And really fascinates me.
“Please,” he adds, and the explanation is pouring out of me before I can think to stop it.
“This morning on the plane, everyone was alive and happy. And here we are, a few hours later, and most of those people are dead, and they didn’t deserve to die. And if they didn’t deserve to die, then that means I didn’t deserve to live.”
“Bria—”
“No! You wanted me to talk, well now I’m talking. So listen.”
His lips twist into a disgruntled frown, but he nods.
I take a deep breath. “Espi and Mike lost parents. Espi also lost her best friend. There was a flight attendant on the plane. Emily was her name. She wasn’t that much older than me.” My throat goes hot and tight. “And she was brave and did her best to save us, and now she’s dead, too. All those people dead, and their families are just finding out about it. All those hearts being broken, and all those lives changed. Forever.” I pause, overwhelmed with a memory of Mona’s cackling laugh, which used to annoy and embarrass me on a regular basis. Right now, I’d give my right arm to hear that laugh again, just once. “Forever,” I repeat. “And I know you know what that’s like. Don’t you?”
Staring off over my shoulder, he nods and swipes a hand under his nose.
“And in the middle of all this is some crazy whale thing that I don’t think is a whale at all—”
“What is it, then?”
“How should I know? It’s other,” I say helplessly. “And your father wants to tag and bag it like he’s on some cool fishing trip with his drinking buddies. Well, I am scared, Cortés. I’m still scared, and I’m going to be scared until we set foot on some dry land. We should all be scared.”
“Bria.”
He comes closer, taking my forearms in his firm grip and hanging on. The contact between us is warm and intimate, and I flinch but don’t pull away.
The next thing I know, I am wrapped fully in his arms with my head resting against the solid warmth of his chest and my ear listening to the quickening thud of his heart. And I, Bria Hunter, a prickly girl who doesn’t open up to strangers, hold tight as though I own this space with him.
And then he ruins it.
“My father and his men are experienced explorers,” he murmurs, his lips in my hair and his breath hot against my scalp. “They may be on to a new species here—”
I jerk free, feeling foolish and vulnerable. Of course he doesn’t get it. Why did I think he would? “A violent new species!”
“They’re not going to back away from a situation that’s challenging.” I make an outraged sound of disbelief, but he plows ahead. “This ship is big, Bria. You’ve seen the weaponry, right? The rocket launcher? And the water tank?”
“That thing is way too big for any onboard tank, by the way. That’ll never work.”
He shrugs this aside. “The point is, someone will discover what this thing is at some point. Why not my father? This is the kind of thing he’s worked his whole life for.”
I shake my head because his misguided notions make me incredibly sad. “The point is that we should all be running as far away from that thing as possible, and you’ve been buying into your father’s delusions of grandeur.”
His brows lower into a forbidding line over his eyes. “What?”
“And so much for us getting each other, huh?” I add, turning to go because I’ve had more than enough of this fruitless conversation. “Bye.”
“Bria,” he says, taking a step after me.
“There you are,” says a cold new voice.
It’s Gray, emerging from the shadows with a stony face. “We’ve been looking for you,” he tells me, his gaze evenly divided between me and Cortés. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” I shove my hands in my pockets and linger uneasily between the two guys. I’m a knotted mess of emotions, mostly because things feel very turbulent between me and Cortés, but I’m also annoyed that I even care. Plus, it feels inexplicably weird to have one of my school friends show up when I’ve been talking with some new guy that none of them really know. I can almost feel Cortés’s frustrated energy vibrating close behind me, and I’m guessing that he’s not any happier about this interruption than I am. “Did everyone get through to their parents?”
“Yeah,” Gray says tightly.
“How’d that go?” I ask.
“Not great,” Gray says. “I had to talk my folks down from the ledge. I think they’ve been terrorizing the Coast Guard for not waving their magic wands and getting us home already. I’m pretty sure An and Sammy’s parents are chartering an aircraft carrier to come fetch us. And Espi’s dad and Axel’s mom are both wrecked. No surprise there.”
