by Sarah Porter
“So,” Nick said, and Andrew jumped at the sound of his voice, “assuming you’re both correct about the identity of the mermaid we saw—and I have to say I think that’s a huge assumption for all of us to make—there’s still a question I’d like answered, if you could.”
Kathleen smacked the cutting board down hard enough to make the silverware rattle, and thumped the bread on top. “Would you please not condescend to me! It’s not an assumption!”
Nick smiled over at him in a way Andrew found vaguely irritating, as if he’d be sure to agree that Kathleen was just one of those high-strung women who have to be humored. “All right, darling. Let’s say that the mermaid’s identity is an irrefutable fact: she is Lucette, and the earth orbits the sun. It still leaves us with one unavoidable question, doesn’t it?” Kathleen was slicing bread more vigorously than seemed strictly necessary. “Why was it a mermaid we saw and not a teenage girl in a swimsuit? Do you think that’s something you could resolve for us, Andrew?”
“When you wouldn’t even admit that we’d seen a mermaid at all until we watched our own video ten times, I don’t think you get to lay claim to some kind of higher rationality!” Kathleen fumed. She slathered butter on a hunk of bread and flung it on Andrew’s plate in a way that made him grin uncontrollably.
“It’s okay,” Andrew said softly. “I can answer. But it just . . . it means getting into kind of a long story, and a lot of it . . . it might be hard for me to say. Or for you to believe, really. I’ll do my best, though.”
“Please,” Kathleen said. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. Whatever you can tell me, it would mean so much! Right now all we know is what Chrissy told us.”
“Chrissy?”
“The neighbor’s little girl. You can see her in the video too. She said she talked to the mermaid under the dock and brought her some food, and that the mermaid was very nice and told Chrissy not to trust magic things, and that she’d been bit by a squid.”
“And you believe every word Chrissy said, because seven-year-old children never invent stories like that?” Nick asked.
Kathleen looked like she was on the verge of an outburst, and Andrew tried to deflect it. “That rip in Lucette’s ear? Must have been a pretty big squid.”
“Oh.” Kathleen sounded distracted. “Maybe one of the Humboldts. They’ve been showing up here recently. Andrew, I’m sorry. You were about to tell us about you and Lucette.”
“Yeah. See, the thing is I wasn’t around when she changed, but she told me about it later.” Andrew barely remembered to eat as he told the story, trying to keep it as short as possible. He left out some things, like how he’d made his living during their years on the road; he didn’t want his hosts to start worrying that their credit cards would disappear. But he tried to be honest about the rest of it: how Alyssa had died as a result of their rambling life, how he’d finally moved to Alaska to give Luce some stability, then how his fishing boat was destroyed in a storm not long afterward, drowning almost everyone onboard. How he wound up marooned on an island in the middle of the Bering Sea, leaving Luce alone with her alcoholic uncle . . .
He tried to stay focused on Kathleen, but he couldn’t help noticing the incredulity twisting through Nick’s face. He decided to limit his explanation of how he’d survived on that island to the parts that wouldn’t sound too crazy, like relying on the geothermal springs for warmth in the winter and hunting seals.
Even so the story sounded dreamy, fantastical. And he hadn’t even gotten to the part where his daughter showed up but transformed into a mermaid.
Andrew heard Nick’s chair scrape back and turned to look as the other man stood up. “This is all very interesting, but there’s a lot of yard work I still have to get done today.”
“Nick,” Kathleen objected, “this is important. It’s important to me to understand as much as possible, and I really think—you need to hear this too.”
“The only reason I agreed to go through with this was that I was hoping you’d find some closure, Kath!” Nick’s knees were trembling, and his voice grew sharper with every word. “I’m waiting for you to put this—this senseless episode behind you, and stop dreaming. And now this man comes in here and starts spinning these fairy tales, and I have to watch you sitting there and swallowing every preposterous word without the slightest sign of critical reflection!”
