Devil Sharks

by Chris Jameson

  In fear and fury, the new Harry had fallen apart.

  Alex stared out at the water. The fragments of the atoll’s ring seemed very far away now. Every little ripple of a wave seemed like a shark’s fin to him. How many were out there? Three, at least. But he was sure there were more.

  The echoes of his terror kept surging back. The taste of his own blood. With every throb of his possibly broken nose, he remembered Harry smashing his head backward, remembered the pain and then the grappling that ended with them falling overboard. Alex recalled his panic underwater. He remembered swimming for the ladder and the sight of Harry being dragged down and the thump of the shark against the hull. He remembered the screaming.

  “I wish we’d never come,” he said quietly.

  James remained bent over the railing, resting on his elbows, his hair long enough to veil his eyes. “Trust me, man. We all wish we’d never come.”

  “I can’t help thinking if Sami and I had stayed home, this wouldn’t have happened,” Alex went on. “Maybe the thing with Gabe—finding that guy in the Coast Guard station, him attacking—that would still have gone the same way. But Harry would still be alive.”

  “Probably,” James agreed. “But without Sami here, Gabe would be dead. If not by now, then soon.”

  The boat swayed. The waves had grown rougher. White ripples topped each rise.

  “You know there’s no guarantee she can help him,” Alex said.

  James stroked and tugged thoughtfully at his beard. “She’ll do her best. He’s a nice guy, but we just met him. I don’t know him.”

  “You barely know me,” Alex said.

  They both went quiet for a moment, each man alone with his thoughts.

  “You going to puke?” Alex asked.

  “Not planning to. I’m just watching the sharks. Trying to figure them out.”

  “What’s to figure out?”

  James glanced at him, brows knitted. “What do you know about sharks?”

  Alex cocked his head. “Mainly that I don’t want to be in the water with them.”

  “I’m no expert, but I’ll tell you this much. They don’t eat people.”

  “Excuse the fuck out of me, but—”

  James waved his objection away, pushing back from the railing. “No, man. Listen. What just happened to Harry … what would have happened to you … that’s not normal behavior for sharks. Sure, people have been killed. It happens. And yeah, people get bitten all the time. Shark attacks aren’t as common as most of us believe, but they’re common enough. But what usually happens is that the sharks are disturbed or confused. They see a surfer in a wet suit and they think she’s a seal and they take a bite. But once they get a taste, they realize it’s not the meal they’re looking for. Humans are not the natural prey of sharks. They’re not man-eater by nature and they don’t get a grudge and hunt us down.”

  Alex studied him. “You research this stuff?”

  “Nah. I’m a tech guy, but I’ve watched a ton of Shark Week. Look, the point is this isn’t normal.”

  “So, why are these sharks different?”

  James glanced back out at the water. Alex saw two fins gliding in opposite directions, almost like the sharks had surrounded them and were cruising, waiting for an opening. One of the fins vanished as the shark went under.

  “Isko,” James said. “Cat said whatever happened in the Coast Guard station, it looked like he’d been abandoned here. Bitten by a shark, but left behind. She also said she thinks the people who’ve been using this place are some kind of smugglers.”

  “Drugs or guns, I’d guess,” Alex said.

  “I saw a documentary earlier this year—”

  “During Shark Week.”

  “Probably. These researchers were investigating instances of sharks killing humans. This one spot in Mexico had a ton of deadly shark attacks. Sharks who actually ate people. They couldn’t make sense of it—the behavior of the sharks was an anomaly, right? But eventually they found out that some drug cartel had been taking people who’d pissed them off out to this spot, killing them, and dumping their bodies. Fresh blood, drawing hungry sharks. They weren’t going to turn away the free food. The cartel killers did it often enough that the sharks got used to it. Got a taste for it.”

  “Holy shit,” Alex whispered, watching that one fin tracing the surface. Another appeared nearby.

