Clash of the Worlds

The vagrant grabbed Eleanor by the back of the collar and lifted her up.

“Gimme my smoke!” he shouted.

Eleanor held out the still-lit cigarette. He grabbed it and set her back down.

“Thanks, mister,” she said.

“You really should respect other people’s property, kid,” he said and then slumped back down to the ground.

“Nell, will you please tell me what’s going on?” Cordelia shouted.

Eleanor ran towards the hungry seagulls, waved them off, and scooped up an entire armload of raw meat. She held her breath and reminded herself that she was doing this for Fat Jagger. She’d take an earthworm bath if that’s what it took to save him.

She ran over and tossed the meat inside the blazing trash can. The fire crackled and popped as the fat seared instantly in the heat. The aroma of cooking steaks and poultry was almost immediate and far more intense than the mound of raw meat.

Eleanor ran back for another armload.

Cordelia marvelled at how clever Eleanor was as she grabbed an armload of meat herself. Fat Jagger would be much more likely to smell cooking meat the next time he resurfaced for air. Together, they ran back and forth, dumping loads of meat into the burning trash.

The smell of searing meats was so powerful that both Cordelia and Eleanor covered their faces with their shirts. They stood next to the makeshift barbecue and looked out into the dark bay. Cordelia draped an arm around her little sister’s shoulders.

“Do you think he’ll come up for air soon?” Eleanor asked.

“I hope so,” Cordelia said. “But either way, I’m proud of you. That was really risky what you did, but it was a smart idea, Nell.”

Eleanor responded by resting her head against Cordelia’s side. They waited until the fire was nothing more than a smouldering pile of embers and roasted meat. The smell still wafted in the air even without active flames.

Ten minutes later, just as Eleanor began losing hope, a deep, rumbling whoooosh that almost sounded like wet thunder erupted from the darkness of San Francisco Bay.

Eleanor’s hopeful smile slowly disappeared when she saw the massive tidal wave emerge from the blackness, coming right at them.

“Nell, duck!” Cordelia screamed, hugging her sister close.

But it was too late; the massive wave was upon them, drowning out their screams.

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The force of the water knocked both of the Walker sisters to the ground and pushed them thirty feet back, right off the walking path and on to the lawn of a nearby café and gift shop. It also scattered the cooked meat across the wharf.

Eleanor pushed herself to her feet and looked around frantically for Cordelia.

“Nell! Are you OK?” Cordelia asked, staggering to her feet a few yards away.

“I think so,” Eleanor said, trying out her arms and legs, shocked that she didn’t even feel bruised.

“That was close,” Cordelia said. “We almost got—”

“Fat Jagger!” Eleanor screamed, cutting off her sister.

Fat Jagger, still submerged from the waist down, towered above the wharf, his hair stringy and sopping. Salty ocean water dripped off his hairy torso and splashed on to the concrete wharf like a torrential rainstorm. When the colossus saw the Walkers, he grinned.

“Waaalk-eers,” he said.

“Fat Jagger!” Eleanor yelled again, running towards him.

Cordelia followed her.

Fat Jagger turned his attention towards the wharf landing, where bits of meat were still scattered about. He reached down and began deftly plucking clumps of meat off the ground with his thumb and forefinger. He popped them into his mouth, a grin still plastered on his huge face.

“Fat Jagger, you need to listen to me,” Cordelia shouted up at him. “You have to …”

But she didn’t get to finish, because she was suddenly interrupted by the whoop-whoop of a cop-car siren behind her.

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Seven miles north, in the Fernwood Cemetery, near the expensive mausoleum for Mr Marlton Houston, Brendan Walker’s phone flashlight shone directly on to a man several feet away. He wore a grey security guard uniform and had his hand on the butt of a gun.

“What’s going on here?” the security guard asked.

“Uh, nothing much,” Brendan said. “You know, just visiting my uncle’s grave. Yup. Definitely not performing magic spells to raise the spirits of the dead. No way.”

The guard sighed.

“Come on, kid,” he said. “Give me a break. I just wanted a quiet night. But now I’ve got to arrest you. There are signs everywhere that say no trespassing after visiting hours. Didn’t you see them?”

“I guess not,” Brendan said, already trying to plot his getaway.

He could not afford to get arrested.

“And where are your friends, kid?”

“Friends?” Brendan asked. “It’s just me.”

“Are you kidding me?” the security guard asked. “Nobody sneaks into a cemetery alone. Who would be that dumb? Unless you’re some kind of weirdo …”

“Now you sound like my sisters.”

“Look,” the guard said, “just tell me where your friends are hiding and I woooon-aaaAAAHHHHHH!”

Brendan stumbled backwards a few steps as a pair of rotting grey arms emerged from the darkness and wrapped around the security guard’s neck, turning his last sentence into a horrifying scream. The arms dragged the guard into the shadows. There was one final scream. And then silence.

“Mr Security Guard?” Brendan called out. “This isn’t funny, man. It’s not cool to play sick jokes on kids.”

From the darkness, the only reply was a deep, guttural groan. It sounded … hungry.

Brendan took a few more steps backwards until his calves hit the cold marble steps of Kristoff’s mausoleum. There was another groan, this time followed by the sound of shuffling footsteps. The groaning got closer as Brendan fumbled with his phone’s flashlight. It felt like his heart had stopped beating, as if the pure terror of the situation had shut down all of his bodily functions.

He pointed his flashlight up again and found himself face to face with a dead guy. Most of the corpse’s flesh was gone. His face was basically a skeleton with a few scraps of skin stretched across it, covered by a mop of long grey hair in desperate need of a shampoo. The corpse’s left eye was gone and an eye patch covered the right eye socket.