by Anne Renwick
“On our way.”
A figure—a woman—dressed in nothing more than a shift stood at the railing of the rescue boat, hair whipping about her face. A familiar face. He spun a dial, increasing magnification. Quicksilver eyes, copper hair and a quiet, determined bravery. The stance of a woman willing to face the unsettling and unknown. What the hell was Isa doing here? Had she any idea of the danger that circled below? He bet she did, that she’d purposefully inserted herself into this situation.
He’d promised—been ordered—not to interfere. Any risk to her was low. The megalodon had disappeared, and there was no reason for her not to attend to any survivors. He could ask her for a report later. Time to order the dirigible about, retrieve his team. But his feet were frozen to the floor.
~~~
When the distressed boat came into sight, its white flag flapping in the wind, not a soul stood on deck, yet around the hull, seawater churned, dark with… blood. An eerie keening sound rose from the water as fish with whip-like tails and mouths filled with long, sharp teeth shredded scraps of human flesh.
She shuddered.
“Hyena fish,” the man beside her hissed. “We’re too late.”
A sour taste rose to the back of her throat. This was far, far worse than an individual octopus attack. Who would do such a thing to a family and why? The Brown and Lovitt families—six adults and nine children wanting nothing more than a peaceful life—gone.
On the wind, Isa caught a different kind of cry.
“There!” She pointed. “A woman. Bring the boat around.”
The minute they drew aside, Isa leapt over a small stretch of water where the horrible fish still swarmed, landing on the other ship’s deck. She ran to the woman who huddled against the railing. Arms around her legs, she rocked, wailing her misery into the wind.
“What happened?” Isa wrapped her own arms about the woman’s shoulders, offering comfort. Behind her, the Finn men thundered onto the boat, glancing in her direction with a nod, they ran down into the hull, searching for other survivors.
“OctoFinn came.” The woman spoke in a monotone, her eyes vacant. “We fought, killed two. Lost. There was a culling. Blood was taken. Some were worthy, and those they took into the mouth of the shark. Those who weren’t…” Her pale face tipped upward. “They threw my baby overboard.”
No. No it couldn’t be. Condemned or saved by a blood test? “Did they mention factor Q?” Guilt—already grasping her by the throat—tightened its grip as she waited.
But the woman didn’t answer, she only rocked, her lips moving without sound.
“Come,” Isa said. “Let’s get you away from the water.”
“Don’t touch me!” the woman screamed, exploding to her feet, shoving her hands outward.
And pushing Isa over the railing and into the water.
She broke the surface gasping for air and kicking.
Pain shot through her leg. Bloody hyena fish. Rotten little chum chewer had bitten down on her calf, its inch-long fangs tearing a gash through her skin. Blood swirled around her. Bits of flesh, mostly unidentifiable, churned in the waves. The salt water burned as she stroked away from the shrieking fish, away from both boats. Had—with the horror and chaos that surrounded them—anyone noticed she’d gone overboard?
Something bumped the back of her head. She spun and screamed. A severed leg, cleanly cut with as if with a large, sharp blade. Megalodon teeth? Coughing up the bloody salt water she’d inhaled, she started to kick away until she noticed something else. A tentacle protruded from the knee. Treading water, she spun around again. The hyena fish surrounded both boats, blocking her return. Drawing her dive knife would do no good; slashing at such small, darting creatures would accomplish nothing but to drain her of energy.
The shore was two miles away, and the water not unreasonably cold. Not for a Finn. Swimming for shore would take time and—given the attacks—was ill-advised. Besides, the survivors might require medical assistance. Aether, she hoped there were more aboard that boat than a single woman. She bobbed in the water, waiting. When they discovered her missing, the men would set up a search.
Sharp teeth pierced her ankle. With an abrupt intake of breath came water. A second bite at the arch of her foot. The hyena fish had found her, but still no one was on deck. Kicking, she moved away, away from the boats. Another bite. If she waited for the men to remember her, to begin a search, she might have no toes left. Horrid fish.
