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The shaman rolled over, water dripping in slow beads from his hair. Behind the
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glasses his eyes were invisible, but his voice was slow, and oddly,
artificially calm.
"You asked if I saw anything, Ryan Cawdor?"
"Yeah. What& ?"
"I saw grinning death, my brother.
That is what I saw."
Krysty had one hand just on the edge of the raft, barely touching the surface
of the icy waters. But she gave a sharp cry of shock as she felt something
brush against her.
"What?" Ryan said.
"Gaia! Something very big, lover. Skin rough as sandpaper. But& Oh, so big."
"Fish," the Indian managed to say. "Bigger than any fish I ever heard of.
Bigger than me. Bigger than this raft. Maybe bigger than the island. Moved
slow on us, and I saw its eye look up and eat into my soul. Coldest deadest
thing I ever saw."
"Where is it?"
Lori was standing, pointing ahead of them, where the calm water lapped toward
the shelving beach, now mocking them from a hundred yards away.
"Saw the water move like folding in on itself," she said quietly.
"Big whales and sharks can be curious," Doc offered. "It's possible he's just
nosing around us. Nothing better to do."
"Turning," Jak said, pistol drawn, the long barrel of his satin-finish .357
glittering in the cold sunlight as he pointed to their right.
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"Get ready," Ryan warned.
"Holy& " Doc began, but the word was choked back in his throat.
It was another feigned attack, the creature swimming ponderously under the
raft, its back scraping on the bottom of the chemical drums, making the whole
thing rock from side to side. Ryan peered down at it, holding the G-12 ready
in his hands, the control set on full-automatic. It wasn't an occasion to mess
around with single shots.
"Maybe it'll fuck off," Lori said hopefully, voice an octave higher than usual
with the tension.
"Maybe," Ryan agreed. "You're the damned expert, Doc. What d'you say?"
"I say it's some sort of mutie crossbreed monster, half
Orcinus orca
."
"What?"
"Killer whale. The black coloring and head shape show that."
"What's the other half?" J.B. asked, mini-Uzi in his right hand, eyes scanning
the placid waters of the bay.
Doc cleared his throat nervously. "From the look of the rest of it and the way
it rolled as it made its pass at us, I fear that it might be
Carcharodon carcharias
."
"What the hell is that?" Ryan asked. "Sounds like something you'd pick up in a
frontier gaudy house, doesn't it?"
There was no answering smile. "That would be a blessing compared to this, Mr.
Cawdor.
Carcharodon carcharias is the proper name of the great white shark."
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"A PAINTED SHIP UPON& upon& I forget what." Doc glanced at the still water.
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Ryan had ordered them to stop paddling, guessing that the splashing might be
attracting the beast. The raft was wallowing lower in the sea, the small waves
kissing its sides, occasionally lapping clear over its top. The tide seemed to
be turning, holding them in place. Not easing them in toward the shore. Not
sucking them back toward the open Lantic Ocean.
More than ten minutes had trickled by, without any further sign of the monster
whale-shark. All of them were trying to watch for it, but a light wind had
sprung up, sending ruffling cat's-paws across the surface of the water, making
it impossible to see below.
Ryan's finger was still tight on the trigger of the automatic caseless rifle.
He was about to tell the other six to begin paddling again.
The creature came up almost directly beneath them, like a nuke exploding from
its silo. The only hint of warning was the circling, wailing gulls.
Ryan's razor-honed reflexes saved him from being thrown off the raft. He and
J.B.
were the only two able to cling on; the other five were hurled into the
frothing water.
Ryan glimpsed the little doll eye that stared blankly at him from inches away.
There was an exhalation of stinking air and the gleam of row upon row of
serrated teeth. The raft was pitched over, heeling vertically, then pulled
back to the level by the weight of water in the leaking drums.
A flash of polished black skin, dappled with white, and then the monster was
gone again, sliding with an awesome, effortless power beneath the turbulent
waves.
A head count showed four swimming. Five, as Doc popped up like a cork from a
bottle, gray hair lank around his face, arms flailing, legs kicking
desperately.
"Back on the raft!" Ryan yelled. "Quick. 'Fore it comes back."
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"Can't see the bastard!" J.B. shouted, head turning from side to side, the
muzzle of the Uzi tasting the damp air like the tongue of a snake.
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