Free Dive

by Emma Shelford

  “Yes, she is.” Zeb didn’t elaborate. They both knew the other’s stance, and neither had budged. He changed the topic. “What do you think of the strolias?”

  “You really think that’s what they are?” Krista was unconvinced the unicorn fish were the strolias from her step-mother Clicker’s stories, but they were odd. She supposed Clicker’s tales had to have come from somewhere. It didn’t mean that the rest of them were true. “I don’t know, Zeb. They’re weird, that’s for sure. I don’t know if they are what you hope they are.”

  She didn’t want to encourage him at all. He and Corrie were feeding off each other’s fascination—they didn’t need help. Jules was no good, either. Although not as curious as the other two, he didn’t speak against it.

  “They are.” Zeb resumed his toweling dry with a dismissive posture. Krista’s hackles rose at his indifference to facts.

  “We need to fill up with gas soon,” she said. “It’s expensive out here, especially without a charter group paying us. Lucky there are only four days left before Corrie leaves and we can go back to shore.”

  “I’m not stopping until I catch a strolia,” he said with an air of finality.

  “You said—”

  “I said I’d stop at the end of summer. But that was before I saw one. This is actual proof that my mum’s stories are real. This is the closest I’ve ever been to finding out what Dad was hiding from me.”

  “You promised that you’d get your shit together in the fall.” Krista was fuming now, her hands balled into fists. Her stupid little brother was throwing his future away on a whim. If these secrets were so well-kept, maybe he’d be better off leaving them alone. Leave the past in the past, she always said.

  “How can you ask me to stop now?” Zeb’s eyes flashed with anger of his own. “I need to know. You don’t understand.”

  “You’re right. I don’t.” She stepped forward and poked him on his bare chest with a taut finger. “You’re forgetting reality while you’re chasing myths. The money won’t last forever, and then you’ll have nothing.”

  She spun around and stormed down the side of the boat, wishing that they weren’t stuck on fifty feet of vessel in the middle of the ocean. She wanted to put far more distance between them.

  Krista was too mad at Zeb to speak to him for the rest of the day beyond necessities. She rarely bothered chatting to Jules, and Corrie was part and parcel of Zeb’s whole warped reality, so when Krista wasn’t helping with sampling efforts or driving the boat, she kept to herself. It was no mean feat on a vessel the size of the Clicker, but Krista was nothing if not ingenious. She took her dinner to the bow and ate a solitary meal in the light of the setting sun.

  By morning, Krista had almost forgiven Zeb for being so stupid. He couldn’t help it, really. That was how he was made. That’s why Clicker had tasked her with looking after him. Even at age eight, Zeb’s foolhardiness must have been apparent, even to his mother.

  Krista had no intention of letting Zeb know he was off the hook, though.

  “Good morning,” Zeb said when he entered the wheelhouse. Krista, at the wheel already and driving to their next station, merely grunted without taking her eyes off the water. Zeb shrugged. “Here are the coordinates. Let us know when we’re there.”

  He turned, but before he could leave, Krista spoke.

  “Do you have a plan? For after sampling with Corrie?”

  Zeb paused.

  “Dad had that old rope ladder stashed in the engine room,” he said to the door. “I’ll put that over the bow and jump in as soon as Corrie starts her water collection with Jules.”

  He left without waiting for a response. Krista’s anger flared again. Well, if he didn’t want any advice, he wouldn’t get any. It was a fine enough plan, she supposed. More holes than a net, but that was all they had to work with.

  A half hour later saw them passing Harwood Island where Zeb had set up a trap in a cave yesterday. Krista slowed. Zeb would be sure to want to check it if they were passing. A boat crept into view around the tip of the island. Krista narrowed her eyes in thought. Was that the Defiance? Her old high school friend Erika’s family used to own it. Still did, if she remembered correctly, although it wasn’t the season for herring, nor the place. That could only mean…

  “Zeb,” she called out on the intercom radio. “Get up here.” She pulled at the wheel and pointed the bow directly at the Defiance.