“Oh,” I say.
Gray’s gaze is hard and fixed at a point over my shoulder, and it’s with some trepidation that I turn and see Cortés staring back at him, chin up and brown eyes flinty.
“Why do I get the feeling that I’m interrupting something?” Gray asks Cortés quietly, and there’s an ugly edge in his voice I’ve never heard before.
“Because you are,” Cortés says flatly. “I need a second with Bria.”
Gray crosses his arms over his chest. “Can’t. We need to get back. Murphy wants to talk to all of us, Bree.”
“Bree?” Cortés scoffs behind me.
I’m not sure if Gray heard this or not, but he reaches out and takes my elbow, trying to reel me in. “Let’s go.”
“Are you two together?” Cortés asks.
The idea is so inconceivably crazy that I can’t stop my jaw from clanging to the deck. “What?” I cry when I recover the powers of speech. “Me and Gray? No! Of course not! He’s like, one of my best friends!”
Gray makes an indistinct sound of irritation and yanks on my arm. “I said, let’s go.”
My annoyance level shoots through the roof, and I snatch my arm free. “Watch your tone, Graydon—” I begin.
“You need to check your manners,” Cortés tells him. “Son.” Cortés has edged between us. His profile is harsh and I’m getting the distinct vibe that if he had, say, a stun gun, he’d be zapping Gray between the eyes with it right now.
Gray’s face rearranges itself into a pretty good impression of a gargoyle, so I figure now’s a good time to get him out of here.
“Let’s go,” I say quickly, grabbing Gray’s arm and yanking him after me before he can respond. “We don’t want to keep Murphy waiting.”
“Bria,” Cortés calls after us. “We didn’t finish our talk.”
The muscles in Gray’s arm tighten to marble.
I freeze, undecided about what to do even though I’d been ready to walk away from Cortés just before Gray showed up.
“Bree,” Gray says, low, and it sounds more like a plea than a command.
I half-turn to look at Cortés, registering what looks like hurt in his eyes even as I remind myself that he and I come down on two very different sides of an important issue and, at any rate, when the ship arrives in Eleuthera, I’ll go back to Atlanta, he’ll go back to Charlotte and then Columbia, and we’ll never see each other again.
“I think we were done talking anyway,” I tell him, which is the truth even if it feels like a lie.
Cortés goes very still. “I disagree.”
I could disagree with his disagreement, but what’s the point?
Hurrying off, I lead Gray through a metal doorway and into the relative privacy of a hallway, and that’s when he frees himself with a rough yank.
By this time, I’m just itching for a fight. Pivoting, I turn on Gray.
“What is your problem?” I demand. “When did you get so obnoxious?”
He’s right in my face. “I don’t like the way that guy was talking to you—”
“That’s crazy!”
“—and I don’t trust him or his slick daddy, so you need to stay away from both of them.”
I’m dumbfounded by this new side of Gray. Normally he’s cheerful and mellow, so it takes
me a long beat or two to work up a response.
“I need to—what did you say to me?”
“You heard me.”
“You don’t get to decide who my friends are!” I shout.
“That guy wants to be way more than your friend, in case you’re too blind to notice!”
I don’t know what to say to this, but I have to say something. “Yeah? Well, if he does, you don’t get a vote! Did I say anything when you hooked up with Sherri the stalker cheerleader last year? No!”
Gray snaps his mouth shut and quickly glances away, looking uncomfortable.
“And did I order you not to go out with Madison last winter? You remember Madison, right? She’s the one whose bra size and IQ are the same number—thirty-eight! But did I try to interfere? No! Because I’m your friend and I trust your judgment and I know you’ll always do the smart thing in the end. But do you give me the same courtesy? Apparently not! Thanks for nothing!”
