by Debbie Kump
His training methods may have seemed extreme (especially when he barked at one of her teammates for having menstrual cramps, claiming anyone who got her period wasn’t swimming hard enough). But Alyssa dealt with it, knowing his grueling workouts enabled her to drop her times…and win events. The thrill of competition and success sustained her through the less-than-pleasant parts of practice.
Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe. Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe. Alyssa quickly slipped into the familiar rhythm of arcing her arm above the surface, sending water droplets streaming from her fingertips. She rolled her shoulders to increase her reach as she dug deep with each pull. Periodically, she’d lift her head straight out of the water to verify she maintained her course toward land.
At first, the familiar routine helped Alyssa forget. She focused on song lyrics she used to play through her head hour after hour during practice. Exciting moments of races she’d won in the last few lengths. Fond memories of hiking on mountain trails those days off from school…
School. Her friends.
Then she remembered Steve and Ellen…and reality struck.
Alyssa’s face reddened from the betrayal she’d felt, learning they started going out right after her departure. It wasn’t like she wanted Steve back. She just didn’t want anyone else to have him. Not yet, at least. And especially not Ellen…ever. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?
Alyssa’s arms shot out of the water with increased fury. How dare they!
And Justin. Just when she’d found a spot of happiness aboard the Siren. So much for the possibility of their future together. And to think her greatest concern had been getting caught!
Her feet kicked the water harder, livid at having him ripped away.
Turning her head to the side, she gasped for air above the choppy surf. Each breath burned her parched throat. Tears spilled from her eyes, mingling with the salty sea. Gulping a mouthful of water on her next breath, she coughed and stopped, treading water as she choked on flowing tears.
“ENOUGH!” she hollered hoarsely, pulling her hair by the roots. “He’s gone. They’re all gone.” She sobbed softly, her legs alternately kicking to keep her buoyant.
Why bother? It’d be so much easier to simply give up. To freely sink below the surface, back to the place she’d been so desperate to escape.
Then she remembered her mom; Alyssa had promised to return home. She thought of Tucker, waiting for her with a wide grin and greeting her with slobbery kisses.
She squinted into the distance again. The land did appear considerably closer. Safety was within reach.
Setting her jaw, Alyssa suddenly knew what she had to do. Whatever it takes, she would survive.
The time for tears had ended.
With renewed strength, she ducked her head back in the water, her arms spinning once more. Her legs felt surprisingly tireless, churning the water in her wake. She ignored the tug of the raft bobbing behind her as she focused on her goal. She’d endured worse before, thanks to Coach Sparks.
Mom. Tucker. Mom Tucker. The words replayed in her head with every stroke. (Though occasionally Alyssa’s thoughts shifted to the joy she’d derive in decking Steve Summers. Just to get him back for what he’d put her through.)
Long ago, she’d forgotten about the hunger gnawing at the inside of her stomach. The hollowness she felt, exacerbated by physical exertion. But one pressing concern was impossible to ignore.
Thirst.
The salt water seemed to suck all reserves from her body. It was tempting–so very tempting–to open her mouth and take one little sip. Surrounding her was a bounty of liquid, waiting to quench her need. Biting her lip, Alyssa willed herself to concentrate on the efficiency of each stroke to conserve her energy.
She recalled the naval lore of shipwrecks and sailors stranded at sea. In desperation, some drank the seawater, only to succumb to the deliria that followed. Tempted by mirages of distant islands, they swam off. Through schools of circling sharks.
Never to be seen again.
Instead, Alyssa swallowed hard, gaining minute relief from the tiny amount of spittle collecting in her mouth. It would have to suffice for now.
Soon, however, Alyssa concluded this agony was indeed worse than any of Coach Sparks’ kick-butt Red Shirt practices. More painful than the grueling hours of swimming in T-shirts, nylons, and tennis shoes to strengthen her muscles by increasing her drag. She raised her head above the waves again. Thank God the land seemed closer yet.