  “I’m not saying that’s what happened here,” James said. He looked sick. Hung his head. Breathed deeply. “Just trying to understand. It’s not going to matter when we get out of here, but right now, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  Alex stared at those fins, then turned and looked at Isko. Nalani had knelt beside the unconscious man and now she wrapped his ruined thigh in fresh bandages. Had Isko been one of the smugglers? Had he been just another victim? Had they fed this poor bastard to the sharks at Orchid Atoll, only to have him make it to shore?

  Seconds. That was how long Alex had been in the water with sharks trying to rip him apart. How long had Isko been in the water, knowing they were there with him?

  “Nalani,” he said.

  She looked up.

  “When he was freaking out before, you said he was speaking Filipino—”

  “Tagalog,” she corrected.

  “The guy was terrified. Like he was having a nightmare. What was he shouting about?”

  Nalani paled. She glanced at James and then back at Alex. “With all this … after you and Harry fell in … I’ve been so focused on trying to help.”

  “What did he say?” Alex asked.

  “I don’t speak Tagalog, but I understand some of it. I have friends who … anyway, I missed most of it. He was begging someone not to do something. The phrase that got me though … that was Diyablo Pating.”

  Nalani glanced down at Isko. She brushed the matted hair away from his face and then she turned to look out past the railing at the darkening sea.

  “It means ‘Devil Sharks.’”

  “Well, that’s pleasant,” Alex said.

  Sami called for him. Alex turned and saw her kneeling by Gabe, packing up the medical kit. When he looked her way, she gestured toward the western sky.

  “The day’s not getting any more pleasant,” she said.

  On the horizon, clouds had begun to form. No, he thought, they’re not forming. They’re on the way. With all that had been going on today, nobody had been paying attention to the weather. It hadn’t occurred to Alex that they might encounter a storm. Out here in the tropics, out to sea, the idea seemed ridiculous, but ocean storms were common enough. If Gabe and Harry had seen a weather report and known it was coming, they hadn’t said a word. Maybe they’d figured the beach day would have ended by now, that a little rain wouldn’t matter. Still, it only added to how unsettled Alex felt.

  “All right,” Sami said. “Go get Nils and Patrick. We’re going to move these guys below before this day gets any worse.”

  * * *

  Luisa had never made excuses about who she was, never apologized for liking attention. All her life she had preferred to keep things light. She liked to laugh and she liked the spotlight, enjoyed how easy it was to get both men and women to look at her, the options it gave her. If she wanted someone to keep her company, to touch her, to be rough or gentle or just be gone when she woke up, it had never been difficult to find. Even married, she’d found power in flirtation, and sometimes more.

  She’d liked to keep things light.

  Luisa Kershaw had never screamed before today, not even in anger. Not since she’d been an infant, or injured herself as a toddler, and if you’d asked her before today, she’d have doubted that she’d screamed even then. More likely she’d have done a pirouette and wiped away her tears, or made some joke to lighten the moment, or cocked her head in that coquettish way that always distracted from her darker thoughts, even as a child, and let her control the flow of concern or conversation. That was what it had always been about for her—control.

  Now she�
�d lost all control.

  The dinghy hit a big wave, smashed upward with such force that she had to grab hold of the edge to keep from being thrown aside. Her heart seized and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. The motor came out of the water for a second and she heard it whine like a dentist’s drill. Then the dinghy crashed down again, hit the water, and surged forward, resuming its race across the lagoon toward the Kid Galahad.

  Pulse thundering, Luisa held on, knuckles going white. The ocean had been perfect, its blue a kind of beauty she’d never imagined before coming here, and now that beauty and serenity had turned to terror.

  A fin broke the water ten feet ahead. Cat spotted it and turned the throttle and the dinghy shot across the waves right beside the shark, close enough for Luisa to see the texture of its skin and the water rippling on either side of the fin.

  “Jesus,” she said. “Oh, my God, this is so fucked up.”

  “Just breathe,” Cat told her. “Hang on.”

  They hit another wave. Again the motor whined as it left the water. The dinghy slapped down and Cat adjusted the angle, keeping them on course. Luisa felt gooseflesh rise on her arms and the back of her neck and she glanced over her shoulder to see gray clouds off in the distance. Even the air above the sea was gray beneath those clouds and she knew that meant rain. A storm coming.

