by Aaron Galvin
That don’t mean he’s neva left, Paulie. Lenny replied. Just means he don’t get caught. ‘Sides, it’s not like the guy’s gotta sneak around to get a swim in, is it? The Crayfish lets him do what he wants.
I dunno, boss. Paulo patted the steering wheel. I don’t like this. Not one bit.
Lenny didn’t disagree. He’d had his fair share of run-ins with Fenton over the years, and the scars to prove it, but Lenny still believed an unspoken bond existed between his father and Byron Fenton. He didn’t know why, of course, but Lenny felt like Fenton had let him off the hook more times than not when catching the younger Dolan out for a swim after lockdown.
Have to ask Pop about it.
Paulo circled the tail of Deer Island, rounding his heading northeast past Little Faun, bound for the Boston North Channel.
Lenny looked eastward. He didn’t see the lighthouse yet, but knew it lay in that direction. The waters would deepen shortly, greyer and choppier. The yacht rose and fell as Paulo throttled up again to bust through wakes of other boats returning to the harbor.
He noticed not a few fishermen aboard the incoming trawlers glare at the yacht moving past. Lenny recognized the look in those kindred spirits—worker's scorn for those who might wrongly perceive themselves of a higher station. The same look Lenny knew crossed his own face whenever Oscar came around.
Paulo raised a hand to the fishermen.
Lenny knew Paulo meant the respectful gesture. He also knew it foolish.
The fisherman confirmed Lenny’s belief when they spit off the sides of their boat and went back to work.
Lenny grinned. They’re workers, Paulie. He thought on one of the many lessons his father taught him. They don’t give respect to nobody. Ya gotta earn it.
His gaze wandered east again and he wondered how long until he might catch the first glimpse of the lighthouse.
Why, Len? Paulo asked. Why would the Crayfish send Fenton for us? Why not your father instead? He’s the one usually sent up.
Wouldn’t risk it, said Lenny. Numba one, I’m already up here so what’d keep the two of us from runnin’?
Your father would never run—
I know that, but we could if the Crayfish was dumb enough—and he’s not—to send Pop ashore.
Right, said Paulo. But why Fenton?
I dunno! What in a blue hole do I look like? Ya think I got all the answers? Huh? Lenny rubbed his temples. I don’t. I’m in the depths with all this, same as you.
Geez, Len, you don’t have to go crazy.
Lenny sighed. Look, I’m just ready for all this to end, ya know?
You mean be free.
Huh?
The deal you made with Oscar, said Paulo. You catch Weaver, Oscar sets you free, right? No wonder you can’t wait to get back. All this—Paulo pointed to the waters around them—it all goes away for you when we get back. Paulo grinned. I’m going to miss you, boss.
Shuddup, Paulie.
Yeah. Paulo chuckled. I’ll miss that too.
Lenny stood up to stretch his legs.
“What’s wrong, Dolan?” Fenton’s voice came from behind him. “Lose your sea legs during your time ashore?”
Lenny smirked. “I didn’t lose nuthin’, old timer. Brought ya back some prize, didn’t I?”
Fenton scoffed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I told August it wasn’t wise sending you out.” Fenton grimaced. “Too young and cocky. Like your father.”
“Hey, my pop’s the best catcha in—”
“All the Salt,” said Fenton glumly. “So I’ve heard. You want to know something else? He’s not happy with you either.”
Lenny laughed. “Yeah, well, Pop’s neva happy unless he’s unhappy.”
Fenton’s face tightened.
Lenny stopped laughing. “What? We bagged the girl August wanted. Marisa Bourgeois, the uncatchable runna…ya rememba her, Boss Fenton?”
“I do.”
“Good. We caught her. The Silksteala too.”
Fenton remained unimpressed.
“Wha’?” Lenny said. “Whattaya lookin’ at me like that for? Did ya not hear me or something? I brought ya all those prizes and an Orc. That’s neva been done before.”
“And for good reason.” Fenton folded his arms.
