The Harvest: Call of the Sirens Book One

by KB Benson

  Just then a girl walks around the corner, rushing to class.

  “Hey!” I call out. “Would you mind checking if anyone is in there?” I gesture toward the restroom.

  The girl looks annoyed but goes inside. When she returns, she says, “It’s completely empty.”

  “Thanks!” I holler as she bustles down the hallway, waving over her shoulder.

  Where did Iris go?

  Chapter 8

  JACE

  By the time I arrive at Seabright Beach, the sun has set. Clouds roll in across the sky, dark and ominous, threatening a massive storm. Storms bring awesome waves to surf but going out on the water in a storm in the dark is suicide. I learned that first-hand from my dad.

  I lay my board down on the sand and sit next to it. If I can’t surf and prep for the competition tomorrow, I should probably go home; but it’s not all that nice being at home lately. It’s pathetic, but I look forward to going to school for a break from my parents’ fighting.

  Right after class ended, I ran home to grab my trunks and board but got stuck for two hours in the middle of a huge fight between my mom and stepdad. They don’t fight often, but when they do, it lasts for days and I spend my afternoons as the referee. It was a miracle I made it out of the house as soon as I did today. If I go back now, I might not get another lucky break like this. I’m too tired to care who said what to each other at this point.

  I sigh and look across the waves in the distance. They grow in size in large, slow movements. The tide rushes up to my feet and then pulls away quickly. Out of the corner of my eye, something moves on the pier—the smooth wood confirming its recent construction. A small figure walks slowly across it placing each step with care.

  The figure is a blur of black and white; I squint to see if I can make out who’s wearing shorts and a tank top in threatening weather like this. I know I’m out here in the storm so it’s a little contradictory, but it’s odd for someone to be out here alone. The wind whips around her, throwing her hair behind her back, as though trying to drag her to a halt. Despite its effort, she places her bare feet against the wooden boards, one at a time. I stand and head toward the dock.

  The wind picks up. As I walk across the sand, it pushes me backward, howling against the waves. Lightning crackles in the sky behind a cloud. When I finally make it close enough to the dock, my jaw drops—Iris strolls to the edge. What is she doing?

  “Iris!” I wave my arms over my head to get her attention. She doesn’t notice. The wind wails, I can barely hear my own voice over it. Iris stands on the edge of the dock, peering into the dark, murky water beneath.

  After a few moments, she steps back and pulls off her shorts and top. She adjusts the dark green swimsuit hugging her body.

  “I thought you couldn’t swim?” I mutter.

  Iris climbs onto the dock’s railing and stares into the water beneath. What is she doing? This is a terrible idea. The dock stretches at least twenty feet above the waves smashing against the pilings below. Iris stares straight ahead at the stormy sky.

  The water rolls and slams into itself; if she jumps she’ll be stuck between the crossovers of the waves and they’ll drag her under.

  “Iris!” I yell again. My feet slap against the shallow water of the tide as I break into a run toward the dock. “Iris! Don’t do it!”

  She doesn’t hear me. Instead she takes a deep breath, bends her knees and falls into the water turning into a dive at the last moment.

  “Iris!” Her body slices through the waves that now barrel over her. My jaw drops and I stare at the place where she disappeared.

  “Holy crap!” I run a hand through my hair and race along the edge of the water. “Please, please, please,” I mutter, willing her body to show up. When it doesn’t, I sprint into the water and run even closer to the dock for the lack of anything better to do.

  The water rises again, hitting against my shins. “C’mon, Iris,” I beg. “Get out of the water.”

  I wait for either her head to appear or her body to be pushed to shore, but neither happens. I glance across the desolate beach. I have to do something. Pulling off my shirt, I run into the ocean, diving in when it reaches my waist. I pull myself against the tide to where Iris disappeared.

  The water slams into my side pushing me back three-quarters of the ground I gain. I pull tirelessly against the unrelenting tide. Just as I reach the spot where Iris went under, a wave smashes into me from the side, shoving me into one of the pier’s pilings. The force knocks the breath out of me and another wave rushes over my head. I kick my feet, pushing myself to the surface. As my head breaks through the water, I gasp for air.

