by Neal Wooten
“Help!” the diver cried out.
“Start the boat,” Erique ordered again.
Emmanuel rushed to the front and turned the key. The engine sputtered once and expelled a plume of smoke as it came to life. He put it in gear and turned toward the diver to close the distance. He could see the dolphins still attacking, but he heard no more cries from the diver.
Erique stepped onto the platform again as the boat neared the motionless black form in the water. As the boat passed, he grabbed the diver and pulled him up onto the platform. “Help me!” he yelled.
Emmanuel ran to the rear and helped pull the limp body over the transom. It hit the deck with a thud as water and blood flooded the floor. As his father lifted one leg over, he screamed out in pain. Emmanuel looked over and couldn’t believe his eyes. A dolphin had come out of the water and was biting his father, its jaws clamped tight to Erique’s ankle. Emmanuel looked around for a weapon but saw nothing, so he leaned over and began punching the dolphin with his fist. He could see more approaching. He punched harder as his father held on to the back of the boat and began kicking at the dolphin with his free foot. Finally it released its grip and slid back into the murky water.
They both collapsed beside the diver’s body. Erique ignored his own wounds to check the diver’s condition. It seemed pretty obvious that he was dead. He looked over to the wife but she was still in shock, her eyes staring into a void where reality wasn’t invited.
How was he going to explain this to the authorities? Would they even believe him? He looked to his son for strength, but what he saw was pure fear. Emmanuel’s eyes were staring out over the water. It caused a sensation like needle pricks igniting and cascading down his spine in a chain reaction. He jumped to his feet and looked out over the water to where his son was staring. He saw them—two large whales coming directly toward them. They were huge, humpbacks maybe.
He ran to the controls and started the boat and gave it full throttle. He headed due east back toward home as fast as the boat would go. Dolphins followed and swam alongside for a while. Finally they disappeared, and there was nothing but water as far as the eye could see. He scanned the boat and saw the woman still staring straight ahead as if in a trance, her breathing fast but consistent. He saw the diver in the back still lying in a pool of blood. He saw his son sitting in one of the folding chairs, his bare feet resting in the bloody water, his face buried in his hands and crying uncontrollably.
What just happened? He grabbed the transmitter from its holder beside the steering wheel. “Mayday! Mayday! We have an emergency.”
The radio buzzed and crackled. “This is the coast guard. What is the nature of your emergency?”
“This is Erique Sarpong of The Blue Horizon. I have two divers that have been attacked. Need emergency assistance.”
“What is the nature of the attacks?”
Erique looked back at the divers. He couldn’t bring himself to say. “Unknown. One diver is unconscious and the other is losing blood. Can you send a helicopter?”
“Negative,” came the reply. “It’s on another rescue mission. What is your destination and ETA? We will have medics waiting for you there.”
Erique squeezed the transmitter handle. “We are headed back to Nouakchott. Should be there in just over an hour.”
“Affirmative.”
The radio went silent. Erique stood there holding the transmitter, afraid to let go of the one link to the rest of the world. Finally he placed it back in its holder and called out to his son. “Emmanuel! Emmanuel!”
His son slowly looked up.
“Come and take the wheel, son.”
He did as he was instructed, and Erique went back to check the bandages of the female diver. The male diver lay facedown in six inches of water, so there was no doubt of his condition. Still, Erique sat him up in a less obvious position and went back to the controls.
It was the longest hour of his life. At last he saw the beach and the flashing lights of the emergency vehicle at the beach end of the public pier. It would have been much easier to use the fishing docks, and less crowded, but he was just glad to see the paramedics. He made a beeline for them and pulled his boat up as quickly as he dared to the end of the pier.
The paramedics hurried and climbed down the ladder into his boat and checked both divers. A man with dark-brown slacks and a light-brown shirt came aboard also. He wore a badge on his chest. He was tall and slim with very dark skin, much like Erique’s. He watched the paramedics very carefully. After they had carried the divers out of the boat and secured them in the ambulance, he walked around the small boat as if looking for clues. He took the clipboard down from the dash and read over it, then replaced it. After making a second trip around the boat, he turned his attention to Erique.
“This is your boat, sir?”
Erique nodded. “Yes, sir. I am Erique Sarpong. This is my son, Emmanuel.”
The man looked at his son then back to him. “I am Jakande. I need you to come with me to the police station so you can tell me what happened.” Then he noticed the blood running down Erique’s heel. “Or do you need to go to the hospital?”
“No, I’m fine.” Erique threw a quick bandage on his foot and put his shoe over it. Then he looked at Emmanuel. “Take the boat back and make sure you put everything away. Tell your mama I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
“Yes, Papa.”
Erique grabbed his clipboard by the radio and followed the officer up the ladder, and they walked side by side to where the pier met the beach. When they reached the officer’s car, Erique opened the back door.
“No, no. Sit up here,” the officer said.
Erique felt a little better not riding in the back. Once they arrived at the police station, he followed the officer inside past several desks until they came to a small office.