  Zeb swung into the cabin a moment later.

  “What are you doing?” he said. “Are we stopping to check the trap?”

  “Look.” Krista pointed at the boat. “That’s the boat of Matt Nielsen’s family. What do you bet he’s here, catching unicorn fish for his new drug empire?”

  Zeb stared at her and then at the boat.

  “What are you planning?” he said slowly.

  “Telling him to back off.” She grinned, although there was no humor in the expression. “Don’t worry, little brother. Let me do the talking.”

  When she pulled the Clicker alongside the Defiance, Matt came around the cabin to find out what was going on. Krista motioned Zeb to take the wheel and strode to the deck.

  “Matt Nielsen!” she shouted across the water, her strong voice carrying easily. “Long time, no see.”

  “Krista Artino?” he said with a frown. “I thought you were living in Vancouver.”

  “And I thought you were sailing the seven seas. But you’re not doing that anymore, are you?” Krista’s eyes glanced around the deck of his boat, but there was nothing suspicious in sight. Still, they knew what he was up to. “What are you doing with the horned fish?”

  Matt’s body stiffened and his eyes widened. Krista took a wider stance in triumph. That was confirmation if she’d ever seen it.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

  “Sure, you don’t. You know my friend here almost died last night because of your new drug?” Krista waved at the stern where she assumed Jules was. It was a stretch to say he almost died, and an even further stretch to say that they were friends, but it sounded good out loud. Matt’s face darkened.

  “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “What are you doing here, if not catching those mutant fish?” she said. “Do you even know anything about them? They could be radioactive, for all you know.”

  “I don’t have to listen to this,” Matt said. He started to turn.

  “We’re not going to let this go,” she shouted. “We’ll expose you. Gather as much evidence as we need. We will stop you.”

  Matt’s attempt at calm exploded, and his face contorted with anger.

  “Back off, bitch. You have nothing, and you know nothing. If you try anything, I will make you pay.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Glad you’re so perceptive. Now get out of my sight before I do something you’ll regret.”

  “Krista,” Zeb called from the wheelhouse. “We’re leaving now.”

  The engine kicked into gear, and the Clicker started to move. Krista gave Matt the finger before turning away in disgust. What a lowlife. He’d gone even further downhill since his youth, that was apparent. And Erika was such a decent person.

  Jules and Corrie followed her into the wheelhouse. It was too small for four people, but they squeezed in all the same. Zeb’s face at the wheel was set in a worried frown.

  “What the hell was that about, Krista?” he said.

  “What do you mean? I wanted to see if he was guilty, and he just about told us straight-up.”

  “I bet he’s catching one right now,” Jules said. “We’re right near one of the caves we set a trap on.”

  “Then he has the correct bait on board.” Zeb glanced at Krista, and her eyes widened. Did Zeb think he was going to find out what it was? Krista shook her head at him, but he powered down the boat. “I wish we could find out what it was. But while we’re here, we should check the trap. Jules and Corrie, do you
want to have a look this time?”

  Zeb caught Jules’ eye, and after a moment’s silent conversation, Jules said, “Sure. Come on, Corrie, let’s go find ourselves a unicorn fish.”

  ZEBALLOS

  Jules and Corrie had hardly roared away in the dinghy before Zeb stripped off his clothes to reveal his swim suit underneath. His breath came in a fast pant, and his skin tingled with anticipation of cool salt water gliding over it. His mind, however, fastened on the problem at hand—how would he find out what bait Matt was using?

  “How are you going to do this?” Krista’s voice echoed his own thoughts. “You’re not going to climb aboard, are you?”

  “If it comes to it,” Zeb said. When he caught his sister’s horrified gaze, he amended, “But it won’t. His line is probably in the water. I can swim over there, check it out, and come back without anyone being the wiser.”

  “Well, hurry up,” she said with a glance after the retreating dinghy. “The others won’t be long.”

  Zeb grabbed his flippers out of their hiding place and slid them on his feet, then took a practiced dive off the railing of the boat.

