“What’s wrong?” asked Stella. Three faces, even the belligerent Billy’s, stared up at Storm. Anxiety tightened the skin around their lips and eyes.
“I saw something.” But it had disappeared, and the boat approached another turning point. She turned the wheel in a gentle sweep this time, unlike the erratic wrench she’d given it when she saw the shark’s silhouette.
What else would look like that? Storm looked around. Though they were fairly close to land to see a creature as large as—well, what she thought she’d seen. Fifteen, twenty feet? More than half the length of the boat, but maybe the water magnified it. Lara’s ‘aumakua.
“Something in the water?” asked Keiko.
Billy smirked. “Probably a big bad turtle.”
Keiko gave him stink-eye and pulled on his ties like he was an unpredictable pit bull.
A thumping distracted all of them. Ken was still in the same position, and appeared to be unconscious. He’d have a hard time moving around with that awful fracture even if he did wake up.
“I don’t see Damon,” Storm said. The prone form on the port deck was no longer visible. “You sure he was tied up?”
“Yes,” Stella said, “but I’ll go check.” She held the knife blade as if she wouldn’t hesitate to use it.
Keiko watched her with an anxious expression, then allowed a movement in the water to catch her eye. “Hey, someone’s swimming toward us.”
“You’re right.” Storm stood up. “He looked right at us.”
“Yeah, look at that.” Billy’s voice was amused. “And I have a hunch he’ll help some of us out.”
“We’ve got to warn that guy.” Storm began to turn the boat toward him. “I think I saw a shark.”
“He’ll be fine,” said Billy. “He doesn’t want a boatload of fuckin’ women driving up to him.”
Storm ignored him.
“Okay, do it. You’ll see,” Billy said.
Keiko gave him a yank that made him grunt.
“You guys are fucked,” he sneered.
Keiko jerked on him again, a surprising burst of strength that made the cords in his neck stand out like cables. He went to his knees, “Fuhhhh—,” and onto his face.
Half a second later, Storm’s, Keiko’s, and Billy’s attention was diverted by the sight of Damon edging along the narrow deck between the ocean and the side of the cabin. His eyes, dark with terror, flitted back and forth from the water to Storm’s face. Stella held onto his tied hands, but he was unable to hold on to the stanchions that allowed Stella to walk the gunwale with security.
He glanced again at the ocean; at one point, he teetered, and she steadied him. “MMMM. MMMM.” He tried to communicate through a gag of duct tape.
“You think he wants to talk to us?” Stella helped him make the big step down to the cabin, where he sat on the gunwale and leaned against a stanchion. She sat next to him. His face was so pale and sweaty he looked like he was made of plastic.
“Where’s Lara?” Stella ripped the duct tape from his face.
Storm blinked. He wouldn’t have to shave for a month.
The tape’s sting had drawn tears. “I tried—”
“I’ve had enough of this.” Stella grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet. He teetered on the seat cushion just as Billy drew the crew’s attention by making a high, nervous sound that hinted at hysteria. His eyes bulged at a sight abaft.
Storm’s first thought was that he was taunting Damon, and she gave him a disgusted and fleeting glance. Her eyes went back to the swimmer she’d seen. Where was that guy? Closer than she thought—he was within twenty yards, splashing toward the boat and looking up from time to time through his swim goggles.
She looked down at the throttle and carefully pushed it toward neutral. The last thing she wanted to do was run over him.
“Hey, there are a bunch of people on the beach—” Stella said, but a high-pitched screech from the water interrupted her.
At the same time, a dorsal fin sliced the sea’s ripples into a smooth V-shaped stream, then disappeared into the cerulean depths. From her high position on the bridge, Storm watched the huge, dark shape circling the swimmer from below.
The man might not have been able to see it twenty feet below his scissoring feet, but he could certainly feel the vortex of its passing—just as if someone had pulled the plug on a drain.
His head pivoted from side to side. The racing goggles he wore magnified his terrified gaze to a pop-eyed caricature. Billy emitted a series of terrified squeaks. Everyone else gaped, struck dumb by the apparition that glided beneath the swimmer.
The sleek, muscular body flashed to the surface of the water without even a splash. Effortless in its liquid element. Huge. Grinning needles, flat black stones for eyes. Impassive, testing, taking stock. Barely a ripple in its wake.
Though Storm pushed the throttle into gear, twenty yards was too far. The shark moved like a torpedo. The man shrieked again, a guttural and blood-freezing sound. Vertical in the water, he levitated to his waist, while his arms reached for the impassive skies.
Storm opened her mouth to scream, but no sound emerged. It was like a nightmare where she couldn’t run, couldn’t scream, and was paralyzed by terror. From her elevation, she was the first person to see the enormous creature rise to meet the swimmer.
The man shot into the air. A sheet of white water shielded the collision, though Storm reflected later that perhaps her brain simply blocked a horror she couldn’t face. The last image she remembered was the swimmer as he windmilled his arms and flopped over. Then he disappeared.
The shark flashed back and forth, alternating gray and belly-white, a missile of death. The water roiled with activity, and it took the spectators a long moment to comprehend that the attacker wasn’t alone. More sharks than anyone wanted to acknowledge thrashed through the pinkish foam.
Riveted by disbelief at what they’d witnessed in the water, no one in the cabin noticed Lara, who crept along the same narrow gunwale where Stella and Damon walked only a few minutes before. A faint smile played across her face.
Nor did any one see Ken make his move. On one leg, he struck like a cobra and shoved Storm from the helm.
Storm flew off the seat at the first blow. Though she landed hard enough to have the wind knocked out of her for the second time that day, she did not have her feet hooked under the footrest.
The Quest pitched violently to one side as Ken seized the wheel. He got her steadied just in time to grasp the result of his attack. When the Quest veered, Lara, Damon, and Stella, all in precarious positions and stunned by the scene they’d witnessed, were tossed overboard.
Ken shot away from the helm and half-scaled, half-slid down the ladder. The fracture was already bad; impact with the deck shoved the jagged bones through the tender and purple skin above one ankle.
He dashed, bleeding, across the deck. “Lara,” he screamed, and dived in.