Crashing Tides

by Gwendolyn Marie

  Situated along the ships’ edge stood a barricade of his followers. They traced the ship’s edge looking out over the railing. Every man and every woman that could fit along the ship’s circumference aimed a rifle over the side, assuring no one could breach their castle.

  Every person, that is, except one.

  “This is not right,” Glaucus said over the gunfire. He flanked the side of Triton, anger rose as if he were a Spartan besides the Persian King. “Take those aboard who you can. We can find safety for them on another island, further from shore.”

  “You know of the risk of infection,” Triton said to his son. “It would not be saving them, but damning us all.”

  He looked over to his son. Glaucus was his humanity. Though they both struggled with the past, Glaucus had somehow managed to come out unscathed and willing to see the good in people. All Triton could see was the deaths. His parents, his wife. His brothers in arms. But Glaucus allowed him to see life another way whenever he looked at the man who shared his wife’s features.

  “Let them board,” Glaucus said. His tone changed from anger to reason, the low drum of his voice matching the engine of the ship.

  “Very well. Come to the bridge and we will discuss this,” Triton responded. Perhaps he was acting unreasonably about the risk and should allow the rescue of these people. Of course proper quarantine procedures would have to be put in place, he could leave that up to Glaucus.

  “There is one more thing I need to discuss with you,” Glaucus said as the two climbed the stairway towards the bridge. “I sent information on Patient Zero to a research laboratory on the mainland. I hoped the information would help them find a cure.”

  “I know,” Triton said. There was nothing that came and went off this ship that he was not aware of. He had saw the information his son sent and allowed its passage. He knew they would not find a cure, for the Scipian would have found it if there was one. However, he did not want to squelch the hope that Glaucus held on to that they would.

  Glaucus paused, as if registering that Triton was not upset over what he had done. Did he think of me as a monster, Triton wondered. Have I fallen so irreversibly?

  “That brings me to Patient Zero,” Glaucus continued. “She is imprisoned here, but I believe she should be no longer. She has served the Scipian’s purpose. Grant her freedom.”

  “And allow her to walk among us, infecting us?”

  “There are preventative measures we could take. If she were aware of the ways of transmission, she could prevent them.”

  “You are as the mythos behind your namesake,” Triton responded, shaking his head. “Glaucus: the sea god who fell in love with the beautiful nymph Scylla. Despite his love, his actions brought about her doom, transforming her into a monster who destroyed many.”

  He continued, pausing at the door to look back at Glaucus, “I know you act for the sake of others, but your rights will only bring about wrongs.”

  “I wanted to ask, Dad, is she the one from the asylum who you took in?”

  “You remember that?” Triton asked, seeing an almost boy-like wonder in his son. He had wanted to help the girl, but no matter the intentions, the outcome was something he would have to live with.

  Opening the door, he allowed Glaucus to proceed first. Though he regretted it the instant he walked in.

  Three sides of the bridge were windowed, the blue sea was all that could be seen. No havoc existed outside, only the heavens and the deep blue realm of Poseidon. But the ocean’s charm did not captured his eyes, rather the Pathfinder, Jason, stole his sight. The Chaot of his own creation jumped on Glaucus, teeth ripping into his throat.

  Triton swung a closed fist, connecting with the Chaot’s jaw, throwing him off of Glaucus. Jason staggered back several feet, and continued to withdraw to out the window. Triton neglected to see the Chaot’s atypical behavior, retreat rather than attack. The only thing he could focus on was his entire life pour away as the blood flooded from his son’s body.

  Triton propped Glaucus up in his arms. It was too late, the bite severed the main artery and he was bleeding out. Triton’s hands were now soaked red with the blood of his only tie to this earth. A question struggled to be answered behind Triton’s rising anger: was it indeed Jason who had killed him, or rather Triton himself for making Jason into what he was?

  It was impossible how Jason acted, Triton tried to reason. Chaots know no vengeance, harbored no memories. Yet he swore that a shimmer of recognition lay in his eyes, and swore that a smile elated the Pathfinder’s lips as he attacked.

  He sat speechless. Jason took one last look at Triton, as if to say that now they are even, before escaping out the window and down the bridge’s tower. He had escaped his cell aboard the ship in the pandemonium, had waited until he could kill the one shred of humanity left in Triton, the same fate as Triton had bestowed on the Pathfinder.

  He had nothing. Even if society would renew, Glaucus would not be apart of it and be forgotten. That, he thought, was the one thing everyone desired. To not be forgotten. Death was not itself feared, but rather being consigned to oblivion was. That you did nothing, effected nothing, was nothing. And so he made a vow to the fallen. He would not be nothing nor allow Glaucus’s death to be nothing, he thought as he took his son’s hand in his once more and for the last time.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Walls surrounded Nyx, obstructing her view. The repression of confinement was more atrocious compared to even the Chaots themselves. At least the Chaots were tangible. She could run. She could fight. But here she was alone, locked in a cage with the key thrown away. The claustrophobia of oppression was now her enemy. This she had to fight.