  I take a few deep breaths and dive under again where the water isn’t as violent. Despite the seawater, I open my eyes and search for some hint of Iris. Impossible. With the rolling water tossing up a mix of muddy sand and seaweed, I can barely see a few feet in front of my chest. I return to the surface and gulp another mouthful of air before diving again. I pull myself through the water, grasping blindly for her. When my head breaks the surface again, I cough out a lungful of water and wipe my eyes.

  My body freezes. Something touched my foot. I whip around hoping to find Iris, but I swim alone. Coarse and sharp, the creature slides against my leg. Something is in the water. Something big. During a storm, smaller fish drift far under the waves to avoid being tossed around. Bigger fish can handle the strong waves.

  I kick my feet again to keep myself afloat. The movement halts as a thick, scaly tail wraps around my leg and yanks me under the water. My hands scramble for the surface. I fight and kick, but the creature doesn’t release me. My fingers slip across its slick tail and I can’t get a good hold. I thrash violently—my lungs burn for air. The pressure of the ocean bears down on me as we travel deeper. My head throbs and I slam my eyes shut. Not that it matters. The deeper we travel, the darker it gets on its own. I give another jerky kick as my last breath escapes in a stream of bubbles.

  I scramble in one final desperate attempt. My mind grows fuzzy as my hands flutter over the tail again. As though struck by a cannon, another creature slams into my chest, pulling my foot from the grasp of the first. The water rushes past me as I’m dragged backward. I can’t tell where we’re going, and it doesn’t really matter. Within seconds everything goes black.

  Droplets of cold water slap against my forehead followed by a dull ache in the back of my head. Coarse sand scrapes under my back and a fire burns in my chest. I cough to clear my lungs and the fire rages through my throat. Water sprays into the air and trails down my cheek. My eyelids slip open to a bright face hovering over me, hands cradling my head in the pouring rain.

  “Are you a—an angel?” I mutter before I can stop myself. Even in my foggy daze, I realize how stupid that sounds. Perching myself on my elbows, I try to sit up. I shake my head, the dull ache shifting into a sharp pain. What happened?

  “Are you crazy?” the angel’s voice cuts frantically through my stupor as it pushes away from me to stand. “Surfing in a storm like this is the dumbest thing anyone could do! If you wanted to kill yourself there are easier ways, Jace. Are you okay? I can’t believe you! You are seriously insane! I almost had a heart attack when I saw you lying unconscious on the beach. What were you thinking? You’re not hurt, are you?” And then Iris has her arms around me.

  Confused, I wrap my arms around Iris’ body.

  “That was so stupid, Jace.” She squeezes me tighter. After a moment, two words barely slip from between her lips, just above a whisper, “So dangerous.”

  “I’m okay,” I reassure her without letting her go. Like an anvil it hits me. I had been in the water because I was trying to rescue her.

  I grab Iris’ shoulders and press her away from me, looking into her eyes. “Iris, are you okay? You’re the reason I even got in the water! I came after you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Iris scrunches her face up, not really listening.

  “I saw you walking on the dock an
d you dove off it into the ocean. You didn’t resurface so I came in after you.”

  Iris shakes her head. “Jace, I got to the beach fifteen minutes ago and saw you lying unconscious on the sand. Your board is destroyed.” Iris gestures to the broken and splintered pieces of surfboard foam surrounding me.

  I glance at the beach. Sure enough, my board is totally shredded a few feet away, pieces of it strung along the beach near the tide. Did I go surfing in the storm?

  “No, Iris, I saw you.”

  Iris narrows her eyes and reaches to feel my forehead. “I think you might be ill. Let’s get you to the hospital.”

  She helps me stand and throws one of my arms over her shoulders to try and support my weight. I leave my arm around her shoulder but I don’t put any weight on her.

  “I don’t need a hospital, Iris. I just need to rest a little bit, I think.” Fabric billows around Iris, a cream dress. Maybe that’s what I saw?

