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  Mother’s

  Revenge

  Mother’s

  Revenge

  A DARK AND BIZARRE ANTHOLOGY OF GLOBAL PROPORTIONS

  Scary Dairy Press

  All of the stories contained in this anthology remain under the copyright © of their respective authors. Additional credit and copyright information is located in the Affirmation of Copyright section. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the author or Scary Dairy Press except for brief quotations used in reviews, research or promotions.

  This anthology is a work of fiction. Any reference to real people, historical events, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other characters, names, places and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  MOTHER’S REVENGE

  Copyright © 2017 Scary Dairy Press

  Cover artwork by Logo Design Team © Scary Dairy Press LLC

  Stories Copyright © 2017 Their individual authors. All rights reserved.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017905497

  Scary Dairy Press LLC, Palmyra, VA

  ISBN: 0996052739

  ISBN-13: 9780996052733

  Dedication

  To all mothers, everywhere.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Introduction

  Water

  Bottom Trawler

  The Food Chain

  Rusalka

  It Wants to be a Swamp

  Bride of the Deep

  Snickerdoodle Bunkum

  From the Bluff

  Sleet Teeth

  Miracle Material

  Downpour

  Air

  Midwives

  A Choice in Exile

  Swarms

  Earth Mother

  She Had a Lot of Problems

  Fire

  b.E.L.F.r.y.

  Mean Green

  A New Kind of Eden

  Earth

  Don’t Fool with an Earth Witch

  A Mother’s Fury

  Nature’s Promise

  The Path

  Stones are Breathing Tonight

  A Cautionary Tale

  Annals of the Allred Clan

  Ursus Horribilis

  Mud Babies

  Acquired Taste

  Voice of the Mountian

  Plat 7

  Hope

  Scientific Mothers

  Last Natural Woman

  About the Editors

  Affirmation of Copyrights

  Acknowledgments

  A project such as this requires many people contributing in a teamwork effort to foster and grow the concept into reality. Many thanks to Broos Campbell and Cin Ferguson for organizing and editing the stories in this piece of work. The Logo Team in the U.K. provided their artistry and excellence in the development of the Mother’s Revenge book cover. Each of the thirty-two writers were amazing to work with. Without their artistic contributions, their ability to collaborate with the editors, and dedication to this project, this anthology would have remained simply a dream. Many thanks to the beta readers who included their thoughts and suggestions to help this book become the best it could be. And finally, we thank our conscientious readers who we are certain care about the Earth just as much as we do.

  —Scary Dairy Press

  Introduction

  There are thirty-two tales in this global anthology. Thirty-two (32). The number was not arbitrarily selected. In numerology, the number thirty-two is that of personal freedom and creative expression. It exudes the qualities of curiosity and optimism, as well as adventure and inspiration. In science, the number 32 is the freezing point of water at sea level on the Fahrenheit temperature scale. There are thirty-two teeth in the adult human mouth, including wisdom teeth, which for some reason have failed to make us collectively wise.

  This anthology was conceived with the element of hope. Hope that it would encourage readers to seriously commit to becoming active caretakers and watchdogs for our Earth. Together we can drink water from the tap instead of investing in so many plastic water bottles. We can turn off lights when we leave the the room, reduce water consumption and waste, and grow organic vegetables and fruits instead of using harmful pesticides.

  Together, we can save our dying oceans. Right now, over 14 billion pounds of garbage is dumped into the ocean every year, and a large part of that is composed of plastic. Over a trillion gallons of untreated sewage and industrial waste is dumped into U.S. waters every year. There are over one hundred pesticides on and in our fruits and vegetables as well as in our air and water. These pesticides are known to contribute to birth defects, gene mutations and cancer. By purchasing organic foods, and demanding pesticide free environments, we can change the world by voting with our wallets.

  Our combined pollution kills an average of three million children under the age of five, one million seabirds and a hundred million mammals each year, and yet most of our population does nothing about it. Our children can no longer swim in rivers and lakes because of toxic water pollution.

  The Scary Dairy Press team reaches out to you, dear readers, as we ask you to help us heal the Earth and stop the destruction done to her every day. If we all work together, we become part of the solution that will last for lifetimes. In a show of support, Scary Dairy Press has made a commitment to donate funds to four groups that work desperately toward making our world a better place. Ten percent of profits made every year from the sale of this book will go to the following well-respected organizations: Union of Concerned Scientists; the Clean Air Task Force; Water is Life; and the Sierra club.

  Our team is constantly making changes to improve the Earth, and we are grateful for anything our readers do to help improve the state of the world. Each Earth-saving action we all take goes a long way toward making change for the better. Finally, we hope you enjoy reading these fantastic tales born from very talented and creative minds. Just reading shows you care. Read on!

  —Cin Ferguson

  I had no idea what to expect when Q invited me aboard this project, except that the stories would be much like the good doctor herself—quirky, intelligent, and exuberant, with a dark side to keep things interesting.

  I wasn’t disappointed. The tales in Mother’s Revenge come in a variety of flavors, from classic gothic to ’50s pulp to modern gonzo, with a few detours into speculative fiction and the paranormal. Some build slowly from sweetness and light to bloody frenzy. Others are creepy from the get-go.