  “Luisa—” Cat began, and then she twisted the throttle, angling to the left.

  Too late to avoid the shark. The dinghy struck it with a thump that rocked them both. Luisa reached for the edge of the little boat and her fingers missed. She felt herself falling, flailed for a grip on the bench, and in that total lack of control she felt something break inside her. Screaming, she thudded against the other side of the boat. Her left hand splashed into the water, but her hip struck the inside of the dinghy and she dropped onto her butt. Still inside. Still safe.

  Swearing, face pale, Cat kept them on course.

  Luisa whipped her head around. Three fins. No, four. Racing alongside and behind them. Pacing them as they knifed toward the Kid Galahad.

  “Shut up, goddamn it!” Cat roared.

  Luisa pressed her lips together, forced herself to be quiet, but the terror continued to rush through her. She stared at the yacht, saw the ladder. It seemed incredibly far away. A shark slid past the dinghy so close that its skin rasped against the little boat. Luisa held in her scream, knowing how small this little dinghy was, how useless it would be to fight if they tipped over.

  Then Cat throttled down and they were drifting and Luisa turned to scream at her and saw that somehow they’d gotten within a few feet of the Kid Galahad. The ladder was right there. It took every ounce of courage she’d ever had in her life, combined with her desperate desire not to die, to reach out and grab hold of that ladder.

  Luisa could hear the shush of the water, the slap of it against the hull. It might’ve been just the tide, just a wave, but in her mind it had to be the shark that had killed Harry. She hadn’t seen him die, not really, not from the shore … but the screams had been full of such terror and anguish that she’d thought of her first days in Catholic school, when an ancient priest had described the suffering of the souls in hell to impressionable preschoolers.

  She grabbed the ladder and clenched her teeth together as she climbed. Then she was over the railing. Cat must have been tying off the dinghy. Luisa had left her with the sharks, left her down there, but she didn’t care. She collapsed on the deck and curled into a fetal ball, all the lightness she’d nurtured for so many years drained out of her. Her body shook as she began to weep, full of grief and fear, feeling as if she ought to be ashamed but incapable of any emotion but relief to find herself on board the Kid Galahad. They could get out of here now.

  Cat came up the ladder, over the railing, and crouched by her. She took Luisa in her arms and that only made Luisa cry harder, holding on tight, pressing her body against Cat as if her friend might pick her up and cradle her.

  “I’m sorry,” Luisa said. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess. I’m just so … ohmygod, so scared. And Harry…”

  She couldn’t say it. Cat knew, and shushed her. Luisa was so grateful for her, grateful to have someone there who understood. Luisa had slept with Harry in college. It had been a dozen years now, but she still remembered it vividly. She could recall so clearly how torn she’d been, how happy and how confused, how she’d agreed that it would be best for their friendship—for the group, too—if they didn’t carry things any further. Luisa had laughed and flirted; she’d tossed her hair back and rubbed catlike against Alex and curled into poor Derek’s lap. She’d kept control, let them see that it meant nothing to her. Only Cat had seen past the façade, had realized that Luisa had yearned for more. They’d never discussed it, but the two women—barely more than girls, then—had seen the truth in each other’s eyes.

  Harry, Luisa thought now. She hadn’t carried a torch for him. It wasn’t as if she’d been longing to be reunited with him. Her memory of that time carried a certain melancholy weight, but that was the nature of nostalgia. Bittersweet.

  Harry’s dead.

  “We’re going to be okay,” Cat said, touching Luisa’s hair, brushing it away from her eyes.

  Luisa nodded and sniffled and thought about sitting up, but instead she curled into Cat’s arms even more completely. Just for another minute, she’d take what comfort she could.

  “Hey, Lu?” Cat said quietly.

  Luisa tilted her head back, there on the deck as the boat listed side to side. She looked up at Cat, but her friend’s gaze shifted, glancing around the deck of the Kid Galahad.