  “What?” she asks as I stare.

  “Your clothes. They’re… different.”

  “C’mon, let’s go.”

  It takes us awhile to make it across the beach because I keep getting lightheaded. I ask Iris questions about where she was, why she was on the dock, how she jumped off and made it out of the torment of the ocean perfectly unharmed; but Iris won’t own up to any of it. There’s no way I would go out on my own though—after all, my dad was killed because he went fishing on the ocean during a storm. I would never follow in those footsteps.

  Iris drives my truck to my house. After putting it in park, she slips from the driver seat and opens my door. I drape my arm over her shoulder; her skin against mine alone lifts my spirits.

  “Thanks for the help.” I stifle a yawn.

  “No problem,” she says distantly. “Will you be okay making it inside?”

  “I think I can manage.”

  Iris lifts my arm from her shoulders and gives it a light squeeze before she walks back down the sidewalk.

  “Hey!” I call before she can get too far. “Are we still on for the beach tomorrow? Will you come cheer me on?”

  Iris’ brow crinkles. “I really don’t think you should compete so soon, not after today.”

  I roll my eyes. “Please, a little excitement isn’t going to put me out for long. I’ll just go to bed early tonight and be ready to go again tomorrow.”

  Iris chews her lip.

  “I could really use you there.”

  “We’ll see. I have to get going. Feel better, Jace.”

  I collapse against the bottom stair leading to the front door. My gaze follows Iris until she disappears around the corner.

  Chapter 9

  JACE

  Despite waking up sore and tired, I arrive at Marina State Beach close to nine the next morning. The beach is still and quiet compared to the typical buzz of energy here. Perfect. For at least a few hours I’ll have the waves to myself until students from Santa Cruz to Half Moon Bay arrive. Since my trusty surf board was demolished last night, I snagged a spare from our garage; but it’s been a few years since I’ve ridden this one. A few hours to break it in couldn’t hurt.

  My thoughts drift toward what really happened last night, but I force them from my mind. Today I need to stay in the present. Everything else will work itself out in its own time. Lifting my board, I jog into the water and do a few runs on the waves. My muscles warm as I coast along the ocean’s surface and throw a few aerials into the mix.

  After about an hour, I pull my board onto the sand. Fans already saunter onto the beach, staking out their spots and settling in for a long day. Kids from school race past me with a quick hello to claim their turf. Within minutes, bright-colored towels and open coolers spread across the sand. I squint against the bright sun and scan the growing crowd. Disappointment stirs in my chest. Iris isn’t here.

  I have no idea if she even plans on coming anymore—after all, she thought I shouldn’t even come and I’m competing. There’s no way I’d miss this, though. It’s one of the county’s biggest events of the year. If you miss this, you miss conversations for the next two months; or so I’ve been told.

  I scan the beach again but she’s nowhere in sight. A deep voice bellows through the air as the ABC 7 News announces twenty minutes until the competition starts. Resigning myself to look for Iris after the competition, I grab my board to go double check I’m in the queue.

  “Jace Jacobsen,” I say when I reach the check-in counter.

  The woman scans her list through her thick spectacles. “Ah, there you are, Mr. Jacobsen.” She hands me a number. “You will be in heat seven”.

  I take my number and head over to where a group of students sit. I only recognize the blonde, almost white, hair that belongs to Quinton from Mythology; but it’s never too late to meet new people.

  “Hey, Quinton, what’s up, man?” I set my board on the ground next to them.

  Quinton shields his eyes from the sun. His eyes widen when he realizes who’s talking to him. After a slight hesitation, Quinton slides over to make more room. “Hey, man, take a seat.”

  I sit on the edge of their group and bury my feet into the warm sand.

  “This is Laney,” Quinton introduces. A girl with straight brown hair and pointed ears waves. “And Jake, Peter, Chase, Meghan, Lisa, Dotty, and Kirk. Everyone, this is Jace Jacobsen.”

  In a mixture of voices, they all say ‘hello’ and ‘hey’. I nod in return.