Officer Jakande sat behind the desk and motioned for Erique to take the seat across from the desk, the only other seat there.
Erique sat and looked around the office. The blinds were so dirty that sunlight barely penetrated. A small ceiling fan churned overhead, the crud so caked up on the blades that it appeared as part of the unit. The light dangling from the fan had no cover and gyrated with the rotation of the blades. It looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned since . . . well, since it was installed. Papers adorned every wall and were piled at least a foot high on the floor. There was one old file cabinet that appeared to be rusted closed. The top of this was also covered in stacks of papers.
The officer took out a blank form. “Who were the divers?”
Erique handed him the clipboard with the charter agreement. The officer copied down the names and contact information for the couple.
“When did they reserve your boat, Mr. Sarpong?”
“About two months ago,” Erique said.
“Have they hired you before?” the officer asked.
“No, this was the first time.”
“Okay, Mr. Sarpong, tell me what happened.”
Erique took a deep breath and told the officer the entire story. The officer sat there expressionless, leaning back in his chair with his hands cupped behind his head as he took it all in.
“You expect me to believe that?” the officer asked after Erique finished.
“I don’t know, sir. I’m not even sure I believe it. But I’m telling you what I saw.”
The officer studied him for several seconds until the phone on his desk rang. He let it ring three times before picking it up. “Jakande. Yes, go ahead please.” He listened carefully for a few moments before thanking the caller and hanging up. “That was the hospital. The man is dead. Cause of death was a result of being hit many times to the abdomen.”
Erique swallowed hard.
“The woman is in stable condition and they’ve treated the bite wound on her arm. The doctor said you probably saved her life with the first-aid treatment.”
Erique bowed his head and exhaled deeply. At least that was good news.
“
Why do you think they did this?” the officer asked.
“Who? Did what?”
“The dolphins,” the officer said. “Do you think maybe they had a baby in the pod and the divers got too close?”
Erique breathed a sigh of relief. That was the first indication that the officer believed his story. “It could have been. I didn’t see one, but it might be the answer.”
“I say it’s the heat.”
“What do you mean?” Erique asked.
The officer picked up an inch-thick manila folder on his desk. “Every year it gets hotter and every year the amount of violent crime increases. This godforsaken heat drives people mad. If it has that effect on humans, why not creatures like dolphins and whales? I read once that they have almost the same intelligence as we do.”
“You really think it’s possible?”
The officer nodded. “Why do you think the helicopter wasn’t available? It was rescuing a family in a sailboat about ten miles south of you being attacked by two killer whales.”
Chapter Four
“Advance!” Colonel Benjamin Jamison waved his arm slowly as he gave the order. He stood watching his soldiers make their way forward. Colonel Jamison stood firm, his broad shoulders making him look taller than he was. Beads of sweat ran slowly down his shaved head. He looked back at his radioman, an African American like himself, and nodded.
His troops started walking slowly through the thick undergrowth of the jungle, their rifles at the ready. The air was dense and hard to inhale. The leaves were damp from the earlier rain. The humidity seemed to be an entity of its own and on the enemy’s side.
The sky above, barely visible through the tree canopy, was overcast in a brilliant array of colors and seemed to be swirling in a counterclockwise motion. Large flying insects high above the jungle floor mimicked the motion as they flew in swirls as well.
The trees themselves were huge, with some trunks eight feet in diameter. All of the trees seemed to have the same structured limb formation with huge branches coming out both sides and then turning ninety degrees upward, as if signaling the soldiers to stop.
Every soldier moved slowly with eyes darting back and forth, trying to peer into the limited distance the heavy foliage provided. They all knew the enemy was out there—waiting.
Colonel Jamison could see the fear in the eyes of the combat men and women on either side of him. He tried to offer a reassuring smile, but the fact was that his heart was beating abnormally fast. He had a very bad feeling.
“Sir,” his radioman said, “I can’t hear anything.”
Colonel Jamison grabbed the radio and held it to his ear. At first he couldn’t hear anything either, then a very low sound began to emerge, then louder. It was the voices of their enemy. He tried hard to understand it but couldn’t understand one word. He handed the radio back to the soldier.
An explosion went off somewhere, then another and another. Gunfire erupted.
“Hit the ground!” the colonel yelled.
Bullets and tracers ripped the air above his head as he crawled on his belly toward the source of the insurgency. The weeds were so high he could no longer see his men, but he could hear their return fire. He squinted and stared through the plant life but could see nothing to shoot at. Water dripped from large leaves onto his face. Bugs buzzed by his ears.
He jumped up and unloaded his entire clip toward the direction they had been walking and quickly fell back to the ground. Gunfire and explosions grew louder and louder, until . . . it all stopped. No guns, no explosions, nothing.
The colonel stood up and looked around. There were no sounds. No sounds of war and no sounds of animals. He looked upward and saw no flying insects, and the sun pierced through the treetops. He shielded his eyes and looked around. Everything seemed different. He listened for any sounds. Silence. Even his radioman was gone.
“Where did everyone go, Daddy?”
