SEASCAPE
STEPHANIE BURKE
Chapter One
“I’ll kill her, I swear I will!”
The gunman’s hand shook as he made his declaration to the silent passengers onboard Pacifica Airline Flight 769. His eyes were wide with unholy delight and more than a hint of fanaticism.
“I want this plane to take me to the Hawaiian International Airport and then I want a plane, gassed and ready to take me to Iran. Hurry it up, ‘cause I am just itching to make an example out of someone!”
He jerked the frightened young woman closer to his sweating body, his eyes twitching nervously as he swung his head from side to side watching the cowering hostages.
“Please,” the young woman pleaded as she sobbed quietly in the grasp of the madman. Her face was pale as her fingers gripped the forearm that encircled her neck.
“Shut up!” he screamed, his forearm tightening around her neck. “You just shut up!”
A few of the women let loose frightened squeaks of panic as they saw the young woman’s face pale further.
Iran? was the general thought that flowed through the plane. These men were crazy.
“We don’t negotiate with terrorists!” a small mechanical-sounding voice said over the radio. A second terrorist held the cockpit crew at bay with a submachine gun and exhibited an even more threatening demeanor. Equally sweaty and nervous, the man’s wild eyes jerked to his compatriot.
“Waste her!” a third urged. “That’s the only way these bastards will know we mean business.” There was no compassion in his eyes as he viewed the frightened young woman, only a cold determination to have his own way.
“Please,” she begged, but the arm tightening around her throat cut off her words and well as the flow of oxygen. She subsided with a small whimper.
“I will make a better hostage.”
Everyone froze at the cool, calm voice that made this announcement.
“Well, someone has balls!” the third gunman sneered as he eyed the elegant woman who stood before him. “Cute, too.”
Dressed in a red business suit and matching leather pumps, the woman exuded wealth and power. Her smooth brown hair was pulled neatly into a bun at her nape and her dark brown eyes looked serious. Her café au lait complexion was flawless, and the gold-framed glasses covering her eyes gave her a studious appearance. This was a woman of means.
“And why are you so anxious to die, chickie?” he sneered as he looked her up and down with grim disdain.
“She is worth nothing to you—a pawn that serves no purpose. I, on the other hand, am worth quite a lot to the government.”
The young woman looked at the woman, tears of fear filling her eyes as she frantically shook her head no.
“Well, exactly who are you, bitch?” he growled, ignoring his captive’s nervous pleas.
“I am Dr. Elanna Richfield.”
Several people on the plane gasped at her name. Elanna Richfield was synonymous with God! She alone was responsible for cracking a genetic code that caused cancer. Her research, groundbreaking as it was, was just the tip of the Richfield iceberg. Rumor had it she had actually taken the information she discovered and found a cure! Already there were rumors of her adapting that cure for AIDS and several other deadly diseases around the world. Elanna Richfield was literally worth her weight in gold.
“A celebrity!” the man cried, his eyes lighting up with his good fortune. “All right, young one, you can go! I have bigger bait in her!”
With a careless movement of his arm, he pulled the hostage from his partner and literally threw her across the aisle, then motioned to Elanna to approach him. “Slowly, if you would, doctor. I get nervous really easy and I just can’t seem to make my finger move off this trigger!”
Elanna nodded to him, but first stopped to check the young woman who had been sitting beside her when the attack first started.
“Elanna, no!” she whispered, shooting furtive glances at the waiting gunman.
“You are more important than I am, honey,” Elanna returned as she knelt by her side.
“Move it, lady!” the man growled, but she turned her serious, piercing brown eyes upon him.
“I am just checking her pulse. It’s a little high and you don’t want to lose any of your precious hostages. The government’s reaction would not be favorable.”
Ignoring his sputtering, Elanna again turned to the young woman.
“You know that the cure is coursing through your body right now, reversing the cancer in your system. You are a miracle child!” she whispered as she stared into the teen’s large, scared eyes. “A few treatments have dissolved that brain tumor and have already stopped the disease from shutting down your liver and kidneys. You are what’s important! In your body lies the secret to it all! I am just the messenger, honey. This trip to Pacifica just finalized your treatments.”
“But what if something happens to you?” the young one sobbed. “What about the doctors waiting for us on the Mainland? What about the hospitals and the scientists? Elanna, I’m scared.” Tears ran down her face, and her whole body shook as she pleaded with the woman.
“Any doctor can read my notes, honey. Any scientist worth his salt can decipher my work. But no one can replace you. Please be brave for me.”
“Elanna!” the girl sobbed as she stood to make her way to waiting death.
“Tell no one who you are. Dr. Sandstone will meet you when this is over and the plane finally lands. We made those arrangements before we left the States. We don’t need to give them any more leverage than what they have right now.”
Turning, she quietly walked over to the gunman and stared her death right in the face.
Twenty minutes later, after the pilot was forced to make the radio announcement that they had the famous doctor as a hostage, they were given the same reply. “We do not negotiate with terrorists!”
