Devil Sharks

by Chris Jameson

  The words were true.

  But the truth didn’t help.

  * * *

  Dev couldn’t be sure what he’d seen. Not at first.

  He’d seen Alliyah make her way out of the trees and into the water. At this distance her head had been a bobbing bit of black hair in the waves as she’d moved up behind the pontoon boat. When she had come out of the water and rushed at the smuggler standing guard over the boat, Dev had felt sick. How had their lives brought them to this moment? But of course people asked themselves that question every minute of every day, all around the world. In the grip of desperate poverty and hunger, in the ruin left behind by earthquakes and floods, destroyed by mental illness or addiction, ravaged by disease, bereft with loss, or simply undone by the end of love … people asked themselves how it had come to this.

  Dev had never given Alliyah everything of himself. He’d been faithful before and after their separation, but fidelity and commitment weren’t the same thing. The woman he’d fallen in love with had deserved a full partner, a best friend, someone to experience life at her side. But Dev had not given her that. As the wedding had drawn closer, he had already started to disengage. The marriage seemed to have been the goal, and once the goal had been attained he had shifted his ambitions elsewhere. Work. The admiration of others. Some indefinable level of achievement he could never have reached. Yes, she’d turned ugly—beautiful as ever, but ugly inside. She’d turned into a stranger, callous and distant. But he had made her into that creature. He’d become a stranger to her even before their vows.

  It was why he’d agreed when she had wanted to reunite.

  He never should have said yes. It would have been better for her—so much kinder—to let her go on with her life.

  And he never would have been on this fucking atoll.

  When he saw her come up out of the water behind the pontoon boat, rushing at the smuggler, Dev figured Alliyah was dead. He’d opened his mouth to cry out, but fear had shut his mouth. The smugglers’ boat wasn’t far offshore and he didn’t want to risk being seen. Though the rain and the waves were loud enough that they would surely have drowned him out, and though only the top of his head might be visible from where he lay—half in the water now as the waves rolled up around his waist—he didn’t dare draw attention to himself.

  Alliyah took the guy down. She hit him with something—Dev couldn’t see what—and then she hit him again. He wiped rain from his eyes and watched in astonishment as she took the guy’s assault rifle and moved up toward the Coast Guard station.

  How was this their life?

  Half of him hated her in that moment, sure she would give his presence away. They would kill her, and they would figure out there were other witnesses still on the atoll. But the other half of him—the part of him that remembered what he’d been like when they were younger—felt so much pride that it made him want to cheer. He wished he could stand up and shout, that he could rush along the atoll, wade through the gaps, and go to her side. Help her. That he could tell the world this fierce creature was his wife.

  Then they’d come out the door of the Coast Guard station and it had all changed. Dev had seen the smuggler from the beach, the one she’d attacked, getting up and approaching her. Alliyah! his mind had roared. He’d even risen to his knees and said her name. Called it out, not too loudly, not a scream. Surely from this distance, with the wind and all, she could never have heard him and he would only have risked giving himself away.

  Now the pontoon boat smashed its way across the waves and Dev slithered back onto his belly and kept his head low.

  Go to her, he thought. Help her.

  But if he got up now and ran along the atoll, and waded those gaps, they would see him. No question about it. If they had left Alliyah for dead, then she must be dead or close to it.

  Dead, he thought. She has to be.

  Yes, she had to be dead now. The alternative was that his wife—the woman he’d fallen in love with back when he’d believed himself capable of being in love—lay on the beach dying right now, with her husband so close. Near enough to go to her. Near enough to at least hold her and comfort her while she died, to say the things he ought to say, to let her know that she was not alone. She’d be afraid, and he could make her less afraid.

  If she wasn’t already dead.

  So he told himself she was dead.

  He pressed his eyes closed and mourned not only for Alliyah but also for his image of himself. Lying there on his belly, half in the water, would be how he saw himself from that day forward. He turned on his side and drew his legs up into a fetal position, and that was best, because there were the sharks to think of.

  Alli, Dev thought, and he wanted to die.

  But not enough to put himself at risk.