  She lay awake, fastened to the bed, starring wide at the ceiling above. She wished her thoughts could pierce through the material and again see the sky. The path that waited here was a loop, bringing her back to the shores without memory. Maybe the Fisherman would be there again, to carve her path to deliverance. And this time, she may succeed and bring Hades himself to Thalassic. Hell then would rule in the land of the living and into the water’s depths.

  She could not let that happen, and she knew why.

  Leander.

  One answer to that simple question. All else remained dubious, but she knew his heart still beat. If it had stopped, her own heart would have crumbled. She believed such, even if it was only a sentimental fairytale. But if she could lie to herself that indeed he lived, it somehow made it easier to get through this predicament. Somehow it would not be farfetched that she could again be a wayfarer in her steps alongside Leander, and not a captive in the Scipian, not a pawn to the Kings.

  “Tomorrow will be the day.”

  The voice spoke through the speaker, sifting through her consciousness as if it did not belong to a human form. He used her, but eventually she would have been unleashed even without his intrusion. Surely it would have happened, unhurried in its own time. In the end the Chaots would spring forth from the kin of chaos, from Nyx, and be the next era of humanity. Blank slates heralded no mercy, for evolution was a force that beckoned the tabula rasa of humankind to be crushed under the force of nature’s dissonance.

  However, he was the one responsible for her imprisonment, the one who used her for his own ambitions. She looked at what she believed to be a pseudo mirror, wondering with what ease the glass would break and if Triton was standing behind it. Then she could expose him to what he longed for others, but not for himself.

  As if reading her mind, he said, “I would not want you to worry; I am well protected from what lives in you.”

  They were so similar, and yet so different. Both desired a change from the status quo, but both disagreed on intention and inevitable destination of humanity. Both had dragons curled behind their masks of humanity—monsters ready to strike. Nyx’s was a part of her, beyond her control, the Drakōn mund inherent in her blood. But Triton forged his own evil, and soon it would be clear the true nature of the beast.

  “What liv
es in me will live. You are unable to tame what is meant to be,” she said.

  “I lost everything. I will not lose you.”

  She did not understand what he meant, but perhaps that was why he caged her, she thought. But even caged she remained willful, though how long would it take for her to be a mere echo of what she once was? As the beasts in zoos are just a mirror of their former selves, her fate could be this as well.

  Oh Hector, she thought, why are you not here to put a bullet in me as I swore to you? Though what I abhor is much different than what you do. I do not fear the fate of the Chaot; I fear the fate these humans impose.

  She closed her eyes, imagining her future. In the age of beasts, elders would no longer reign. Only the strong. Only the warriors. Considering most laws were set due to the inclination of elders, she began to yearn for natural selection to interfere. Triton should be dead, and all of his kind who were decrepit, caught in the ways of the past.

  Nature will find a way.

  She opened her eyes with a newfound strength. Although he acted under the pretense of controlling her, he would understand that she had rebellion within her. This would be difficult for him to curtail. If and when she dominated, all would be lost for him.

  She had hope. It was what the soldiers clung to, and what she now embodied. In her sights were the walls, but in her heart a spirit remained, unsettled by control. Caged. But not for long. Not forever. She would fight to be free and no man-made walls would stop her.

  A smile tugged at her lips, as the thoughts of such fury sketched inside her mind. Hubris brought many down before, greater kings than he. Will Zeus’s vengeance bring tragedy to Triton as well? Let the god’s hand take no mercy, let Chaos’s daughter again run in the winds so wild.

  “I did not mean for this,” Triton said, breaking her expectations that he would speak with arrogance. “Everything fell apart. The Bavarian Coalition targeted more areas than I and my intel knew they would, causing the prion to be world wide. The prion itself was more virulent than imagined and we were not able to control it.”

  “And what was your true intention?” she asked, wondering what the truth was behind this dream of an utopian society. That was the flag he railed those of the Scipian under, but was it just a means to the end.

  “I admit. I wanted chaos to come. I wanted such aftermath that forced the people to act rather than be complacent. It was the only way I could make them see their prison, which was otherwise invisible to them. The only way I could give them hope. Something I could not give to my wife,” he added quietly before continuing. “Something I can now no longer give to my son. The loss destroyed me, but I rose. And humans will rise in the end.”

  “You will fall,” she said. “Despite your idealism, humanity already crumbled. It already fell to pieces.”

  The breakdown of society clear, for no longer did morals triumph even in those not infected. It was a time of the wild through and through. But he claimed too much, and the time of the wild would be hers alone.

  “I know. I was responsible. And the only thing I can do is try to make amends, to rebuild,” he said.

  “But it did not fall by your doing, Triton. It was I.” It was she. She spoke to infuriate the leader of the Scipians, but as those words left her mouth she released the haunting truth of them. She was responsible for the cessation of society. Soon to become the decimation of a species. She knew what she should feel. But sorrow did not come. No woe. Who was the monster then between the two? “Humanity will not rise again. The Chaots will.”

  “They are an evolutionary dead-end though,” he responded.

  She remembered the baby in the arms of the Chaot. Nature will find a way. And indeed, it had. “It can be inherited. Do not lie to yourself, Triton.”