She pressed on, trying to forget her insufferable thirst. The stranded sailors who swam away. And the sharks.
Alyssa’s brain shut down, entering automaton mode. Her fatigued body grasped the water, minute after grueling minute as land came clearly into sight.
At last, the spilling waves pushed Alyssa toward shore, washing her up on the beach. The raft dragged behind, tumbling in the surf. Alyssa stumbled as another wave broke upon her and threw her to her knees. Spray and sand from the breaking waves splattered her weary face. Wiping her eyes, she crawled toward the raft, flipping it over to wash the sand from her attached clothes.
Her legs like limp noodles, Alyssa tripped in the surf. She hauled the raft up the sloping beach, like scaling a cliff in her exhausted state.
Land.
All thoughts of thirst, fatigue, and hunger fled her mind as she sank to her knees in the sand, feeling the grit of terra firma beneath her toes. She grabbed handfuls of packed sand, proving it wasn’t a mirage that eluded her to a false sense of security when death loomed near.
The sand felt real. Alyssa heaved a deep breath, finally allowing herself a smile. The smell of brine lingered in the air. Brine and…something else. Alyssa couldn’t put her finger on it, but it didn’t really matter.
She had made it. She had survived.
Though deep down she knew there was little time to rejoice. Not if she were to help raise the Siren from its sunken depths.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Once on dry sand, Alyssa untied the cord from her waist, freeing herself at last from the raft. She didn’t care if people saw her in dripping underwear while she untied her clothes and jammed her unresponsive limbs back into the wet Navy work uniform and running shoes. In fact, she didn’t see anyone around. Might as well leave the raft and SEIE suit here, she figured. It didn’t seem like anyone would notice.
Now to get help. Forgetting her oppressive thirst, Alyssa surveyed her surroundings, trying to determine which way to head. Things would’ve been so much easier with her eye DOTS; she’d have instant access to a wealth of contact information. Of course, with them in she wouldn’t have had to swim to shore, either. Not when she could’ve easily notified Search and Rescue of her precise location.
Wetting her parched lips, Alyssa headed down the seemingly deserted beach. Having spent the last two months away from civilization, it took her a moment to realize that even the nearby street sounded quiet.
Oddly quiet.
In fact, the only noise she perceived over her squishy wet shoes and the waves washing up the beach was the crying flock of herring gulls, circling a couple of distant, dark mounds.
So where is everybody? Alyssa wondered, perplexed by the absence of late-season beachgoers on this calm, clear day. She straggled up the sand to the road, finding a single car parked on the shoulder. Alyssa peered inside, rapping her knuckles on the window, but received no response. Hair spilling across her face, the driver’s head slumped against the steering wheel. Probably drunk, Alyssa assumed.
Alyssa spun her head, looking for someone else to ask. Still, there was no one around. So she ambled along the shoulder, in the direction of the squawking gulls. There appeared to be a parking lot down a ways, near the beach entrance. Perhaps she could find someone to place a call for her. When she was a kid, it wouldn’t have been a problem; public phones were generally accessible. But those had vanished entirely with the advent of the DOTS.
Glancing back to sea, Alyssa noticed there weren’t any swimm
ers in the water, either. Only a sleek, silvery dorsal fin cutting through the surf. Had the lifeguards closed the beaches because of the sharks? Then how had Alyssa made it out of the water safely?
A shiver ran down her spine, chilling her with the thought of coming so far only to perish within feet of land. Her hands cupped her elbows, warding off the fear.
Strangely enough, the whole time she’d been walking, not a single car passed for Alyssa to flag down for help. She squinted into the bright sun. Not one plane had taken off or landed, either.
Why is that?
She continued, pondering the unsettling quiet surrounding her. Then it dawned on her: something was wrong.
Terribly, horribly, dreadfully wrong.
Those heaps on the beach…they weren’t piles of trash as she’d initially believed, were they? As she neared the maddening cries of the gulls, the dark masses began to take on a sickeningly familiar form. Alyssa tiptoed closer, praying she was mistaken.