My tirade finished, I glare and wait for the apology he clearly owes me, but it doesn’t seem to be coming. So I give him a little prompt.
“Don’t you think you should support me the way I’ve always supported—”
“I can’t.” His glittering eyes seem to take up his entire face, and his voice is hard. “Not this time.”
He stalks off down the hallway, leaving me to gape after him.
“What the—?” I say to his departing back. In the entire years-long history of our friendship, we’ve never been this angry with each other, and, for the life of me, I can’t figure out what just happened. “Gray? Gray!”
He disappears around a bend, never breaking stride.
I’m storming back through the door and out to the deck to cool off a little when, without warning, my entire body seizes up with fear.
All the air wheezes out of my lungs.
Oh, God, my mind races, trying to figure out what’s changed, and then I realize. Oh, God, ohgodohgodohgodohgod—
It’s that smell again, saturating my nostrils and seeping its way past my pores and into my body, strangling me.
That foul, moldering stench of the whale creature.
This is no dolphin-induced false alarm, and if I need any proof that the thing has returned, it’s not long in coming.
The sky goes dark in the space between one blink of my eye and the next, snuffing all remnants of the blazing pink sunset and orange sky and leaving me defenseless in this chunk of hell.
The animal’s shriek rises up and fills the air, scraping my nerves and eardrums until both feel bloodied and raw. And then it shrieks again, as though it wants us to have no doubt that it is monstrous and powerful and can kill us whenever it decides.
Whimpering from my sudden terror and blindness, I fling my trembling arms in front of me and grab the railing, holding on to it for dear life.
I’m not the only one who realizes we’re in trouble. A siren, shrill and insistent, comes over the PA system, and a calm male voice, presumably coming from someone in charge inside the wheelhouse, begins to issue instructions that I can’t quite hear.
Thundering footsteps approach from my left. Before I can fully dodge out of the way, several shouting crewman streak past, jostling me as they hit the metal stairwell and race up it at top speed. At that moment, a new set of lights blink to life, illuminating the ship like a night game at Turner Field.
I’m torn between running for safety somewhere or following the crew to see what’s going on and how bad it is, when I hear my name being called.
“Bria Hunter,” bellows Murphy before he hurries through the door and into view, “you’ve got two seconds to show your face before I turn this cursed ship upside down looking for you. And I’ll do it, too, so you’d best not try me!”
“Here I am!” I yell.
Several other people call me, their voices relieved, and then the whole gang, including Gray, who looks glad to see me but still angry, appears and surrounds me.
“You okay?” Maggie asks, hugging me.
“Yeah. You?”
And I’m blooming like a June rose, thanks for asking,” interjects Murphy, nostrils flaring as he nails me with a don’t make me worry about you warning glare. I nod. He looks slightly mollified, then turns to the others. “Now if you clowns are finished with this touching reunion, perhaps we should get below deck, where it’s safe—hey! Get back here, you foolish children!”
I don’t know about anyone else, but I don’t plan to be holed up in some tiny cabin wondering whether the creature is about to kill us all. With a swift exchange of looks, I can see that they’re not any happier with this suggestion than I am. The decision made, the other kids and I run up the metal staircase to the main deck.
“Hey!” Cursing, Murphy has no choice but to follow us.
Chaos reigns up here. Crewmen, now suited up with orange slickers and black rubber boots, shout at each other as they try to get organized. Some of them are hanging over the rail, doing something with the cables, while others work with the long-armed machine—a crane?—and try to lift something big and heavy out of the water.
The cables disappear over the side and into a stretch of black water that churns and splashes like a hooked swordfish on steroids, and I know that they’ve somehow tracked the thing. Caged it.
The other kids and I huddle together as though there could possibly be strength in numbers, and Murphy stands between us and the railing, holding his arms wide and backing us up several steps, as though one elderly adult could protect us from that thing, whatever it is.
I watch the proceedings for several seconds, and then something inside my head pops free and overcomes my fear.