  While editing these little monsters, I leaped onto their backs with a sledgehammer in one hand and a chainsaw in the other, in some cases, and left well enough alone in others. We’ve made certain style choices for the sake of cohesiveness, but left British usage intact in stories from Commonwealth countries. Regardless, the stories were born of the hard work and talent of those who created them, not those who straightened their ties and sent them out into the world. The authors were free to accept or reject suggestions, and these tales are their own.

  —Broos Campbell

  Water

  Bottom Trawler

  by

  David Agranoff

  The mesh moved silently through the ocean’s depth. Sound, as humans know it, didn’t exist there. The network of tightly woven ropes created a wall of sand and debris as it scraped slowly across the ocean floor. T
his wall hid the approaching death. Out of the dark blue, two eyes stared at him. A cod swam alone, eyes blinking at him, innocent, unknowing of the destruction that was coming.

  It hit him from behind. He felt the wall of sand and the net gripped him like a suffocating hug. It felt like a hand, crushing him.

  Rowtta opened his eyes to see Doctor Ross standing over him, gripping Rowtta’s shoulder. Ross shook him again.

  “Captain?”

  Rowtta sat up in his rack and tried to shake off the nightmare. The balding scientist was not what he wanted to see when he woke up, but Rowtta was glad to have awakened.

  “Captain, you need to get on the bridge.”

  “Miller?”

  Ross nodded.

  Rowtta swung his leg out of the rack; he had never taken his boots off. He had been so tired, he barely remembered going below deck. He took a deep breath and ascended the steps to the deck of his ship. The cold air made him shiver. Grossman, one of the scientists, stood on the deck with a flashlight, looking into the dense fog.

  Rowtta extended his arm and could barely see his hand.

  “Any signs of the city?”

  Grossman shook his head. “We must be getting close. Miller is freaking out again.”

  The ship pulled hard to the left. Grossman would’ve slid across the deck if Rowtta hadn’t grabbed his arm. Rowtta looked up at the bridge and saw Miller’s silhouette over the helm. The ship was turning quickly.

  Rowtta ran the steps to the bridge and pushed the door open, and Miller jumped back. Rowtta gripped the wheel tightly as he turned it. The useless radar droned on across the bridge. First Officer Miller dropped to the floor and lay in a lump crying, as he did any time they came close to shore. The captain gritted his teeth as he maneuvered the ship through the intense fog. He watched Grossman go below, most likely to pray. That praying was a habit the scientists had developed recently.

  “Captain, please, take us back,” Miller wept.

  Rowtta hated watching a grown man cry, but he had to do this. Their water supply was gone and their food had run out days ago.

  Miller crawled across the floor and hugged Rowtta’s legs. “I can catch us some dinner, just get back out to sea.”

  Rowtta spared Miller a glance. The first officer no longer looked like a man in his thirties. He had always seemed like a brave kid, and Rowtta had hired him as a favor to his dad, who’d given him his first job in the fishing fleet. Miller had been a hell of a trawler. Now Rowtta just wanted the kid to shut up. The fog started to break and Rowtta felt the urge to pray—for a skyline, lights, helicopters, any sign that New York was where it was supposed to be.

  “Goddamn it, Captain! Stop!”

  Rowtta kicked at Miller. “Get a hold of yourself, son.”

  He grabbed the kid. Burkin, another of the scientists, stepped onto the bridge and helped him lift. The two men held Miller up as he screamed.

  “He did this in Boston,” Burkin said.

  “Not as bad.”

  A wave rocked the ship. The three men fell over as the vessel’s parts rattled. A boom echoed from the shore. It sounded like a blast from a tuba, but loud enough to move the earth. They’d heard this sound hourly for weeks now, but they had never been this close. The sounds were increasing in numbers and intensity with each day.

  Miller wept again before laughing like a maniac.

  “No!” Burkin said as he stood.

  Rowtta looked up reluctantly as the fog drifted away from the city, following the wave. Now, seemingly in an instant, the night became as clear as glass. Under the glow of the moon, the building turned to ash before them. Miller laughed like a maniac.

  Burkin fell back and put his hands in his face. “No, no!”

  There were no lights in the skyline. Only a few flames burning among the shadows of the empty skyscrapers. Another boom, and the buildings waved like stalks in a wheat field. Several crumbled, and the sounds of destruction became a chorus. Another wave from the bay rushed toward the boat.

  “Impossible.” The captain grabbed onto something to steady himself. “Hold on!”

  The ship shook and bounded over the wave. Papers flew, gauges and alarms went crazy.

  Miller grabbed Rowtta’s collar. “You’ve seen it. Now, go! Get us out of here.”

  Ross stood in the doorway, allowing the frigid air into the bridge. “We can’t leave,” he said.

  Miller rolled onto his back and laughed, kicking his feet like a two-year-old having a tantrum.

  Burkin leaned his head against the wall. “Look at it, Ross; it’s dead, just like Boston.”

  “We need food, we need answers.”

  Rowtta held Miller down.

