Monstrum (20 page)

A little storm?
I make a disbelieving sound.

The captain looks at me. I hold his gaze, which is difficult because it isn't angry, reproachful or even cool. He doesn't have any expression in particular, and that's what's so disturbing—the nothingness, as though something crucial, some basic element of humanity, is missing behind his eyes.

Cortés steps in front of me, breaking the connection between me and his father, and my belly unclenches with relief. It seems like he's purposely protecting me from his father's displeasure, and I'm grateful. I don't want to bear the full brunt of Captain Romero's temper any more than I want to face down Hurricane George.

“Well?” Cortés demands. “Are we going to see this monster or not?”

Dr. Baer's cheeks turn pink, which highlights the sprinkling of freckles across his nose and makes him look even younger. “I don't like that terminology.”

“Won't you be thinking up a new name for her since you're the one who discovered her?” I wonder. “What about
Oceanus Monstrum
? Or, better yet, just
Monstrum
?”

Dr. Baer's entire head, including his ears, is now covered with the dull red flush of anger, and his lips have flatlined. “First of all, she's not a monster, so there'll be no
Monstrum
in her name. Second, we need to show her a healthy respect, like we show all of Mother Nature's creations.”

Cortés snorts. “A healthy respect would be leaving her out there in the deep, where she belongs, and rerouting the shipping lanes so there's no danger of running into her again, in case you're wondering about my opinion.”

“We are not wondering about your opinion,” Captain Romero says.

Cortés ignores this and keeps his attention on Dr. Baer. “Are we going, or not?”

“In a minute,” Dr. Baer says. “We have some rules.”

“We've been to the zoo,” Maggie says, and then seems to regret her outburst. “I mean, sorry, but we know not to feed her or anything.”

“We have many more rules than that,” Dr. Baer says. “Don't come within two feet of the tank. Don't touch the tank. We don't want her agitated while she gets acclimated to her new home.”

Gray gapes at him. “Are you for real right now? That thing dismembers and decapitates people, and we're supposed to use our best church manners around it?”

“Anyone who cannot follow a few simple rules,” Captain Romero says sharply, “will stay behind. We are already risking liability by having children on the ship with the chimera, and I will not put my company in any additional harm's way.”

“Your company?” bellows Murphy, outraged. “What about the safety of these children, man? I know the safety of your crew is only a secondary consideration to you, but these children are my sacred responsibility, and I'll not risk their lives!”

“Then you should make sure they follow the rules.” Captain Romero gives him a tight smile.

“And finally,” Dr. Baer concludes quickly, before Murphy can explode again, “here's the most important rule: don't make eye contact with her.”

For some reason, this rule disturbs me more than anything else.

“Why?” I ask.

Dr. Baer stares at me for a long time. I wonder if it's because he doesn't know the answer or because he doesn't want to tell us the answer. “Chimera . . . are very sensitive creatures, more so than other animals. They can . . . read us.”

“Like dogs, you mean?” Maggie asks, brightening. “My German Shepherd knows when I'm upset in some other room and comes to check on me. And my friend's dog, a bloodhound, bayed all night when their grandmother died.”

There's another long pause.

“Chimera understand a great deal more than dogs. They're . . . very intuitive.” Dr. Baer says, looking grim. After a beat or two, he snaps himself out of it. “So. Are we ready?”

“Yeah.” Murphy heaves himself to his feet, squares his shoulders and hitches up the waistband of his pants. “Let's go see the bugger. We've waited more'n long enough.”

E
veryone streams to the door. I take a step, but then, for no apparent reason, my knees lock into place, refusing to take me any farther. Pressure builds in my chest, crowding my lungs, and my airway suddenly gets hotter and tighter, shrinking to the size of a strand of spaghetti.
Not now,
I think frantically. Trying to be discreet about it, I press a hand to my throat and will this fledgling panic attack to pass before it really gets started.

At the door, An notices me lingering and calls over her shoulder. “Bria? You coming?”

I manage what I hope is a convincing smile. “Yep.”

“Well, let's go,” An says, tapping her watch.

Rolling his eyes, Sammy throws out an arm, hooks her around the middle and steers her out the door. “Here's a plan. How about you give her a second and mind your own business for once?”

Gray and Carter have also paused. I'm not sure whether Gray and I are still mad at each other, but he gives me a concerned look. “You okay?” he mouths.

I nod, glad we're back on speaking terms.

He looks doubtful, but when Carter shoves him in the back to get him going again, he goes, sparing me one last glance.

With everyone gone, it's safe for me to slump against the wall and take a couple of deep breaths.

“Bria.”

Oh, no. It's Cortés, and here I am acting like some fragile Southern belle, wilting in the July heat and waiting for one of her beaux to bring her a glass of lemonade.

God, I'm an idiot.

I straighten and try to renew my smile.

“Yeah, okay, that won't work,” Cortés says, frowning as he emerges from a dim corner in the back, where he was probably pacing. “A toddler has a better poker face than you do.”

I scowl.

He comes over, hitting me with that penetrating gaze of his and leaving me nowhere to hide. Now I know how an escaped convict feels, trying to dart between shadows and escape into the cover of the woods, only to be nailed with a million-watt searchlight from the guard tower.