She wasn’t.
Scrunching up her nose, Alyssa suddenly recognized the odor she had difficulty identifying earlier. It was the smell of death. And decay.
Alyssa froze. In front of her, unmistakable now, lay two human corpses strewn across the sand. A gull perched on top of one man’s face, picking at an empty eye socket with its bill.
She swallowed hard, unable to control the surge of bile up her esophagus. Alyssa doubled over, clutching the sand for support. The last remaining fluids inside her empty stomach erupted out her mouth, soon followed by a set of dry heaves. What little strength and sustenance had remained following her harrowing escape now vacated Alyssa’s body, leaving her insides raked with torment.
Alyssa’s mind reeled as she staggered past the screeching gulls and the bloated bodies on the beach. Overhead, palm trees circled at a dizzying rate, threatening to collapse upon her. What type of destructive force caused such widespread destruction and devastation, essentially annihilating an entire population, both above and below the sea? Some type of biological weapon? Or a terrorist attack?
It didn’t make sense.
Alyssa tried to steady herself. Her feet weighed like dragging anchors with every step. No tears remained for these strangers. Those had dried up long ago, far out at sea.
Shaking uncontrollably, she wrapped her arms around her chest, urging herself to press forward. She tried to block out the image of Justin’s bloodstained face keeled over bathymetric chart on the light table. Or Carly Zapelli sprawled across the grated metal floor. Why did these bodies on the beach have bloody ears and eyes like her crewmates? And why was she spared when so many others perished?
What could have possibly happened?
Dehydrated, Alyssa’s head pounded like a bass drum, making it difficult to think clearly, much less generate a logical explanation. The scenery around her blurred as she stumbled past cars, their passengers slumped against the windows and seats inside. Unable to take another step, she collapsed in the middle of the street, one hand clutching her burning throat. She laid her cheek against the hot pavement, feeling the asphalt dig into her skin. Utterly exhausted, her eyelids sagged. Her muscles grew unresponsive as they melted into the road.
So this was it? Had Alyssa escaped the Siren only to perish in this avenue of death?
Before Alyssa could ponder the irony of that question, she heard the sound of tires gripping the road. With tremendous effort, she fluttered open her eyes. A flurry of movement in the distance caught her attention as a red sports car skidded around the corner.
Alyssa was too weary to register surprise. But in the back of her mind, one thought persisted: Get help. Even if she could’ve summoned the energy to move out of the way, it would’ve been too late. So with her last remaining ounce of effort, Alyssa stretched one weakened arm in the air, beckoning for help.
No cry escaped her parched lips as the car careened closer.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Miami Beach
In the red Porsche, Erik Weber stepped on the gas. The harbor was only a few miles away. It was time to get out of Miami–now. He planned to take the Goldman’s boat, certain he’d recognize it. Erik shuddered at the thought of what he might have to do with their bodies if he found the boat occupied. Moving Ed Watson from the car to the curb was one thing, but tossing his family friends’ bodies overboard? He simply couldn’t. So if that were the case, he’d have to select an unoccupied boat instead.
Then Erik spotted something lying in the middle of the road.
“Holy hell! What is that?” he screamed.
At first it resembled a flock of buzzards scavenging a corpse, ready to scatter at the approaching vehicle. But it was too narrow. Like a hand. A human hand that…moved? Erik blinked, just to be sure. Indeed, he detected five fingers, spreading apart, beckoning.
Someone’s alive!
Erik slammed on the brakes. The car swerved as it screeched to a halt, leaving wide black ribbons of rubber on the hot pavement.
Throwing the Porsche into park, Erik leapt out of the driver’s seat, leaving the door wide open.
“Are you okay?” he asked, kneeling beside the person. He pushed her short, disheveled brown hair from her face. She looks about my age, he thought. So what was she doing here? Alone?
And alive?
Her hazel eyes didn’t register on his face; her lips barely moved. Erik placed his hand upon her forehead, burning to his touch. Though he knew nothing about this person, he felt a sudden compulsion to get her out of here and bring her somewhere safe.
