October Lake

10.28.2024

Day One:

I stepped out onto the creaky deck of my cabin in Groton, Vermont. The cool autumn breeze swept across my ankles and up the bottoms of my forest green high water pajamas. With Lake Groton visible before me, I put the mug of coffee (dashed with cinnamon) to my lips and drank. The scent of coffee, cinnamon, and burning leaves in the distance were intoxicating. Sweet autumnal perfection.

A hundred yards to my right I could see old man Warren taking a puff of his cigarette, the red glow barely visible in my periphery, the smoke disappearing into the wind.

“Mornin’!” I shouted across a football field’s worth of paper birches, sugar maples, and fallen leaves. I received an insouciant hand wave as another puff of smoke dissipated into the gentle autumn gust.

I looked down at my old, weather-beaten deck, each step causing a groan. The poor thing had seen better days, but I was too lazy to give it the improvements it deserved and too cheap to pay out for the labor. It’s part of the reason my wife left me if I’m being honest. She said that I’d never amount to anything and that I was too lazy a partner to ever raise kids with. I told her I never wanted any. Too high maintenance. I guess she thought I would change my mind someday. I didn’t. I worked enough to afford what I wanted and I enjoyed the things I had. Couldn’t say the same for her. She always needed more.

Leaves floated atop the calm lake, skittering at each puff of air. My skiff wobbled in the water at the end of the short dock. It called out to me that day. I hadn’t planned on using it since I was having a lazy day. But there was something about it… so I figured why the hell not? The weather was perfect, chill, and brisk just as I like it.

If it weren't for my more balanced half, I would have put my coffee cup down right there and then and pushed off into the lake. Calvin placed his hand on my shoulder and stopped my forward movement.

“Going somewhere?” he asked before planting a kiss on my cheek.

I turned to see his handsome smile and comforting eyes, his dimpled cheeks covered by a prickly shadow.

“Seems like a nice day to go out on the lake.”

He gave me a disappointed look. “Without me?”

“I was going to be quick,” I said. I felt guilty, like a child who’d gotten caught staying up late.

“How about we have some breakfast, then I’ll join you.”

“Sounds good.”

He placed his hand on my lower back and ushered me inside.

“Eggs, pancakes?” he asked once we were in the kitchen.

“I think pancakes sound good. Can I help?”

“Can you do me a fresh cup of coffee?”

“Sure thing,” I said, then grabbed the water filter.

“You don’t have to do all that. Right from the sink is fine. And no cinnamon, please.”

I shrugged my shoulders and used the tap. Our water quality was great, but I always liked to filter my water. The filter always ended up a bit dirty after a few months, but Calvin didn't care. A little dirt was good for the immune system, he’d say.

He turned on the kitchen tv, then started breakfast. Some interior design show played in the background while I made his coffee.

When we were halfway through breakfast, the show abruptly stopped and a news anchor came into view. He looked anxious. A streak of sweat ran down his face, ruining his makeup. Calvin took a sip and placed his mug down, then turned to see what was going on.

“We interrupt this scheduled program to bring you breaking news,” the anchor said, then cleared his throat while hastily shifting a sheaf of papers.

“What’s with this guy?” Calvin said. He laughed, then took another sip.

The man was rigid and wouldn’t remove his gaze from the papers he held. “The CDC has announced a state of extreme emergency. A very deliberate, widespread attack from a foreign threat—”

“China or Russia, who do you think it is this time?” Calvin asked. I could tell he meant it as a joke.

“Maybe it’s Canada, they’ve gotta be sick of our shit by now,” I said. We both laughed, then turned back to the sweaty guy on tv.

“—and any water source is not to be trusted. This is a rapidly spreading disease that affects the brain—”

“Please tell me he’s not talking zombies here,” I said.

“—immediate symptoms are fatigue, fever, profuse sweating, extreme anxiety—”

“How long before this guy turns into one? He’s literally talking about himself,” Calvin said.

“—and reverts the human brain to its primal form, erasing all memories of societal—”

“Oooh, they’re angry zombies,” Calvin said, then chuckled. He turned the tv off. With the news anchor looking incredibly unprofessional and with all the hackers and pranksters in the world, it was easy to dismiss the whole thing.

He finished his coffee and began clearing the table.

“I've got this, relax,” I said. “You cooked.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he said. He slumped down onto the love seat in the living room while I did the dishes.

“Ready?” I called out once I’d finished.

“Ya know, I’m comfortable here,” he said. “Why don’t you just go. I think I woke up too early. Gonna go upstairs and nap for a bit. Let’s hit the town when you get back?”

