I pull on my own wetsuit. When she emerges, I can’t help but check her out, just a little. I generally prefer curvier girls, but there’s something about her tall, angular, no-nonsense figure that speaks to me, in a way, like modern art.
We make our way to the dive chamber, a small, slippery room with a circular door in the floor. I press a button on the wall and the door opens like jaws. I slip through the mouth, relishing the warm tropical water that envelops me. I look up at Gayle and smile encouragingly. "It’s warm," I say. "Jump right in!"
She sits with her spindly legs dangling towards me, and then peels herself off into the water. "It really is warm!" she exclaims with delight.
I motion her to follow and dive underwater.
We’re surrounded by several submerged mounds, each one covered in live, colorful coral. There are feathery fans, tubeworms darting in and out of their homes, surreal brains in lime green and mushroom platforms in hot pink. All the coral back home was always bleached. Anemones sway in the gentle current, their finned inhabitants nestled softly among the rounded tentacles.
Gayle and I zero in on one seamount, where I’ve noticed something on a branched orange coral.
An orange seahorse, covered in bumps to match the coral, holds onto one of the branches with a curled tail. What’s unusual about this particular seahorse? An opalescent horn, shimmering like mother-of-pearl, protrudes from the forehead. What do you know – unicorns really do exist. I’m tempted to take this one in my sample bag for further study.
As I finger the bag at my belt, another horned seahorse, this one a bit larger and lighter in coloration, moseys on over to where her partner clings to the coral. The two lock tails and drift together, cheek to cheek, never leaving the safety of their patch of reef. The two horns nudge together, glinting in the filtered sunlight. Looking closer, I notice the smaller male’s belly is swollen, a sign that he’s carrying the female’s eggs.
I decide to leave this pair right where it is. After snapping some pictures with my watch, I signal to Gayle that we should head for the surface. When we burst through, the ship is practically right on top of us, though we’ve traveled several yards away: the crew must have decided to follow, to see what they were all missing out on.
I wave up at Lorenzini, who gazes down at us through binoculars. "We found some amazing things down here," I call up at the crew. "You guys should've come. We saw some unicorn seahorses…"
"You mean, seahorses with horns?" Taffy squeals.
The crew circles up for a quick discussion.
Lorenzini pops out and asks me, "Would you point out the precise location of the find?"
I shrug. "Down there somewhere."
After a look from Lorenzini, Hammerhead pounds his huge chest. He jumps into the water with us, wearing what little he has on.
"No!" I cry, sensing what’s about to happen. I look to where we saw the orange coral.
Hammerhead follows my gaze.
I slap myself on the forehead as he dives with no breathing tank. I see his distorted form uprooting that precious piece of coral, swimming back up.
His head breaks the surface with a gasping splash. He swims back to the ship and climbs up the rope, ignoring Lorenzini’s admonition to use the dive chamber first.
Meanwhile, I enter back through the dive chamber. Gayle follows close behind. I peel off the wetsuit and throw on my dry clothes, then run up the stairs to the deck.
By that time, the crew is dancing in a circle with two tiny horns Taffy and Iru hold to their heads, singing, "We’re gonna make a profit, we’re gonna make a profit…"
The bloody-headed seahorse bodies lie on the deck. Hammerhead squishes one with his foot in the dance. Blood and guts and unborn eggs spurt across the deck as the exoskeleton crushes.
I feel sick – very sick. I check the other seahorse’s vital signs, but she has passed as well, so I throw the body into the sea for the bottom-feeders. Then I retire to my chamber, where I do the manly thing in this situation – throw myself on my cot and bawl like a baby.
After two taps on the door, I shriek, "Come in, if you must!" I don’t know why this thing has done to me what it has, but my body isn’t under my control and I shake and weep as I think of those eggs spilling across the deck in a puddle of blood.
The door opens slowly, and the one person I might actually want to see right now comes in.
"Gayle," I whisper, rising and turning away from her. "I wouldn’t have wanted you to see me like this."