  He stayed there, as hidden as he could manage. Lying there, with no idea how he might be saved, he did not raise his head to check on his wife.

  If he had, he would’ve seen her move.

  CHAPTER 18

  Alliyah could feel her own blood cooling against her skin. The wounds were different. Where they were open, she could feel the breeze against the split skin and it felt like scouring flame. The blood seeping out had its own liquid heat, running in traces down her rib cage to puddle on the ground. Another rivulet trickled down her back and pooled in the small hollow there, just above the line of her bikini bottoms. The blood in the dirt, pooling against her—that was where it had started to cool, and she found herself keenly aware of that cooling. The warmth leaving that blood felt very much like the dimming of life within her.

  “Get up, Alli,” she whispered to herself.

  It felt impossible. With those two pulsing wounds on her back and the blood around her, it seemed absurd to even consider the idea that she might be able to stand, never mind walk. But though the darkness pulled at her and the temptation to slide into unconsciousness felt almost beautiful, she remained awake. Aware of the hot and cold blood touching her skin. Some of it remained within her, and while it did she was not going to just lie there. Alliyah had no intention of dying out here, thousands of miles from home.

  Smoke billowed around her. The smell of rain mixed with it and abruptly she became aware of things other than her wounds. Rain pelted her, falling harder and faster than before. The crackle and pop of a fire built toward a roar. She managed to turn her head, still lying on her belly, and saw that flames had begun to engulf the Coast Guard station. Fire unfurled from each window, charring the outer walls black. Gusts of wind swirled the smoke into strange ribbons.

  Alliyah drew her hands beneath her. Even that little motion sent pain spiking into her wounds like fresh knives, so she tried to keep her arms close to her body, tried to mostly use her knees. The pain made her weep. When she’d risen to her knees and managed to get one leg beneath her, the agony of that motion made her scream. She didn’t try to hold it in. The blood came out, and she let the pain roar out with it.

  She stood. It wasn’t graceful. She felt her wounds tug and felt torn muscle rip even further. Pain staggered her, so as she turned toward the water it was more a stumble than a walk. Lurching, cursing, she started toward the water as if each step was the only thing keeping her from falling. Her ability to put one foot in front of the other got her to the water’s edge and she glanced to the right, back the way she’d come. Back toward where she’d left Dev.

  Dev. She pitied him. She loved him. She hated him. But if she had any chance of surviving until the Coast Guard arrived—many long hours from now—she had to reach him. There were towels on the beach where they’d all picnicked. He could stop the bleeding for her. There’d be no other help, not unless the smugglers decided to leave the people on the Kid Galahad alive. If stopping the bleeding couldn’t save her, then she would die. And her only chance to do that was the husband she felt like she’d never really known. She’d loved the idea of the man instead of the man himself.

  Now he’d have one last chance to be the man she’d imagined him to
be.

  If she could get to him.

  Her eyelids grew heavy. For a few seconds, all was darkness, but another step in the sand jarred her and her eyes snapped open. Somehow she’d kept walking. Her feet splashed in the surf. Waves crashed and rolled around her calves and ankles. Pain speared her back with every stutter step along the shore and awareness kept coming in and out, ebbing and flowing like the surf. She knew she ought to have fallen, but somehow it was like fighting sleep behind the wheel of a car, chin drooping and then head snapping up again, trying to keep the car on the road.

  Alliyah glanced across the water toward the place where she’d left Dev, trying to gauge how far she had to go. How many steps. The tide had risen dramatically, so that the gaps between the fragments of the atoll had widened and deepened. The waves crashed harder and it occurred to her that she had no idea what high tide might bring. Would the water rise so high that some of those fragments would be entirely submerged? She thought it would.

  Dev was her only hope, but if she couldn’t reach him, she’d have no hope at all.

  Unless he came to her. Why hadn’t he seen her? Why hadn’t he tried to get to her?

  Alliyah tried to call her husband’s name. A memory swam up into her mind—Dev awaiting her on the dance floor with his arms held out, on their wedding day. Their first dance. The smile on his face had been pure peace and contentedness, as if he’d never been so happy or so confident that he was where he belonged. She’d felt the same way that day. It had been the best feeling in the world.

