Dark Waters

by Lucas Pederson

  Guether reaches over and punches Jakob in the arm. “Told ya he still remembers how to kick ass.”

  “Ow, dude,” Jakob says, rubbing his arm and glowering at Guether. “Okay, okay. Stop hitting me, asshole.”

  Guether shakes his head. “You’re such a little wuss, for a Seal.”

  “I’m the fucking medic, man. Calm your tits.”

  “Listen you little—”

  “My God,” Miles says. “You two haven’t changed a bit.”

  Jakob winks. “We like consistency.”

  “You’re an idiot.” Though Guether is smiling.

  “So,” Miles says. “What’s the plan?”

  “Dagger Point goes in and saves the day, like usual, man,” Jakob says.

  Miles shakes his head. “It’s not going to be that easy. We’ll be in open water with something huge.”

  “The Admiral has a few things that might help us with that,” Guether says.

  Jakob chuckles. “Yeah, like a fucking tank, man. Probably even better.”

  Gaze drifting between the two men, Miles sighs. “Maybe you guys should let me in on what the hell is going on?”

  Guether straightens, smiles his crooked smile. “Eat first. Admiral says we have to shove off in a couple of hours.”

  “Right.” Miles glances around. “So, um, where are we?”

  Jakob pats his arm and gestures for him to follow. Guether falls in behind Miles as they walk to a set of rickety, old wooden stairs leading up to a closed door.

  “Safe house,” Jakob says, clomping up the steps. “Wade sent us this location. Everything is fully stocked too. Pantry even has goddamn gummy bears, man.”

  “You’re an idiot,” Guether grumbles behind Miles.

  “You’re just jealous I won’t share my gummy bears.”

  Guether gave a heavy, “Humph.”

  The steps creak and groan under all three men’s weight. Jakob opens the door and bright light stabs into Miles’ sensitive eyes.

  As they gather into a kitchen, Miles says, “Do me a favor. Next time just send me a text or something, okay?”

  Laughing, Jakob snatches up an open bag of gummy bears. “Man, we couldn’t. Wade thought your phone, everything, might be tapped. The only way to get you away from For Everdeen and here was to fake your kidnapping.” He pops a few gummy bears into his mouth and chews.

  Miles shoots a glance at the stainless-steel refrigerator, then his sight drifts over the kitchen. Compared to the ugly basement, this room is amazing. Clean and shiny. Everything appears new or at least relatively so.

  “So, who is Wade so afraid of?” Miles takes the bag of gummy bears from Jakob and stuffs a few into his mouth, realizing how long it has been since he’s eaten anything.

  “Murdock Jones,” Guether says and opens the fridge.

  God, Miles hates that name. “But why is he so afraid? Murdock can’t stop him from sending us out.”

  Rummaging through the fridge, Guether says, “It’s not that. And the Admiral isn’t really afraid. More like he doesn’t trust that pompous asshole.”

  “Yeah,” Jakob says. “After what happened to that dude in the South Pacific and Murdock’s connection to it…Wade knows the douchenozzle might double-cross him.”

  “The leviathan, you mean?” Miles frowns. “What was his name? The guy that survived…”

  “Boaken,” Guether spouts.

  Jakob snorts. “And you call me the idiot. His name is Bracken, you damn mongoloid.”

  Miles rolls his eyes and hands the gummy bears back to Jakob. The younger man nearly jumps with joy. “I need real food. What do we have?”

  “Eggs?” Guether asks.

  “Sure. Would rather have a steak, though.”

  “Why not both?”

  Miles blinks. “You have both?”

  Guether chuckles, rummages through the fridge a bit and brings out a carton of eggs. He places them on the small table, returns to the fridge and when he turns back to the table he plops a thick package wrapped in white butcher’s paper next to the eggs.

  The big man grins. “We have both, my old friend.”

  “Ah, shit,” Jakob says. “Here comes the bromance.”

  “Shut your face,” Guether says, stabbing Jakob with a glare.

  Jakob waggles the bag of gummy bears in front of him. “Sweet sugary goodness.”

  The big man rolls his eyes and looks at Miles. “Sorry, Sir, but you’ll have to cook it yourself. Moron and I need to catch at least an hour nap before we head out.”