"It’s okay." She sits on the bed, facing the same way as me, and puts a tentative arm around me. "I’ve seen men in worse condition – men who had more of a responsibility to be strong around me." We just sit like that for a while. Her arm relaxes on my back, wrapping around my shoulder.
"What men?" I ask after a moment.
She chuckles, pushes her jet-black hair out of her face. "There was only one," she says. "My hopeless, drunken father."
So that was the only man who disappointed her. I don’t want to be the second. I pull her in for a hug, wondering if she feels the same way about this hug that I do, with her awkward arms and eyes brimming with tears.
Chapter Five
Gayle
"I want to show you something," I say to Sander as the others argue over whose turn it is to clear the dishes after dinner. It’s not my turn or his, so without a word he follows me to my chamber.
I take in a deep breath before making my way to the suitcase in the corner – the one luxury I brought onboard. It nearly pops open on its own from the bulk of the stack of drawings and sketchbooks I have stashed away inside.
I take the first loose paper off the stack and hand it to Sander. "I did this one last night," I say. "It may not be perfectly proportioned, but I tried really hard to make it anatomically correct. Do you think this body design would be feasible in open water?" Being a star marine biologist, I expect Sander to give me some constructive criticism on the scientific correctness of my mermaid, and maybe throw in a compliment to my art skills like most people who see my drawings.
Instead, he shakes his head and chuckles. "Very cute idea, an anatomical drawing of a mermaid. You could sell these to moms decorating their little girls’ rooms – I think they’d be very popular."
"That’s not what I drew it for," I explain. "See, I have this obsession with mermaids. And mermen… people with fishtails. It all started when I was a kid and this mermaid visited me and claimed she was my mother." I look at my feet. "She said she was going to come back for me when I was old enough, and I believed her."
"Um, sorry to burst your bubble there, Gayle, but is it possible that was just a dream? Children have very active imaginations – "
"Do you think it isn’t possible it was real?" I counter.
He shakes his head slowly. "As a certified marine biologist, I have to draw on my scientific database of known organisms in the ocean and inform you that there are no such things as mermaids. Or people with fishtails."
"With only five percent of the ocean explored, how can you make such a claim?"
"People don’t breathe underwater – "
"Neither do whales," I interject. The air conditioning is a bit much, but I’m still getting hot. "You don’t know what’s possible."
"Maybe not, but physics and biology do, honey." He puts his hand on my shoulder, but I shrug him off.
"I’m sorry I showed you my drawings," I growl. "I guess some people just can’t understand the need for a girl to at least dream." My voice breaks, and I pray he leaves before the waterworks erupt. I want to still be able to hold that over him, having seen him cry.
"Hey, go ahead and dream," he smiles. "You’re free to draw mermaids and fairies and unicorns as much as you want…"
"You’re free to go," I say in an undertone.
"Okay." He turns toward the door, then faces me with a sincerely apologetic expression. "Hey, sorry if I caused any harm to your dreams."
He may have tarnished
them a little, particularly the ones about becoming Gayle Wytewind. But for the most part, they’re still holding their own against the pounding surf. I tell myself, he’s just another one of the non-believers. They’re all the same. But somehow I had hoped Sander was different.
Chapter Six
Gayle
"Baby let me wrap my arms around you… I’m so hyped because I found you…" The song rings rudely in my ears, startling me awake. In my panic I think for a second that it must be Sander, crazed and returning for a repeat of the fluke expression of affection I afforded him earlier that evening. Then I remember I set this as the ringtone to my cell phone long ago, in the unlikely event I would ever receive a call. Hoping the crew sleeps soundly in drunkenness and hasn’t been awakened to mock my taste in the music of five years ago, I shut off the ringtone, holding the phone up to my ear. "Hello?" I breathe, slipping on my sandals.
"Hiya, Gayle," rasps a familiar voice.
I nearly fall back onto my cot. "Um, hi, Dad," I reply. "It’s been a while, hasn’t it?" I grab my coat and begin making my way to the deck, where I can clamber down the staircase and talk on the deserted beach, far from any curious ears.
