The first fish to surface was a large-mouth bass, at least ten pounds, maybe larger. The fish floated to the surface a few feet from Stella’s arms—unmoving, clearly dead. Burned but not burned. A catfish appeared on the opposite side of her, then another fish I didn’t recognize, maybe a trout. Fish began to float up all around her, filling the surface of the water—five, ten, a dozen, two dozen. It began at her arms and spread from there, fanning out across the water, this blanket of death, until I could see nothing else, the dark waters lost beneath.
I don’t know how long it went on. Time was lost to me.
Fish were still floating up far off in the distance, when Stella pulled her arms from the water and collapsed at the shore.
I ran to her and dropped at her side.
“Can’t…touch me…especially now.” Her eyes were closed, and the words slipped out on a single broken breath.
I wanted desperately to scoop her up into my arms and pull her close, comfort her, anything to ease whatever was happening to her, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t so much as stroke her cheek. I knew that, and it tore at me.
I brushed the hair from her face, carefully avoiding her skin. “What should I do?”
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Can you move?”
Her body went limp.
She passed out.
Out on the lake, a small boat trolled through the blanket of fish with a boy of about fourteen or fifteen on board. Although a good distance away, he was heading in our direction. His small motor churning as he peered over the side, shifting from right to left.
I ran back to the Mercedes, opened the trunk, and rooted around in my backpack. I had spent my share of nights sleeping outside and learned long ago not to travel without a good blanket. The one I carried wasn’t very thick but was made of wool and extremely warm. I took the blanket back down to Stella and carefully wrapped it around her body, covering her exposed arms and neck, creating a makeshift barrier between us before I scooped her up and carried her back to the car. I settled her gently in her seat before remembering her gloves.
I ran back down.
The kid in the small boat drew close to shore now, and he perked up when he saw me come back. “All the fish are dead!”
The grass and weeds around the shore where Stella had knelt were black, too, a patch at least eight feet in diameter—all dead, already stinking of rot and decay. I grabbed Stella’s gloves.
The boy shouted, “The water’s poisoned or something!”
“Looks that way!” I yelled back, taking one last look before shoving the gloves in my pocket and racing back up and over the hill to the Mercedes. I jumped into the driver’s seat, twisted the key, and hit the gas, kicking up dirt and gravel behind us. Back on CA-88, I saw the boy from the boat crest the hill and hoped to God he didn’t get a good look at me, Stella, or our car.
Traffic on US-395 was light—mainly long-haul truckers, RVs, and a handful of cars. Using the cruise control, I kept our speed five miles per hour over the limit—not fast enough to risk getting pulled over, but enough to keep up with everyone else.
Stella woke for the first time near Stockton, California. Prior, she had mumbled several times in her sleep but nothing really coherent. The color had returned to her cheeks, and gratefully, the sweating stopped. If she was feverish before, she didn’t appear to be any longer, but I had no way to know for certain. I considered waking her, particularly when her condition appeared to be improving, but thought better of it. Whateverthiswas—this condition, this illness, this curse, this hunger—the lake had helped, but she needed to rest, and as comforting as hearing her voice might have been for me, I needed to think about her and let her rest.
As signs for Stockton began appearing, Stella stirred beneath the blanket, her head rolled from left to right and back again, and her eyes fluttered open.
“Thirsty,” she managed to say.
I handed her a bottle of water.
“I stopped for gas about an hour ago and got us some supplies. We’ve got water, Kit Kats, a bag of Oreos, and some Cheetos.”
“Not much for nutrition, are you, Pip?”
“Auntie Jo used to say it’s better to eat junk food. It keeps your immune system from getting lazy.”
“I’d like to believe you were kidding, but I’m fairly certain you are not.” Stella twisted off the cap and drank nearly half the bottle before setting it down in the center console. “How long was I asleep?”
“About two hours.”
“How bad?”
“The lake?”