Cringing in distaste, she wrapped her fingers about the ankle of the tentacle-impaled, disarticulated leg. If need be, she could save herself.
Chapter Fourteen
NEVER AGAIN WOULD SHE underestimate the damage hyena fish could do to a live human. Several more attacked before she broke away. Dragging a severed leg through the water hadn’t helped. It was like waving bread crusts in front of a gull, a game she and her sister had played as children. Except gulls didn’t have long, needle-sharp teeth. She’d make it—and with the bloody leg—but it was going to take a Herculean effort.
Splash!
Isa spun in the water, strands of wet hair whipping about as she searched the choppy waves, finding nothing but a ring of ripples. Overhead the frayed end of a rope dangled as if hanging from the cloud above. Impossible. But so were octopus attacks and giant shark-like submersibles.
Abandoning the leg, she dragged in a breath, filling her lungs in preparation for a deep dive, praying that whatever had fallen from the sky wouldn’t—couldn’t—follow. Bending at the waist, she dove. Deeper and deeper.
Until a thick and rubbery band wrapped about her waist and jerked her to a halt, dragging her upward toward the surface. In one sharp motion, she connected her elbow with—a head? The arm loosened, and she twisted in the unwanted embrace of a masked man encased in a rubber suit. Clutching at his shoulders, she brought her knee upward hitting hard between his legs.
He let go.
If his face contorted in pain, it was impossible to tell through the haze of scattered underwater light. Air escaped her mouth in great bubbles as she lashed out with her feet, kicking at his knees, at muscular thighs and hard shins. Drawing her knife, she slashed at the many tubes protruding from his mask, ripping it from his face, before stroking for the surface in desperate need of more air.
She broke the surface. Gasping. Kicking. Reaching. Heart pounding in preparation to swim as she’d never had to before.
“Isa!”
Alec? Again she spun, gaping. Familiar blue eyes stared back at her, pleading for understanding.
How was it possible? A Navy doctor who dropped from the sky? She looked upward. There, if she squinted, she could make out flashes of silver—a dirigible balloon hiding beyond the clouds. Rational thought trickled back. A physician. A Naval officer curious about advanced ship technologies who was comfortable above, in and under the water. There was only one classification for such a man: BURR.
Finn men dreamed of achieving such a position in the British Navy. Powerful, intelligent and chosen only after much trial, few men managed it.
“I promise to explain,” he called. “If you’ll only let me help!”
Blood loss and their underwater struggle had drained her of all the fight she had left. “How?” she yelled back.
“Watch!” He pried something free from the harness buckled over his chest—a strange rubber item attached to a cord. With a yank of the cord, air hissed and the item exploded, unfurling into a long, narrow inflatable raft. “Get in!”
She struggled into the odd craft, gaping at Alec as he clambered in behind her. With the twist of his wrist, he activated a canister, releasing a compressed gas to power a propeller that sent them rocketing toward shore. She ripped the hem of her shift, tearing free a strip of linen and binding the worst of the hyena fish lacerations, as he expertly steered the craft over the waves, his dark hair whipping in the wind.
Alec
had shed a kind of breathing apparatus and peeled back a thick, vulcanized rubber suit to his waist before taking hold of the rudimentary helm. Saltwater sprayed across muscles that rippled over his arms and shoulders, strength she’d gripped behind a boiler. The scars that marked his skin, his damaged knee, a focused determination on a task set before him. She saw them all in a new light, as if the colors of the spectrum had shifted. If BURR was investigating the octopus attacks, then that meant the British government was involved. Something beyond the deaths of mere fishermen was at play. A worrisome development.
The raft slowed, pulling alongside her houseboat, and the wind and noise died down. After lashing a rope to her boat, he turned, extending his hand.
It was hard to stand on the pliant and shifting rubber, particularly given the deep lacerations that covered her calves and feet. She struggled onto the deck of her boat and stood, her wet shift stuck to her body, blood running in rivulets down her leg, staring uncertainly at the man she’d agreed to take as her lover.