  “Mmmm,” Jakob says, making a show of eating the gummy bears. “So chewy and sweet and fruity!”

  Guether sighs and points toward the archway across the room. “Bedtime, jackass.”

  Jakob nods. “Okay, okay. Yeesh, dude.” He places the bag of gummy bears on the table and follows the big man out of the room.

  And just like that, Miles is alone.

  He quickly finds a saucepan for the eggs and a broiler pan for the steak. He sets the oven to broil and has never craved a cigarette as much as he does now. Quitting a year ago had been the best decision, but even so…he still craves a smoke from time to time. He enjoyed smoking. The taste, the calm which follows, everything. Cigarettes also helped him think deeper than without. At least he thinks so, anyway.

  Miles turns the burner for the saucepan on to medium heat and plops a nice thick cut of steak onto the broiler pan. He seasons it with salt and pepper and a sprinkle of garlic salt. A few minutes later, the oven beeps to tell him the correct temperature is achieved.

  He places the steak in the oven and waits until the meat is nearly cooked before slapping a few tablespoons of butter into the saucepan and cracking open a couple of eggs. He dashes each with salt and pepper and checks the steak, stomach grumbling.

  It’s still a bit bloody, but not bad at all. He pulls the steak out of the oven and slips it onto a plate. Once the eggs (sunny-side up) are ready, he scoops them onto the steak. In the silverware drawer he finds a steak knife and fork.

  He’s shoveling the steak and eggs into his mouth a moment later at the table.

  He tries not to think about anything, but that’s impossible. Murdock wants him for something, but what? The man in white barely gave Miles any attention in Admiral Wade’s office. What the hell does the bastard have to gain through all of this? There’s no oil involved, after all. So, what the hell would benefit him being involved in a search and rescue mission? Makes no damn sense.

  He’s chewing the last piece of steak when—

  “Whoa, slow down tiger.”

  Miles looks up, finding his formally second in command, Jenna Thomson, smiling at him, arms folded across her chest.

  He swallows and says, “How long you been standing there?”

  She chuckles, heading for the coffee pot. “Long enough to know you’re kind of a pig.”

  He watches her place a pod into the top of the coffee machine and set a mug under the spout. She touches the BREW button and it begins gurgling. Then she faces him. He has forgotten how beautiful she is. Though feminine, she’s all muscle. Her oval face, green eyes, and olive colored skin…he could never really stop looking at her.

  Like now, he finds it difficult to look away.

  “You’re lucky the guys still like you,” she says.

  “Why wouldn’t they?”

  She grunts. “You kind of abandoned us, you know.”

  Miles sighs. He knew this would come up eventually. Had actually lain awake some nights thinking about it. And even in the silent, dead of night, he had no real answers besides…

  “Sorry. I needed to get out.”

  “You left without even saying goodbye. Totally ghosted us.”

  Another sigh blows out of him. “Sorry.”

  Jenna waves a dismissive hand and turns to the full cup of coffee. “Oh, no worries. I know that last mission got to you pretty bad. So do the guys.”

  A shiver slithers through him at the thought. He tries to shove the memory back
into the depths of his mind, but, the more he tries, the more it forces itself in front of his mind’s eye.

  All those teeth…and the little girl…

  Miles finally manages to shake the memory back, realizing Jenna is staring at him. He shrugs, not really sure what to say.

  She frowns, sips her coffee and sits in the chair across the table from him. “It still bothers you, doesn’t it?”

  He chuckles humorlessly. “I wouldn’t say bother.” He glances away. “More like haunts.”

  “Have you ever talked about it to anyone?”

  His sight snaps back to her. “And tell them what? That I let a little girl I could have saved die?”

  “You couldn’t save her, hun,” Jenna says, eyes softening. “None of us could.”

  He stands, grabs his plate, “I could have,” then he puts the plate in the sink. “I had time. I could have stopped it.”

  When he looks, Jenna blinks at him. “You saved so many kids that day. Just think of how many would have died if you followed orders.”

  “But I didn’t save them all. The look in her eyes…” He shakes his head, sighs. “Never mind. Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum mentioned something about a tank made for water?”

