You pause for a moment, considering each option.
“Speak up,” barks the captain. “We haven’t got much time.”
You take a deep breath and nervously exhale. The word “gun” escapes your lips.
“Ready the forecastle gun,” the captain shouts. “Full steam ahead!”
An old gunner with a grey beard hurries to it, and the chase is on.
You follow the creature for hours, for hundreds of miles. When the ship finally pulls up alongside the Giant Narwhal, the gunner takes careful aim. Krak!
The gun fires, and the gunner’s aim is true. But the bullet bounces off the Giant Narwhal. You can’t believe your eyes. The beast is unharmed.
The creature dives out of sight, and there is a sudden, violent lurch. You tumble to the deck and crack your head on the rail. The stars that reel in front of your eyes are not enough to mask what you see next. With a terrible krak, a rift zigzags down the middle of the ship’s deck. The Abraham Lincoln is being torn in two.
The crew’s screams and shouts are cut off as you slide helplessly into the churning waves of the Pacific Ocean. The last thing you see is a black shape gliding into the ocean’s dark depths. Soon, after your ship has sunk and your arms and legs have grown tired, you glide into the ocean’s dark depths, too.