So much was different between them now. She ought to be in shock, after the tragedy she’d witnessed. That poor woman, her family… gone. Fear should hold her in its grip. Instead, a kind of peace stole over her. Beneath the waves, they’d glimpsed each other’s essence. Him as warrior. Her as Finn. Whatever happened between them from this point forward, there need be no more half-truths. Would there be acceptance, or would it drive a wedge between them?
With a leap, Alec landed on the deck before her and pulled her into his arms. The bites throbbed. Her hair was a tangled mess of sea snakes. And still he looked at her as if she were Aphrodite risen from the sea. Shoving stands of wet hair from her face, he dragged her mouth to his. Lifting up on her toes, she met him halfway. Warm and demanding and desperate, their lips fused, and she had her answer.
Too soon, their kiss was over.
“I’m sorry I dropped in on you like that,” he said. “But my men reported such carnage in the water. When you went overboard…” He took a deep breath and pressed his forehead to hers as the boat rocked beneath them. “You scared me to death.”
Her hands had landed on his chest—his bare chest—which rose and fell softly beneath her palms. A swirl of emotions she couldn’t define warmed her. He’d jumped into the ocean to rescue her. Me. Not strictly necessary, but welcome all the same.
“Thank you,” she breathed. “You’ll have questions. As do I.” Uncertain what to do with the flutter in her stomach, she looked past him out to sea. Perhaps they could start with the easy ones. “Men? I didn’t see anyone else in the water.” Not alive. “We left—”
“I would never leave a man behind, not like that. They’re fine. And will be here soon.” He scooped her off her feet and carried her inside. Limping. “So we’ll start by seeing to those nasty lacerations.”
“Your knee? I—”
“Kicked it?” He grimaced. “Yes, rather hard, but there’s nothing to be done about it here.” He deposited her on a chair before wrapping a blanket about her shoulders—a reversal of roles. Reaching to his ear, he pulled away a small blinking device—its light fading away with the flick of a tiny switch—and tucked it into a pocket above the harpoon gun strapped to his thigh. She opened her mouth, then shut it again. Answers to other questions mattered more.
“Communication device,” he said, answering her unspoken question.
“Someone’s been listening?”
“Not anymore,” he said. “Drink this. All of it.” A glass clinked against the surface of the table as he placed a generous pour of whisky beside her. The bottle landed beside it. He gave the Lucifer lamp a shake and began to lay out suture materials.
“Is it that bad?” She took a deep breath and stretched her leg out onto the stool, bending forward to unwrap linen bandages and examine the state of her lower leg. A mistake. The bacteria in the lamp brightened, casting a white-blue glow over torn skin and muscle, over a wound that was deep and some four inches long. The boat spun about her, as if it were being sucked into a whirlpool. She tossed back the whisky. Those blasted hyena fish. This was going to hurt.
Alec pulled her calf across his knees, a makeshift operating table. Not encouraging, the way his eyebrows drew together. “I’m estimating twenty-four stitches. Want something stronger than whisky?”
“No,” she said, but poured more of the spirits into her glass. “I just want this over.” She closed her eyes. “I tried to… bring a leg—”
He nodded. “I saw. It had a tentacle attached.” He slid a suture thread through the eye of a curved needle. “I saw. My team collected samples. They also spotted the megalodon. As suspected, it’s a submersible. Like the biomech octopus, there are biological components.” He paused to look up at her. “I would have told you all this. There was no need to follow me, though I’m interested to know how you managed.”
“I didn’t follow you. I was summoned.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“To a patient’s bedside. I did mention that in my note.” Isa narrowed her eyes. “Which, apparently, never reached you. Is this to be an interrogation?”
“It doesn’t need to be.” His face was tight. And not just with concentration. With the rush of adrenaline behind them, the gears of his mind were turning again, and her presence at the scene was being logged as more than mere happenstance.