“They should let it go,” I say to no one in particular. “Why don’t they let it go?”
A single passing crewman with a red bandana tied around his forehead shoots me a glare over his shoulder, but everyone else ignores me. Or maybe they can’t hear me over the alarms and the shouting and the ongoing directions over the speakers. Whatever. The collective indifference only cranks me higher, and two urgent thoughts stream through my head in an endless loop:
We don’t need to bring that thing onto the boat with us.
We need to run as far away from it as we possibly can.
“This is crazy!” I say.
“Bria,” says a quiet voice that slices through my panic.
It’s Cortés.
He’s appeared beside my group and, to my consternation, doesn’t look the least bit worried. In fact, his eyes are bright behind his windswept hair, and his exhilaration is a tangible force that prickles the air around me.
“They’ve got it under control,” he tells me soothingly. “You don’t need to get so worked up. And we’re about to witness history being made.”
At this, he points to another player in this unfolding drama, a videographer with his camera perched on his shoulder and a light aimed at the hustling crewmen.
I hesitate.
I want to believe that things will be okay and that the situation can be controlled safely. Really, I do. I can see the men on standby, the sturdy equipment and the firepower. They’re adults and trained professionals with way more experience than I have, for sure.
But I cannot shake my foreboding, and apparently it shows on my face.
“Don’t worry, my son,” calls a new voice.
Captain Romero descends the last few steps from the wheelhouse, where I assume he’s been directing this whole operation, and strides over to us. Unlike his crewmen, he’s made no concessions to the rising wind or the ongoing water spray from the struggling creature, and hasn’t bothered with any protective gear. If the growing chill or wet bother him in any way, he gives no sign of it whatsoever. He looks, in fact, as though he’s overseeing nothing more challenging than getting the boat docked at port.
“We will bring the creature on board and get him safely into his tank, tucking him in the way we would do a newborn baby,” Captain Romero continues, “and then Bria will see that she is in the safest
possible hands and there is nothing to fear.”
He starts toward his men, who are struggling at the rail.
As usual, I don’t know when to keep quiet.
“But what if you and your men can’t handle this thing?” I call. “What then?”
Captain Romero stops dead, mid-stride. His shoulders square up, and then he is pivoting and on his way back to me with a rigid posture and eyes so cold and flat I have to resist the urge to back up several steps. Maggie and Gray, as though sensing trouble, crowd closer to me on either side, and Murphy edges slightly in front of me and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Señorita Hunter,” murmurs Captain Romero. All of the charm is gone from his voice now, and I feel the slow creep of dread up my spine. “You are young and ignorant, so I will excuse the insult.”
“Sorry,” I say, stung. “I just think—”
“My men and I are highly trained, and you are a schoolgirl who thinks too highly of her own opinions,” Captain Romero says. “Thus far, I’ve tolerated your silly opinions because you are young and charming, but I am now out of patience.”
I’m speechless—not so much from his words, but from his courtly demeanor turning into this raging arrogance. And yet there’s a part of me that feels this may be the real Captain Romero and the other one was just a shell he put on when it suited him.
Gray and Carter, meanwhile, mutter with disapproval, and Murphy and Cortés both step in.
“There now,” Murphy says. “There’s no need for that kind of talk to a young one.”
“Back off Bria,” Cortés says flatly.
Captain Romero’s expression doesn’t change, but his eyelids slowly lower and he cocks his ear to one side, as though to catch any lingering sound waves and confirm what he just heard. There’s a long pause during which none of us seem to breathe. When his lids suddenly flicker open again, his eyes are lit with a strange gleam that makes me positive we don’t want to press his temper.
“Señor Murphy, this is not the first time I’ve had problems with the disrespectful children in your care. Make sure it’s the last.”
Murphy recoils. His brows lower into a forbidding ridge over his flashing blue eyes. “Now see here,” he starts.
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