Free Dive

by Emma Shelford

  ZEBALLOS

  “I’ll drive to the next station,” Zeb said shortly to Krista, who was at the wheel. She arched an eyebrow at his brusque manner.

  “Whatever. Don’t forget to time the narrows right.”

  “Yeah, I got it.” Zeb didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to hear his sister’s remonstrations, or discuss the disappointment that welled up inside, threatening to choke him. He just wanted to be alone.

  Krista seemed to get the hint, for she said nothing else. Her fingers lightly pressed his shoulder, then she was gone. Zeb sighed and slumped over the wheel.

  It was unbelievable, really, that he had been so lucky so quickly into his search. To see a whole school of strolias on day one—the odds were incredible. But that didn’t negate Zeb’s crushing disappointment at the loss of the strolia in the bucket. To be so close to potential answers, and to have them ripped away—it was almost too much to bear. After all, he’d been in and on the water all his life, and he had only ever encountered the troba before, with Jules on his father’s boat. Who knew when he might have another encounter with the world of his mother’s stories? Had he just squandered the last sighting he would have this decade?

  With that dispiriting thought, Zeb peeled himself off the wheel and put the boat into gear. He still had a job to do. He’d promised Corrie a week of sampling, and he would fulfill that promise. He only hoped her interest in the strolias was as keen as his own.

  He drove in solitude for an hour, with only his thoughts and the roar of the engine for company. They turned around a large island, and Zeb’s watchful eyes spotted a dark patch on the island’s rocky shore. His heart leaped. He slowed the boat and grabbed the intercom.

  “Krista, wheelhouse.”

  A minute later, his sister emerged from the doorway. Her mouth twisted in displeasure.

  “Don’t take your captain duties too far, little brother. I may have tolerated Dad’s authoritarian rule, but I won’t take rudeness from you.”

  “But, Krista, look.” Zeb pointed at the cave, then said hurriedly, “Sorry. But I need you to take the wheel while I put out a net in that cave.”

  Krista gazed at him and then sighed. Her face was hard to read.

  “Fine. Hurry up, though. Jules wants to serve lunch before we get to the next station.”

  Zeb tore out of the wheelhouse. He had put the dinghy in so many times by himself that he didn’t need help. The winch swung the dinghy over the edge and dropped the little vessel in the water with a splash. Zeb grabbed a net and some tools and vaulted over the edge. With a yank at the motor’s pull, he zoomed away.

  The cave was small, more so than he had reckoned from the wheelhouse. It wouldn’t take much netting to cover the entrance. He had rigged up a crab trap-type entrance in the center of the net. Any strolias that swam through the small opening would be unable to swim back out. The dinghy pulled up to the cave and Zeb put the motor into neutral. The entrance was sheltered from the worst of the waves here, so Zeb only had to push away from the rock face occasionally.

  He worked quickly, setting the central hole of the net in the water and stretching the netting to either side. He tied oversized fishhooks onto the net and jammed them into cracks to secure the whole contraption. Zeb had no idea if strolias would enter the trap opening, if the allure of the cave was enticement enough, but he had no other ideas. Did they only enter the previous cave because he had been chasing them? He wondered what they ate and resolved to put bait in the next cave they came across.

  With one last look at his handiwork, Zeb put the motor into drive and roared away. He ground his teeth in frustration. He knew so little. Not for the first time, he cursed his father’s tight lips. Zeb was sure his father knew more than he had ever told Zeb. The thought that now his father was dead, and Zeb would never get those answers from him, still hit Zeb like a punch to the gut.

  At the boat, Zeb hooked the dinghy back up to the winch and climbed out. Once he had winched the little boat aboard, he poked his head into the lab space.

  “Hi, Corrie,” he greeted their resident scientist. “You doing okay?” He wanted to hear some encouraging news from somewhere, even if it wasn’t about the strolias.

  “Yeah, great!” Corrie beamed at him. “Got half of my samples prepped and in the freezer from the last station, and the other half are incubating.” She waved at a rack of test tubes under foil on the bench beside her.