  “Are you in the competition?” the girl Quinton named Meghan asks.

  “Oh, yeah. I’m in heat seven.”

  “Wow—are you nervous? I would be freaking,” Dotty finishes.

  “Not too bad. Yet.”

  Dotty and Meghan laugh. “What an adrenaline rush!”

  Soon, everyone breaks into individual conversations. I mostly just listen as they talk about the different “extreme sports” they’ve done to get the same effect as surfing, which in Lisa’s case was tap dancing. When the announcer starts the first heat off, though, I stop listening. Instead, I watch the four surfers float in the water, waiting for the first wave to emerge. I can almost see the wave form just as three of the four surfers lie flat on their boards, paddling to catch it. Two of the surfers give up, realizing they won’t be the first to reach the take-off zone; but the third makes it easily. I pay attention to her form, her concentration, and try to anticipate what move she’s going to do next. I study each surfer in each heat, sizing up my competition. With each review of their runs, I mentally alter what I’d do to surpass the bar set during the first six heats.

  When heat six begins, I grab my board and head to the water’s edge in front of the judges’ booth. “Wish me luck!”

  “Good luck!”

  I jump at the sound of her voice. Iris stands next to me, her hair shimmering in the bright sun. “Man, you scared me,” I say, out of breath.

  “Sorry.” Iris’ expression scrunches together. “I promise it wasn’t on purpose. It was tricky to find you with so many people—I didn’t realize how crowded it gets. Anyway, I figured I should wish you luck in case I can’t find you after you compete.”

  “Thanks. Now I can relax?”

  “Why?” Iris’ expression relaxes, the hint of a smile touching her lips.

  “For a minute I was worried I’d have to compete without a cheerleader. Don’t let me down now.”

  Iris’ suppressed smile lifts the corners of her lips and she jerks her head toward Quinton’s group. “I don’t think you’d need to worry about that.”

  Glancing over my shoulder, my cheeks burn. Quinton and Chase start a chorus of hoots and the entire group pumps their fists in the air for me. I face Iris again. “You should sit with them. Then I’ll know where to find you after.”

  Iris’ smile falls and her teeth catch her bottom lip, but she nods and wanders toward the group.

  Quinton’s jaw drops as Iris asks if she can sit with them but they must say ‘yes’. Iris curls her feet beneath her and sits at the edge of the group. Wi
th a reassuring wave from Iris, I head toward the water.

  Three other surfers line up beside me at the water’s edge. My fingers tremble against my leash as I attach it to my ankle. With a quick shake of my hands, I force the nerves away.

  A horn blows through the air ending heat six. Goosebumps raise across my arms as I prepare to sprint into the waves. As the competitors from heat six return to shore, the announcers wave those of us in heat seven forward and broadcast our names across the beach: Hornley Duffy, Jake Grimson, Jace Jacobsen, and Samuel Penton.

  I lick my lips and step into the water. The judges score us on two things: what type of waves we catch and what we do with those waves. I pull myself out into the ocean with the other surfers, trying to become one with the water. I wait for the charge that comes from a wave stirring in the distance. Nothing. I shake my hands out and put them on top of the water again; it’s been awhile since I’ve competed and my nerves are on end.

  I float on my board for a grueling ten minutes in the line-up with the glassy ocean unmoving against the horizon. We get thirty-five minutes, but all I need is one wave, just one, to show them what I’ve got.

  In a near indistinguishable moment, I feel it—the subtle pull that tugs me farther into the ocean. I lie flat on my board to get a sense of where the wave will emerge. I paddle a few feet toward the shore, letting the wave direct me. As I do, the other surfers also flatten themselves to their boards.

  I close my eyes, using every other sense to guide me. The ocean pushes and pulls—it doesn’t feel big, but big enough. And then the water pulses and I know right where the wave will break. I open my eyes and paddle southeast with all my strength, another surfer right on my tail having sensed the same thing. We break into a paddle battle toward the take-off zone. Only one of us will get priority on the wave.