Andrew couldn’t resist defending himself. “A lot of what I’ve said you can double-check that it’s true. That the High and Mighty vanished, and I was on it, and that I was presumed dead along with everybody else. All that’s public record; you can check . . .” Andrew’s voice trailed away.
“Not interested,” Nick growled. “Kath, come get me when you’re done here.”
“You’re not interested, because you don’t want to know the truth!” Kathleen snapped. Then she turned pointedly away from her husband, her lips compressed. “Andrew, I’m so sorry about the interruption. You were saying?”
“I’m thinking . . . maybe I should leave?” Andrew asked.
“Only if you want to leave me seeing her in my mind all the time, and wondering,” Kathleen said. “Something—the sense that I’m really connected to my regular life, I guess—it feels broken. Once you know that something so extraordinary is that close . . .”
Nick stalked out of the kitchen and through a back hallway. They heard a door slam. “I’m real sorry,” Andrew said. “I didn’t mean to start any kind of trouble for you.”
“You didn’t,” Kathleen breathed. “The trouble was there already. Nick wants to believe that it’s all because of your daughter, but really . . .”
Andrew didn’t feel particularly sorry at the news that Kathleen’s marriage was troubled and then noticed how not sorry he was.
“Anyway,” Kathleen went on, “please tell me your story.”
Andrew did: how Luce had found him and how he’d refused for months to believe that the mermaid in the water was really his daughter and not some kind of delusion. Then, once he’d accepted it, what Luce had told him about the reasons for her change. Kathleen listened intently.
“So—is she the only one? Or is this . . . this transformation through trauma something that happens to . . .” Kathleen’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no.”
“She’s not the only one,” Andrew said quietly. “We had a run-in with a pack of them later who seemed pretty pissed about Luce rescuing me. I don’t know for sure, but I’m guessing it’s the same for all of them. Girls who people think are runaways or whatever, lots of them are actually out there in the ocean.”
They both stopped talking for a moment. There was no view of the sea from the kitchen, but it was close enough that they could hear, very faintly, the rumble of the waves.
“Kathleen?” Andrew said. “Sorry, but it gets worse. A lot worse.”
She looked up, eyes starry with tears. For a second he wondered how old she was; she was lithe and youthful, but from the lines around her eyes Andrew thought she might be forty or so. About his age now.
“Tell me.”
“Well, I had a visit from this FBI guy, and he told me that tribes of mermaids are out there killing people, like bringing ships down somehow. I think I got a taste of how they do it myself, actually.” Andrew didn’t mention that the momentary swirl of mermaid song he’d heard still went on coiling endlessly through his mind, even in his sleep. He found it both disturbing and oddly comforting.
“They kill . . .” Kathleen was staring out the window; her voice sounded as if it were journeying across strange expanses on its way to that peaceful kitchen.
“And now our government’s out there killing them right back. The guy told me straight out they’d fired spear guns at Luce, back before you saw her.”
“But she was so sweet to Chrissy, and I swear the way she looked at us . . . There was no malice in her face, Andrew! I’m sure she never killed anyone.”
“I’m not sure,” Andrew admitted. “Not a hundred percent. But she saved me,
and that guy said something about her saving somebody else, too. The deal can’t be so simple that just slaughtering all the mermaids is the only choice.”
“And then anyone . . . who has a missing daughter, or a sister . . . they’ll lose their chance of finding them again forever.”
Her sister, Andrew thought. He couldn’t have explained why, but he was suddenly completely certain. Her sister’s out there in that damned cold nothingness. That’s why she’s taking this so hard.
“Luce said they never get any older than they were the day they changed,” Andrew said as if he were answering a question. “So even if somebody went that way a long time ago, she’d still be real young. Kathleen, I know you’ve done a lot already by talking to me, by even believing me—”
“I haven’t done anything for you; you’re the one who’s helping me!”
“I got a huge favor to ask.”
Kathleen only looked at him. There was no questioning in her eyes, only misery. He wished he could hold her.