“Yeah, but—”
“What do you think an Orc pod might do when they learn of a Selkie stupid enough to enslave one of their own?”
Lenny and Paulo exchanged a glance.
“They’ll come for him,” said Fenton. “Soon.”
“Maybe they won’t find out,” said Paulo.
“They will.” Fenton assured him.
“H-how do you know?”
Lenny knew the answer before Fenton spoke. “Tieran…”
Fenton nodded. “You know how he loves to run his mouth when he’s drunk.”
“Well, stop him,” Paulo said. “Let me circle back right now. I’d love to shut him up.”
“That sounds like mutiny to me.” Fenton’s voice rose. “Tieran’s a freed Selkie. You’re not.”
Paulo dipped his head and focused on the wheel.
“I don’t suppose you pups gave a thought as to how you’d bring your prize down to the cavern either, did you?” asked Fenton.
Lenny shrugged. “He’ll swim down.”
“Will he?” Fenton asked. “Or might he decide all that swims between him and freedom are a pair of young Selkies?”
Lenny leaned against the rail. “Son of a sea cook…”
“What?” Paulo asked. “I don’t get it.”
“Have either of you pups ever seen an Orc in open water?” Fenton asked.
Paulo shook his head.
“They’re faster than us, more resilient, and outweigh all Selkies except for maybe your kind, Paulo,” said Fenton. “They were made in the Ancients’ image for Senchis’s sake! I can’t fathom what in a blue hole crossed your mind when you decided to bring that Orc back, Dolan, but you’ll see this through or die trying.”
Die?
“Boss Fenton,” said Paulo. “If this is such a bad idea, why not let Weaver go? He seems like a good guy. I mean he wants to go home. Didn’t he say so?”
“Only one way I know to ensure he keeps quiet.” Fenton grimaced.
Lenny stood up. “Ya can’t do that.”
“What?” Paulo asked. “Can’t do what?”
“Aye,” said Fenton, rising to tower over Lenny. “What can’t I do…slave?”
Lenny refused to back away. “Ya can’t kill him. He’s a kid that don’t know no betta.”
“You’re right. He doesn’t.” Fenton’s eyebrow twitched. “You did.”
“Aye,” said Lenny. “So take it out on me.”
Fenton cracked a grin. “You truly are your father’s son, Dolan.”
“That’s right.” Lenny lifted his chin. “I am.”
Fenton shook his head. “I never said that was a good thing.”
Lenny relaxed, but only slightly, as the old overseer took his seat again.
“I’ve no plans to kill the Orc,” said Fenton. “Honestly, we need him for when the others come looking for him. If they find him alive and well, might be they’ll take him and go on their way. If our new Orc friend is dead, however…”
Lenny and Paulo exchanged a glance.
“Good,” said Fenton. “You’re catching on. If either of you want to live another day, you need him to survive the journey to Crayfish Cavern.”
“Right,” said Paulo. “That’s no problem. He’s an Orc. He’ll swim down—”
“The kid hates water,” said Lenny.
“Excuse me?”
Lenny nodded. “Says he can’t swim.”
Fenton laughed. “Marvelous.”
“Buckets of blood,” said Paulo. “So how are we supposed to get him down there?”
Lenny put his face in his hands. Rubbed his temples. “Tranq him, maybe? Knock Weava out. Pull him down—”
Fent
on raised his hand, halting Lenny. “Too risky. He might drown. August lost nearly a whole crop of new slaves employing the tranq method when he first began this business. It’s not an option.”
“Okay,” said Paulo. “So we take him down the Gasping Hole—”
“Too small,” said Lenny. “And I don’t think Weava knows how to change all the way yet. If he freaks out—”
“He will,” said Fenton. “They all do. You’ve seen their faces after.”
Lenny shuddered and put the memories of new slaves fresh up from the Gasping Hole out of mind. “So that’s out. Tranqs are out. Whatta we supposed to do? Rent a submarine?”
“No,” said Fenton. “From where I sit, you only have one option.”
“You,” said Lenny. “Not we?”
“Aye. I’ll have no part in it.”
