Lake Rashiv

or
(A Short Story Written Entirely on the Virtual Touch Screen Keyboard by Thumbs)

Since two months ago, Saturday mornings would find Rashiv strolling along the banks of the man made Lake Rashiv. That the lake was named after him was no slight coincidence; as a child he fell on two separate ocassions on the open pit when the lake was just being dug, and when the lake was complete he along with five companions drowned there, with him being the lone survivor. For some reason that previously hadn't ocurred to him—and which even now was not yet fully clear to him—he found the environment calming. But what tranquil body of water, natural or man-made, doesn't inspire peace and calmness to a troubled young soul? And yet somehow, Rashiv was almost entirely sure he wouldn't be as impartial towards any other body of water than the one that had been named after him.

It was then but expected that during his weekend strolls along the place, he would have with him a backpack filled with Lake-appreciating necessities: a "double"-sized picnic mat, two fly swatters, a 2-gallon water jug, half a loaf of "pre-buttered" sandwiches, a collapsible foot stool, various modern electronic gadgets including a GPS phone with a pre-loaded sattelite image of the vicinity of the lake and an audio tape casette emulator smartphone application software. Last of all, sticking out of his right back pocket—as though brought to the trip as an afterthought simply because no one is truly sure when inspiration would come—a plastic alto recorder flute.

The flute had no cover and was rarely cleaned, not that it required much cleaning for a plastic instrument. In fact its surface was heavily scratched and it finger holes and mouthpiece worn to the point of risking to lose perfect tune—but only just. Because for whatever reason, be it skill of the player or plainly the sturdy build of the instrument, not one of these physical imperfections impede good music from coming out of the instrument once Rashiv takes it in himself to pull it out of his pocket and play it.

In fact that was the very thing Rashiv was starting to do one Saturday morning on his favorite spot on the lake's northern bank. And who can fault him? Inspiration was truly everywhere: a mild, golden April morning sunshine, a light breeze, children playing, people running about in their branded running gear and patent sweat-absorbing dri-fit shirts, fish merrily swimming about in the water with the ocassional jump out the surface, if for no reason than to flaunt their shinny silver scales.

Rashiv had barely pulled out the remainder of the recorder from his pocket when the lake for an unexplained reason started bubbling wildly and noisily. Had it started quietly at first and only gradually increased its clamor, it wouldn't have startled Rashiv that much. As it was, it came so sudden and so loud that whatever inspiration to play good music that was within Rashiv that morning was ripped away from him, and he dropped his flute and broke it.

Yes, it actually shattered upon contact to his picnic mat. Not the mat's light cushioning could protect Rashiv's beloved instrument from shattering to pieces when it landed, and shattered more when it bounced once, twice, thrice, and then a fourth time.

Needless to say, the instrument was but unrecognizable shards of plastic debris half a second after Rashiv had let it go of his grip.

Had there been time to ponder over this seemingly physically anomalous event, Rashiv would have been completely curious as to how the instrument could have suddenly gone that fragile. He sensed some kind of injustice about how Nature's rules could so suddenly and specifically be bent just to part him from his beloved flute.

But this particular Saturday morning, there was no time for such curiosity and feelings of injustice... especially when the waters of the lake started behaving erratically. Talk about rules of nature being bent: huge bubbles were now coming out of the middle of the lake, each one sending tsunami-like waves rushing to its banks. Whereas earlier there had been people laughing and playing, there was now only amazement and moderately terrified onlooking.

Rashiv himself could not help being drawn to the commotion coming from the lake. The lake's water of course was not clear to begin with, but all the bubbling and churning gave it now a brown and muddy appearance. Churning it indeed appeared to be, for if there was an invisile gigantic hand churning the lake, the very same effect was being achieved that moment.

It was coming from near the center of the lake, its deepest part, and if there was anything anyone could fault in Rashiv, it would not be his affinity to every corner of the lake. He knew it by heart. Yes he had a GPS mobile phone application to navigate its banks, but it is something completely unnecessary, for Rashiv knew Lake Rashiv like the keyholes in his now decimated flute. It was afterall the lake he had survived drowning in.

Rashiv knew how far it stretched from the northern banks until it curved slightly to the northwest, the widest portion being somewhere around the middle. He knew its depths, and knew that the deepest part was actually deeper than the lake floor, because unknown to those who had dug it, there was a fault line beneath it, and when it gave during an earthquake a couple of years back, the fault opened up and nearly swallowed all the water in the entire lake. Ever since then, there had been a deep trench in that part of the lake.

That was why when Rashiv's friends perished from the drowning, the authorities weren't able to recover the bodies—not even after they had dried the lake. Many believed the bodies were swallowed up in the deep lake trench and they had given up searching due to inaccesibility issues.

And now the lake was behaving abnormally, and off all places right where the deep trench was, where Rashiv's friends' bodies were believed to have gone.

Rashiv grew increasingly unsettled. What can be happening? he asked himself, and how can it be related to the fact that the bodies of my four friends who drowned with me some two months ago were never found and were believed to have been lost on that part of the lake?

His questions didn't take long to go unanswered. As suddenly as the lake began churning, what appeared to be human forms suddenly emerged out of the water. Shortly, it became clearer that they were in fact four actual human bodies, and they were walking as though they were alive—although clearly they were dead.

Rashiv's fears were realized. The four human bodies were his friends, and they all had now been turned into... ZOMBIES!!!