"Yeah, I know. You can hold it against me, I deserve it. But it’s been a long time since I been sober."
"You’re – sober?" I’ve never seen him without some form of alcohol running through his veins. Not that I can remember, at least.
"You betcha. There’s so little drink left nowadays it costs a fortune for a shot a’ cheap beer. A man needs more’n that to run on."
"You’d be surprised what you need and what you can live without," I say. "I’ve learned that these past few weeks, with a bare minimum of clothes, no hair conditioner, and my last tube of toothpaste running on empty."
Dad chuckles. "What godforsaken place are ya in, Gayle? University?"
"I graduated last month."
"Oh that’s right. A' course. So now you’re workin’? Professional scientist, huh?"
"I’m employed on a pirate ship," I say.
He laughs, a deep belly laugh that I worry the others will hear through the phone. "Wait, you’re serious?" he asks when I don’t share his humor.
"Environmental pirates, you could say," I elaborate. "They pillage the land and sea for rare artifacts while I keep the rooms clean and make the passion fruit pie. When there’s food, that is." We’ve been lucky lately, but if we run into a rough spot Sander says we can always photosynthesize.
"Well I’m glad you’re on the sea, darling," he says, where any other father would admonish for accepting a job with outlaws. "There’s someone out there’s lookin’ for you."
"Mom?" My breath catches.
"I seen her this mornin’," he confides. "In the public shower on Tar Ball Beach. A-usin’ soap, the same brand I showed ‘er," he croons like a doting father whose child has just taken its first steps. "She telled me she usually prefers a-washin’ in the sea, but she had to look for me. See, at first I thought she was a-lookin’ for me." His voice sharpens with the rusty-iron edge of bitter tears lurking in his throat. "She only wanted to ask me where you was at. I says I doesn’t know. I doesn’t know… and she scuttles off down the sand like a awkward seal and dives back into the water. Dives fast-like, like a lifeguard when there’s a drownin’ kid. Back when kids used to swim in the ocean, that is."
"Too bad you didn’t know what direction I was sailing," I say after a pause. "Maybe we can call her up and…" I trail off, realizing how stupid I just sounded. I finger the silver scale at my heart. Would I have waited so many years isolated from my mother, not knowing what she thought of my middle school graduation dress or my college application essay, if I could have just dropped her a line?
"Well, I hope she finds you," Dad says.
"I hope she finds me too," I say, close to tears. "I didn’t know she was looking." The day I met her plays in my mind’s eye, the elegant, sturdy arms holding me as waves washed over us, the beautiful silver eyes blinking back tears when we said goodbye. She promised I could join her when I was all grown up. But I had come to half-believe she’d forgotten…even to wonder if it was all a dream.
"I wish you two ladies the best," he warbles, and then hangs up.
Relieved to be off the phone, excited in case what he told me is true, heartbroken in realizing it took this long, I just stand there for a while, letting the chill wind tangle my hair.
Suddenly, right in front of my feet, a tiny reptilian face pokes out of the sand. The face is followed by two tiny flippers, which dig the whole rounded shell, back flippers, and tiny tail out of the sand. It’s a sea turtle hatchling. Without a moment’s hesitation, the creature waddles forward, away from my feet and towards the foamy shore. Soon, more sea turtles burst from the hole and skitter forth. All around me, swarms of them are making the same pilgrimage. I could have crushed a nest without realizing it earlier when I walked out here.
A flighted seagull swoops down and scoops up one of the hatchlings, just before it can safely dive into the water. More birds circle overhead, as though presiding over a funeral and not a mass birth event, ready to devour the carcasses of those who haven’t had time to live.
I do my best to shoo them away, but they know sea turtle hatchings mean unsuspecting feasts, and they are determined to stay and control the population. Eventually I give up and sit in the dry sand, watching. I try to predict which will make it and which will be taken to sustain another species. I tell myself nature is wonderful.