Lenny felt his guts twisting as Fenton laid out the plan. The situation he would be in should things turn sour. A part of him even wondered if putting him in such a scenario hadn’t been Fenton’s plan all along.
“Ya can’t be serious with this,” said Lenny, unable to contain himself. He watched Fenton’s lips purse. “Ya talkin’ about suicide!”
“Didn’t you say the Orc doesn’t know any better?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Then he’ll listen to you,” said Fenton. “After all, you’re the only friend he has in the Salt, am I right?”
Lenny sighed. “I’m not his friend.”
“You are now. Oh, and don’t forget”—Fenton grinned—“you already told me that he would, how did you put it…keep his mouth shut?”
Lenny frowned. “Forgive me for not laughin’.”
“Dolan,” said Fenton softly. “Your fate is already linked to that Orc…as is your father’s.”
Lenny saw red.
“If Garrett Weaver escapes, drowns, or dies by any means,” Fenton continued, “you and your father die too.”
KELLEN
Why haven’t they opened the doors yet?
Kellen stretched his legs from the poised position he had held for over an hour. Sweat dripped off the edge of his nose. The temperature had steadily risen ever since the walls stopped pulsing. Kellen assumed it meant the Selkies had parked and killed the engine.
What if they abandoned the bus? Left us to roast in here?
He pushed the thoughts away as quickly as they came.
They’ll open the doors. He tried to convince himself. Bryant said they would. We’re valuable to them or else they would’ve killed us already.
“Stay ready,” Bryant whispered from a few feet away.
Kellen took up his crouched stance again; knee tucked under his waist, his other foot back, ready to spring forward and out the moment any bit of light shone through the locked hold door. He pictured his cellmate in a similar position at the opposite end.
However fearful Kellen may have once been of Bryant, he thanked God for the company now. The dark seemed not so claustrophobic while having someone to converse with. Bryant had kept his past shielded from Kellen’s questions, as did Kellen to the marshal’s inquiries. Elsewise, Kellen thought the pair of them had worked well together thus far.
Each had run their hands along the entire rectangular cell in case the other missed a crease in the metal paneling, or a loose screw to pry free. Kellen discovered two holes, one near either corner at the back wall, both wide enough for him to put his fingers inside. He found the opening smooth, like PVC piping, yet the tips of his fingers struggled to find where the tubes ended.
Probably letting air in, he deduced.
Their search turned up little else. Welded paneling. No screws, bolts, and barely any creases where the metal sheets fit together. Aside from the breathing holes, the hold door contained the only cracks.
When Kellen mentioned Oscar slammed the door closed from the middle, Bryant suggested they take up opposite ends. Doing so might allow them greater ease to spill out. Both hoped the Selkies might not expect them at the sides.
“What’s the plan?” asked Bryant quietly.
Kellen rolled his eyes. “We’ve been over it a hundred times.”
“Then you should know it by now. Now, the plan…”
“When the door opens, we lunge with our shoulders against the door to catch them off guard.”
“And then?”
“Kill them,” said Kellen. The answer rolled off his tongue as if he talked of shooting birds with his old pellet gun.
They’re slavers. Kellen recalled Bryant’s rebuke when first he wavered at such talk. They’re going to take us beneath the waves and make us theirs. Sell us to the highest bidder and work us until we die of exhaustion or worse.
Kellen might have disagreed with Bryant had he not seen the transformations of seals into men back at the jail. Such a thing should not exist outside of movies and storybooks, yet Kellen witnessed it with his own eyes. Had watched Oscar shoot Richie Caspar in cold blood, take the others hostage, including the Lavere town drunk, Boone Merchant. All before shoving Kellen into the same dark hold that contained him now.
“You forgot something.”
“No, I didn’t,” said Kellen defensively.
“Yes, you did.” Bryant said. “Don’t leave me behind.”
Kellen smirked. Try as both might, neither had been able to release Bryant from his cuffs. Blinded by the hold’s dark, he remained certain the marshal’s wrists were bloodied and raw from the chafing he had given in the trying.