Colonel Jamison looked down beside him and couldn’t believe what he saw. “Victoria? What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here, honey.”
His four-year-old daughter was there wearing her Sunday dress. Her hair was up in pigtails and she was smiling. “I wanted to be with you, Daddy.”
He knelt beside his daughter and returned the smile. “I want that too, sweetheart. I want that more than anything. But it’s not safe here.”
At that moment an explosion lifted them both off the ground and threw them in different directions.
“Victoria!” he screamed. “Where are you?”
“I’m over here.”
The colonel looked toward the sound of the tiny voice and panicked. “No! No! Get away from there.”
Victoria looked at her dad as if she didn’t understand and began to walk down the steps into the swimming pool. The water began to get deeper and deeper. Then only her head remained visible; the rest of her body was submerged in the dark water.
Colonel Jamison tried to rush to her, but couldn’t move. Vines were wrapped tightly around his ankles preventing him from going to his daughter.
Her head slowly began to disappear under the surface.
“No!” he screamed.
Missiles started hitting the jungle all around him. No, not missiles, but red laser beams, it seemed. They were coming from the sky. “What’s going on?” the colonel asked aloud to himself. “Is it drones? Run, Victoria, run!”
Suddenly the enemy advanced. They ran through the jungle with ease, carrying their massive weapons with them. But they weren’t human; they were monsters. They looked like ogres or trolls the colonel had seen in horror movies.
The colonel managed to get to his feet as one of the monsters approached. He looked all around but couldn’t see his daughter or the swimming pool anymore. He tried to fire his rifle but it wouldn’t fire. He searched for grenades, something with which to defend himself, but couldn’t find anything.
As the creature lunged for him, Angel came to the rescue. She leaped into the air and started biting the monster in the face. The monster swung wildly but could not get away from his attacker. A laser beam hit exactly where they were standing, creating a sonic boom, and everything went black.
The colonel sat up quickly as he regained consciousness, his breathing rushing in and out of his lungs, cold sweat tickling his face. He looked around but it was dark. Finally things started to come into focus. He could see a red light with numbers beside him. He could see a faint light coming underneath the door. He could see the form of his wife sleeping beside him.
He reached over and turned on the light. The sheets and pillowcase on his side were soaking wet. He was glad his dream had not awoken his wife. He slid his legs off the bed and tried to rub the sleep from his eyes.
Angel, his pit bull, sat at the side of the bed staring up at him. She was solid white with a pink nose with matching ears.
“Thanks for waking me,” the colonel whispered. He noticed the time was six thirty and decided to go ahead and get up for the day. It was a Saturday and he didn’t have to work, but having been a military man most of his life, he was accustomed to not sleeping late.
After a shower, he went to the kitchen to start the coffeemaker and put two bagels in the toaster. Retrieving the newspaper from his front steps, he sat at the table and began to read. It was always the same: politicians pointing fingers, record heat waves, and peace still holding in the Middle East. The colonel nodded at that news. He had been involved in the last war, which ranged all over the Middle East, and ended with peace talks ten years ago in 2040. As a soldier, he loved to read about peace in the world.
“All right, girl,” he said to Angel, “come on.” He walked to the back door and opened it, and Angel slowly walked out. He watched as she circled the perimeter along the privacy fence, sniffing as she went. The grass in the backyard was brown with patches of dirt beginning to dot the landscape. He so wished he could turn on the sprinklers, but there was a statewide ban on that right now.
He walked over and looked at the pat
io thermometer. It was already ninety degrees and not even seven thirty yet. He looked at the two shriveled vines in the rectangular planter. His two tomato plants never had a chance and burned up before they could mature. He looked up at the bright sky and wondered if he would ever be able to produce a garden again. He missed the fresh vegetables he used to be able to grow.
The colonel had been stationed here in Georgia for the last two years, and even though he was raised in the South, he didn’t remember it being this unbearably hot and humid. “Come on, girl; let’s not stay out here too long.” Angel trotted to the door and entered with the colonel close behind. He took his seat again at the table.
“Good morning. Why didn’t you wake me?’
He looked up to see his wife, Belinda, enter the dining room wearing her bathrobe and drying her hair. She sat at the table beside him and grabbed a bagel. She was nearing sixty years old but still looked amazingly young. Her complexion was soft and smooth, and her smile was as brilliant as it had been when they got married.
“You were sleeping so peacefully. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
She smiled. “Anything in the news?”
“Same old, same old,” he said and slid the paper to her. “You want some eggs this morning?”
“Eggs would be nice.”
The colonel walked to the refrigerator and took out the eggs. He almost dropped them before getting them to the counter. He took a deep breath and tried to get his fingers to stop shaking. He set the eggs down and turned on the eye of the stove. As he fumbled for the right pan, his wife walked up behind him.
“Let me do this. You sit and rest.”
He obeyed the orders and returned to the table. He stared at his hands as if they were the culprit. “I’m getting old,” he said. “Old and useless.”
“You had the dream again, didn’t you?” Belinda asked with sad eyes. “I noticed the sheets.”