Chapter 8

"I'm telling you, these machines will be the doom of us all," Michael the human said.

"Yeah, well while we're waiting for that to happen, at least we still get paid," said Tom, hauling the sheet metal into place. "Just turn the damn thing on."

Michael reached over to turn on the waste pump. All the impurities from the iron ore started oozing out of the system of pumps and channels from the factory. Roger walked around to join them, standing at the river's edge. The three looked at the steady flow of black tar, as it dripped like molasses into the river.

"Don't you think all this might be bad for the river?" Roger said. "What about all the fish?"

"I don't hear 'em complaining," said Tom, as he pulled his favorite tobacco out of his shirt pocket. He loved the earthy, spicy scent, and it helped put the long day's work far behind him. "Besides, where else we gonna put it? Bury it in the field? This just washes it all away. Where is my damn matchbook?"

"Quit grousin', ya big lout," Michael said. "You've never bought matches a day in your life, cause you know some sucker like me is going to have one. Here."

"Thanks, Mic," said Tom, lighting his pipe. He tossed the match into the river, and all three men flinched when the surface caught fire.

"My god," Michael said softly.

The river fires danced like salacious saloon girls. The three men exchanged glances.

"I don't...I've never seen anything like that in all my days," Roger said. "That can't be good."

Suddenly, a figure with violet eyes, purple hair, a face blazing with hatred and webbed hands exploded out of the water.

"Gods Almighty!" said Tom.

The merman tried to grab Roger's ankles to pull him under, and managed to trip him, but Roger kicked and flailed and the merman let go.

"Run!" Michael shouted as they fled the river.

The three men ran around the side of the building to get as far away from the river monster as possible. Heaving and out of breath, each man tried to shake off the sudden jolt of terror.

*

Rory had dived into the water and went below the flaming patches; he swam as close as he could to the river's edge and suddenly popped out to the surface. He hissed at the humans and tried to grab one's ankle to pull him into the river. The humans shouted at the sudden appearance of a merman on the bank and fled. But the spring was still flowing, and the black substance kept pouring into the river. Rory didn't care if any of it touched him; he needed to close the damned spring.

Rory tried to haul himself onto the river's edge. He tried to splash the water away from him, to avoid the inky black, but some flowed onto his skin and scales anyway. He slipped on the muddy banks as his arms tried to pull his entire body out of the water. When he slid back into the water, he knew he wasn't strong enough to pull himself out. He dove back into the water, swam down to the bottom, then swam as fast as he could toward the river bank. He waved his tail as hard as he could and sped toward the burning surface. With a mighty plunge of his tail, he leapt out of the water and onto the grass beside the river.

He lay there for a moment, heaving. He felt a slight burning sensation on his skin and tail, but he ignored it. He propped himself up on his arms and tried to crawl toward the building. He managed to get a couple of inches closer toward the spring, but he knew he would run out of air far sooner than he would make it the twenty feet to the spigot.

Fatigued, Rory felt close to despair. But he suddenly remembered a game of little merchildren, when they were only pups. They would roll themselves down sandy hills, pretending to be land animals. Rory tucked in his arms and rolled over to the spring, bits of grass and burrs poking and scraping his scales, bringing tears of pain to his eyes.

Somehow, he made it to the edge. He knew he needed to hurry, because he was becoming dizzy from lack of oxygen. He needed to return to the cool, comforting water soon. He reached up and hauled himself up by the metal sheets and twisted the knob that jutted from the building, as he had seen the humans do. The black sludge stopped and Rory fell back exhausted. The humans raced around the corner of the building, pointing and shouting. He rolled back to the water's, grass poking him like so many little knives, and he managed to plop back into the water before he completely ran out of oxygen.

The humans looked out to the river. The fire had burned itself out; one human knocked another over the head, then turned and went away. The human with the wooden stick and bowl in his mouth walked over to the spigot and turned it back on.

Rory watched all of this from the reeds, fuming that all his effort had been wasted. He needed help. He needed his closest reinforcements to deal with these human pond scum. He dove back into the river and raced away.