Andrew knew he was about to get Ben Ellison in serious trouble. The FBI agent would probably lose his job over this. Sorry, Ben. Sorry. Maybe he would understand there was no other choice, though; not when Luce’s life was at stake.
“I was wondering if maybe you’d be willing to . . . to put out another video.”
∗ ∗ ∗
The black boat slid among the network of tiny wild islands and narrow channels north of Seattle. The sky was the morose steel blue of a thickly overcast dawn. The divers had been up all night hunting, sounding out prospective mermaid lairs that had shown up on the scans. More and more often now the caves they checked proved to be empty, though some of them had suspicious signs of habitation: piles of empty shells or trinkets dangling from the rocks. Mermaids were obviously getting away from them, but there were no hints to where they’d all gone.
It was somebody’s fault, clearly. And somebody was going to have to take the blame. The government operatives had managed to decrease radically the incidence of shipwrecks along the West Coast, but if the sinkings started up again as soon as their backs were turned, it was sure going to look like they were a bunch of incompetents.
“There’s one . . .” The major was peering through high-powered binoculars, and he’d caught a distant but distinct glimpse of coppery fins. Not far from the mermaid there was an abrupt jag in the coast that seemed to indicate a promising cove. “About time. We’ll try to come up on her nice and gradually, see if there are more of them with her.”
Some of the men thought that was stupid. They’d realized by now that the damned tails could stay under for at least half an hour, sometimes much longer. They were incredibly fast swimmers, too; no human diver was a match for them. Their only real options were to take mermaids by surprise or else corner them. In this tangle of islands it would be absurdly easy to lose sight of their quarry. “With all due respect, sir,” a high-pitched voice objected, “she’ll dive. We should speed up and nab her before she sees us.”
“She hasn’t seen us,” the major said confidently. “Goddamn. She’s playing. And, wait, it looks like there’re at least two of them. Slow approach, like I said, and stay right up against the rocks. We’re about to hit pay dirt, men.”
Even without binoculars they could all see the tiny figure leaping high above the waves now, her long tail breaching as she spun in midair. She was probably brown-skinned, and her copper scales gave off flashes of ruby shine even in the morning dusk. After she splashed down, a second figure leaped, smaller and paler, her tail a light smoky blue. They appeared to be taking turns seeing how high they could go, completely oblivious of the danger creeping toward them. They looked so carefree, so joyful and innocent.
The only antidote to feelings of tenderness for these creatures was, the major reminded himself, a carefully cultivated loathing.
The boat slithered closer, its darkness blending with the slick black shoreline. It almost seemed like all the stealth wasn’t necessary, though. Whenever the mermaids surfaced they were always facing the other way. If it was indeed the case that some of the mermaids who’d escaped had been warning the rest of them, the news obviously hadn’t reached these two.
There was the flash of a third tail, a purple one, a little way to one side. Probably there was a whole tribe of them lounging right around that bend in the shore. The major started calculating. If they shot a bunch of mermaids out in the water they’d have to be extremely careful not to be seen by anyone at any stage of the procedure. The operation was still dead secret. And there would be the hassle of hiding the bodies, though one of those empty caves they’d found ought to do the job.
The copper-tailed one flung herself skyward again and pirouetted in space, coming down with an enormous splash. The boat was only fifty yards away now and still the mermaids seemed utterly thoughtless, as naïve as the children they decidedly weren’t. In a few more seconds he’d give the order to gun the silent engines, rush the mermaids, and attack. Blue-tail somersaulted then dipped below the water. It would be best to charge at a moment when all three heads were above the surface, shoot them all simultaneously before they had a chance to realize what was happening.
As if on cue, all three heads appeared close together, their shoulders gleaming in the dull blue light. They appeared to be talking, maybe laughing at something, though of course the major’s helmet kept him from hearing anything outside the network of microphones and speakers that linked him to his men. He shook his head and smiled grimly.