  “Good, good.” Zeb tried to think of a way to segue into his next thought but failed. He spat it out anyway. “So, what do you think the fish we found was? Any educated guesses?”

  Corrie’s face grew thoughtful and a little guarded, quite unlike her usual open demeanor.

  “My best guess is a subspecies of salmon. Maybe a mutation in an isolated population? Salmon always go back to the same river to spawn, so that can create subspecies that don’t necessarily interbreed. The morphology is highly unusual, though.” She caught Zeb’s confusion. “Body form and structure. The coloration, for one. And the horn, of course. I can’t fathom the evolutionary pressure that would favor that horn.”

  “Maybe they use it for fighting, or for defense,” Zeb suggested. He didn’t mention the poisonous tip.

  “Yeah, definitely a possibility.” She nodded then brightened. “I’m running a gel shortly on some DNA I managed to collect from the water in the bucket.”

  “What does that mean?” Zeb wasn’t sure, but he could guess. His heartrate increased.

  “If there was enough DNA from the unicorn fish in the water, then we might be able to send it to the university to sequence it, and find out what species it is,” she said. “Don’t get too excited, it’s a ridiculously long shot, but I did get a pellet in my tube after concentrating it, so there is something there. I’m amplifying the DNA with a typical fish sequence, which should show us variations between it and other fish. I’ll run the gel soon to see if the DNA is any good.”

  “Wow,” Zeb breathed. He never dreamed that getting genetic information from a bit of seawater was possible. Corrie was looking at his reaction, so he quickly put on an interested but unconcerned expression. She didn’t need to know how much this meant to him, not yet. “That’s fascinating. Let me know when you find out.”

  She nodded, and he backed out of the lab space and headed for the wheelhouse. At least he could talk openly with Krista.

  KRISTA

  Jules poked his head into the wheelhouse where Krista was casually maintaining their position.

  “Corrie’s in the lab. I’ll get lunch going while we’re underway.”

  Krista put the boat into gear and headed to their next destination. She gazed out the window at the ocean beyond. A sailboat inched behind a nearby island, and a ferry chugged away in the distance. Her mind wandered in a half-bored, half-thoughtful state that happened when she drove the boat. It was an unusual frame of mind for her—she was too busy normally to drift like this. It was a waste of time at any other point. But here, that was all there was to do.

  She was wondering how her cat was faring, being fed by her neighbor, when Zeb slung himself into the wheelhouse through the outside door and stationed himself at the charts. When it was clear he wasn’t going to speak, Krista broke the silence.

  “Well? What do you really think the unicorn fish was?”

  “It was a strolia,” Zeb said. He kept his eyes on the charts. “It had to have been. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Krista gritted her teeth. Zeb was convinced. That would make her job so much harder. How would she persuade him to give up on this ridiculous mission if it wasn’t fruitless after all? She would have to tackle it another day. She changed the topic.

  “What do you think of Corrie?”

  Zeb took a moment to answer.

  “Nice. Normal. Passionate about her work.”

  Krista made an impatient noise. Typical Zeb, giving such a guarded, bland answer. And nothing about what Krista really cared about.


  “Have you asked her yet? About the blog?”

  Zeb shook his head.

  “I didn’t want to scare her off before we’d even left the shore. Let her think that chasing strolias is her idea. I’ll stick to my cover story for now.”

  “You only have a week,” Krista said. “If you don’t say something, she’ll end up leaving the boat without truly helping, and all this effort will be for nothing. Ask her about the blog.”

  “Today?”

  “You might as well. What’s she going to do, jump ship? This trip is too important to her work. She’ll put up with a lot, I imagine.”

  They both watched a container ship glide slowly past in the distance.

  “I hope you have more of a plan than you’ve told me,” Krista said at last. Zeb was silent, and Krista sighed. “I thought not. How long did you really want to search for? Before I constrained you to the summer?”

  “As long as it took.” Zeb kept his gaze on the horizon, even though Krista’s eyes were burning a hole in his head.