  Jenna, visibly giving up on him, shrugs. “Pretty much.” She eyes him. “How do you know about this…thing?”

  In the fridge is a single can of Pepsi. He plucks it out and shuts the door. Then cracks the can open. It’s been so long since he had soda of any kind and he gulps half the can down, belches and shrugs. “Some Old Norse creature, according to the lady historian, what’s her name. Gebbie? Gessie? G—”

  “Geri, idiot boy,” the old woman shuffles into the kitchen, snatches the mug of coffee from Jenna, takes a swig and hands the mug back.

  Jenna, eyes wide, glances from the old woman to Miles. “What just happened?”

  “Looks like she drank some of your beloved coffee,” Miles say, grinning.

  “Name’s Geri Rask.” She moves closer to him, ice-blue eyes narrowing. “He said you were a smart one, ha!”

  Miles smiles, despite himself. The woman has some fire in her, that’s for sure.

  “So, you’re the expert Admiral Wade sent us?” Jenna frowns. “I thought you’d be…taller.”

  Geri whisks a bunched, liver-spotted hand in the air. “Pah! I have taken apart tougher girls than you, dear.”

  Miles chuckles, he can’t help it. The look on Jenna’s face is something in the gray area of bewildered and angry.

  Finally, Jenna rolls her eyes. “So, you’re the expert. What are we up against?”

  Geri cackles. Something so witch-like, a sheath of lumps forms over the skin of Miles’ arms. She shuffles toward Jenna and points at her. “A god, girl. That is what you are up against. And no underwater tank is going to stop it. Jörmungandr has lived a long, long time.”

  Jenna nods slowly. “Like the Wendigo.”

  Geri snaps her fingers. “Exactly. Only older, girl. Much older. Older than even the Old Norse. As old as the seas…”

  Miles clears his throat. “Well, that’s great and all, but how do we kill it?”

  Shooting him a dark look over her shoulder, she says, “There is only one way to kill Jörmungandr, and it is not with bullets.”

  “Then…what?”

  From one of the deep pockets of her crimson cloak, she brings out a foot long, curved tooth. She holds it up in front of him. “Fenrir. His venom is the only thing to kill her.”

  “What the shit is Fenrir?” Jenna reaches out to touch the tooth and Geri yanks it away.

  “Fenrir was Jörmungandr’s brother, foolish girl.” Geri backs away so that she faces both Miles and Jenna. “Both offspring of Loki. But this does not matter. What matters is what is in this tooth.” She holds it up. “Only Fenrir could defeat his sister. Only Jörmungandr could defeat her brother.” Her cool, blue eyes stare at the tooth. Her wrinkled mouth twists downward, as though overcome with some deep sadness. “She won the last time they battled thousands of years ago now.”

  Miles holds up his hands in a surrendering gesture. “Hold on. You’re saying these gods, or whatever were real?”

  Geri hisses at him. Actually hisses. “Jörmungandr is real, is she not? You saw her.” She waggles the tooth at him. “Does this look like an ordinary wolf’s fang? The gods, all of them, were once very real. Most of them have fallen and perished. But a few still remain here. Some are still…angry.”

  “Angry about what?” Jenna asks.

  “Of what man has done to their fallen. How they have all been forgotten and labeled myths. They once ruled over us, you know. We worshiped them, and they were magnificent.”

  “If they were so magnificent,” Miles spouts, “then how come they fell?”

  Tucking the long, curved tooth into her cloak pocket, she fixes a glare on him. “When people stop believing in gods, gods fall. They die. They vanish. Most of them, anyhow. Others are too fueled by rage they refuse to die until they destroy the very species that ended their brethren. Men.”

  Miles nods. He doesn’t totally get it but understands enough to let the subject drop. He’s never believed in a god anyway. Not so much to worship one, anyway. After all the shit he’s been through, he’s pretty sure no gods exist. And maybe Geri has a point there too. Maybe so many people stopped believing in a god, all gods, even the almighty Christian one, have fallen. He doesn’t know, and there’s not time to dwell much on it anyway.

  “Okay,” he says. “So, we stab that tooth into it and it just dies?”

  There’s something in the old woman’s sidelong glance that unnerves him a bit. Disdain? Malice? Bewilderment? Shit, he can’t pinpoint it.

