Chapter Thirteen

 

 

 

^“GRAB YOUR GEAR, we’re a go.” Shaw strode into the operations room. “HMS Beta Skimmer spotted the megalodon not far from the Summer Isles. They’ve wired an exact position. A Cormorant class dirigible is standing by on the strip. Time to get a bird in the air and hunt for shark.”

All five men‌—‌Alec, Rip, Moray, Rowan and Sinclair‌—‌straightened and grinned. They’d spent the better part of the last two days bent over a table littered with nautical charts and various sheets of paper, attempting to predict where the megalodon might surface next. They were beyond ready.

Shaw pointed a finger at Alec. “Observational status only. You’re not cleared to dive with that knee.”

He opened his mouth to object.

“Don’t even try.” Shaw’s eyes narrowed. “That’s an order straight from Mr. Black, who is pissed as hell you broke confidentiality and went over his head.”

Alec grinned. About time his brother surfaced. “Got his attention, didn’t it?”

~~~

Orange and brilliant, the sun dipped ever closer to the horizon, but for once the comforts of her houseboat failed to beckon. Ignoring the path leading to the shore, Isa turned toward the small cluster of buildings that lined a street and‌—‌after the slightest of hesitations‌—‌yanked upon the heavy wooden door of an unofficial tavern where Finnfolk gathered. She breathed in the smoky scent of the peat fire that burned on the grate and let the dark warmth of the room wrap around her. Scots might wander in, but they weren’t welcome and rarely stayed long. Women were barely tolerated either, but there was nowhere else in town to go, and she didn’t want to be alone with the thoughts swirling through her head.

Ignoring the pointed stares of three men who gathered in a far corner, she placed her medical bag on the floor and sank onto a stool to bury her face in her hands. She’d arrived too late.

The publican set a pint of ale onto the table before her.

She raised her head and met his sad eyes. “Thank you.”

“On the house, Mrs. McQuiston,” he said, his face long. “Heard what happened.”

By the time Isa dropped anchor and arrived at the cottage, septicemia had already sent the man into shock. There hadn’t been much left of the tentacle‌—‌his wife had cut it down to a mere stub before she arrived‌—‌but its path was easily traced.

The biomech creature had pierced the man’s neck, stabbing at it twice before tunneling into his external jugular vein and causing significant blood loss. Isa had anesthetized the man and removed the narrow, braided wire with its hooked tip, carefully storing it and the remaining cephalopod tissue in a vial of ethanol. Alec would wish to study it. A distant corner of her mind pointed out that she’d rushed here as much for Alec as for the poor fisherman, hoping to impress him by gathering a fact or two that would shed light on the strange attacks.

Performed earlier, the surgery might have saved the fisherman, but his body temperature had continued to climb, sending the man into feverish convulsions. When death finally arrived, when his teary-eyed wife had looked to Isa for an explanation, she was at a loss. Word of the octopus attacks was spreading, and all she could say was that the incidents were being investigated.

Wishing to leave the family to their mourning rituals, she’d not conducted a full postmortem, only taking note that the fisherman did indeed bear scars between his fingers, indicating a high probability that factor Q had flowed through his veins and arteries.

Hypoxic conditions release factor Q into the blood’s serum. The phrase from Anton’s notations kept running through her mind. Could this biomech octopus somehow detect factor Q? She pressed her palms to her eyes. Worse, did it drag its victims overboard first, the better to deprive them of oxygen‌—‌to induce hypoxia‌—‌before burrowing toward a man’s blood vessels?

She shuddered at the thought.

“Grateful you came, even if…‌” He waved his hand, unable to finish. “Well, there’s not too many Finn left in town, what with so many families packing up and heading north. Two more families left earlier today.”

“North?” Her head jerked up.

“Heading to the Shetland islands to build a community of Finn. Something about returning to their roots.” He tipped his head at a line of skeet pigeons that sat on a shelf. “So many have gone that I’m running more of a postal service than a pub.”

Spread thin about the western shores of Scotland, Isa could see the appeal of gathering together Finn who yearned to return to the old ways. But in doing so, they cut themselves off from the outside world, including medical care and education. And how long could they hope to live apart with technological advances of all kinds making distant corners of the globe ever more accessible?

“Ah, there’s one now,” he said. A skeet pigeon had landed outside a small window propped open with a stick. Ducking through the opening, it shuffled forward and held out its metal-jointed leg. The publican tugged off the brass canister and pulled out the paper, peering beneath his glasses to read the words. His face paled.

“Nikko!” he called to one of the men, waving the paper. “It’s the boat. The one to Lerwick. The Brown and Lovitt families are requesting a rescue. Their propeller malfunctioned and a giant shark is circling.”

The megalodon. Which might or might not be alive.

Adrenaline flooded Isa’s system, and her heart began to pound. A shark. Circling a boat of traveling Finn. Her people were under attack. This was all connected. It had to be.

“My boat,” Nikko called as he strode for the door.

Everyone moved to follow him. Including Isa. The publican cast her a look and opened his mouth, ready to set her aside like a fine piece of china, pretty but not particularly useful. But she was done letting others assign her value.

She held up a hand. “I’m coming. What if you need a healer? I could have saved that man, if I’d only been able to reach him sooner.”

He hesitated, then nodded.

Clutching her medical bag, she hurried after the rough-hewn fishermen. Some frowned, some ignored her, but not one stepped in her way to prevent her from boarding.

A cold wind lashed at them as the boat churned through the water, rising and falling with the waves, its helm pointed at a darkening horizon. Nonetheless, the men stripped down to their undergarments, providing access to the knives strapped to ankles and wrists. If danger lurked in the ocean, they would dive overboard to fight the creature and save those they could.

As would she.

She tossed aside her own cloak and pulled off her bodice. Her hands shook as she unhooked the clasps that held her skirt in place. Did she go too far? Would they stop her now? All wore tight-lipped frowns, but one man stepped sideways, waving her forward.

In nothing but her linen shift, her own dive knife strapped to her thigh, Isa stood beside the railing with the men, her hair whipping in the wind, as they searched for a boat in distress.