I notice some of the hatchlings aren’t even turned in the right direction to begin with: instead of trotting towards the sea, several head up the sandy hill to the nearby road. Too exhausted to move in time, I am helpless as a car zooms past. Neon lights shine red and yellow on the new carcass. Several more cars roll over the sad little shell in a puddle of blood, not bothering to stop on their way to the important date or dance to avoid desecrating a corpse.
When the road is clear, a seagull limps over to the dead sea turtle hatchling. It bends to extract the entrails with its ravenous beak. I can’t tell myself the city is beautiful.
Chapter Seven
Sander
"We have arrived," Lorenzini announces from the navigation panel. "So, um, where is the island?" All around us stretches a wavering blue carpet of tropical ocean.
Then I spot a tiny dot to the front. As we move closer, it materializes into a small mound of sand with one tree. Through the crystal clear water, I can see our ship has plowed through the remains of buildings and classic cars. Clearly there used to be more to this island than we see now.
We approach the mound and drop anchor.
Oneye Walter lowers the bridge and we begin to unload the wares the crew wants to sell. Only Captain Foulweather, me, Gayle, and Iru Zhi make it onto the island before our feet cover the sand.
One tiny man, wrinkled like an olive brown raisin, sits beneath the palm tree, wearing a faded red robe and sipping from a coconut half. "Who are you?" he asks, squinting up at us. He doesn’t look particularly perturbed by the throng of people.
"We’re here to sell biological booty," snarls Captain Foulweather. "Where did all the customers go?"
"You mean the inhabitants of this island? They left in boats just before the storms came."
"Why didn’t you go with them?" I ask. "Sea levels are rising, and soon this whole island will be underwater."
He laughs, baring teeth as white as the blinding sand. "I am aware of the impending doom," he chuckles. "But this is my home and I cannot live anywhere else. I am content to sit here sipping a coconut until the last piece of this land is swallowed up."
"Very well, it’s your choice," Captain Foulweather glares into the sun. "Come," he beckons the crew to return to the ship. "There’s nothing for us here." The others turn back, hauling bags of coral and carts of iced fish and who knows what else.
I stay behind a moment, and Gayle lingers with me. I reach a hand down to the miniscule man. "Would you like to come wi
th us?" I offer.
He doesn’t budge. "You heard what I said," he sighs. "I have no choice but to stay. I can’t live on your ship, any more than a polar bear could live in the desert."
"Raise the bridge!" the captain barks.
We’ll be left behind if we don’t leave soon. I think about picking the man up and forcing him to save his life, but something about his hand clinging to the tree and his eyes surveying the open ocean around him tells me it’s better to leave him where he wants to be.
Gayle and I run and make it back onto the ship just before the bridge is closed. As the ship begins to back away from this mound of sand, a wave sweeps over the mound, entirely hiding the man and the tree.
I watch to see if the water goes down again, but it doesn’t and soon we’re too far away to see anything but a flat, endless expanse of blue.
Chapter Eight
Sander
The oily, rippling pink balloon has eyes – freaky amber eyes with slit-like pupils, glistening in the sunlight as tentacles zoom across the deck, after our panicked crew, who slip and slide across the watery floorboards, trying in vain to avoid being caught by suckers the size of dinner plates. Several are lifted into the air. Oneye Walter shoots and hits the tentacle spiraled around Lorenzini’s waist, but it just dissipates as a puff of smoke. The amber eyes turn Walter’s way and he dashes to hide behind the beam with me.
I’m just hanging out here, trying to avoid using my laser gun on such a majestic creature, wondering what else can be done and how much time I have.
Suddenly a high-pitched whistle pierces the air. Walter and I crouch to the deck, covering our ears. I feel like the sound is pushing me down, making me lose control of my body.
The tentacles loosen like spaghetti being slurped off a fork, letting their captives tumble to the deck.
The beast is led away by two workmen in boats, prodding at the whale-like tail fin with electrically charged sticks.
From behind them is revealed an older man, sharply dressed in a flowered vest and khaki slacks, with a whistle around his neck. He says, "Sorry about that, boys, but you know you are trespassing on private KrakenGo facilities here and we do have very strong security systems in place in case of troublemakers. But you aren’t troublemakers, are you?"