by Tom Abrahams
But instead of succumbing to the wave, the Fittipaldi rode the crest to the back side of the wave, racing now to the trough. His stomach lurched, and above the rush of water he heard a scream.
Behind him, Uriel hung to the stern. In a handstand, she held the low taffrail that framed the aft deck covering the engine.
Zeke’s relief was tempered by the rising ocean surface beneath them. Salty spray blinded him as he found the wheel with both hands. They were about to hit the trough at an odd angle, which would surely capsize them. Neither of them had time to engage their power.
Zeke yanked the wheel, turning it hard to the right. The bow drifted toward the trough as they dove. He held the wheel until they were aimed straight at the ocean below them. The engine sputtered and gurgled as it took sips from the air before dunking into the sea again.
They hit the trough and the Fittipaldi’s bow dipped beneath the surface before the stern slapped hard on the roiling surface. Zeke rode the throttle, trying to use the boat’s momentum to regain control.
They rode the valley between the wave they’d crested and the next monster threatening to build. It was like he was back home, steering the Superbird through a tight alley, maneuvering between obstacles while outrunning his pursuers.
The port side began to lift again into the next swell, but Zeke steered out of it and kept the boat perpendicular to the current. Rain blinded him. It was sideways with the howls of wind, which chased him across the open sea.
Uriel hung on behind him. Quick glances reassured him but also tugged at his strong desire to let go of the wheel and pull her body fully into the boat.
At the moment he considered letting go, allowing the boat to ride the wave to its port side, and reaching out to help Uriel, the rain stopped. The wind died.
The storm was over. The clouds parted. The rain turned to mist. The thunder stopped. Shafts of sunlight found their way to the water’s calmer surface.
Zeke had once seen something called a washing machine. It was an electronic box into which he’d seen a wealthy man stuff dirty shirts and pants. The front of it was glass, and when the machine worked, foamy water filled the tub and splashed from the agitation. The shirts and pants flipped and spun inside the machine until, without warning, the cycle stopped. The water became still.
This was the only reference he had for what he was experiencing now. They were on plane again in an instant, moving at speed without obstacle and absent dangerous conditions. As if there were never a storm at all. He moved to the back of the boat and reached for Uriel. She took his hands and he pulled her into the boat. They stood facing one another. Their soaked bodies pressed together. His hands on her hips. Hers on his arms. They stood there, both of them breathless. After a moment that felt too long and too short at the same time, he blinked and stepped back.
“What just happened?” he asked.
She shook her head, rendered speechless for what seemed like the first time since Zeke had met her. Her fingers touched his arms. Her pompadour was flattened against her head. The reddish color was dampened and looked almost black. Droplets of rain and surf beaded off her leather jacket and pants.
The sun dipped beneath the horizon, the last light of day brightly reflected on the water in striking oranges and reds. The water. It was everywhere.
Zeke wondered if it would shrink the leather constricting Uriel’s body. Was it even possible for her clothing to get any tighter?
“Is it safe?” Lucius called from below deck.
Neither of them answered at first. Zeke wasn’t sure, and Uriel was busy wringing the water from her hair.
Lucius peeked his head through the opening between the captain’s chairs on which Zeke and Uriel sat.
“Is it safe?” he asked again. “Can I come—”
Lucius was tossed into the air before he could finish his sentence, launched headfirst toward the engine compartment at the rear of the boat. The front of the Fittipaldi shot into the air, its bow pitched skyward.
Before Zeke could do anything to control the boat, he was thrown from behind the wheel and into the ocean. He hit the surface hard, his chest slapping before he sank.
Saltwater rushed up his nose and along the back of his throat, stinging. His eyes burned. The weight of the gun at his hip, his boots and jacket—it all dragged him down.
Zeke looked up and saw the dim warbling sunset that marked the sky beyond the undulating surface. His legs kicked. His arms pulled. There was little air in his lungs, but he managed. Swallowing against the desire to take a breath, he surged upward. His muscles strained against the weight.
