast’s jarred mouth.

The beast screeched and squealed, thrusting itself in and out of the water, creating a grungy whirlpool around Curtis. It backed away before submerging into the dark, where red sparks flashed, but only for a short time. Curtis grabbed another flare and struck it. The brilliant light shimmered off his glistening face as he held it in front of him, white smoke emanating. The door out was quite a walk away; in fact, he couldn’t have been farther from leaving. Slowly, he paced through the misty lagoon toward the exit. Along the route, he picked up a can of brake cleaner floating by.

The discharge from the broken window was subsiding, and the basement water tapered at waist level. Just then, the generator stalled out, and everything went black, the flare being the only source of light. Oh, fuck, no… From the center of the room, Curtis heard movement from every direction. His body began to go into shock, quivering; his arms shook as he defensively held them out in front. Floating objects colliding and water current splashing against stationery items sent him in circles on high alert, peering in a different direction with every modicum of noise.

Curtis could see the way out through the red haze, and his blood pressure rose. He could hear his heart pounding in his heaving chest as he drew deep breathes. Myriad thoughts surged through his mind within a matter of seconds. A part of him doubted he would leave the basement alive, while another part of him wanted to accept that fate. And as that logic passed, he realized none of his affairs were in order. In actuality, nothing was in order. What kind of man would leave a woman with this burden? And then there was Wes—

Before another thought could develop, Curtis was back under the water. He had been yanked under tightly squeezed by the right leg while he fought to pull himself from its clutches. The spark from the flare lit up the froth enough for him to determine that the rawhide, fire-hose-like object was a tail. Curtis’s boot slid off, releasing him, and he made a break for the exit as fast as his legs and the impeding flood would let him. He made it to the steps, and the snarling beast cut him off by the side, tearing through the bottom tread of the staircase.

Curtis held up the flare, pushed down the aerosol plunger, firing its contents through the spark. It caused a napalm effect sending a rupture of flames straight at the beast. The heat from the blaze sent it retreating back, howling in agony. Curtis climbed up the broken steps out.

Next Chapter: CH. 16 - AFTERMATH