Free Serpentine by Barry Napier

have the strength to actually pull him under. The only thing with that sort of strength would be one of the monstrous catfish that he heard about from time to time, but they were supposed to live at the bottom of the lake in much deeper regions.
    Whatever it was, it had effectively ruined his blissful swim. With his heart hammering his chest, Brett quickly turned back for the boat. No longer concerned with poise or technique, he swam as fast as he could.
    His arms moved like pistons, his legs like propellers. He swam forward frantically, unable to remember any time he had ever been afraid to be in the water. He looked up to the boat. It was twenty feet away, drawing closer with every stroke.
    Brett put a bit more energy into his stroke, dipping his arms under and bringing them back up as fast as he could. Right, left, right, left, his legs kicking the whole time. Right, left, right—
    A sudden burning pain tore through his right arm as it was submerged. It was unlike any pain he had ever felt in his life. He felt his consciousness being pulled away but he fought to reclaim it, desperate to get back to the boat. The pain rocketed through his body and he thought he might throw up.
    He screamed and tried to jerk his arm out of the water, but it wouldn’t come. He tugged again and felt panic surge through him when he realized that he couldn’t feel his arm. That panic intensified when he saw the water around him growing red and the smell of blood reached his nostrils.
    He tried swimming forward but flapped around, unable to feel his right arm. He looked in that direction and screamed.
    He couldn’t feel his arm because it was no longer attached to his body.
    Everything from four inches below his shoulder was missing, replaced by a grisly mess of red and a speck of white where his bone had been severed.
    The world tried to float away. He saw white spots in his vision and his body suddenly felt as if it were floating—not in the water of the lake, but on some tide that wanted to carry him somewhere else entirely.
    He made a feeble kick towards the boat that got him nowhere. He tried to cry out but even that wasn’t easy. He was too weak. He was too—
    He felt something wrap around his waist so tightly that he fully expected his hips to snap. He let out a moan that came out in a thick, wet gurgle.
    There was a pause and then a violent pull from beneath him. It was so fast that Brett didn’t understand what was happening until his mouth was filling with water.
    His last glimpse of the world above the surface was his boat, rocking gently back and forth in the gathering night.

TEN
     
     
     
    As someone that had lived in the town of Clarkton his entire life, Wayne was always happy to see a local business thrive. As is the case with small towns—Clarkton boasting a population of just over three thousand—it was never a surprise to see a new local business open, only to close its doors less than two years later.
    But the one establishment that had always fared well in Clarkton was The Wharf. It was the town’s only bar and it did well all year long. Even when summer wasn’t luring in the tourists, the live music on most weekends brought people in from nearby towns during the non-summer months. And, of course, there were locals like Wayne and Al that kept the place busy.
    But The Wharf was almost like a totally different place during the summer. When the tourists came into town, the place seemed fancier. The same cheap beer was on tap (although they did spring for a few summer ales and a wider variety of wine during the span between May and September) and the menu didn’t change very much. But still, there was something about the way the owners advertised their specials and decorated the place like a cheap man’s Margaritaville during the summer that gave The Wharf a charming sort of quality it didn’t have during the rest of the year.
    One thing that didn’t change about The Wharf during the summer was its reliability as