  “Or until the money runs out,” Krista said. “Which won’t be long with gas prices these days.”

  ZEBALLOS

  Krista stopped speaking when Jules’ head popped through the doorway.

  “Le lunch is served,” he said in a terrible French accent.

  “Do you remember nothing of your high school French?” Krista asked with a shake of her head. “Astonishing.”

  “He went to as many French classes as he did of math,” Zeb said.

  “Zut alors, ze insults I must endure,” Jules said with mock-indignation.

  “At least you know how to cook,” Krista said. “I’ll give you that. I’ll steer for a while longer, Zeb, if you want to eat. But you’d better save me some.”

  “Or suffer the wrath of Krista,” said Zeb. “Got it.”

  A smile played on Krista’s lips as Zeb and Jules walked through the interior door. Zeb hoped that she would lighten up while they were on the water. She was usually serious, but her severity and nagging were beyond the norm. Zeb knew it was because she was worried for him, but it grated after a while. It took a lot out of him to stay stoic in the face of her dire warnings.

  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t already thought of every objection she came up with, but some things were more important than money. His mother had been different, although she’d tried to hide it. He was different, in ways that only made sense when viewed through the lens of his mother’s bedtime stories. Once more, he cursed his father’s stubborn secrecy. He had taken knowledge about Zeb to the grave, and now Zeb paid the price. The inheritance money had felt defiled, somehow, as if he were taking a handout from the man he had been at odds with, and who had been as tight-fisted with money as he had been with secrets. Using the money to fund this trip felt right. At least his father would help him find answers in death, if not in life.

  “What’s for lunch?” Zeb asked to distract himself from his gloomy thoughts.

  “Pressed Italian sandwiches,” said Jules with a flourish to the galley. “Help yourself. I’m eating on the deck. Coming?”

  “I need to talk to Corrie,” Zeb said. Jules gave him a look, and Zeb nodded.

  “Good luck.” Jules took a plate and walked to the door of the makeshift laboratory. “I’ll let her know lunch is ready.”

  Zeb took a plate and squeezed onto the bench surrounding a tiny table. A bundle of charts and old magazines were tucked into a small bungee cord on the side. Zeb pulled out his chart of Vancouver Island and glanced over it while he took a bite of his sandwich.

  Corrie entered a few minutes later, looking frazzled but happy.

  “Whew! Just processed my samples from the last station. I have some secondary protocols to run, but nothing that can’t wait until after lunch. And I started that gel to see if we had enough DNA in the bucket’s water to sequence.”

  “Is it likely?”

  “Not really,” she said. “But it’s worth a try.”

  “Let’s eat while you’re waiting. Grab a plate in the galley.” Zeb waved his sandwich in the right direction. Corrie retrieved her plate and slid onto the bench across from Zeb.

  “This looks amazing.” Corrie took a bite.

  “Jules’ hidden talent. He doesn’t have many, but cooking is one. His mum worked away a lot, so he and his dad fended for themselves while he was growing up.” Zeb took another bite and swallowed thoughtfully. “He’s handy to have on the boat.”

  “I can see that,” said Corrie. “Taste that? Now I’m excited for dinner.” She looked at the chart on the table. “What are the stars for?”

  Too late, Zeb realized that the chart he was perusing was liberally marked with pencil indicating places of fascination to his mother—either in story or from brief mentions. They were locations he intended to visit this summer. What he expected to find, even he didn’t know. What would he look for? Nevertheless, they were the only clues he had. He stumbled over his words as he waved away her question.

  “Oh, well, I don’t know. Maybe Dad thought they were good spots to catch halibut. Who knows?” Zeb started to fold the charts. Corrie put out a hand to stop him.

  “Can I see? I haven’t thought in much detail about sampling locations beyond tomorrow.”

  Zeb spread the chart out once more and Corrie poured over it, her lunch forgotten. Zeb supposed there was nothing to be gleaned from a few pencil scratches. Besides, he was supposed to talk to Corrie about her fascination with legends. He rolled his shoulders back and attempted to relax his face into a casual expression.