In his peripheral vision, he saw shadows moving underwater, but he couldn’t make out what they were. He heard his pulse beating in his ears, the muffled drone of a motor. He swallowed again and shook his head back and forth. With his eyes squeezed shut and a dizzying sensation overpowering his senses, he surfaced.
The air was warmer than the water, and he sucked in a deep, open-mouth gulp. His chest was pounding. His neck throbbed. But he was breathing. He was alive.
He spun in the water, kicking with his legs as hard as he could while searching for either of his team’s boats. He didn’t see either. He pivoted again, flailing his hands to move position.
The water in his boots tugged at him, drawing him down. He kicked furiously beneath the surface to keep himself afloat. To find his party. He didn’t know how to swim without exerting too much energy. He’d never done it. But it made sense to do everything he could to keep his head above water.
Where is Uriel? he asked himself. He smelled her sweet scent from their brief embrace minutes earlier. He still felt her touch on his arms. Her chest pressed to his.
“Uriel? Can you hear me? Uriel?”
He spotted the Fittipaldi. Behind the glare of the sun off the water, the red boat was capsized. Its twin propellers spun in the air, spitting water like fans.
Lucius splashed next to the boat. His arms waved. He choked and coughed as he called for help. The search for Uriel would have to wait.
Without thinking about it, Zeke buoyed himself and swam forward. He kicked his legs out and back and mirrored the motion with his hands. He kept his head above water so as not to lose sight of Lucius. He had no idea what his body was doing. He’d never swum before. Somehow, however, his muscles understood what to do. It was as if they had a memory about which his brain had forgotten.
He was laser-focused on his target. Despite the exhaustion, the shock to his system, Zeke had to get to Lucius and pull him from the water somehow. He spat water as he churned forward. The salt was heavy and bitter in his mouth.
Lucius stayed above the water until Zeke reached him. His eyes were wide with panic. The men grabbed onto each other’s wrists, and Zeke yanked him closer to the capsized Fittipaldi.
Something bumped against Zeke’s leg, but he ignored it. They helped each other onto the side of the boat. Zeke pushed Lucius up the side of the hull.
Another bump against his right leg. This time something sharp dug into his calf, above his boot. The pain was incredible. Searing.
He struggled to lift himself from the water and join Lucius. The boat’s underside was slippery. Zeke couldn’t find purchase. He kicked his legs harder.
Another bump.
This one felt like a slithering grind against his uninjured leg. His pulse quickened, something he didn’t think was possible. Panic shot through his body.
Despite being essentially immortal, Zeke wasn’t immune to pain. He wasn’t okay with giving up and returning to Pedro’s Cantina a failure. He groped again for a grip on the hull. To his left, something moved out of the water and disappeared again.
Zeke’s hand slipped and he noticed his fingers coated in watery blood. At first, he thought it was paint from the boat. Then he realized that Lucius was bleeding. The back of his leg was gashed, and the wound leaked onto the red hull.
He moved away from Lucius toward the bow and grabbed onto one of the ribs that ran along the lengt
h of the boat’s underside. With all his strength, he heaved himself from the water and onto the hull. The boat listed to one side, and he adjusted his weight to even it out. The Fittipaldi settled, and then Zeke saw what had torn into his flesh and wounded Lucius.
At first, he thought they were snakes with the way they slithered through the water. Medusa came to mind. The legend of the sword called Harpe that Pedro had mentioned.
Then he noticed they were too thick to be snakes. Or even eels. They were wide bodied, similar to the iguanas Zeke had seen roaming the wastelands in his previous life. But these were bigger. They looked meaner.
He knew for sure they weren’t snakes when one of them reached from the water with a clawed leg and latched onto the edge of the hull. They weren’t eels either. This was a lizard. A nasty marine lizard at least two feet in length.
Zeke exchanged a worried glance with Lucius. He scanned the boat’s surroundings. The water bubbled with the creatures. They were everywhere. Swimming to the surface. Snapping open their jaws. Clamping them shut with force. Disappearing under the water again.
It was a frenzy.