“Sounds good,” I said. I put on a jacket, grabbed a pillow, then left the cabin.

Sometimes I took a pillow with me in case I felt like napping on the skiff, and that day was a perfect skiff-napping day. The temperature was a nice sixty degrees, and the warm colors of the leaves brought comfort unlike anything else. After ten minutes of rowing, I pulled the oars in, put the pillow behind my head, and passed out.

———————

I woke to the sound of a gunshot coming from the shore. Then another. And then a few more. They came from all different directions, the final shots came from my neck of the woods, so I paddled over as quick as I could.

When I neared the shore closest to my dock, I slowed down and rowed as quietly as possible. I saw old man Warren’s wife, Betty, on her knees, hunched over, making an unusual noise. Once I was close enough to tie my skiff to the dock, I realized that Betty was sobbing. On the ground beside her was a 12-gauge shotgun, and about twenty yards ahead of her lay old man Warren riddled with buckshot, his death face distorted in a look of rage.

I tried to remain silent, but Betty heard my attempt to sneak back to my cabin. I’ve never seen an elderly person move so fast. With one swift motion, she swept up the shotgun, got up, and aimed the weapon at me.

“Don’t move!” Betty shouted. “Don’t move or I’ll kill you.” Under her breath, I thought I heard her say, “Please, don’t move.”

“I’m not moving, Betty. But please, tell me what’s going on.” I looked over to Warren. “What happened to him?”

“I didn’t want to. Please believe me, I didn't want to.” She lowered the shotgun. “He wouldn't stop. He just… you have to believe me.”

I inched my way over to Betty, my hands in the air. She didn’t seem intent on raising the weapon again. When I was close, she placed the shotgun on the ground and embraced me, sobbing even more heavily than before.

“What do I do now? Why didn't he listen?”

“Betty, you have to tell me what’s going on.”

“He said he wasn’t feeling too good and then he just… He had a fever…”

“He had a fever, and then what?”

“And then he took a nap. But when I went to bring him lunch, he leaped at me.”

“Like, he attacked you?”

She nodded and teared up a bit more. She wiped her eyes. “I grabbed the shotgun and warned him, but he just kept coming. I slammed every door in his face, but he broke through them. He followed me out here once he finally broke through the front door and I… I had to.”

“I understand.”

She broke away from me and reached for the shotgun. I put my hands up and backed away. She held it barrel up and shoved it toward me.

“Take it,” she said, “please.”

I accepted the shotgun cautiously and slung it over my shoulder.

“You want to come with me?” I asked.

“I don't want to be alone.”

“Come on,” I said and she followed me to my cabin.

As I led Betty back to my place, something occurred to me: maybe that weird news announcement earlier had some merit. I didn't want to believe it, but with every step I took, the idea became more plausible.

———————

The silence in my cabin was distressing. Calvin must have gone upstairs to finish his nap. I called for him and then turned the tv on, partly to check the news and also to have some background noise. When the picture came into view, the same news station setup from earlier was still on, but there was no anchorman there. I waited a minute but nothing happened, so I changed the channel to a major news channel.

“—we repeat: Do not get close to these individuals. They are violent and if even they don't kill you, they are still incredibly contagious—”

Betty watched silently. I called out to Calvin again but got no response. My stomach felt anchored to my chest. My breath came in shorter waves. I clenched the countertop. I wanted to look for Calvin, but something inside me told me not to. I watched a bit more.

“—has been confirmed that drinking unfiltered tap water from city and town sources is the delivery method. We have yet to identify who is behind this attack, but while our government tries to distinguish the enemy and how to eradicate this disease, do not drink unfiltered water. Again: Do not drink the tap water from town and city sources without a filter—”

“Did Warren have any water this morning?” I asked.

Betty stared at the screen.

“Betty?”

Once she registered that I was speaking to her, she turned to me.

“Did Warren have a drink of water this morning?”

She shook her head. “No, but he had his morning coffee.”

My heart rushed. I had coffee on the deck that morning. Maybe I was next. I could feel myself begin to perspire. But then I remembered that I filtered my cup before brewing and immediately began to relax.

But I didn't do the same for Calvin. When I looked at the stairs dread overtook me. My feet felt heavy, but I knew I had to check… eventually.

I grabbed the two backpacks by the bottom of the stairs and ran to the kitchen. I rifled through my camping-designated drawer and stashed some survival basics: matches, Swiss army knife, LifeStraws, water purifying tablets, can opener, small cooking pot, dust masks, flares, and some Sternos.