~~~

“An overlarge dorsal fin at ten o’clock.” Alec stared through the eyepiece of the inverted periscope. “Circling a large boat with a distress flag. Another smaller vessel is on course to intercept it. A probable rescue.”

The cryptobiologists aboard the HMS Beta Skimmer had called in a final sighting of the megalodon, and then veered out to sea while the pilot of the R14X Cormorant class dirigible maneuvered into position above the cloud cover.

Beside him, all the BURR men‌—‌Shaw, Rowan, Sinclair, Moray and Rip‌—‌were ready to drop in for a peek at this oversized shark. Dive masks and hoses hung around their necks, breathing bags and tanks on their backs. Harpoon guns were strapped to their legs. Self-defense only. Alec was similarly attired, prepared for things to go pear-shaped.

“You’re not to leave this dirigible,” Shaw had protested when Alec geared up, reading intent on his face.

“I won’t go down unless it’s safe,” he had promised, shrugging off Shaw’s concerns as he shoved an acousticocept into his ear canal. “I’m prepared to stand here receiving transmissions. But when the all clear comes, I need to get a look at this thing with my own two eyes.”

Shaw had scoffed. “I’m tempted to toss you in first as bait.”

Alec grinned.

The men ran a final check of their equipment along with a last test of the newfangled acousticotrans system. The Duke of Avesbury had given him clearance to run this mission, with the caveat that it would be billed as an exercise to test an experimental communications method. Proven on land, it had yet to be used in the water‌—‌though the devices were safe beneath thick layers of vulcanized rubber. Alec had his doubts about the transmission system but, as he pointed at each man in turn, he couldn’t help grinning at the profanities that cracked back at him.

“Ready?”

Thumbs went up.

Satisfied that everything was as it should be, Alec leaned into the cockpit. “Good to go. Hover and hold.”

“Yes, sir.” The pilot flipped switches and punched buttons. A moment later, the dirigible slowed, floating motionless.

Alec pulled a lever, sliding open the great door in the gondola’s side. He threw out five thick ropes secured to the dirigible’s undercarriage, ones calculated to end some two feet above the water’s surface and fifty feet away from the distressed boat. There, the team would drop into the water. If all went well, the megalodon would never notice them.

“Don’t belly flop,” he ordered and stepped back.

Lifting middle fingers as they passed him, each man grabbed hold of a ratchet handle, slid a booted foot into a ratchet stirrup, then jumped out, making a swift, but steady, descent.

Seconds later, noise crackled over the acousticocept as each crew member reported in.

“Shit,” Rowan barked. “Bodies in the water. Draw your weapons.”

“Same on port,” Moray said. “I’ve got a severed head. What the hell happened here?”

“I’ve got a partial torso,” Sinclair added. “With an attached tentacle.”

“I need that,” Alec yelled into the acousticotransmitter, pacing in the confined space of the dirigible. “Do not let go! Gather any other remains that appear to have an octopus or fragments of an octopus attached to it in any manner.”

“Bagged it,” Moray reassured him. “Anyone got eyes on the fish that did this?”

“There,” Rip spoke. “Behind the stern of the boat. Twenty feet down.”

“Oh, hell,” said Shaw. “Its eyes glow. And its mouth is open. Sharp teeth, glinting…‌ in a flood lamp?”

“It’s covered with standard shark skin,” reported Moray. “But has hinges on the tail, and I can see rivets anchoring the pectoral fins in place.”

“Portals on the sides. Aw, hell, they’re opening!”

Shaw swore. “They’re expelling hyena fish!”

“Back away!” Alec yelled. “Get out of the blood zone.”

Hailing from the South Atlantic off the western coast of Africa, hyena fish were bad news. Vicious, they swarmed carrion, stripping them to the bone in minutes. The human remains in the water would whip them into a feeding frenzy. Collateral damage was likely.

“The megalodon is diving,” Rip reported.

“I’m bit,” Shaw said. “Bleeding. Not impaired, but exiting the zone.”

