Wet and Wild

It wasn't quite Dawn when the fire truck arrived at the reservoir, fed its hose into the water, and started pumping.

The only security guard was a single man. Castillo was a retired cop, who had only taken the job to get him out of the house.

Fishing had seemed like a cliche.

And when he saw the mysterious people in strange costumes pumping a glowing green liquid water, the rod and reel seemed a whole lot more appealing.

He ducked below the window, and whispered urgently into his landline.

"No, I don't know what they're pumping! I don't know who they are! They just showed up in this fire truck!"

He listened.

"I tried! All the lines were busy! I couldn't even get through to the actual dispatch!"

He listened.

"No, I don't-i don't think they saw me. I'll check..."

He grabbed the edge of the table, tried to ignore the jackhammer in his chest, and carefully - very carefully - peeked out of the window.

At nothing.

"They're... They're gone. It's just the truck."

He listened.

He heard nothing.

"Hello? Did you hear me?"

And then he saw something new, through the window. In the lights outside.

A few feet of cable, swinging in the breeze.

He stared at the cut phone wire for a long moment. His jaw fell open.

And then he reached for his cell phone.

The signal out there was always terrible, so he always held it up for better reception.

And then a dark, inhuman hand reached down from the darkness of his security shack, and plucked it away.

And Castillo thought, ...I really shoulda gone fishing.