The Complete Drive-In

3

The day had turned out hot, and the water was still, and it hardly seemed we were flowing with the current at all. We were mostly becalmed. There was, of course, nothing but water to see, and the great bridge, clouded at bottom and top, but visible. It seemed no closer than it had seemed many days before.

I climbed on top of the bus for a bit, took in the sun with my shirt off, lying face down. But there was so much of old Sol, and I didn’t have any way to protect my skin from the rays, and the idea of some terrific sunburn without so much as a bottle of calamine lotion didn’t appeal to me, so I decided to climb inside and take in some shade.

As I turned over to go back in the bus, I saw Grace climb out, stark naked and brown as a walnut. She didn’t fear the sun and spent much time in it. And though the sun’s rays might be rough on her in the near future, right then she looked like a brown jungle savage, a regular Sheena. I watched her dive from the hood of the bus and swim about for awhile, then I climbed back through the window with my shirt.

It was a good thing too, and it was a good thing that Grace became bored and came back inside, because Cory pointed out an open window, yelled out, “Look there.”

We looked out the window where he was pointing.

The great fin again.

“That is one big fucking fish,” Cory said.

“There’s enough meat there to dry and feed us till this big old waterhole goes dry,” Homer said.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Steve said, slipping an arm around Grace’s nude body, “but there’s a lot of meat there.”

“I’m gonna get my line and such,” Cory said, “get up there, see if I can catch it.”

“You’re gonna need more than a few twists of twine and a bone hook to hold that one,” I said.

“You can catch a big fish on small line if you know what you’re doing,” Cory said, snatching up his fishing gear. “And I got some fish guts for bait. They’ve been hitting good on that one.”

He climbed out the window with his gear, boosted up by James.

We could hear him on top of the bus, and we saw his line flash out in the direction of the fin.

The fin surfaced and the water rippled. Then everything was still again.

James said, “Shit, he’s done gone to the bottom.”

About that time we saw the string go taut, and Cory yelled, “Goddamn. String cut my hand.”

James stuck his head out the window. “Hold him, Cory.”

“Get up here and help, James.”

James climbed out the window, worked his way to the roof of the bus. He clumped around up there for awhile, then we heard them both cussing.

“Maybe they need more help,” Homer said.

“Damn,” Steve said, letting go of Grace, grabbing a seat back for balance. “That little cord and that fish are causing the whole damn bus to rock.”

“They need to forget that fish,” Grace said. “The thing could swamp us.”

About that time the twine snapped. James and Cory cussed and began to jump up and down on the roof.

“Stop that, you idiots,” Grace said.

I felt a tug at my sleeve.

I turned. It was Reba. She had her mouth wide open. She was clutching my sleeve with one hand and pointing at the water with the other.

The fish had surfaced.

And, to put it simply and honestly, it was a big motherfucker.

“It’s a catfish,” Homer said. “It’s like a blue cat, only a whole hell of a lot bigger.”

“It’s big as a Great White,” Grace said.

“It’s coming right for the bus,” Homer said, as if this might not be obvious to the rest of us.

The great head split, and the mouth was wide, maybe six feet, no teeth, but there were whiskery growths sticking out from its broad face, and its eyes were black and bottomless.

It dove, showing only its fin, which split the water like a razor slicing paper.

Then the fish hit the side of the pontoon.

The bus shook and I heard Cory and James cuss again. I was knocked back into the seat behind me. I scrambled to my feet, made it across the bus, to the window, called out, “Get back inside. Now.”

But the catfish hit again, and I heard a splash on the opposite side of the bus.

I turned for a look just as Reba said, “It’s Cory. In the water.”

And it was.

He yelled out for help a couple of times, and I was about to work myself through the window to go for him, when Grace said, “Oh, my God.”

I turned.

The catfish that had rammed the bus rose up out of the water. Its tail flashed, and it seemed to heave like it was being pumped with a bellows. It sat there on the surface, looking at us, giving us the evil eye.

But he wasn’t nothing.

He wasn’t nothing at all.

Not anymore.

There was something new.

Something that made our concern about the ramming catfish seem like a silly notion.

In fact, the idea of leaping into the water and wrestling with it seemed less scary than what was about to happen.