“Say good-bye to the doctor!” the man growled as he grabbed Elanna by the collar of her crisp red jacket.
“You’re gonna shoot her?” his partner asked, glee ringing through in his voice. “Can I do it?”
Everyone collectively sucked in a deep breath. Elanna paled a little, but kept her head up.
“No, I have a better idea!” he announced.
Sure that they were about to witness a rape scene or a bloodbath, a few of the passengers began to beg and plead for her life.
“Shut up!” he screamed, his eyes wide and his expression deadly, as he dragged Elanna over to the door of the plane.
“Know how to swim, bitch?” he growled as he cracked the door open.
The plane was small and was used to give tours of the South Sea Islands, so there was no real loss in cabin pressure. The plane continued to move steadily over the blue waters despite the small alarm that sounded as the door was pushed open.
“Is that their final answer?” he called to his friend.
“Yeah, man. Go on and waste her.”
“Good-bye, good doctor,” the man said as he jerked her around to face him. “I hope you have your affairs in order.”
There were shouts of surprise from the passengers as the gunman calmly shoved the doctor from the plane. Dispassionately, he watched as the red suit twirled and rotated in the clear skies. There was no sound—he probably would not be able to hear it anyway—but her arms and legs began to flail wildly as she plummeted faster and faster to her watery grave. Soon, she disappeared from view and the plane continued on its journey with its now sobbing and hysterical hostages.
“What do they say now?” the man demanded. He calmly closed the door as if he hadn’t just taken a life and consigned future generations to the bottom of the sea with the brilliant doctor.
There was a moment of silence, then the radio voice sounded loud and
clear. “We will cooperate with you. Your demands will be met when you land the plane in Hawaii.”
“Damn, I love democracy!” the gunman crowed. “It’s so much fun being the bad guy. Who gives a shit if you break a few eggs getting what you want? It’s all part of the job description.”
His grinning companion added his comments. “Damn straight!” They both laughed as the plane moved onward.
* * * * *
Elanna was too frightened to move. Her eyes grew wider as the crystal blue waters of the ocean loomed close and closer. Unlike what she’d expected, her life didn’t flash before her eyes. Instead, she thought of all she had yet to accomplish, all that she would never do. She would never experience good sex or have babies. She would never see Phantom of the Opera in New York. She would never sample sashimi or get a tattoo! Her flower garden would never have that pond she had meant to buy and she would never see another sunset. Most of all, she would never see that young woman she had treated cry tears of joy as the cancer was expunged from her body. She would never again…be.
She closed her burning eyes, dried from the air, as she felt the mist from the waters and heard the roar of the wind as it tore her hair free from its bun. Then she slammed face first into a brick wall.
Chapter Two
Storm was doing what he loved best! All by himself, he lay completely still and let the waves ripple over his bare skin.
He stifled a groan as heat suffused him, turning his muscles into mush and causing his brain to shut down.
Nothing had ever felt as good as this! He could see himself staying here, just lying, relaxed, as he felt his tensions melt away. This was better than diving off the cliffs near his home. This was better than roasting in the hot sun. This was better than sex—well, almost better than sex.
Nothing could get to him now! At this moment in life, everything was perfection. He looked up at the bright blue sky, inhaled deeply of the fresh air, and smiled. And then it hit him.
Not some grand plan to spend the rest of the day loafing, or some great idea to increase his fighting potential, but a hard, plummeting body.
“Shit!” he bubbled before he went under. Instinctively, he grabbed onto the body that hit him, wondering if it was still alive. But then he slowed their headlong plunge into the depths of his waters by spinning and then flipping himself onto his back.
Gradually his momentum slowed and he began to kick to the surface of the water again. The body had knocked him straight out of the jets of warm water that flowed freely from the volcanic rock and plummeted them a few hundred feet below the surface. If the body was still alive, it would need fresh air, and need it soon.
Knowing that the time for this human was dwindling, he decided to act. Tightening the muscles of his abdomen, he began to spin and twirl, forcing his body to undulate out of the downward plunge, slowly propelling him and the human to the surface. Too fast would be just as deadly as drowning.
He tightened his hold on the body, struggling to maintain his grip as the sea threatened to snatch his find away from him.
Closer and closer to the surface he spiraled, feeling the water temperature increase even as the sun began to cast its watery light around him.
He could detect no movement from the human—no struggles, nor panic—and that frightened him enough to force him to increase his pace.
With an uncommonly loud splash, his head broke through the surface of the water. He flung his sodden hair behind him, paying no attention to the droplets of water that flew like diamonds around his head.
With another gigantic effort, he tightened his hold on the human and forced its head to the surface. But that was not enough! He needed to get to some type of land!
Noting that the lava formations he had scouted out weeks ago were only a few yards in the distance, he gave one mighty flip, and in seconds he propelled them towards the floating mass of rock.
Was this human alive, or would there be another body to feed to the scavengers on the bottom? He held the human closer.
Moving quickly, he soon came to the rock mass and hefted the human onto the stone, using the incredible strength of his arms and careful to protect the head and back.