  “This is my ship,” Rowtta said to Ross, “and you’re getting pretty goddamn close to giving me an order. On my fucking ship.”

  Rowtta could tell that Ross was biting his tongue. From the moment the radios had gone dead, any respect or trust the head scientist had had for Rowtta was gone. He was a scientist after all, and thought he knew better than some washed-up, divorced, drunk sea captain. Miller suddenly became still, whispering something over and over. Rowtta couldn’t understand him.

  “Yog Saggoth. Yog Saggoth,” Miller said.

  “What is he saying?” Ross asked.

  Miller’s eyes grew wide and didn’t blink. Rowtta waved Ross inside, but Ross didn’t move from the doorway.

  “In or out. You’re letting in the cold.”

  Miller suddenly stopped his chanting.

  “Cap’n.” Miller sounded like a little boy. “It’s July.”

  Rowtta stared into Miller’s eyes. The life had all but drained out of him, and it was like Rowtta was watching his own sanity drain away. Miller’s eyes danced left to right. And when Miller’s body relaxed, Rowtta let go of him and stood up.

  “We’re turning around.”

  Rowtta cranked the wheel and felt the nets rise up out of the ocean. The sky was blue, and the sun felt warm. The crank turned quickly and the motor assist would not engage; the trawling net rose from the surface with a whoosh. Rowtta waited until the water strained from it and turned the net over the deck. It was empty. He’d trawled the floor for hours, maybe days, maybe weeks. He felt woozy.

  The net hung in front of him dripping on the deck. One fish flopped in the net, her mouth gaping and closing repeatedly—a single silver-skinned cod. Rowtta looked away, not wanting to see the fish’s struggle. He turned his back on the net, but felt the two eyes on him. The ship rocked.

  The distant booming horn had sounded for weeks. But today it was deeper, more urgent, as the wave rocked the ship enough to wake Rowtta at his table in the galley. He was actually thankful for this wave. He didn’t need the nightmares when he slept; he was living one.

  Two days since New York. Rowtta sat staring at his empty coffee cup. His body ached for caffeine, his head pounded. Miller sat across the galley from him. He hadn’t said much since New York. The scientists were on the deck trying to figure out a way to remove the salt from the ocean water so they could drink it.

  Rowtta studied Miller. His first officer, once a fine young man, just smiled at him. Insanity had taken over. Miller kept smiling like he was sitting in a park, watching children play. Rowtta slammed his empty cup down on the table and stood up. He went up to the deck and left Miller laughing like a maniac.

  The sky was a dark purple, and it had been weeks since they had really seen the sun. It burned dull in the sky, behind the curtain of dark haze. Burkin had called this a nuclear winter, but they had seen no sign of any bombs having been detonated. Rowtta stood on the deck, feeling the cool breeze. The ocean didn’t have the same fresh, salty smell anymore. Now an unsettling metallic odor drifted about under the gloomy sky.

  Ross was on a laptop and the other three scientists stood over him arguing. Rowtta never wanted to deal with these scientists, but without a single paying cod season in years, he didn’t have much choice. His father had made over a million dollars a year back in
the 1970s selling cod, but now they were like the buffalo of the Great Plains. The scientists on board the trawler claimed that their research might bring the cod back.

  That was a lie, of course; they were watching them die.

  Rowtta stood over Ross, who was looking at a bunch of numbers on his computer screen. Burkin pulled a tube out of the water and dropped it like a dead snake on the deck.

  “Where is our water, Ross?”

  Ross closed his laptop.

  “We’re doing the best we can given that we’re not hydro engineers.”

  Rowtta turned to head back to the bridge and then stopped.

  “Well, but you were supposed to watch fish. Why don’t you find us something to eat?”

  Ross stood and stomped towards the captain.

  “We need to go ashore,” Ross said.

  Rowtta looked past him at Burkin. He was the reasonable one.

  “You want to go ashore?”

  “No, but I think we have to.”

  Then there was laughter; crazy, intense laughter. Miller walked out onto the deck.

  “We having a little debate without me?”

  Rowtta stepped closer to Miller and placed a hand on his shoulder. Miller’s skin was oddly cold. Rowtta stepped back.

  Ross tapped his fist on a railing. “Damn it, Miller, let’s be rational,” he said.

  Miller looked all around at the dark afternoon sky. The frigid air caused the water in the rain buckets on deck to freeze at night. When they still had water.

  No, Rowtta thought. There wasn’t anything rational happening.

  “So, Ross, tell me,” he said. “Have you found any rational explanation for what is happening?”

  Ross nodded. “Chemical biological attack. Terrorist dirty bombs. For all we know, Europe, Asia, and Africa are unaffected. We go ashore, refuel, stock our food and water supplies, and we head east to Africa.”

  “Why aren’t the satellites still working?”

  Ross thought about Miller’s question.

  “EMP?” Burkin said.

  “I’m not sure what did it, but something wiped the whole goddamn slate clean,” Miller said, and pointed at the sky. “It took out the fucking sun.”

  Rowtta walked up the first two steps to the bridge and turned around. “I’ll find a small port.”