  She managed to call his name, but too weakly. She could barely hear herself over the waves and her own legs’ splashing in the water.

  Her thoughts blacked out again.

  This time when consciousness returned, she was falling. Her legs were too heavy for her to put another step in front of her and she spilled headfirst into the shallows. A wave crashed over her. She breathed in a lungful of ocean and began to choke, every twitch of her muscles stabbing freshly at her wounds. The salt stung as it washed the blood away.

  Choking, crawling, pushing with her feet, Alliyah managed to hurl herself up onto the sand. Seawater rippled around her. She coughed it out of her lungs and whimpered as more blood sluiced from her back and into the lagoon.

  As the upper trickle of another wave reached her, and the darkness embraced her again, Alliyah thought of the tide rolling in. As she struggled against unconsciousness, she remembered the sharks.

  Her eyes fluttered open once, just for a moment.

  Alliyah fought the darkness, and lost.

  * * *

  The pontoon boat rocked on the waves, bumping against the Kid Galahad. Alex held on to the ladder, steeling himself before he climbed to the deck of the yacht. In his mind, he tallied up the dead. Harry and Gabe. James—he’d almost forgotten that Nalani had watched her husband be murdered, and how hideous a human being did that make him? That he could forget, no matter how chaotic and terrifying his own experience had been?

  Now Alliyah had tried to help him, and paid with her life. And Dev … Alex had no idea what had happened to Dev.

  “Climb, asshole,” Blue Eyes Cabot snarled from behind him.

  Alex climbed. With every rung on that ladder, he said a silent prayer that he would see Sami when he stepped onto the deck. Damien had been left on the boat. He’d seemed less hungry for violence, less eager to inflict cruelty than Cabot, but that didn’t mean Sami had been safe. Sami, Nalani, Nils, Patrick, Cat, and Luisa. They’d set out with so many, and already they were so few. Alex wanted them all to make it home, but he would sacrifice them all, himself included, to save his wife.

  The first face he saw when he climbed over the railing belonged to Benjie. The Filipino smuggler gave him a sardonic smirk and turned his back, not worried about Alex at all. Not seeing him as a threat. Joriz and Machii were there as well. They’d spread out, along with Damien, who had followed orders. All six of the Kid Galahad’s remaining passengers were on deck. Nils sat with Nalani against the cockpit wall, holding her hand in both of his. Her eyes were still dull from shock and red from tears. Patrick stood over them protectively. Sami, Cat, and Luisa sat together farther toward the bow, lined up side by side. Luisa had her head hung between her legs, fingers interlaced behind her head, as if she’d submitted to arrest while she was trying not to throw up.

  When Sami saw Alex, she didn’t smile. Her eyes narrowed and she nodded to let him know she was okay. It was all he needed. A reservoir of strength and determination opened within him and he turned toward Machii.

  Something caught his eye, and he realized he’d forgotten one of the Galahad’s remaining passengers. Beyond the smugglers, Isko lay on a blanket too near the railing. Wounded and rotting and not quite conscious, he had the air of a task uncompleted, as if death had wrapped him up in that blanket and forgotten to carry him off. It was grim and ugly, but Alex couldn’t think about Isko. Like the smugglers themselves, he’d already written the man off.

  A hard thought. Coldhearted. But it was how things had to be now.

  “So what now, Machii?” he asked.

  The smuggler captain had been talking quietly with Damien. Now he turned to face his men, ignoring Alex and the other passengers.

  “Benjie, get half a brick of Semtex from Hannigan.”

  As Benjie rushed to obey, hurrying over the railing and down the ladder, Alex felt the sea rolling beneath the boat and nearly fell over, not from the wave but from the impact of those words.

  “You can’t do this,” Nils said. “Please, you can’t—”

  Damien aimed his weapon at Nils. “We could just shoot you all. Machii’s being kind.”

  “Kind?” Alex said. “This is kind?”

  “What is it?” Luisa asked. “Semtex. What is that?”