“I will if you can’t keep up, old man.”
“Don’t be stupid,” said Bryant. “We don’t know where we’ll be when they let us out of here. We do this and kill Oscar Collins, his daddy’ll hire more catchers to find out who done the deed. I doubt it’d take them long to find out who we are. You said the Selkies lit the jail on fire too. Soon enough, the authorities will learn you’re gone. You get away without me, you’ll be headed straight to prison or the nearest ditch.”
“How’s that?”
“Bet they got your face on every news outlet there is right now. Two police officers are dead. A sheriff and a deputy marshal too. A couple cons missing, who do you think they’ll point the finger at?” Bryant whistled. “Any self-respecting lawman would give their left nut to lay hands on you right now, Pinocchio. I won’t even mention what the ones who don’t respect the badge would do.”
Kellen felt a lump in his throat.
“You need someone to hide you,” Bryant continued. “Figure out a way to explain this mess if you ever hope to get your old life back. You leave me behind, you kiss all that goodbye.”
“I won’t leave you,” said Kellen.
“See that you don’t.”
Kellen stewed, in silence, on Bryant’s words.
“Kid…you hear that?”
Kellen tensed. Strained his ears to listen for the slightest sound; a door slamming, voices, even the low rumble of the bus engine firing anew would be a welcome relief from this waiting. He heard none of those.
The noise came from behind them, along the wall at the back of their cell. A scratchy sound, clearly outside the bus, and loud enough that whatever made it didn’t care whether those inside heard or not.
“What is that?” Kellen hissed.
“Distraction,” Bryant replied, his tone suggesting guesswork. “Trying to draw us away from the door and to the back instead.”
Kellen’s hands felt shaky. “What if there’s a door back there too? Hidden?”
“It’s not. No creases for it to open by.”
The noise came louder.
“Get ready,” said Bryant lowly.
Lunge against the door. Kellen reminded himself.
The noise attached itself to the bus.
Spill out the side…
Sounded like metal grating metal, screwing on in clockwork fashion.
Kill them.
The noise vanished. The silence returned thick and heavy like a tomb.
What was that thing? What happened? Where did it go?
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Kellen’s calves ached. He tapped his toes against the floor, anything to ground the energy coursing through him.
“I don’t like this,” said Bryant.
For some reason, the admission frightened Kellen more than his silence.
The quiet did not last long.
A new sound emerged: soft and hissing at first, then…a drip. Then another.
What is that?
The drip became a trickle.
Kellen’s jail sweatpants felt suddenly heavier around the knee…wet. He took his hand off the door and put it to the floor. Water wet his palm. Oh no…
The trickle became a faucet, the sound of water splashing against the metal base louder than the hissing had been.
Not breathing holes…
He spun away from the door and crawled to the back.
“Where are you going?” Bryant yelled.
“We have to plug the holes!” Kellen reached the back corner and fumbled around for the hole. Finding it, he tried to stop it up with his fingers.
The force came too great, the water rank like creek water siphoned off a main pool and left to still.
His first attempt failing, Kellen tried to block the hole with his hands.
The move created a geyser, spraying water in all directions, and still the flow continued.
“Bryant!” Kellen yelled. “I need help!”
“I’m not leaving this door,” the marshal replied. “It’s a distraction. They want us to move!”
Kellen no longer cared.
The water level rose over his legs, now halfway up his thighs.
It’s filling too fast. There has to be more holes somewhere.
Kellen pressed his back tight against the ceiling.
The water continued to rise.
Plug the holes!
Kellen stripped his shirt off. Wadded it up and shoved a sleeve inside the hole. He felt water pulse through, impeded little by the makeshift stopgap.
The cold tickled Kellen’s bare abs, a reminder it meant to overtake him still.
Kellen heard another hole continue to gush. He crawled toward it. Felt water pulse from the hold bottom and he searched for source.
Movement came harder now. Slowed by the ascending water line.
Swim!
Kellen raised his head above the water line, cracked it against the ceiling. He opened his mouth to breathe.