Still half-submerged in the water, he impatiently brushed his turquoise hair behind his shell-shaped ears, and began to examine the body—the female, he amended as he noted her body beneath the tattered red cloth she wore.
Closing his eyes, he rested his hands, with their long nails, an inch above her form and began to seek.
Using the power flowing through his body like the waters of the sea, he began an intimate search of her body, categorizing her injuries, making ready to repair what he could.
Her right arm was broken, but that was a common problem and easily remedied. He made a note to set it, then continued with the search.
Her pelvic bone was crushed—a bit more difficult, but could be repaired. Three of her ribs were broken, one puncturing her lung. Because she was human and didn’t have a back-up set to breathe with—or even gills for that matter—the puncture was his first priority. Putting his diagnosis on hold, he moved his attention to her ribs and her damaged lung.
Reaching into a sealskin pouch hanging at his waist, he produced a small bag of herbs, smiling as the sun caused the normally bright colors to dull. It may not be human medicine, but it was effective, nevertheless. Taking a pinch of the powder into his mouth, he tilted her head to the side, draining it of water, before clapping his warm firm lips over her cold, blue ones.
Taking a deep breath, he forced the powder into her body, mentally directing it to her lungs. In a matter of seconds, the color began to flood back into her face as the powder latched onto the lining of her lungs, repairing the tear even as he rested his hands upon her chest, repairing the damaged ribs.
In minutes, she took a deep breath, gurgling a bit at the water still left inside her body.
“Gills would have been so much simpler,” he sighed as he lifted his head and placed both hands upon her shoulders.
He turned her to her side easily, patting her back as her unconscious body forced the water from the newly repaired lung, allowing her blood to be oxygenated and saving her from suffocation.
He gently placed her onto her back again, and began to repair the rest of her battered body.
“Humans are so stupid,” he said to the woman as he worked, expecting no answer and receiving none. “To throw a perfectly good female away, you had to be stupid or crazy.”
With a sigh of disgust at the peculiarities of humans, he slid the woman back into the water and carefully began towing her to a place of safety.
The small island he had in mind was big enough to hold her until he could find a way to get rid of her. He did not need this complication in his life, but as a Master Healer, he had no choice but to help her. Sometimes, his morals got him into trouble. As he looked down at her caramel-brown skin, he felt that warning tingle start deep in his stomach.
So much for loafing the day away.
* * * * *
Elanna heard a voice speaking softly to her, calling her back to wakefulness, bringing her back from the world of darkness she had floated in, safe and blessedly pain free.
But as she opened her eyes, a blinding light almost made her pray for that dark void again.
“No, female. Open your eyes. Let me see if your mind is damaged.”
Mind damaged? Who was this person talking to her? She was Elanna Richfield, one of the greatest minds in the free world! She was the person heads of state and politicians turned to for answers! She was up for the Nobel Peace Prize! She was…about to hurl!
“Sick,” she struggled to say as her saliva grew thick in her mouth. Waves of nausea rushed through her, making the world spin and her eyes water.
“Oh, dear,” the voice muttered and she found herself being lifted and tilted to the side.
In an embarrassingly loud evacuation, the meager contents of her stomach were expelled from her body, leaving her weak and sha
king.
“I’m sorry,” she managed, but the voice just sighed.
“It would have happened sooner or later. The powder had to find a way out of your system now that its work is done, and my dear, you just don’t have the same physical make-up as my people do.”
“Umm,” she grunted in reply, closing her eyes and sinking again into misery.
She must be in a waterbed, because the gentle movements of the bed were part of her problem. She could get seasick while lying on a water bottle. She and water just didn’t mix. So what bozo would put her onto a waterbed when she was ill?
But the warm breeze blowing was nice, almost calming. Now if they turned down that blasted light, she might be able to open her eyes for more than a few seconds!
“Don’t go to sleep,” the voice interrupted. “Dead weight is so hard to tug, even when you are floating on the surface.”
“Surface,” she mumbled. “Right.”
Surface?
She opened her eyes, just a peek this time, and almost gave in to the urge to upchuck again!
She was floating in water! A hell of a lot of water! With no land in sight!
“What!” she squeaked, all she could muster in her weakened condition. But awareness of her surroundings also brought awareness of her own physical state.
Her right arm throbbed, her head was pounding, and it felt as if she had been beaten with a big stick. No, a log, she decided as the pounding in her head picked up tempo and cadence. Had a rock band taken up residency in her head?
“Exactly,” the voice answered. “What happened to you? Are humans now throwing out their surplus women?”
The voice was not sarcastic, or even amused. He was dead serious.
“Look, mister…whoever you are. Where am I and who are you?” She strained to keep her eyes open in order to look back over her shoulders to see who was pulling her so efficiently through the water. Had there been a plane crash? Were they the only survivors?
“I am Storm,” he replied.
His calm voice gave her the strength to tilt her head back, and she gasped at what she saw.
Seascape Page 1