“You only drink red wine, right, Lisa?”
She looked up. “You know, I could actually go for a beer. Thanks, Craig.”
She returned to her writing, but Craig didn’t budge. Wasn’t beer too pedestrian for Lisa Barton? “You feeling OK?”
She continued writing. “Sure, fine!”
Craig didn’t move. He knew Lisa well. She was pissed off about something, and if the reason was what he thought, she had real gall. “Are you OK about going up to California? I mean, you can do all of the personal research you want up there too, right?”
She shot him an angry look. “Yeah, I guess so. And what’s wrong with personal research anyway, Craig? I mean, give me a break. All day long, you and Darryl drink and shoot skeet, Monique reads books, Jason lives in his fantasyland, Phil shoots pictures, and I work. So I’m shirking my responsibilities?”
Craig glanced at the crushed Budweiser can in his hand. “Barton, you make a salient point. I’ll get you that beer. . . .”
“No thanks, Craig. I don’t want one.”
“Oh.” Craig turned in mock surprise to Phil Martino. “Phil, I didn’t see you there. You don’t want one? OK.” He shook his head at Lisa—who cared about Phil Martino? Then he glanced down at Lisa’s notebook and couldn’t help but notice the word GDV-4 in big underlined letters. “You’ve been reading up on my favorite virus, Lisa?”
“Actually, I’ve been wondering if it might be causing the reduced plankton levels.”
Summers eyed her dubiously. GDV-4 was an infectious oceanic disease, the fourth strain of the gray distemper virus. “No chance. GDV-4 only infects large, fully grown fish and mammals, the highest levels of the food chain. It would never infect plankton.”
“You sure? ‘Cause we were wondering the same thing.”
Craig turned. This had come from Darryl, who was standing with Monique.
Then, from another direction, someone else said, “So was I. You sure it’s not possible?”
Summers turned once more, to Jason, now at the foot of the stairs in red dive shorts and sandals. “What is this? A frickin’ ambush? Absolutely not. GDV-4 has not infected the plankton supply.”
“Are you sure?” Lisa persisted.
“Who are you talking to here, Lisa? Of course I’m sure. That virus has never been found anywhere outside the Atlantic Ocean. It’s nowhere near here, and even if by some fantastic event it was, it would never go as low down on the food chain as your beloved plankton.”
“Have there been any updates on it? Anything about it spreading?”
“It hasn’t spread at all. In fact, it’s disappeared again. They can’t find it anywhere, not even in the Atlantic.”
“Are you still testing for it here?”
“Three times a week. I do more than just drink and shoot skeet, you know.”
“You do?”
Summers didn’t smile. He looked her dead in the eyes. “Look, I have no scientific basis for thinking GDV-4 is even within a thousand miles of here.”
Lisa nodded. Despite his stained undershirt and beer belly, Craig could be convincing when he wanted to.
Jason walked up the stairs. “GDV-4’s strictly a surface virus, correct?”
“Every known case of it has been.”
“And it infects only fully grown fish and mammals?”
“Correct.”
“But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t be in deeper waters, does it? Or further down the food chain?”
“Jason, please don’t second-guess me on this.”
“I’m not second-guessing you, Craig. I’m just saying, viruses can mutate, can’t they?”
“Of course viruses can mutate. And sure, one day, this virus could go lower down the food chain, turn up in the Pacific, find its way into deeper waters, whatever. Look, it’s a tricky virus.”
Jason nodded. A tricky virus indeed.
It wasn’t known to the public at large, but the fourth strain of the gray distemper virus was a distant relative of the canine distemper virus found in dogs and infamous within the oceanic community. Originally dubbed gray due to its initial discovery in beached gray whales in northern France seven years prior, GDV-4 had recently become a much more serious problem, earning the nickname “AIDS of the sea” because of the devastation it wrought on its victims. Degrees of concern varied greatly among scientists, from the doomsayers who claimed it was within twenty years of destroying all ocean-based marine life to the vast majority who were only moderately concerned. The reality was that GDV-4 had only a microscopic presence in just one of the world’s major oceans, the Atlantic, and even there, the vast bulk of marine life was totally unaffected. It wasn’t even a blip on the commercial fishing industry’s radar screen. Craig Summers, with a PhD in oceanic viruses from UC Santa Cruz, shared the majority opinion. He thought GDV-4 might very well peter out, and possibly soon.