“Time to leave.” Moray’s voice was deadly calm over the acousticocept. “The rescue vessel is attempting to pull alongside the first.”

Alec stared through the inverted periscope, straining to make out details. There appeared to be a single figure in distress, curled into a ball upon the deck of the original boat. Though that individual would have quite the tale to tell, now was not the time to demand it.

“Do not surface,” Alec ordered. “Allow the rescuers to assist any survivors.” If the BURR team were to board either boat dressed as they were, they would be met with fear and resistance. “Rowan, assist Shaw. Moray, survey the scene and estimate how many individuals are‌—‌were‌—‌in the water. Sinclair, collect samples. Rip, keep an eye on the rescuers. I’ll hover and monitor for further trouble. Prepare to retreat to rendezvous alternate point and await pickup.”

“On our way.”

A figure‌—‌a woman‌—‌dressed in nothing more than a shift stood at the railing of the rescue boat, hair whipping about her face. A familiar face. He spun a dial, increasing magnification. Quicksilver eyes, copper hair and a quiet, determined bravery. The stance of a woman willing to face the unsettling and unknown. What the hell was Isa doing here? Had she any idea of the danger that circled below? He bet she did, that she’d purposefully inserted herself into this situation.

He’d promised‌—‌been ordered‌—‌not to interfere. Any risk to her was low. The megalodon had disappeared, and there was no reason for her not to attend to any survivors. He could ask her for a report later. Time to order the dirigible about, retrieve his team. But his feet were frozen to the floor.

~~~

When the distressed boat came into sight, its white flag flapping in the wind, not a soul stood on deck, yet around the hull, seawater churned, dark with…‌ blood. An eerie keening sound rose from the water as fish with whip-like tails and mouths filled with long, sharp teeth shredded scraps of human flesh.

She shuddered.

“Hyena fish,” the man beside her hissed. “We’re too late.”

A sour taste rose to the back of her throat. This was far, far worse than an individual octopus attack. Who would do such a thing to a family and why? The Brown and Lovitt families‌—‌six adults and nine children wanting nothing more than a peaceful life‌—‌gone.

On the wind, Isa caught a different kind of cry.

“There!” She pointed. “A woman. Bring the boat around.”

The minute they drew aside, Isa leapt over a small stretch of water where the horrible fish still swarmed, landing on the other ship’s deck. She ran to the woman who huddled against the railing. Arms around her legs, she rocked, wailing her misery into the wind.

“What happened?” Isa wrapped her own arms about the woman’s shoulders, offering comfort. Behind her, the Finn men thundered onto the boat, glancing in her direction with a nod, they ran down into the hull, searching for other survivors.

“OctoFinn came.” The woman spoke in a monotone, her eyes vacant. “We fought, killed two. Lost. There was a culling. Blood was taken. Some were worthy, and those they took into the mouth of the shark. Those who weren’t…‌” Her pale face tipped upward. “They threw my baby overboard.”

No. No it couldn’t be. Condemned or saved by a blood test? “Did they mention factor Q?” Guilt‌—‌already grasping her by the throat‌—‌tightened its grip as she waited.

But the woman didn’t answer, she only rocked, her lips moving without sound.

“Come,” Isa said. “Let’s get you away from the water.”

“Don’t touch me!” the woman screamed, exploding to her feet, shoving her hands outward.

And pushing Isa over the railing and into the water.

She broke the surface gasping for air and kicking.

Pain shot through her leg. Bloody hyena fish. Rotten little chum chewer had bitten down on her calf, its inch-long fangs tearing a gash through her skin. Blood swirled around her. Bits of flesh, mostly unidentifiable, churned in the waves. The salt water burned as she stroked away from the shrieking fish, away from both boats. Had‌—‌with the horror and chaos that surrounded them‌—‌anyone noticed she’d gone overboard?

Something bumped the back of her head. She spun and screamed. A severed leg, cleanly cut with as if with a large, sharp blade. Megalodon teeth? Coughing up the bloody salt water she’d inhaled, she started to kick away until she noticed something else. A tentacle protruded from the knee. Treading water, she spun around again. The hyena fish surrounded both boats, blocking her return. Drawing her dive knife would do no good; slashing at such small, darting creatures would accomplish nothing but to drain her of energy.

The shore was two miles away, and the water not unreasonably cold. Not for a Finn. Swimming for shore would take time and‌—‌given the attacks‌—‌was ill-advised. Besides, the survivors might require medical assistance. Aether, she hoped there were more aboard that boat than a single woman. She bobbed in the water, waiting. When they discovered her missing, the men would set up a search.

Sharp teeth pierced her ankle. With an abrupt intake of breath came water. A second bite at the arch of her foot. The hyena fish had found her, but still no one was on deck. Kicking, she moved away, away from the boats. Another bite. If she waited for the men to remember her, to begin a search, she might have no toes left. Horrid fish.

Cringing in distaste, she wrapped her fingers about the ankle of the tentacle-impaled, disarticulated leg. If need be, she could save herself.