She sighed. “A skeet pigeon arrived with a note begging me to help a fisherman, one who had a tentacle embedded in his throat, attached to his external jugular. It seemed relevant to our case. He died, but I saved you the specimen.” Though the vial was in her medical bag, aboard the rescue vessel. “I happened to be nearby when the distress call came and insisted upon going with the rescue boat.”
He blotted away blood. “What were you thinking, jumping into the water?”
“Jumping? I was pushed!” She hissed as he poured a good measure of rubbing alcohol over the cut, then clenched her teeth at the first bite of her curved surgical needle pierced flesh, drawing sharksilk through her skin. “By a woman raving about OctoFinn.”
“OctoFinn,” he repeated. His eyes flashed a stormy blue, and his hands stilled. “You know something more. Tell me.”
“I found my husband’s laboratory notebook.” Well hidden. But from whom? From her, certainly, but someone else as well, or he would have left it in his laboratory. “Anton discovered that hypoxic conditions release factor Q into the blood’s serum.” No more holding back. She’d tell him everything, but the more private details about the Finn people would have to wait until she wasn’t expecting a number of BURR men to board her boat at any moment. “People like me, with a certain kind of syndactyly also possess an uncommon ability to hold their breath underwater. That can, at times, induce hypoxia.”
“You refer to your uncanny swimming ability,” he said, tugging another stitch into place. “And your seeming resistance to cold temperatures?”
There were too many myths to dispel. Only one needed to be addressed at the moment. “What if someone is targeting people like me? Not to simply drain us of blood, but for some other reason.” She shuddered.
“The ceramic blood filter.” He nodded. “It’s certainly something to consider.”
The needle rose and as it fell, her fingers tightened on the glass. “Your turn to share,” she said through clenched teeth.
“By now you’ve guessed.” The needle rose and fell, piecing her back together inch by inch.
She drained the glass of whisky and let it land on the table with a smack. “That you’re more than a doctor? Or even a Naval officer? Dropping from the sky was a dead giveaway.” She crossed her arms. “You’re BURR.”
“You’ve heard of us, then.” The skin around his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Tasks deemed too wet, too dangerous, or too impossible.” The needle dove again. “My knee injury pulled me from active duty and—as I possess a particular talent with bioengineered devices—when a scrap of peculiar ce
phalopod skin surfaced and fish tales began to spread, they sent me. And I found you.” He tied a final knot, then washed his hands. She leaned forward, impressed that such large hands could make such tiny, orderly stitches. “But you’re hiding something.”
Her mouth fell open to object, but he held up a finger.
“Don’t bother denying it,” he said. “And a megalodon is a bit much to hunt solo. I enlisted the help of my team. Five men entered the water, but they were too late to stop whatever attacked those people. They’ve confirmed the submersible’s existence and collected the remains of these so-called OctoFinn.”
Her head spun at the sudden onslaught of information. Or was it the whisky? “The leg.” She’d been making off with evidence. So much for contributing to the effort.
He nodded. “When the rescue boat arrived, I ordered my team away. We prefer to remain unnoticed. Which is another way of saying I’m good at keeping secrets.” He wrapped a bandage about her calf, tucking in its ends. “How is it, Isa, that you can hold your breath for over five minutes and swim in water a bracing fifty-four degrees Fahrenheit wearing nothing but a thin shift? What are you, a selkie?”
Was that admiration she saw in his eyes? It was. He envied her. The thought settled deep inside her. That was a first. His gaze flicked to the dive knife strapped to her thigh. Not just envy, desire. Warmth shot through her.
“Yes.” She dragged a teasing hand down her front, over her translucent, wet shift. His eyes followed, growing a touch hungry. “I am clearly part seal.” She flapped her hand at a sea trunk. “Dig a little deeper, and you’ll find my other skin.”
His lips twisted. “Too much whisky?”
“Yes,” she said. The pain only nagged in the background. “And a bit too much suspicion.”