But others worried about what would happen if it didn’t peter out. What if it spread and made further inroads into the Atlantic? Or the Indian? Or if it found its way into the massive Pacific? What other species would it affect then?
Craig shot them all dirty looks. “I’ll let you know what else I hear.”
Monique nodded. Lisa was right. It was more strangeness in the oceans. Maybe all of it—the virus, low plankton levels, strange migrations—were somehow related. “Who knows; maybe there really is a new species near Clarita.”
They all considered the possibilities when Phil Martino, who’d simply been listening, cleared his throat. “Excuse me, guys. I’m gonna go download my pictures now.”
No one said anything. The triumvirate and Lisa didn’t care what Phil Martino did: download his pictures or jump off the boat.
Jason nodded agreeably. “OK, Phil. Sounds good.”
As Phil bounded below deck, Darryl turned. “We worked out the route, Jason. Ready when you are.”
Jason eyed the sky, the night almost upon them. They were actually leaving. He hoped they’d determine quickly that the sighted animal was not a new species. Then he could get on with his life. “Let’s do it.”
THE TRIP to Clarita Island took two days. While Jason licked his wounds and tried to get his head screwed back on, the others did what they always had—a minimum amount of work and a lot of relaxing. Lisa lay in the sun, Monique read a bad book, and Darryl and Craig drank and shot skeet. Phil and Jason talked about the old times at UCSD and also about Phil’s problematic love life. Phil’s girlfriend had recently broken up with him, and he needed to figure out why. Jason helped him realize it was for two reasons: Phil’s unrelenting travel schedule and also his general flakiness.
Jason didn’t have girlfriend problems because there hadn’t been any girlfriends, not for years. For Jason, the cliché was true: if you don’t believe in yourself, you can’t get someone else to believe in you either. As great a fighter as he was, the reality was that the constant failures related to Manta World had affected him. In fact, they’d quietly crushed his soul. He hadn’t believed in himself for some time. Like everyone, Jason wanted a wife and family one day, but not tomorrow. For the moment at least, he was better off alone.
They made great time, moving past Baja into the waters off San Diego, then Orange County, then Clarita Island. No one except Darryl was paying particular attention when they passed Clarita’s main docks. His eyes narrowed when the Expedition motored toward a familiar rock outcropping on the island’s isolated western shore. He didn’t know why, but he sensed something was there.
“We’re here.”
CHAPTER 8
LISA BARTON watched as Jason stared down at the dark, rolling waters. No, they weren’t in tropical Mexico anymore. It was an hour before sunset, and they’d anchored off Clarita. All of them except Darryl Hollis were suited up in full-length black neoprene wet suits. In yellow mesh shorts and a black tank top, Darryl would stand watch on the boat while everyone else scanned below. They quickly went over the predive checklist, confirming that regulators, dive lights, and all
of the other equipment were working. They were about to jump in when Monique noticed a seagull plunging into the sea. “I wonder how the fishing is today.” Then the bird popped up, devouring a struggling silver snack. “Looks like it’s pretty good.”
THEY DESCENDED slowly, feeling the water’s chill around their bodies. Good visibility, Phil thought, pausing to check the camera strap around his neck.
Farther below, Jason surveyed. With the aid of dive maps, he’d chosen this exact spot carefully. Though Darryl and Monique had plotted the route to get here, Jason wouldn’t trust them with choosing the exact area in which to dive; it was too delicate. They were very close to deep waters here, unreachable not only by scuba but by almost anything—or at least by anything man-made. The area directly below, however, was only a hundred and fifty feet deep. It looked like an underwater quarry of sorts, a massive brown boulder the size of a ten-story office building, off to the right. Jason followed Monique and Craig toward it.
