The Beautiful Thing That Awaits Us All by Laird Barron Page B

in the depths.
        Dixie slogged midway to the far shore, then dropped the oars and let the boat drift. "Owwwie! That did it. Shoulda brought my driving gloves." She blew on her hands. "No worries. Bernie, ol' chum, how about "bailing" us out here?"
        "Dream on. This is your baby."
        "Omigod, we'll be doomed to cruise these waters for eternity!"
        "I'll do it," said Lourdes. The boat tipped precariously as she and Dixie switched places. "So, what do I do?" Dixie gave her a few pointers, and in moments they listed homeward, lurching drunkenly as Lourdes struggled to find her rhythm.
        "We're going to capsize," Bernice said, only half joking as their wake churned and spray from the oars wet her hair.
        "Uh oh," Dixie said.
        "What uh oh?" Bernice said. The cabin was growing larger. She looked down again and water was rapidly filling the boat. Dixie was already ankle deep and bailing like mad with a small plastic bucket. "Good grief! It's the plug." All boats were fitted with a plug to drain bilge water when drydocked. She scrambled aft, catching an oar in the shin. She plunged her arm to the elbow, felt around, searching for the hole, and found it, plug firmly in place.
        Bubbles roiled about Lourdes's feet. "Guys…" She dropped the oars. Rowing was impossible now as the boat wallowed.
        "Oh crap on a stick! I think it's coming apart!"
        "We gotta swim for it," Dixie said. She'd already kicked off her shoes. "C'mon Bernie-get ready."
        The shore was about seventy yards away. Not so far, but Bernie hadn't swum a lap in years. Her arms and legs cramped with fear, and the darkness swelled and throbbed in her brain. She tasted the remnants of dinner as acid.
        Dixie leaped. Lourdes followed an instant later. She stumbled, and she belly flopped. Water gushed over the rails and the boat was a stone headed for the bottom. Bernie held her nose and jumped-the frigid water slammed her kidneys like a fist. She gasped and kicked, thrashing as if through quicksand, and her clothes dragged, made, abruptly, of concrete. In those moments of hyperawareness, she had time to regret all of the cigarettes and booze, to lament spending her days off lying around the yard like a slug. The moon hung too low; it merged with the lake until water and sky reversed. She floundered, trying to orient herself in the great, dark space.
        "Lourdes!" She swallowed water and it scorched her sinuses and throat. "Lourdes!" Her voice didn't project, and she began to cough. There was Dixie bobbing like a cork a few yards away, but no sign of her niece. The blaze of moonlight was eclipsed by red and black motes that shot from the corners of her eyes as she gulped air and dove.
        On the first try, she found Lourdes in the freezing murk. The girl was feebly making for the surface. Bernice caught the girl's arm, began to tow her along. A distinct point of light flickered at her peripheral vision. It rose swiftly from blackness, so pale it shone as it tumbled toward her, rushed toward her, and gained size and substance. Bernice gazed upon the approaching form with abject wonder. Perhaps she'd fallen into the sky and was plunging toward the moon itself. Terror overcame her-she screamed and a gout of bubbles exploded from her mouth. She brought Lourdes to the surface in one convulsive heave, and then hands hooked beneath her arms and brought her away with them.
        Later, in the fetal position upon the small, sharp rocks of the beach, and after Karla shoved the others aside and administered first aid until she spluttered and vomited and breathed on her own, Bernice tried to summon an image of the form she'd seen down there, to perfect its features, and couldn't. Even now, safely ashore and encircled by her comrades, the blurry figure was etched in her mind, and evoked a stark and abiding fear. It had come close, radiating a cold much sharper than the chill water. She squeezed