A second lizard grabbed hold of the hull. Its claws scratched at the fiberglass, emitting a squeaking sound that sent a chill along Zeke’s spine. Lucius winced at the noise.
Three lizards tested the hull, latching on, trying to climb it. It was a matter of time before they figured it out. These animals were learning. They were smart.
Zeke’s leg pulsed with pain. He ignored it and tried to clear his thoughts. His hand went to his hip. He called out to Lucius, who lay on his stomach and straddled what was now the top pitch of the capsized boat.
“Do you have your knuckles?” he asked.
Lucius furrowed his brow at first. Then his eyes went wide with understanding. The brass knuckles. The gift from Pedro. He nodded.
“Get them,” Zeke said. “If these things get too close, you’ll need to use them.”
Lucius awkwardly reached for his pants pocket. Zeke scanned the horizon.
Again, his gut tightened. Where was Uriel? What happened to her?
The Riva Cantata was close now. Its hulking black shape cruised through the water.
Zeke’s thumb flipped the strap on the holster and he drew his gun. Every time he held it, the heft surprised him.
He flipped open the cylinder to check. It was full. Six rounds.
Zeke pulled back the hammer. Balancing himself atop the hull and bracing himself with his legs, he took aim. Where the hull met the water, four of the lizards were climbing aboard. Their skin was almost iridescent in spots as the sunlight bounced off their wet, scaly skin. Claws dug and scratched against the fiberglass.
“Hold on. This thing packs a punch,” Zeke warned Lucius.
He put his finger on the trigger. The gun warmed against his palm. The cylinder glowed blue. Zeke applied pressure, and the weapon kicked in his hand with a violent whoomp.
A radiating pulse of energy shot from the gun. Zeke tightened his grip as the boat spun in the water from the recoil. The effect on the ocean’s surface was like a massive boulder dropped from a kilometer in the air. A giant hole opened in the sea before the water collected into a towering spray. Dozens of lizards rained down. They slapped against the water or thunked against the boat’s hull.
The upside-down boat surfed the resulting wave, spinning clockwise from the momentum of the pulse. Extreme gravitational force pushed Zeke to one side, and he slipped as its spin slowed. Lucius screamed, clinging to the boat with all his might.
The lizards kept coming. With urgency now, like they were energized by the deaths of their brethren. Zeke leveled the weapon again as he slid.
He took aim at a grouping of lizards poised to climb, when from underneath the boat, Zeke felt a rumbling. It was an augmenting, soundless vibration emanating from underneath the water. It wasn’t the Riva Cantata.
Lucius pointed at the water. His voice trembled. “What is that? What’s happening?”
The water started glowing an electric blue identical to the fading color on Zeke’s pistol. It throbbed under the water, like a heartbeat. That was the source of the vibration, and Zeke knew what it was.
The water began spinning clockwise. The circumference of the spin grew in size and its center deepened. The whirlpool’s pull was immense, drawing in legions of the reptiles. It sucked them under.
“It’s Uriel,” Zeke answered Lucius, his eyes fixed on the powerful vortex.
The boat started slipping toward the outer rim of the whirlpool, tilting them off-balance. It threatened to pull them down with the monstrous lizards.
“She’ll kill us!” Lucius cried out.
Before Zeke could tell him he was wrong, Uriel surfaced a dozen meters from the overturned boat. She shot into the air, spinning. Her arms were drawn tight to her chest, elbows at her sides. Her legs were straight, toes pointed. The ink that covered her body pulsed bright blue.
Uriel stopped spinning, suspended a meter above the water. The whirlpool subsided. The lizards were gone.
Uriel relaxed her body and dropped into the water. Zeke was transfixed as he watched her swim lazily toward the overturned Fittipaldi. Behind him, he heard Phil call out, “Need a ride?”
Zeke’s gaze lingered on Uriel as the glow faded from her body. She swam past the Fittipaldi toward a ring buoy Phil tossed into the water. The bowler, like always, was pitched back on his high forehead. Water dripped from the thick curls of hair sticking out from underneath the sides.