  “I’d like to sample Seymour Narrows,” Corrie said. Zeb bit back the words he’d been about to say. “Such huge tidal changes there, so dynamic. Pretty interesting, biology-wise, I bet. Do you think it’d be too tricky to sample there?” Corrie’s big brown eyes looked hopefully into Zeb’s, and he nodded in reassurance.

  “We’ll manage.”

  She went back to perusing the chart. There was no time like the present. Zeb cleared his throat.

  “Jules found your blog.” Zeb winced at his own lack of subtlety. “He’s pretty good at finding stuff.”

  Corrie didn’t look up, but her whole face, neck, and even her ears flushed pink. Was she that embarrassed? Zeb felt wrongfooted.

  “What do you mean?” Corrie said with an attempt at nonchalance.

  “I know you’re anonymous on it, but like I said, Jules is good at that. It’s really awesome, though, you don’t have to hide around here.” Zeb floundered. What else could he say? Corrie still wouldn’t look at him, and she fidgeted at a tear in the chart with trembling fingers. This was not going as planned. How would he ease her into the idea of helping him if she couldn’t even handle a mention of her blog?

  She finally looked up at him, and the blood had drained from her face to leave it eerily calm and pale.

  “I’m anonymous for a very good reason,” she said quietly. “If anyone at the university found out…” She shuddered. “Can you show me how you found out my identity? I obviously need to cover my tracks better.”

  “Of course,” Zeb assured her. “And we won’t tell anyone, I promise. I get it—it’s not a topic they generally cover in school, is it?” He smiled at her hopefully, and while she didn’t return the smile, her features lost their grim fear.

  “Why did you pick me for the award, if you knew about the blog?” she said. Her brow creased in a frown. “I don’t get it.”

  “I’m not a scientist. Who’s to say you’re not onto something? You’re definitely thorough.” Zeb paused, steeling himself for what he was about to say. “Besides, I found it fascinating. Your description of that mermaid you saw—well, I’ve heard of others like it. Let’s just say I’m a believer.”

  Corrie’s eyes widened, and her fingers gripped the edge of the table.

  “Really? Who—what—” She composed herself and spoke more clearly. “I would love to hear any information you have. Stories, legend
s, friend-of-friend sightings, anything you have. Especially sightings on this coast…” She looked dazzled by the possibilities. “Historical sightings go back millennia in Europe and Asia, but over here, they’re so rare. Anything will fatten up my database.” She rubbed her face then stared at Zeb through her fingers. “Are you for real? You’re not going to go laugh about it with Jules later?”

  “No!” Zeb shook his head. “I promise, this is all for real. And if you want to go to any locations for your blog as well as your university project, well…” Zeb spread his hands. “What your professor doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

  Corrie’s eyes shone. Her face brightened with a beautiful smile, incredulous yet hopeful all at once. Zeb found himself wanting to make her smile like that again. He hadn’t told her his real reason for the award, but it didn’t seem necessary. She was as keen as he was to search.

  “This will be the best week ever,” she said.

  CORRIE

  Corrie continued to eat her sandwich, but she was quiet and thoughtful now instead of happy. She turned over Zeb’s revelation in her mind. When she realized that Zeb was quietly waiting for her to break the silence, she cast about for a new topic.

  “Zeballos,” she said in a musing tone.

  “That’s me.”

  “Why the name? It’s unusual, to say the least.”

  Zeb chuckled.

  “Mum and Dad met in Zeballos. It’s a tiny place in the middle of nowhere, too small to be called a village, really. Mum had strange ideas about names, and Dad didn’t say no.” Zeb looked at the sandwich in his hand in contemplation. “At least I can be grateful they didn’t meet in Blubber Bay.”

  Corrie gave an inelegant snort and almost choked on her bite.

  “What about Corrie? Is it short for something?” Zeb asked.

  Once Corrie had swallowed successfully, she answered with a shrug.