He laughed and shook his head. “That you did. I retract my criticism. Will you join us for a post athletic tipple at the pub, then?”
“Aye, but I cannot stay long. I have a dissertation due to submit to the Cultural Sciences Institution in Glasgow in two days and I am two weeks behind on my research as it is,” she explained, wiping her sweat-drenched hair with the towel.
“That’s good enough!” Mavis approved from the other side. “We’re going to McGallow’s Sports Bar this time, dear. Will you walk with me?”
“Of course,” Nina smiled. “If you excuse the delightful odor of sweat exuding from my skin.
The old lady raised her own arms and pulled up her nose. “Not above these grottos, my dear. I won’t smell a thing off you.”
Nina snickered and grabbed Mavis by the arm. “Come on then, let’s go. We’re not getting any younger.”
After several drinks, Nina noticed that the clock had already paced too quickly for her quota tonight, and she began to gather her things to leave for home. Outside it had begun to rain and the night was chilly, contrary to the interior of the sports bar. Nina enjoyed her last whisky, just relaxing in the roasty ambience of the establishment. She was not one for sports bars. In fact, she was not one for sports, period. But most of the football oafs had gone home and her friends from the old age home had done the same, long before the clouds had gathered over the town.
One for the road. We both know you’re not going to do an ounce of work tonight. You’re too pissed.’
She tested her perception by stepping down from the chair, but her balance held steady. Appeased by her abilities, she ordered another last whisky. Nope, her inner voice retorted, just too pissed to work. Otherwise I’m just fine.
On each of the four walls of the medium-sized sports bar a mounted flat screen monitor echoed the same visuals from the chosen channel of the hour. Most of the patrons were busy shouting out conversations over the loud sound of the channel advertisements and unnecessary ‘Coming Ups’ and nursing their drinks as the end of the shift drew nearer.
Like a swarm of alcoholic insects, those still left in the bar hastily ordered enough to last them in case of last call. The bartender could see that the sport on the screen was not really appreciated, so he switched the channel to News Action 24. The usual slots came up every few minutes. Corrupt presidents, scandalous celebrities and war coverage infested the LED squares that made the walls come to life, but Nina couldn’t care any less. She looked forward to a wonderful long hot bath and a slumber true to proper inebriation to prepare her for the hellish soreness the morning would no doubt bring.
Nina looked back to the bartender in passing, but her eye caught something on the television screen that filled her with alarm and horror. Although she was not positive that what she saw on the news was actually what she thought it was, a tether of terrible apprehension wrapped itself around her stomach as she squinted to see. A female reporter was standing aboard a fishing boat of sorts, looking solemn, gesturing toward the dark sea behind her.
“Um, excuse me, Milton,” she stammered slightly under the finger of the whisky, “can you turn that up real quick?”
“Sure,” the bartender said. But when the sound came on, she wished she had never asked to hear better. The reporter’s babbling came and went through the blur of Nina’s impaired state of mind, but she heard the name David Purdue. Behind the reporter was a heinous scene of scattered debris floating in the ocean, large fragments of white fiberglass were dancing in the tide with pieces of propeller and panels painted in orange. Her fears were confirmed when she heard Purdue’s name again, in confirmation that he was presumed dead.
“Oh Jesus,” she moaned, her heart fluttering in pain like a skinless butterfly. “Please don’t let this be true.”
The reporter continued: The Spanish Coast Guard has confirmed that the billionaire’s yacht was registered a few days ago, and charter details filed at Melilla indicate that Mr. Purdue was on vacation.
“Yeah right,” Nina mumbled her disagreement. “Purdue does not take vacations.”
Nina’s reddening eyes took notice of as much detail as she could gather in the background of the news report, as the reporter added another blow she was not ready for.
According to the air traffic authorities at the Málaga-Costa del Sol airport, the helicopter that collided with Purdue’s yacht carried only two people, the pilot and a journalist, who was on his way to join the crew on board the yacht.