As Monique swam along the huge rock, it seemed to grow in size, becoming a small mountain. Then, as she passed a few foot-long kelp strands, she realized there was a second mountain, about ten feet to the left, that created a narrow canyon. She turned on her flashlight and swam right into it, shadows engulfing her. Eyeing the dark sandy bottom far below, she wondered if there were any secrets there. Then she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She froze. Adjacent to a deep horizontal crevice, she realized something was inside it. Jason swam up next to her, and they shined their lights in. It was a small school of cod, about thirty of them, the light streaming past their dark green bodies. Another midsea species. Neither asked the question audibly, but Jason and Monique both wondered why the cod were all the way up here. Phil swam next to them and snapped a picture. They dove farther. Three stories from the bottom, the walls abruptly widened, and they fanned out. Reaching the sand, they flipped over, entering an area the size of a living room, the walls mottled brown rock.
To her right, Monique noticed a gap at the bottom of the wall. She knelt, illuminating the sand within, and it was obvious: the sand had been disturbed by something. Not by water currents—there were no sweeping patterns—but by an animal of some kind. She lay down to get a better look. Farther in, the sand looked even more disturbed. She tried to wedge herself in, but her tank caught. She pushed her hand toward the area. She could almost reach it. . . .
She stopped. Was something still there? She pulled her hand away. No, she didn’t think so. She noticed Lisa kneeling at another gap and swam over. Lisa was eyeing a piece of kelp, just floating in the gap. Through their masks, the women shared a look. Kelp was a surface seaweed. Even if there had been nearby forests, which there weren’t, it was unusual to see it in water this deep. Had something brought it here? Monique grabbed the strand and studied it. She saw nothing special and let it go. Instantly, Jason swam up, grabbed it, and took a look for himself. Monique and Lisa shook their heads. On the far wall, Phil laughed heartily inside his mask. Good old trusting Jason.
As they ascended out of the canyon for the first time, they noticed the terrain to their left. The sun had shifted, and the area was much more fully lit than it had been a moment ago. Jason spotted something on the sand that he’d missed earlier. A small pool of darkness, a mini–oil slick, probably from a local fisherman illegally dumping. Then he noticed that something was in the pool. He drifted downward. It was a marking of some kind. He kicked toward it. It was an imprint. He kicked closer still. An enormous imprint, fourteen feet across the wings and twelve feet long. As the others joined him, he shook his head inside his mask. How do you like that?
WHY’S HE holding that harpoon? Jason was immediately nervous as he popped out of the water. And why does he have that look on his face? Jason had never seen Darryl Hollis with such a look. But Darryl just scanned the dark seas, not even acknowledging him. “How’s it going, Jason?”
Does he have peripheral vision I’m not aware of? “Hey, Darryl. You OK?”
“Fine. See anything good?”
Jason removed his mask. “Yeah. What’s with the harpoon?”
Darryl finally looked down. “I guess sunsets just make me nervous.”
Jason turned. A sunset indeed. The sky was gorgeous, a vast tapestry of lavender, pink, and ruby red. Jason loved Southern California’s sunsets and knew from personal experience that they were some of the most stunning in the world.
Monique popped out and smiled, as relaxed as ever. “Hey, Husband.”
“Get out of the water, Monique.”
“What’s your problem? Nice to see you, too.”
Darryl turned to her directly. “Monique, get out of the water.”
She was about to tell Darryl to shut his smug mouth when she noticed his harpoon. Darryl Hollis never played games with his weapons. She got out of the water.
“What’s up, Big Dog?” Craig smacked Darryl’s back later on deck. “Something big and bad out here?”
Darryl hesitated. He didn’t know why, but he suddenly felt like an idiot. He scanned the dark seas anew, little waves breaking here and there. They seemed to be laughing at him now.
“Nothing big and bad here except me, brother.”
Craig glanced at Monique. They’d both seen Darryl become alarmed before, more times than they cared to remember, in dangerous war-torn deserts, soft-sand Caribbean vacations, scuba diving, sometimes just when it was dark out and the crickets were chirping. There were occasionally good reasons for it, but very often there weren’t.