  Alex replied without looking at her, “Plastic explosive. Easy as hell to get your hands on. Used in construction. Who the fuck would have Semtex on a boat, though … that’s the question.”

  “People who don’t like to leave evidence floating around,” Sami replied.

  Machii pointed at her. “Smart lady.” He shrugged. “Look, you’re all going to have a chance here. Think of it that way. Damien’s right. I could just have my men shoot you all—”

  “We’d be better off with a bullet than with the sharks,” Cat said.

  Machii fired two shots into the deck, not far from her feet. Cat drew her legs up beneath her, staring at the bullet holes. Then staring at Machii.

  “You I could give to Cabot. He’d like to bring you along with us,” Machii said. “But I’ve let him have pets before, and they always end up causing trouble.”

  Alex shot a hard look at Cat. He knew she must want to lunge at them, or keep talking tough. Silently, he urged her not to, hoping she knew how close she was to something worse than sinking on this boat.

  Benjie climbed back on board, a small plastic bag in one hand. The half brick of Semtex must have been small. Half a pound or less. Alex suspected it would be enough to sink them. Machii would not have suggested it without being certain.

  “Give it to Cabot,” Machii said.

  Cabot slung his assault rifle around behind him and took the plastic bag eagerly. “I always love this part.”

  “Go up into the wheelhouse and destroy the radio before you go below,” Machii added. “It might take a while for the boat to go down. I don’t want our friends sharing any secrets while they’re deciding whether to sink or swim.”

  A terrible electricity sizzled through Alex’s bones. Every nerve ending felt frayed, every muscle tensed, as he stared around at the smugglers—these killers—and tried to see some way for the Kid Galahad’s remaining passengers to survive. He had to get his hands on a gun. Benjie stood nearest to him. If he could get the bastard’s gun and kill Machii and Cabot, make the others put their weapons down—

  “Hey, Alex,” Machii said, eyes narrowed. He cocked his head, smiled thinly, then marched across the deck and slapped Alex in the face hard enough
to stagger him.

  Fuming, heart thundering with hatred, Alex whipped around with his fists clenched.

  Machii jabbed him in the chest with a finger. “No. Don’t think the things you’re thinking. I’m giving you a chance here, mainly because I like you.” He turned and pointed at Cat. “You too, smart one. The odds you guys are going to live are pretty fucking slim, but at least you’ve got a shot. You all go in the water and the sharks are going to eat some of you, but maybe some make it.”

  He turned and pointed at Isko, who seemed to have regained some bleary form of consciousness. “Look at this motherfucker. We threw him and some other guys into the water even further from shore than you are right now. Sharks got the other guys, but Isko … he made it. Look at it this way, even if only one of you survives…”

  Machii crouched by Luisa. “It might be you, honey.” He glanced at Nils. “Or you.”

  Alex took a shuddering breath. He wanted this man dead—wanted them all dead—but he couldn’t deny the truth. If they fought, they would die here and now. If they let the smugglers scuttle the boat and depart, they had a chance. A tiny one, but that was better than certain death. And any chance at Tasha not losing her parents—or, at least, not both of them—was worth taking.

  “Get on with it, then,” Alex said.

  Sami stood up, back still against the wheelhouse. “You’re a sick son of a bitch, Machii. This is a game for you.”

  Machii nodded happily. “True. But let’s not pretend the whole world isn’t like this. If I filmed what we’re about to do to you and streamed it live on the Internet, millions of people would watch. There’d be bets placed on which of you, if any, would make it to shore. It’s not me, beautiful lady. It’s people. People are fucking awful.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Sami said.

  “Is it?” Machii replied. Then he turned toward Cabot. “Do it.”

  As Cabot started toward the cockpit again, Patrick lunged at him, grabbed hold of his gun, and started to wrestle him against the doorframe. Cabot dropped the bag with the Semtex. Nils and Cat jumped to their feet, shouting. Anguish contorted Nils’s features. Everyone kept shouting, smugglers and passengers alike. Alex had been intending to attack these men less than a minute earlier and now he wanted to grab Patrick and tear him away from Cabot, just to protect them all.