  The water welcomed him with an all-encompassing embrace. Zeb glided with sure kicks down, down, and toward the shore. Tiny currents touching his body told him where to go, and he angled himself directly toward the hulking vessel floating on the surface of the bay. A small reef shark drifted toward him in curiosity. When Zeb made the croaking noise of a large wolf eel like his mother had taught him, the shark wandered off. Zeb would normally have welcomed the company, but today he was on a mission. They had to know what the bait was.

  A shadow darkened the green murk before him. Zeb slowed and looked around carefully. Visibility was low so near the surface, but his other senses worked just fine. He closed his eyes to get a better reading.

  To his left, a faint tingle indicated a fishing line. It was almost too weak to notice, but Zeb had trained himself many years ago. That must be Matt’s line. Zeb kicked slowly toward it, keeping a close watch on his senses to avoid entangling himself in the line.

  Before long, a glint of nylon caught his eye. He dived down to find the hook. Deeper and deeper he swam, the light dim down here from so much algae in the water above.

  Then he saw it. A medium-sized hook, suitable for salmon fishing, was nearly buried in a chunk of bait. Zeb swam closer to see what it was. His eyes widened.

  It was a strip of dried jellyfish. Most wouldn’t have recognized it, but Zeb was the only one he knew who enjoyed it. He would never have guessed that the strolias would like that best, nor that Larry made a habit of eating it for a snack. Krista always turned her nose up at the rubbery texture, and although Jules had tried it for the sake of experimentation, he had never asked Zeb for a bite again.

  Zeb smiled. Here, at last, they had something to work with. He had lots of dried jellyfish in the galley, tucked in a back cupboard where it wouldn’t get in Jules’ way or offend Krista’s sensibilities. Krista bought it for him, grudgingly, from Vancouver’s Chinatown. They could try to fish with it now. Maybe, if they were lucky, they could have their very own strolia this afternoon. His heart nearly burst with excitement.

  He looked at the bait again. Should he remove it so that Matt wouldn’t catch a strolia today? No, he decided. The line would jerk and tug, no matter how carefully he pulled the jellyfish off, and Matt would be alerted. Zeb didn’t feel like a hook in the finger today. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  But was there something else Zeb could do to foil the budding drug producer? His eye landed on the boat’s propeller. He smiled widely then dived down to fetch a rock. His plan would merely inconvenience Matt, but it would be satisfying to thwart him in some way. As long as Matt didn’t start the engine—and it was doubtful he would, with his fishing line in the water—then it was a risk-free endeavor.

  Back underneath the Clicker, Zeb examined his senses for clues. There was no sign of the dinghy, which either meant that Corrie and Jules were still at the cave, or they were already on board. He surfaced near the bow, just in case.

  Krista spotted him and waved him aboard.

  “They’re not back yet,” she called. “Hurry up.”

  He swam to the ladder and climbed quickly aboard. Krista threw him a towel and he ducked into the cabin. A towel-down, especially of his wet hair, and a change of clothes, and Zeb was ready. Corrie wouldn’t suspect a thing.

  CORRIE

  The trap was empty, not that Corrie had expected anything different. It was an experiment based on so few known parameters. Their assumptions about the unicorn fish liking caves were just that, assumptions, and they clearly hadn’t found the correct bait that would draw them in. Not for the first time, Corrie wondered if they should look up Larry the fisherman again and try to wheedle the information out of him.

  “Let’s get out of here,” said Jules when he dropped the net back in the water. “You have some real sciencing to do.”

  “You’re right,” said Corrie with a sigh. “That water won’t collect itself.”

  They were almost at the Clicker when a motion on the Defiance caught Corrie’s eye. Matt was on the deck, struggling with his fishing line.

  “Jules! He’s got one!”

  Jules put the dinghy into neutral and they both watched with open mouths. Whatever was on the other end of the fishing line was putting up a good fight. Matt let the line run out, then he reeled it in slowly until a great tug dipped his rod toward the water and he let the line run free again.

  “He’s playing it like a salmon,” Jules said in a hushed voice.

  “Will it work?”