  “What?” Luisa replied.

  Cat frowned. “Where the hell is everybody?”

  CHAPTER 14

  Sami sat on the little built-in seat in Gabe’s stateroom. She had seen no reason to have them put the man anywhere but his own bed. His spine hadn’t sustained any damage she could ascertain, so she’d erred on the side of compassion. She didn’t pay any attention to the blood that streaked and stained the sheets and the thin pillow. This might be Gabe’s room, but the boat belonged to Harry, and Harry was past the point of caring about bloodstains.

  She grimaced. In her head, the thought hadn’t arisen as a joke, but now it felt like gallows humor.

  On the bed, once more unconscious, Gabe sighed. His chest rose and fell and he blew a little huff from his lips. She bent to take his wrist, check his pulse. Still a bit weak but strong enough. Sami wanted to check his pupils again but didn’t want to bother him. If he started to hemorrhage, there’d be little she could do for him with the medical kit she had. She’d been impressed by the supplies it contained, but she couldn’t do brain surgery in a stateroom aboard a boat at sea. She could relieve the pressure if the bleeding inside his skull got worse, but real surgery—opening his skull—ended there.

  Gabe’s skin had been tanned a deep bronze. Now he’d lost enough blood and had suffered enough trauma that he looked sickly even with that dark hue.

  A rap came at the door and then it creaked open.

  Alex. He’d changed into a clean yellow V-neck T-shirt, linen pants, and sandals. He looked like a man on vacation. Sami had pulled shorts and a floral top over her bathing suit and slipped on a pair of Chuck Taylors to make it easier to walk around the boat.

  “Hey, Doc,” her husband said. “Nalani and Nils are with Isko. It doesn’t look good. Not at all. The guy raves now and again, but that leg—the smell of it makes me hold my breath every time I poke my head in there. They’ve got the window open.”

  Sami exhaled. “It’s gonna have to come off.”

  “In his condition—”

  “It might kill him, yeah,” she said.

  “But if you don’t take it off—”

  “It might kill him, yeah.”

  Alex shook his head. “Shit, Sami. I’m sorry. This is so…”

  “Yeah.” She smiled wanly at him. No matter what happened, as long as she had this man, she would be all right. Sami knew Ale
x felt the same way. Together, they would endure. “What about sailing this thing? And the radio?”

  “Patrick is working on it,” Alex said. “He’s turned it on. Just trying to figure out why nobody can hear him when he tries to talk. As for sailing … he thinks he can get the motor started. He’s working on that now. But using the motor alone will take much longer—this boat’s meant to sail. Plus he has no idea what he’s doing as a navigator—”

  A rasping voice said, “It’s not that hard.”

  Sami turned to stare at Gabe, stunned to find that not only were his eyes open, but they were also clear. The paleness remained, and his eyelids were at half-mast, but he looked more exhausted than disoriented now.

  Gabe started to shift on the bed. Sami and Alex moved in unison to prevent it.

  “Whoa, whoa,” she said, leaning over him to press lightly on both shoulders. “Please don’t try to get up.”

  Gabe’s eyes fluttered a bit. For a second it looked as if he might pass out again, but then he inhaled and focused. “Good advice. That hurt so much it made me want to puke. Like someone hammered a spike through my brain.”

  “Close enough,” Alex said.

  Gabe looked to Sami for an explanation. She ignored him at first, using the small penlight from the medical kit to examine his eyes. Then she nodded and sat on the edge of the bed, one hand on his forearm to make sure he kept his word about not trying to get up again.

  “Please try not to move very much,” she said.

  Alex leaned against the narrow built-in desk. “Is this normal?”

  Gabe winced and gave a small groan. “Define ‘normal.’ Whatever this is, it sure as hell doesn’t feel normal to me.”

  “You were attacked,” Sami said.

  “Yeah. Stinky malnourished guy at the Coast Guard station. I’ve got that part,” Gabe replied. He lifted a hand, fingers aimed for the matted blood in his hair.