From their vantage, they didn’t notice when the brown first spilt from the outflow.“‘Dere!” Bucky pointed down the six hundred feet concrete hedge. “‘Das where I saw the turtle. He was sick. A’you could tell he was sick, because he was all yellow. Yellow like a dog, a’not normal green like G.I. Joe green.” He licked a melting Sno-Cone, fixed to the outflow where the turtle once was.Locusts purred. From the ends of the dam-top (that’s where the schoolchildren hung about with dripping Sno-Cones), their hums remind that, yep, it is certainly summer. On one side of the dam-top, a lake rocks against the slitted concrete barricade, and on the other, the water outflow. The outflow disgorged a thin blue (God, if it had only stayed blue) water. The blue coughed up a small brown clump. Hair. It was hair. The slitted outflow spat out a rat.Where the lifeless rat swam, the water around coiled, clotted, rotted. The blue turned fleshy and brown. The flow surrounding the rat became innards and red and fur. The current became two rats, six, fifty. The outflow was turning, and where the rat first dropped into the water, the water festered into rats.From the kids’ vantage, they didn’t notice when the brown first spilt. Upward was safe from the thing (though they didn’t know what). The thing that turned the blue into rats.“Mhm. ‘Das where I saw the turtle.” Bucky eyes departed from down the concrete stronghold. He drank from his Sno-Cone. His tongue passed over his teeth with the syrup, and felt a hair.