“Sam?” Nina shrieked weakly, unable to process the horror in the condition she was in. She hated herself for being drunk. Even while intoxicated, Nina felt the frustration of her retarded reactions keeping her from properly assessing the news. “Not Sam. Oh please God, not Sam too!”
We have confirmation that the pilot’s body has been recovered, but the other occupant has not yet been found. The identity of the deceased man will be made public as soon as his next of kin has been notified. This is Clare Winslow for News Action 24, off the coast of Málaga, Spain.
“Miss, are you alright?” a man asked from somewhere. His voice came from all around Nina, as if he were sitting in a giant empty tin. She felt that she was losing her senses as the culmination of alcohol and shock took her down. The bartender and his staff rushed to her aid, while two locals caught the collapsing beauty. Quickly they gathered her up.
“I know her,” Milton said. “I’ll take her home.”
“You will do no such thing!” his supervisor protested. “Anything can happen to her and then you will be held liable. No, no. You take her to the hospital right now. They can get her home after they’ve checked her out. Let’s not take any chances, lads.”
“Aye, you’re right,” Milton agreed, lifting Nina effortlessly to carry her to the car. “Willy, you go with him,” the supervisor ordered one of the locals. Willy nodded. He took the historian’s gym bag, towel, and handbag, and trailed the bartender into the rain, the bartender covering her only with his coat.
Nina was aware of what was happening, but it felt like a dream. She was unable to speak or move as they clumsily put her in the back seat of Milton’s car. With her hair under her face she felt so uncomfortable, while she listened to their mundane discussion while they drove her. All Nina could think about were Sam and Purdue’s bodies sinking slowly to the depths of the ocean. All she could do was weep in her heart, because physically her eyes were held ransom by shock.
11
Water Wolves
Solar Eclipse Imminent: 48%
Three hours before Nina saw the horrible newscast in Scotland, Sam was trying to pull the throttle back from the grip of the disturbed pilot.
“Stephen! Pull up!” he bellowed through his clenched teeth. Sam’s face was blood red as he strained to wrestle the stick from the irrational pilot, but Stephen’s strength was unnatural. His eyes were frozen in front of him as he leaned on the cyclic to nosedive with the machine, heading straight for the luxury yacht. From the yacht, Peter was the first one to notice that the oncoming drop was not going to turn out as planned.
“Mr. Purdue! Mr. Purdue, there’s something wrong. Look!” Peter shouted with great urgency, trying not to present the panic he truly experienced. Purdue’s tall, lean body hurried closer, shading his eyes from the sunrays to better evaluate the emergency. Screams came from the women on deck and faintly Purdue heard Amelie reiterate, “I can’t swim! Oh God, what if they fly into us?”
“The boat will explode with the helicopter, woman,” the mechanic growled as he scuttled with Jeff to gather the life jackets and retrieved the Panic Bag. “So either you suck it up and put this on, or you die in a blazing propane inferno. You choose.”
“Hey, go easy,” Jeff told him as he went to help Amelie get her lifejacket on.
Out of the beautiful blue sky, the approaching helicopter careened madly, diving at an alarming speed.
“Collision is inevitable,” Purdue said loudly as he kept his eyes on the tumbling aircraft. “Sam, you have
to jump. Sam, I hope you have the good sense to jump.”
“Mr. Purdue, I hate to throw orders at you,” Captain Solis said, clasping his hand firmly on Purdue’s shoulder, “but you have to come with us now! Now!”
Lamenting his friend’s fate, Purdue reluctantly ran to the back of the yacht with the others to get his life jacket on. He fumbled through his hard cases and grabbed a plastic, waterproof trunk he could not leave without.
“Launch the raft! Launch the raft!” the skipper commanded, keeping his voice stern and devoid of the fear he felt. He pushed everyone ahead of himself before boarding. “Alright, cut the painters!”
They took too long to manage viable distance between the doomed vessel and their escape raft. Suddenly, the clap of a furious rotor blade connected with the boom first, and moments later obliterated the stern hull panels. The nose of the helicopter penetrated the starboard cabin and hull, driving through the obscenely expensive vessel like a scalpel. A hellish scream ensued from the seizing engine as the collision ripped it free of the assemblage. It was a death rattle, the prelude to an unholy charge of fire that instantly ruptured the entire vessel and sent its innards hurling.