Lucius shifted into a sitting position atop the hull, casting nervous glances toward the water. “You think it’s safe to jump in?”
Countless dead lizards floated on the surface, their bodies like a reptilian carpet that moved in unison with the motion of the sea. Uriel swam through them, parting them as the Superbird had the ocean before they’d crossed into this alternate reality.
“It’s as safe as it will be,” Zeke said. He stowed his gun and ran his thumb along his holster’s strap to secure it.
Uriel grabbed onto the buoy, and Phil pulled her toward the yacht’s aft end. From there, she boarded using the access ladder at the stern.
Zeke watched her climb, her lithe body soaked. The ink seemed radiant on the small of her back, her side, the back of her neck. Phil handed her a towel and she draped it over her shoulders. The pink bow at the end of her braided ponytail was tied perfectly.
Lucius tapped Zeke on the arm and motioned with his head toward the yacht.
“How did she do that?” The shakiness remained in his voice. His eyes dropped to the holster at Zeke’s waist. “How did you do that?”
Zeke shrugged. “I don’t really know. I’m figuring all of this out myself. C’mon, let’s get over there.”
He slid down the side of the hull and into the water. His body bumped into the bodies of dead lizards. He shivered but treaded water away from the capsized boat. Behind him, Lucius made his entry, splashing into the sea. He groaned at the reptilian corpses but chugged through the water and caught up to Zeke.
They were halfway to the yacht when Phil tossed them the buoy. Zeke took it and handed it to Lucius.
Phil pulled him to the boat, dragging him through the water. Uriel wasn’t on the deck any longer. At least not that Zeke could see.
He went to wipe the salt from his eyes. As he did, he saw something familiar floating, bobbing, on the surface beyond the dead lizards. He touched the top of his head, running his palm along his sopped mat of hair, and only then realized he’d lost his hat.
Zeke swam toward the object, keeping his eyes up. As he approached it, a smile spread across his face. The hat was there. Wet. Worse for wear. But he’d found it.
He took the hat and dumped out the water filling it. With a tug, he lowered it on his head and spun back to the Riva Cantata.
Zeke kicked his legs, heavy from the water-laden boots, and pulled his way closer to the yacht. It was amazing to him he could stay afloat, having never seen an ocean let alone sw
um in one. But he managed well enough to reach the ladder at the stern of the yacht, pulling himself onto the deck. But his body, this immortal body, knew what to do. It was as if some external force controlled his movements. Lucius sat on one of the wooden seats under the canopy that covered most of the aft deck.
Uriel appeared. She reached down to help Zeke up. He took the offer. Her skin was cool, her fingers strong yet feminine.
A wave of guilt washed through him as an image of Li flashed in his mind. His face flushed. He cleared his throat.
“Thanks,” he muttered.
Uriel winked. “No problem, gunslinger. Nice try out there.”
He tipped his hat. “You too. What was that? I thought for a minute that—”
“That I’d drowned? That I died again? Nope. Remember, we don’t need to breathe. It just feels like we do. I could’ve stayed underwater for another hour if I needed to do it. I’ve done it before. It hurts like hell. Or whatever. But we can’t drown.” She patted his chest. “But thanks for worrying about me.”
Zeke offered a weak smile. “Always.”
He said it before he realized what was coming out of his mouth. He wanted to take it back and offer an explanation. She planted her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes.
“Are you flirting with me, Ezekiel Watson?”
“I…uh…”
She let him off the hook. “Oh, sheesh. I’m only kidding, loverboy.”
“Sorry to break this up, but we need to head south,” Lucius called from the wood bench.
They turned together to face him. He was draped in a pair of towels, which made him look older and sicklier than he had before the lizard attack. His eyes darted between the two of them and then found the deck.
Zeke took a step toward him. He had more questions for Uriel. What she’d done to end the threat was unfathomable. Even in his new reality, in which power appeared limitless for some, her whirling dervish routine stunned him. Those questions would have to wait. He asked one of Lucius instead. “Did you know about the lizards?”