“Betty, take Calvin’s bag over there and fill it with as much food as you can. Anything readily edible and sealed is best,” I said and pointed toward the cabinet where most of my sealed food was stored. “Cram it as full as you can just in case we need it. I’m gonna grab Calvin and then we’ll make a plan. Here, put this on.” I threw a mask her way and then put one on as well.

She nodded and then made her way to my food cabinet.

I knew I had stalled long enough. I dropped my pack at the bottom of the steps and headed up. I repeatedly told myself that Calvin would be fine. When I reached the top, I could see that the door to our room was closed. I called his name once more.

No response.

I took the broom from the second-floor utility closet and held the handle before me like a lance. I approached the door with caution. From a few steps away, I could hear a slight rustling. I pushed the door open slightly.

I peered in through the crack. Calvin was alive. His back was toward me and he was shirtless; his shirt in shreds on the floor. He sat on his haunches, crouched on our bed, staring at the wall. I held the broom tight and summoned my courage.

“Calvin?” I said, as lightly as possible.

He jerked his head to look at me, and when he saw me, his head tilted. He turned his entire body toward me and inspected for a moment, his arms hung before him past his legs. While he stared at me, I tried to figure out what the hell he looked like. And then it hit me.

A monkey.

His posture was simian. I could tell by the look he gave me that he had no idea who or what I was. I was a stranger, some foreign object. Prey. I was both saddened and terrified by the realization, but I didn’t have much time to ponder. Calvin, or what was once Calvin, screeched and leaped at the door. I forced him back with a hit to the chest. The broom handle snapped on impact and I slammed the door. Calvin smashed against the door. I could feel a tear run down my cheek, but I knew I didn’t have enough time to think about it, much less cry about it.

I ran downstairs, grabbed my backpack, and ran over to Betty. I grabbed the bag she stuffed with food and told her we had to go. I could hear a cracking sound, the wood of my bedroom door breaking under force.

“Calvin too?” she asked.

I nodded and urged her forward, but her old bones didn't allow for quick movement. I grabbed my keys. Once Betty was out, I closed the door behind us as quietly as possible. I ran to my truck, Betty not too close behind. As I pressed the button to unlock my truck, Calvin burst through the window of the cabin.

“Betty, hurry!” I shouted as I was about to get in the truck. I threw the bag with the food in the back. She opened the door, but it was too late. Calvin pounced on her and began to rend the flesh from her face. Her eyes were the first thing to go.

She gave me the shotgun to protect us, and I let her down. Maybe if Calvin looked like something else, a zombie or a werewolf, I could have done it. But he still looked like him. I couldn't bring myself to kill him. Maybe they’d find a cure and I could come back here and save him.

I didn't have much time to think about how badly I fucked Betty over. He turned his attention toward me and jumped in through the passenger’s side. I slammed the driver-side door in his face.

I could only think of one thing: the lake. I ran with full force toward the water. I was more than halfway to the shore when I heard glass shatter, but I didn’t look back. I got to the skiff, untied it, threw my backpack in, jumped in, and pushed off.

Calvin followed me until he was about waist-deep, then stopped and let out a cry as he thrashed in the water. He had Betty’s scratch marks etched into his skin and her blood and flesh all over his hands. He retreated to the shore, turned around, and stared at me.

I decided to stay in the skiff until he found something better to do, then I’d return to my truck and take off. But he just sat there alternating between scratching himself, licking the blood off his fingers, and staring at me. Imagine the person you loved becoming some primal beast, waiting for you to become their next meal. I wouldn’t wish it on the devil.

Every so often he would head back toward Betty’s corpse, rip a limb from her body, then come back to the shore and wait. And eat.

I used my folding grapnel to anchor my skiff in place and stared at the truck. I still had my camping gear, but my food was in the truck. After Calvin was finished with Betty, how long before he went for my food? I knew I had to get back to it and drive away.

It was getting chilly on the water, but I still had my jacket from earlier to keep me warm, and a pillow for my head. After hours of waiting, I became drowsy and dozed off.

Wild screeching and howling removed me from my tentative slumber. I looked out at the shore, but it was too dark to see. My movement in the skiff made a splashing sound, to which an even louder uproar erupted from the shore. I needed better visibility, so I used the Sterno to coat my oar and ignite it.

Pure silence.

On the shore, small green and red lights shone like dancing fireflies. I fixed the flaming oar in place and pulled the anchor up. As I approached the dock, I realized that the red and green lights weren't shining, but a reflection of the hundreds of eyes upon me, upon the fire I possessed. I took their silence as awe and used the fire to make a path toward my truck.

They parted one by one as I took slow, measured steps toward my vehicle. I hung the flaming part of the oar out of my window, started my car, and drove away.