  “What you do, Mr. Raine,” she says and creeps toward him. He stands his ground. Barely. “You take Fenrir’s fang and put it in her eye. Sink it deep to let the venom in. That’s how you kill Jörmungandr.” She looks away. “That’s if we see her, of course.”

  “You think it – she, won’t be around?” Jenna asks, looking a bit too hopeful.

  Shaking her head, gray hairs flailing, she says, “No telling if she will or will not be. Best to be prepared.”

  Miles points at the bulge in Geri’s cloak pocket. “How would we even get close enough to put that in her eye? Just curious.”

  Her cold, blue eyes measure him, up and down. “You are the big man in charge here. You tell me. Harpoon would be too slow and wasted effort, I would think.”

  He nods. A harpoon, though? Shit, is this the Captain Ahab years? No, it’d have to be attached to something so fast not even an alleged god can dodge it. This is the most crucial thing they need to nail down before they set out.

  “A torpedo?” Jenna ventures.

  But Miles shakes his head. “Not fast enough. Might as well be shooting a harpoon.”

  Jenna flaps her arms in exasperation. “Well, shit, I dunno, then.”

  An idea pops into his head. “Is Ma here?”

  Jenna frowns. “Yeah. But she doesn’t—”

  “She knows every laser-fire weapon known to man,” Miles says, easily falling into his old roll of command.

  “A laser would burn that tooth up, though,” Jenna says.

  Miles smiles. “Not if there’s a stopper.”

  She shakes her head, a line forming between her green eyes. “Stoppers never work.”

  He looks at Geri. “If that tooth is from a god, can a laser destroy it?”

  Geri appears a bit perplexed for a moment. She glances away, sucking on her teeth. She shakes her head. “I do not know. Fenrir had already fallen at the time of his death. He was mortal. So, his fang is somewhere between godly and of this world. Know this, however, when I found Fenrir in the catacombs of your very own America, his body had not rotted. Thousands of years and he seemed to only be sleeping. A huge beast in a tight cave, I managed to pry the fang from his upper jaw. As far as lasers though…I just don’t know Mr. Raine.”

  Miles, very gently, pats her shoulder. “Thank you.”


  Geri blows out a breath, not quite a sigh. Mostly to herself she mutters, “I should have told the Admiral to go fuck himself.”

  Smiling, Miles finishes his soda and tosses the can in the trash. He looks at Jenna. “Show me this…tank.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Consciousness returns to her in a gray, lazy tide. Slow…quiet.

  No.

  Not quiet. There is a sound.

  Like a dog scratching at the door to be let in. Nails raking along wood.

  Emma rolls onto her side. She’s in the narrow entryway leading to the short hall between her office and the shop where Miles spent most of his time. She coughs, realizing how dry her throat is. Her head throbs and when her fingers touch a spot on her forehead a sharp pain bites into her skull. She tries looking at her fingers to see if there’s any blood, but it’s too dark here.

  And where the hell is that scratching coming from?

  She manages to sit, head pounding, vision swimming, and nearly falls over. If not for the wall, she just might have. Instead, she places a hand on the wall to keep her upright until her vision clears and the slamming in her head eases to dull throbs.

  Slow, almost methodical, the scratching doesn’t stop, and it takes her only another moment to realize it’s coming from the door in front of her.

  A breath snags in her throat like a fishhook. Her heart bashes her ribs. She kicks herself away from the door. Shaking her head, tears filling her eyes, she knows exactly what is scratching at her door.

  The thing from the beach. The thing that almost tipped her boat over.

  As if in confirmation, a low growl rumbles, muffled through the door.

  That’s when she realizes…the door isn’t locked.

  The thing from the beach has hand-like claws. All it will have to do is reach up and turn the knob and it’d get her.

  Suddenly, her bladder feels too heavy. Her stomach…too sour. Her throat clenches and hot saliva fills her mouth faster than she can swallow it down. Before she has time to do anything, she whips to the side and vomits onto the tiled floor.

  Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she scrambles for the door and turns the deadbolt lock. It finds its home with a satisfying click.

  This done, she scoots away from the door once more. The scratching pauses briefly, then grows frantic. A shrill squeal leaks through the door.