“How do you think that kelp got all the way down there, Monique?”
Monique turned to Jason. “You know, I don’t know. Darryl, we saw some kelp almost two hundred feet down. And a manta imprint in an oil slick.”
“You sure that was from a manta?” Jason said.
“Can we discuss this later, Jason?” Craig toweled off his head. “I mean we’re done for the day, right?”
Jason turned irritably. “Yeah, Craig, sure.”
Summers walked toward the bridge.
“Note time, Jason?”
“Oh.” Jason turned to Phil Martino, standing there with his open laptop out. “Yeah. Thanks, Phil.” He took it.
As Phil walked off, Jason realized that except for his notes, they were indeed “done for the day.” He stared at the sunset again. Jason had never been able to stop and smell the roses, but savoring a sunset was another story. The sky was stunning. Then he noticed Darryl, staring at the water with the same strange look in his eyes. Jason had always respected Darryl’s Indian heritage and suspected it gave him an unusual intuition into the ways of nature. He was a levelheaded guy to boot, so if he sensed something, Jason wondered what it could be. Maybe a shark?
But then Darryl shook his head. He was imagining things. Craig and Monique were drinking Coronas now, and he joined them. So did Lisa and Phil.
Still in his wet suit, Jason put the laptop on his knees and began typing. He’d seen more than he realized down there and he noted all of it: the school of cod, kelp, mini–oil slick, imprint. The imprint. As he tapped away, Jason kept going back to it. What sort of animal had made it? A manta? Or something else? Then Craig started the boat, and Jason eyed the sunset a last time. It was still gorgeous.
AS THE Expedition motored toward the land, Jason had no idea that they were being watched.
CHAPTER 9
THEY FELT the boat’s vibrations.
They were more than four miles away, but they felt them and quite clearly. Thirty-five hundred feet down, a level considered deep by human standards, they lay perfectly still. Earlier, one of them had mistakenly ventured into much shallower waters and settled in an oil slick. But they were all together now. They were spread out across the ocean floor. They were unseen. There was no light here. Not now, not ever. It had been filtered out many thousands of feet above.
They were enormous creatures, and they were comfortable here. They knew the darkness intimately. And yet they might be the last of their kind who did; their much sma
ller brethren were spending increasing amounts of time in another place. The tiny animals were swimming toward it now. These larger creatures could see them, though not with their eyes.
THE SMALLER animals rose slowly and in far greater numbers than before. Tens of thousands of the little winged bodies ascended, flapping steadily. The water was still pitch-black, but the light, they knew, was coming. At least for some. When they reached the five-hundred-foot mark, half dropped off. At two hundred feet, as the water became a dark gray, another large group fell back. At one hundred feet, the first faint traces of the sunset appeared, and another group stopped. But several thousand continued, and this was more than double the number that had ventured to this point earlier.
The blind one was no longer with them. After tumbling off the boat, the little creature had rejoined its herd below. It hadn’t been welcomed back. It was savagely killed, crushed inside one of the larger animal’s mouth. More than once, it had scared off prey with its careless behavior. It would never do so again. Neither would the others that had been seen leaping from the sea. They too were gone.
The small animals continued rising. When they were just ten feet below the surface, a beautiful watery sunset shone into their black eyes. They didn’t see it. They simply swam straight up, moving faster.
First, one shot out of the water. Then another. Then all.
In the air, their wings suddenly moved much faster. They flapped rapidly, frantically, doing anything and everything to fly. None succeeded. Their bodies flailed, knocked into one another, and fell right back in.
They flew out again, over and over. After fifteen minutes, some began to improve. Rather than leap straight up, one group began angling out diagonally, then flapping. Another group didn’t flap at all, but simply glided, successfully when they caught a strong wind just the right way. No two animals were exactly the same. They all tried something different. As the last shades of color fell from the sky, their awkwardly moving silhouettes were all that could be seen against the horizon. One after another, they rose from the sea, flew as best as they could, then fell back in and tried again.
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