Erik swept her up in his arms, lifting her into the car. She tossed fitfully, mumbling a few garbled words that sounded like, “Trapped…egress…Justin.” He leaned his left ear closer to her lips, but caught nothing more as she slipped into unconsciousness.
As Erik buckled her into the passenger seat, he noticed her name reading KENSINGTON and the insignia on her uniform. A set of dog tags slipped out of her shirt as her head rolled against the seat belt.
Unbelievable. A smug smile crossed Erik’s face. Sailing would be so much easier with two. Especially with someone like her.
If only he could revive her.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“Alyssa? Alyssa Kensington?”
A pleasant voice broke through her subconscious. It was Justin calling her, waking her from a horrendous nightmare in Quarantine. Only the voice sounded off…and unfamiliar.
Alyssa flitted her eyes, startled by the brilliance. The sub was never this brightly lit. How long had she been sleeping? Was her stint in Quarantine finished? And why did her body feel so depleted?
“I didn’t think I should leave you at first,” said the congenial voice again, “but you were out for a while. So I brought you some food. Thought you might be hungry.”
She turned toward the voice, seeking comfort and reassurance in Justin’s warm brown eyes, gazing upon her inside the confines of the Quarantine Room.
Instead, she met a pair of weary gray ones, bloodshot from exhaustion and stress. Blinking in confusion, she focused on the foreign eyes and the sandy blonde hair falling in waves across a rosy face, then to the tall palm trees towering overhead.
Suddenly, Alyssa bolted upright. This was no nightmare. Vivid memories rushed through her mind: of finding her dead crewmates in a sinking sub, of escaping through the black void of the ocean, and of enduring an agonizing swim to shore…only to encounter more death.
What was she doing, sitting here wasting time? Why hadn’t she made him get help? The Navy or the Coast Guard could’ve already deployed a rescue team to raise the Siren. Her mouth moved too quickly to form coherent words as her frantic eyes searched those of the stranger before her.
“Oh. Sorry.” He must’ve noticed her confusion and panic. “My name’s Erik. Erik Weber. I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself before you passed out. Here,” he said, holding up a box of powdered doughnuts and a half-gallon of orange juice, “go ahead.”
Alyssa opened her mouth to speak, then shut it agai
n. Strangely, she couldn’t take her eyes off the food. She knew should contact the authorities immediately. Or at least have Erik (that was his name, right?) use his DOTS to place the call for her. But her hollow stomach protested. How long had it been since her last meal? Plus her throat burned…and the acrid taste of bile still lingered in her mouth.
“Go ahead. It’s yours,” Erik repeated, handing her the food.
Eat fast…then get help, she decided, smiling in appreciation. She snatched the bottle of orange juice from him and twisted the cap, downing its contents in a single gulp. Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, her eyes fell onto the unopened box of doughnuts.
Erik peeled back the plastic wrapper and passed it to her. “So, you’re in the Navy?”
Alyssa nodded, jamming half the powdered doughnut into her mouth in one bite.
“Then you know how to sail, right?”
The sugar and flour stuck like glue inside her mouth. She tried to say, “I was on a sub,” but it came out more like a choked garble.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” His weary eyes lit up momentarily. “I was thinking we should take a sailboat. You know, as backup so we can save the gas. There’s a nice one in the harbor, but it’s too big for just me. I thought if we worked together–”
Alyssa swallowed hard, the food clinging to the walls of her esophagus. “What?! You’re gonna steal a boat?” Her sore body tensed in shock from his statement.
“Well, it’s not really stealing. My parents’ friends own it.” A melancholy look passed over his face. “At least, they used to.”
Enough food for now. It’s time to move on, Alyssa reminded herself, stuffing one more doughnut into her mouth as she stood to leave. She chewed quickly, forcing the lump down her throat. “Thanks for the food, but I’ve gotta get help. I need you to make a call for me.”