  “Maybe. Time will tell.”

  Krista and Zeb leaned over the railing of the Clicker to watch. After three runs and three long, slow reels-in, Matt’s expression changed from intense concentration to one of triumph. With a mighty yank, he pulled the fish out of the water.

  A silvery, rainbow-gleaming fish soared through the air. It writhed and flopped ceaselessly, its horn winking in the sunlight.

  “Damn,” Jules breathed. “There it is. In the flesh.”

  Matt directed the spasming fish toward a bucket on deck. When it wouldn’t stop its movements, he whacked it against the side of his boat. It was stunned enough to slow its flopping.

  Corrie realized she was clutching the side of the dinghy so hard it hurt.

  “What the hell?” she gasped. “What was that for?”

  “Not really necessary,” Jules said with a disgusted look on his face. “If he was going to kill it, I guess it’s not a big deal, but if he’s planning to keep it in a tank and harvest the drug somehow, that was cruel.”

  Matt wrangled a lid on his bucket and disappeared into the cabin. Corrie felt sick, but she climbed out of the dinghy and helped bring it to the boat deck. When the dinghy was on board, she faced the others.

  “We need to stop this guy,” she said. She noted that Krista looked nauseated at Matt’s antics but was trying to hide it. Zeb nodded.

  “Yeah, we have to figure this out.” He glanced at the Defiance. “You know, that boat has seen better days. Needs some serious servicing. I wonder if it will even start.” He gave Krista and Jules a meaningful look. While Krista mostly managed to cover her reaction with a blank expression, Jules hid his mirth in a cough.

  What were they laughing at? It was the last thing Corrie felt like doing. But if they didn’t want to share, she wouldn’t make them. She turned to walk into the lab—at least she was the ruler of her little domain—when a sputtering noise caught her attention. The Defiance was starting up, but it sounded rough. Then something clanked, and the motor went quiet.

  “That doesn’t sound healthy,” Jules said with an attempt at nonchalance.

  MATHIAS

  Matt picked up his cooler and hauled it to the dock. The Defiance was all fixed up, thanks to a tow from the coast guard and a quick fix by a local mechanic. He’d paid an arm and a leg for the service, but he
couldn’t afford to wait. His horned fish had to get into a tank, and Krista and her self-righteous friends were sniffing around. He needed to get away from them and get back to work. Sea Salt wasn’t going to extract itself.

  Matt paused to take a deep breath of the salty air of the inlet. His grandfather’s cabin was nestled at the base of a sheer cliff beside a deep cut that disappeared into darkness. The cabin was on a tiny slice of land beside the cut, but it rarely saw sun because of the steep walls of the cliff. His grandfather had bought the land decades ago for cheap, with the far-flung dream of creating a fishing resort one day. That day had never come, lost in the bottle where dreams go to die, but he had built a small cabin. Matt, his brothers, father, uncles, cousins, and grandfather took a yearly trip to the cabin to fish and get plastered, not necessarily in that order. The rest of the year, the cabin lay abandoned.

  It was the perfect secret lab.

  Matt hefted the cooler more securely in his arms and walked the few steps to the cabin’s front door. It was so close to the water that it would have felt more exposed had the inlet not protected it from ocean conditions. His cousin Pete had taken to calling Matt’s operation the lab, although Matt thought “aquarium” was a more apt name. He opened the wooden door, which creaked no matter how many cans of lubricant he sprayed on the hinges, and surveyed the scene. Six tanks bubbled on one side of the main room. Horned fish swam in slow circles in three of the tanks. Their horns tapped the glass in an irregular rhythm.

  Pete, who was a pharmacist and the only one who knew of Matt’s scheme, had set Matt up with the equipment and instructions to turn the slime of horned fish into white powder that he could sell. The kitchen table was stuffed with equipment, and the counters had bottles and other apparatus lined up along the edge. It hadn’t been easy to learn, but Pete was patient and Matt persistent, and together they had figured it out. Pete wanted his cut, of course, but Matt was okay with that. He wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without his cousin’s guidance.