  He paused, doubt replacing his certainty. “A non-mendelian, non-genetically encoded trait. If your prion follows an unconventional pattern of Darwinian evolution ...”

  “Our team had believed the Drakōn mund to be an acquired prion only. But there are genetic prions. There is a gene in our DNA that codes for the creation of PrP. If the disease could change that gene itself and cause mutated or misfolded PrP to be created, then this could pass on genetically,” Triton said. The realization that the world could permanently be altered passed through his voice as he spoke.

  “A new species will rise,” she said, “and you will not be able to stop it.”

  Triton did not leave but still sat behind the one way mirror. Looking at her, studying her every move. He had lost his wife to madness, lost his son due to his own actions, and was now losing himself. But as he looked at her he wondered if he indeed thought of her as a daughter? In some sense an extension of Glaucus, for his son’s last words were of freeing her. And he had cared for her for a large part of her life, since he had found her in the asylum. He sat, unable to move away from such a paragon, such a weapon that she devastated all that she touched, but could she be a savior as well?

  Time elapsed. Nyx was alone now. The weight of imprisonment charred upon her mind. What would she give to run again within the swamps. To feel the mud sink underneath her footfalls, ever compressing but never-lasting in their allure. To let the breeze sweep her hair in its temperamental caress, pulling her to where it desired. But the air held stale, the walls a prison.

  She heard a melody pulsing against the walls, lulling her to sleep. The rest allowed a release from her introspection, and brought her to a time of innocence as she dreamed.

  Days fell away to bring her back to the waterfalls. “Then live,” Leander whispered as the time diverged to an alternate reality. Steps down a path not taken. The screams from the camp did not interrupt the two, which once brought their ultimate separation. Rather, Leander leaned close, letting his hand travel through her wayward hair. His breath sent such sweet caresses to her skin. Lips met. Souls intertwined.

  And she found more than lust. Something deeper. Something unexpected. It was love. The kiss subtle against her lips, and in it she found what she always ran toward but never could grasp.

  “Leander,” a confused murmur left her mouth, not understanding what it was between them.

  “Do not question,” her own words repeated to her but from his lips, “do not be anything but here.”

  But I am not here. The rigid surface of the examining table that served as her bed seemed to chew upon her dreams, bringing reality to what should be fantasy.

  “Why did you leave me?”

  A question asked of what had not occurred in her dreams. Time was skewed within sleep; though, Leander answered as if knowing exactly what she meant. “Because I love you. And though you always doubted it, I do know you. And that is why I left. I knew you enough to understand that I could never have you. I could never kiss you.”

  “Kiss me again. Have me now,” she answered in defiance.

  His smile lightened her dream at such a request, his hand again to her hair. But rather than the first time he had met her in the town, his fingers did not tie her unkempt hair to calm but instead took a strand and brought it forth—misplaced. His gesture made her move forward to feel his lips against hers.

  He did know her. And though she wished to deny it, she loved him.

  Closing her eyes, she leaned back to feel his mouth stray from her lips and go along her chin down to her neck. His hands fell upon her form. As passions rose under his touch, everything changed. No longer a sweet caress of warmth but of agony. Teeth closed in around her flesh, as excruciation flooded her system. Her eyes opened beholding not Leander, but another. It was what sprung forth from her blood. Chaos.

  The Chaot barred his teeth, grinning in self-repulsion, her blood trailing down along his skin.

  “No one else but I.”

  No one else would ever know her except chaos itself in all its dire nature.

  No one else ...

  She awakened, struggling to forgo the dream. A contrasting medley of passionate fear played in her mind. Nyx longed again to be asleep in order t
o be with Leander, but was too afraid to close her eyes once more.

  Something was different though. So much the same: a racket of beeps emanated from the monitors. The walls stood as perpetual guards. The mirror reflection was of herself in this sterile room. But the shackles around her wrists—not locked. The door—no longer the green beacon blinked subtly as a tell tale sign of its security. No light.

  She did not question why. She wasted no time, knowing they would soon discover this fluke. Her stare went subconsciously to the mirror, wondering if Triton sat behind her reflection, cruelly watching the farce in rebuttal to her defiance. But why risk the chance that she would contaminate the Scipian’s fleet? She stepped from the metal bed, her bare feet touching the floor as she walked across it to the door. And opened it.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Nyx walked through the unlocked door and into the hall. A hiss sounded. She jumped as a decontamination shower pounded down onto her. It was not meant for loose clothes but rather the suits, and the chemicals stung her skin and lungs. She shut her eyes, hoping to save them from the irritation, and ran to the far side.

  Searching for an exit, she reached blindly forward. She clasped the handle at the far end of the hall and pulled it, not knowing if this too would be unlocked. The door opened. She retreated from the spray and to a room that contained supplies. Biohazard suits that were used by the medicinal crew lay arranged along the wall with various sterilizing supplies. It was where they suited up before exposing themselves to her; as if aliens, so separate they were from her.

  Another room. Showers burst as she entered; fear that the stringent would again come dissipated as water instead of chemicals sprayed. A mist filled the air, soothing her. For moments she stayed under its stream, letting it take away all that was behind her. The caustic chemicals. The imprisonment. The cell. The past.