The mechanic didn’t see the shrapnel of steel and bolts speeding towards him. On impact of the two crafts he was already dead. A split second passed between the explosion and the flying steel, giving him no time to avert catastrophe. Amelie screamed as the man’s blood drenched her and Peter, but they didn’t count on the aftermath of the tragedy. From the combustion of the engines, the fire and debris ripped through the rescue raft, leaving them all to the mercy of the water.
Amelie shrieked madly, against the advice of the others.
“Keep still, Amelie!” Hannah cried. “You’re going to drown if you don’t calm down.”
“Amelie, hang on,” Jeff said. “I’m coming to get you, alright? But you have to relax!”
He paddled toward her, his own face scarred by second-degree burns from the explosion. Purdue watched in disbelief as his crew wept and wailed from the accident, all injured. Most of all he was deeply devastated by Sam’s lot, and in such a brutal manner as well. He didn’t want to cry. It was the farthest thing from who he was, but he could not help it. Purdue could not help but feel responsible for the lives of the people who had already perished for his endeavors.
The raft was askew in the frail support of the water’s surface. Hannah looked at Purdue from where she was treading water. “He’s dead too, Mr. Purdue.”
“W-w-ho?” Purdue forced.
“Captain Solis. That piston went right through his chest plate,” she reported coldly, too shocked to emote. “He just made a hiccup next to me and then sank away with a hole in his chest.”
The hysterical stewardess tempted her own fate, clawing at Jeff with such fury that she came out of her life jacket. He tried to hold her up, while attempting desperately to retrieve her vest. Every time Jeff’s fingertips touched the bobbing jacket, the current would spirit it away in a spiteful waltz. Determined as he was, he couldn’t sustain the flailing Amelie much longer, not with her frantic movements, cries, and weight bearing on him. Instead of chasing the floating vest, he elected to pursue a fragment of the helicopter that had drifted nearer to them. This he managed to get hold of with a weary arm, and with much labor he brought it closer for Amelie to use as a buoyant haven. “Hold on to this, okay? You’ll be fine.” But she was hysterical, repetitively screaming that she could not swim.
An alien sensation took hold of Purdue, one he had not felt more than three times during his entire life. Hopelessness. Looking at the shattered machinery, the black smoke, and the strewn debris splattered with blood, he was witnessing a disaster he had no control over, a catastrophe he could not reverse. His eyes were lined red, wet for his sorrow where he dangled from a chunk of fiberglass that used to be part of his brand new yacht. As he surveyed the disaster, money was the last concern he felt for the destruction of his latest purchase.
Hannah had been about to tell him all the grand old tales of secret battles before it all went to shit, and Amelie had been flirting with him before she became a heap of shrieking panic. Peter was silent. He was looking past Purdue, remaining still as best he could. Maybe he dealt with shock in a different way. They were all hurt, some worse than others. Besides the mechanic’s unfortunate departure and the skipper suffering a similar fate, Peter had a few broken ribs and a broken nose. Jeff’s face was burned badly and his bald head had been left a molten mess. Purdue himself had a dislocated shoulder and whiplash from the leap to the rescue raft just before the explosion.
Jeff was losing his fight against the downward current coupled with Amelie’s fearful grasps. He was holding on to the orange sheet of helicopter debris he’d acquired for both of them to stay afloat, but Purdue could see the diver’s arms were numb. Slowly but surely he began to dip beneath the lapping swells in his failure to paddle. The intense effort he’d been putting into saving the stewardess had taken its toll, rendering his muscular arms leaden and powerless.
“Wait, Jeff, I’m coming to you,” Purdue said suddenly as he noticed the rapid decline of the diver’s abilities.
“No, I’m okay, sir,” Jeff assured through gulps of water.
