I regripped the paddle and was about to stroke when the canoe was walloped again from below with such force the aluminum plates by my feet dented upward and separated, releasing a stream of icy water. Jesus, Wallace, haul ass!
I stroked like a madman, driving the sinking boat forward, my heart nearly stopping as the bow skidded atop the remains of the resurfacing sturgeon.
"Dammit!" I veered the canoe to one side, my shattered nerves tingling as my plunging oar struck something solid swimming below.
Whomp… whomp!
The canoe rocked as it was bludgeoned again, the water at my feet three inches deep and rising.
This isn't happening!
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard my inner voice remind me, Easy, Wallace. It's just a loch. It can't hurt you if you don't go in.
"Shut up!"
Lowering my shoulder, I paddled like an Olympian, aiming for a distant shoreline now mired in fog. The frigid water in the canoe was now was up to my ankles.
A giant shadow, rising to meet me!
Subliminal images blinded me. "A hundred yards… just keep paddling!"
Mouth opening around my lower torso…
"Eighty yards… come on, Wallace!"
Water up to my calf, the canoe growing noticeably heavier. Something jagged, tearing into my flesh!
"Sixty yards… where's the damn pier?"
Get to the light, Zachary, get to the light!
Whomp!
"Get the hell away from me!"
My blistered hands and forearms burned, my entire body straining now to move the water-laden canoe.
I was getting closer. I could see Aldourie Castle. I could see its green pastures of lawn.
And then the rising water wet my buttocks, and I knew I was going in.
Fifty yards …
The canoe wobbled with every stroke, only it scarcely moved.
Forty yards. Stay in the boat as long as possible!
The bow rose, the stern bobbed, then sank beneath me.
Oh, hell.
Releasing the paddle, I stood, then launched myself into the Loch, its all-too familiar embrace blasting my breath away as my churning legs leveled out into an awkward crawl stroke. My hiking shoes were concrete blocks, my clothing binding me, my fear preventing me from ducking my head underwater as I swam.
Twenty yards, Wallace… twenty damn yards! Two first down markers …
An image flashed in my mind's eye. The body of a man. Naked. Dead.
"Awffff!"
Distracted, my forehead smashed painfully against a wood piling, striking it so hard I actually saw purple stars.
Get out of the damn water!
Reaching out blindly, I groped for the ladder, then dragged myself up its splintering rungs. Dizzy from the cold and exertion, I reached the summit and collapsed to my knees upon the pier, then lay back and closed my eyes, rubbing the aching knot on my head.
Eyes shut, I watched flashes of light skate past my eyelids as I listened to the waves lapping quietly below.
"You're okay. Breathe."
Calming my breaths, I allowed my weight to sink as I forced my mind to return to the subliminal images.
Something seemed different this time… clearer than the images from my previous night terrors. What was it?
Underwater… the light!
This time I had seen the light more clearly. It wasn't the sun's rays penetrating the deep, and it wasn't some heavenly glow, it was a brilliant artificial lance… an underwater lamp, penetrating my watery tomb like a lighthouse beacon.
I opened my eyes, my thoughts racing with the revelation. "That's what saved me seventeen years ago! It was an underwater light! It must have chased the creature into the deep."
I regained my feet, staring at the Loch in defiance. "I know your weakness now, Nessie, whatever the hell you are. Your eyes, they're sensitive to bright light. The next time we meet, I'll be ready."
My thoughts returned to my adventure in the canoe, and now I was confused, for it was not Justin Wagner's killer that had attacked that sturgeon. No, these water creatures, whatever they were, had been smaller, yet quite ferocious.
Was it Nessie's young, or another species?
"There's something bizarre happening here, something that's affecting the entire ecosystem." Remembering the lab, I searched my backpack for my cell phone and Sheriff Holmstrom's number.
"Sheriff, it's Zachary Wallace. What's the story with those blood samples and specimens I asked you to have analyzed? Hello?"
"I'm sorry, Dr. Wallace, I don't know how tae say this… but, well, it seems one o' our technicians misplaced yer samples."
"Misplaced?" My gut twisted in knots. "Exactly what was misplaced?"
"Everythin' ye gave us, I'm afraid. We're still searchin' the lab, an' rest assured, the man responsible's been disciplined, but—"
I hung up, cutting him off.
Angus was right, I was wasting my time.
Cursing aloud, I grabbed my backpack, then found cover beneath a larch. Stripping off my wet clothing, I changed into dry shorts and jeans.
And then another thought hit me. Crabbit MacDonald! He was the one who had the underwater light. How did he know to carry it when he rescued me?
"That old bastard… he knows exactly what's down there."
Returning the pack to my back, I continued hiking, double-timing it north, wondering what scared me more, the creatures inhabiting Loch Ness, or the thought of confronting the old man.
Chapter 22
… there is the familiar, and I have to say rather irritating confusion of Natural Selection with "randomness." Mutation is random; Natural Selection is the very opposite of random. In true Natural Selection, if a body has what it takes to survive, its genes automatically survive because they are inside it. So the genes that survive tend to be, automatically, those genes that confer on bodies the qualities that assist them to survive.
A feasible explanation is that the "Monster" may be some type of deep water animal which only rarely comes to the surface. It is possible these animals were cut off in Loch Ness from the ocean many ages ago by earth movements, and their descendants managed to survive.
Within the hour, I found myself on the northeasternmost point of Loch Ness. From here, I could either find a means to cross the channel known as the Bona Narrows, bringing me again to Loch Ness's western shoreline, or I could continue on following the eastern bank another twelve twisting miles, passing Loch Dochfour and the River Ness — a winding route that would eventually lead to Inverness and the Moray Firth.
The thought of being back on the Loch in a boat unnerved me, so I continued trudging along the eastern shoreline in my wet hiking boots, prepared to walk all the way to Inverness if I had to.
The powers-that-be were about to intercede.
As I approached the Bona lighthouse, I saw the water bailiffs motorboat suddenly race across the channel, then veer sharply towards me.
Calum Forrest waved at me from the pilothouse. "Michty aye, Dr. Wallace. Ye do get a'roond, dae ye no'?"
"So they tell me. Is there something I can do for you?"
"Perhaps there's somethin' I can dae for you. Come aboard, I'll ta' ye across."