It's terrible and infuriating, but also something of a relief.

“What gives?” he asks quietly, with no evidence of mockery or amusement. “Scared to be in the same room with that thing?”

“Yes,” I admit. I suck in a shallow breath. “Got any taunts handy to get me unstuck?”

“Nope. I was hoping you had one for me this time.”

There's something infinitely reassuring about knowing I'm not the only one caught in the grip of this mindless terror. My paralysis eases up a bit, and my muscles loosen enough for me to whisper a confession.

“I don't want to see that thing.”

He nods, giving me the encouragement I need to continue.

“It's like . . . once we see it, how are we supposed to un-see it? It'll be lodged in our memories forever. We can't go back to normal life after that.”

A hint of a smile warms his brown eyes as he reaches for my nape, grips a hank of my hair and gives me a gentle shake. “Normal life is already gone for us. Now we're putting a face to it. So we know what we're up against. That's all. Okay?”

I let that soak in for a minute.

I nod, and this time, my smile feels a lot more genuine. “Let's go.”

He turns me loose, and we walk the few steps next door, to the tank area, where Captain Romero's voice is the first thing I hear.

“I know everyone's not thirsty just yet,” he says brightly, “but we'll have a tiny sip to toast our new friend.”

No one answers. I watch in utter disbelief as he bustles around a cart loaded with a steaming pot of something that smells like chili, bowls and an ice bucket. He's reaching for the chilling champagne when my disgust gets the best of me and I turn my back on him.

I join my open-mouthed and silent friends at the glowing blue tank, which is built into the wall and towers at least ten or fifteen feet above us, and look straight into it, heart thundering.

At first I can't see anything other than the undulating seaweed, but then my eyes adjust and I see the pink trailing flutter of a tentacle, and there it is, floating placidly among the greenery in the back and watching us with clear interest. A chimera. Dolphin-sized, just like Dr. Baer said.

I stare at it, awestruck and uncomprehending, and try to reconcile its three parts into something that feels familiar.

Its head has the black and white markings of a killer whale, including the white oval eye patches, but the shape is all wrong, with a neck—orcas don't have necks!—and a thinner snout. It looks like one of the velociraptors from
Jurassic Park
, dressed for a black-tie event.

With a blowhole on top of its head.

The portion of its black and white body that I can see is tubular, also like a dolphin's, but instead of pectoral fins, it has mottled gray crab claws that are enormous and disproportionate to the rest of its body. The sight of those oversized claws, elongated and clearly razor sharp, with serrated edges, is all the explanation I need about how poor Juan was dismembered and beheaded so quickly and easily.

The black and white parts of the body seem to be at war with the gray, and none of the colors are winning until they get to the spindly crab legs, which are purely gray and fan out from its sides.

The tail end of the thing ends in pink-suckered tentacles. I can't see all of them, but I assume there are eight, like an octopus. I watch with unwilling fascination as they ruffle and flow, stretching out and covering the rocky bottom and glass sides of the tank with their grotesque movements. One of the tentacles climbs the wall of the tank directly in front of me, and the suction cups are sphincters, throbbing rhythmically and freakishly as they grip and then release, all the way down to the minuscule suckers at the thin tip, in an unmistakable tour of its new surroundings—or search for an escape route.

Having explored this section of the tank, the chimera scuttles sideways like one of the harmless crabs at a mall pet store and is surrounded by a clump of seaweed.

It promptly turns a matching green and disappears. A section of the seaweed is knocked aside, telling us the chimera is continuing its methodical search of the tank with an invisibility that would make a common chameleon weep with envy.

But not before I register its last, and possibly most bizarre, feature: a dome-shaped armored shell arches over its back. The shell is mottled and gray, like its legs.

I blink stupidly, trying to process the impossible creature I've just seen.

An animal that's part orca, part crab and part octopus.

Suddenly, the chimera reappears right in front of where Espi is standing, making us all jump. Before we've recovered, one of the tentacles darts out, moving faster and stretching farther than I would have guessed was possible, and grasps one of the larger rocks from somewhere in the back of the tank.

Raising the rock, it begins to pound on the tank wall with enough force to make the glass rattle.
Bang-bang-bang
.

“It uses tools,” says Sammy's strangled voice. “It's got sharp teeth, sharp claws, speed, strength, camouflage,
and
it uses tools. Nice.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “You don't happen to know how to kill this thing, do you, Doc?”

“Kill her?” Behind his glasses, Dr. Baer's eyes widen with surprise. “Why would we want to kill her?”

“I guess we should count our blessings, bro.” Gray claps a hand on Sammy's shoulder. “At least it doesn't breathe fire.”

Sammy manages a weak half-laugh.

Bang-bang-bang.

“She's magnificent, isn't she?” Dr. Baer stares at the monster with the kind of rapt attention I'd expect if he discovered a mermaid strumming on a lute and singing sweetly. “I'm not sure I've ever encountered such a deliberately thinking sea organism. She's got all the intelligence of whales and the cleverness of octopi.”