It was almost ludicrous how reckless these mermaids were being. If he didn’t know better, the major might have thought they wanted to get caught. Maybe they did. Maybe their guilt drove them to it. The men had their spear guns up, ready to fire. Geffen looked back at him from the cabin, waiting for the signal. He nodded brusquely at the pilot, and the boat accelerated in perfect silence, hurtling almost to the spot where the mermaids laughed.
When he looked back at the low, dim waves there was nothing. No, that was one of them . . . or no, it was only a seal . . .
The boat was still ebbing forward a bit from the momentum. On all sides there was only the stone-colored roll of the water, dancing trails of shadow, blackish scrolls that seemed to be hair until he focused his gaze on them and they turned back into weeds. All he could hear was the electrical hum of his helmet and the layered rhythms of his men’s exhalations against their built-in microphones. He usually tuned out the noise of their breathing, but somehow it was more intrusive now, as if it might be louder and quicker than he was used to . . . as if . . .
The world started spinning, slowly at first, like a merry-go-round just getting underway.
All the major could think for a moment was that he must be hallucinating. The dim blue world swept ragged trees across his vision as if it wanted to brush his eyes out of his head . . . then tarnished water . . . trees again, a diving cormorant, a sense of infinite distance.
“Major?”
He snapped back to the sight of his men stumbling or pressed up against the boat’s sides. The helmets hid everything but their worried, disoriented eyes. They were rotating at shocking speed now, each view of trees no more than a whiplash of passing darkness. Even worse, a mysterious circular blue wall seemed to be rising around them.
It was either that or . . . “Get us out of here!”
“I can’t, major! We’re in a funnel; we’re—”
“Gun the goddamn engines and get us out!”
He found himself staggering back and crashing down on top of one of his fallen men. His stomach lurched and speed hammered at his head. The centrifugal force was now so great that it was a struggle to shift his leg a few inches to one side. Through the cabin’s open door he saw Geffen’s body swinging in midair as he tried to keep his grip on the wheel; then the pilot lost his hold and smashed screaming into the wall. His wasn’t the only voice: the screams were all amplified by the helmets, throbbing into an intolerable, collective yowl.
It had to be Luce. She was the
only one of those damn tails who could do something like this. She’d used the others as bait and lured the boat there.
Beyond the boat there was nothing but a blue blur of void, a towering emptiness. Blots of foam flew overhead. How far were they from the surface? Their suits would provide oxygen, of course. They wouldn’t drown, unless . . .
A few of the men looked like they’d lost consciousness.
The spinning slowed and the tall blue walls caved in.
∗ ∗ ∗
“We should rip their helmets off while they’re still dizzy. Dispose of them.” The mermaids had darted some distance away then stopped to gaze back at the scene they’d created after drawing that boat to a spot where the water was especially deep. Through the rippling gray they could just make out the floundering shapes of the divers as they pulled free of their fast-descending boat, most of them dragging comrades who apparently couldn’t swim on their own.
“No.” The smallest of the three mermaids flicked her blue tail. “We stopped them for now, and we showed them enough that they’ll be scared about what they’re doing. We’re not going to kill them!”
“They’re murderers,” the brown-skinned mermaid hissed. “They don’t deserve to live.”
“Dana . . . you’re a murderer too. So am I. Someone has to stop first. We should just hurry up and get away from here.”
“Dang,” the purple-tailed mermaid sniped, but she was laughing in exhilaration at what she’d just witnessed. It was incredible what these two could do when they deliberately joined their voices that way, and now they were starting to teach her, too. “You really do talk like that, that crazy—”
“Are you surprised, J’aime?” Violet retorted. “I told you who my queen is.”
14
Pharaoh’s Army
It was evening again; in a few hours they’d all head out to sea for another round of training. It was going better than she’d dared to hope and Luce knew she should be happy; even Catarina had stopped objecting. But as Luce gazed across the light-streaked bay, anxiety kept twisting through her like cold wires binding her insides. More refugees were turning up every day, and while some of them were too rattled to do much but lie in the hammocks and stare at the nightmares spinning through their heads, others were all too eager to join Luce’s growing army.