“Nonsense,” Purdue replied, trying to sound hopeful. His long body slipped into the water to come to Jeff’s aid, but swimming with one functional arm was proving to be too much. “I’m coming, Jeff. Just give me some time to get there,” he persisted as he figured out a way to bind his injured arm in order to swim. But when he looked up Jeff was gone.
“Jeff?” Amelie called. “Oh my God, Jeff!”
Peter looked upset, but he remained quiet. The wreckage was still burning in full force behind them, but Peter could see past the flames and billows of black rising from it.
“Mr. Purdue,” he said, but his voice was weak in the hiss of the waves and the Amelie’s cries and Purdue could not hear him at first. “Mr. Purdue!” he attempted a second time, this time getting his employer’s attention.
“Yes, Peter,” Purdue called back at him over the mounting swells that became colder and darker as the sun neglected the sky, which was quickly falling under the blanket of dusk. The crewman pointed to a point beyond the wall of fire. While they observed the large dark shadow approaching on the other side of the fire, another dark shadow meandered toward them from under the water. Covered in the mechanic’s blood, Amelie’s wild thrusting and kicking was luring the inevitable into their midst. Hannah saw it briefly from her vigil on top of the damages raft, but it was too late.
“Oh sweet Jesus!” she screeched in horror as the shark dragged Amelie under. Her screams were instantly doused as the water swallowed her up. Purdue and Peter swung around to see Amelie’s arm snap back from the sheer force of the taking. Peter’s eyes froze in horror, his mouth wide open to scream at the macabre sight, but not a sound escaped him. Purdue’s heart stopped. He had to do something, but with the other object showing up, he had problems coming at them from both directions.
Hannah was sobbing, pulling her legs in against her chest. In the falling dark she pinched her eyes shut. She did not want to see what was coming her way. If it was going to take her down she wouldn’t give it the honor of screaming, yet she waited in paralyzed terror for the moment of impact. Only the whisper of the waves gave her some peace before she was to die, while her thoughts turned to the annoying brother she would give anything to see again.
Through the rush of the restless ocean and the crackle of the oil fire Hannah imagined that she could hear the approaching killing machine, teeth bared and tail whipping from side to side. The heat of the flames nearby was no solace for the cold depths she was preparing herself for. Hannah hoped that the thing would kill her with one bite instead of slowly drowning her in the lonely waters below while it used her as a chew toy.
The impact came. She felt a quick bother against her upper arms before she cared to open her eyes. Hannah’s rake thin body was seized with such vig
or that she had no time to scream. The rope tightened like a lasso around her and two pairs of strong male arms ripped her upwards off the water. From the leeward side of the fishing boat the whole crew stood at the ready to peck up the survivors of the collision. Hannah fainted, but they briskly moved her below deck to their makeshift infirmary where they kept their supplies and medical kits. Peter and Purdue followed, although they were cogent and able to board with minimal assistance.
The captain of the boat was a kind man with pale blue eyes, much like Purdue’s. He wore a knitted hat and sported a substantial bushy beard that covered his fat cheeks like a forest of black and gray.
“Where are you hurt?” he asked Purdue.
“I have a dislocated shoulder, mostly. The rest are just scratches and bruises,” Purdue reported. “Where is Hannah?”
“The lady?” the man asked.
Purdue nodded. “Yes, did you get her in time?”
“Sí, we did,” the man smiled. “It was a close call or she would be fish fodder now.” He was a bit too cheerful in recounting Hannah’s brush with death, Purdue thought, but perhaps the man did not mean to be insensitive. “Oh, my name is Vincent, by the way. Vincent Nazquez. And you are?”
“David,” Purdue introduced himself. “Thank you so much for picking us up. Without you we would have been done for.”
“Of course. You’re welcome, David.” Vincent bowed his head courteously. “But now, let us get your arm sorted out.”
The flag that adorned the boat was the same Purdue had seen through the binoculars earlier that day when he refused to admit what it was. They were on the same boat that had refused to acknowledge them before on a radio identification call. Suddenly Purdue felt as if he had only escaped the sharks to be eaten by wolves.
12
Children of the Sun
Order of the Black Sun Box Set 7 Page 27