The Twice Lost (17 page)

“She’s not the only one,” Andrew said quietly. “We had a run-in with a pack of them later who seemed pretty pissed about Luce rescuing me. I don’t know for sure, but I’m guessing it’s the same for all of them. Girls who people think are runaways or whatever, lots of them are actually out there in the ocean.”

They both stopped talking for a moment. There was no view of the sea from the kitchen, but it was close enough that they could hear, very faintly, the rumble of the waves.

“Kathleen?” Andrew said. “Sorry, but it gets worse. A lot worse.”

She looked up, eyes starry with tears. For a second he wondered how old she was; she was lithe and youthful, but from the lines around her eyes Andrew thought she might be forty or so. About his age now.

“Tell me.”

“Well, I had a visit from this FBI guy, and he told me that tribes of mermaids are out there killing people, like bringing ships down somehow. I think I got a taste of how they do it myself, actually.” Andrew didn’t mention that the momentary swirl of mermaid song he’d heard still went on coiling endlessly through his mind, even in his sleep. He found it both disturbing and oddly comforting.

“They
kill
. . .” Kathleen was staring out the window; her voice sounded as if it were journeying across strange expanses on its way to that peaceful kitchen.

“And now our government’s out there killing them right back. The guy told me straight out they’d fired spear guns at Luce, back before you saw her.”

“But she was so sweet to Chrissy, and I swear the way she looked at us . . . There was no
malice
in her face, Andrew! I’m sure she never killed anyone.”

“I’m not sure,” Andrew admitted. “Not a hundred percent. But she saved me, and that guy said something about her saving somebody else, too. The deal can’t be so simple that just slaughtering all the mermaids is the
only
choice.”

“And then anyone . . . who has a missing daughter, or a
sister
. . . they’ll lose their chance of finding them again forever.”

Her sister,
Andrew thought. He couldn’t have explained why, but he was suddenly completely certain.
Her sister’s out there in that damned cold nothingness. That’s why she’s taking this so hard.

“Luce said they never get any older than they were the day they changed,” Andrew said as if he were answering a question. “So even if somebody went that way a long time ago, she’d still be real young. Kathleen, I know you’ve done a lot already by talking to me, by even
believing
me—”

“I haven’t done
anything
for you; you’re the one who’s helping me!”

“I got a huge favor to ask.”

Kathleen only looked at him. There was no questioning in her eyes, only misery. He wished he could hold her.

Andrew knew he was about to get Ben Ellison in serious trouble. The FBI agent would probably lose his job over this.
Sorry, Ben. Sorry.
Maybe he would understand there was no other choice, though; not when Luce’s life was at stake.

“I was wondering if maybe you’d be willing to . . . to put out another video.”

***

The black boat slid among the network of tiny wild islands and narrow channels north of Seattle. The sky was the morose steel blue of a thickly overcast dawn. The divers had been up all night hunting, sounding out prospective mermaid lairs that had shown up on the scans. More and more often now the caves they checked proved to be empty, though some of them had suspicious signs of habitation: piles of empty shells or trinkets dangling from the rocks. Mermaids were obviously getting away from them, but there were no hints to where they’d all gone.

It was somebody’s fault, clearly. And somebody was going to have to take the blame. The government operatives had managed to decrease radically the incidence of shipwrecks along the West Coast, but if the sinkings started up again as soon as their backs were turned, it was sure going to look like they were a bunch of incompetents.

“
There’s
one . . .” The major was peering through high-powered binoculars, and he’d caught a distant but distinct glimpse of coppery fins. Not far from the mermaid there was an abrupt jag in the coast that seemed to indicate a promising cove. “About time. We’ll try to come up on her nice and gradually, see if there are more of them with her.”

Some of the men thought that was stupid. They’d realized by now that the damned tails could stay under for at least half an hour, sometimes much longer. They were incredibly fast swimmers, too; no human diver was a match for them. Their only real options were to take mermaids by surprise or else corner them. In this tangle of islands it would be absurdly easy to lose sight of their quarry. “With all due respect, sir,” a high-pitched voice objected, “she’ll dive. We should speed up and nab her before she sees us.”

“She hasn’t seen us,” the major said confidently. “Goddamn. She’s
playing.
And, wait, it looks like there’re at least two of them.
Slow
approach, like I said, and stay right up against the rocks. We’re about to hit pay dirt, men.”

Even without binoculars they could all see the tiny figure leaping high above the waves now, her long tail breaching as she spun in midair. She was probably brown-skinned, and her copper scales gave off flashes of ruby shine even in the morning dusk. After she splashed down, a second figure leaped, smaller and paler, her tail a light smoky blue. They appeared to be taking turns seeing how high they could go, completely oblivious of the danger creeping toward them. They looked so carefree, so joyful and innocent.

The only antidote to feelings of tenderness for these creatures was, the major reminded himself, a carefully cultivated loathing.

The boat slithered closer, its darkness blending with the slick black shoreline. It almost seemed like all the stealth wasn’t necessary, though. Whenever the mermaids surfaced they were always facing the other way. If it was indeed the case that some of the mermaids who’d escaped had been warning the rest of them, the news obviously hadn’t reached these two.

There was the flash of a third tail, a purple one, a little way to one side. Probably there was a whole
tribe
of them lounging right around that bend in the shore. The major started calculating. If they shot a bunch of mermaids out in the water they’d have to be extremely careful not to be seen by anyone at any stage of the procedure. The operation was still dead secret. And there would be the hassle of hiding the bodies, though one of those empty caves they’d found ought to do the job.

The copper-tailed one flung herself skyward again and pirouetted in space, coming down with an enormous splash. The boat was only fifty yards away now and still the mermaids seemed utterly thoughtless, as naïve as the children they decidedly
weren’t.
In a few more seconds he’d give the order to gun the silent engines, rush the mermaids, and attack. Blue-tail somersaulted then dipped below the water. It would be best to charge at a moment when all three heads were above the surface, shoot them all simultaneously before they had a chance to realize what was happening.

As if on cue, all three heads appeared close together, their shoulders gleaming in the dull blue light. They appeared to be talking, maybe laughing at something, though of course the major’s helmet kept him from hearing anything outside the network of microphones and speakers that linked him to his men. He shook his head and smiled grimly.

It was almost ludicrous how reckless these mermaids were being. If he didn’t know better, the major might have thought they
wanted
to get caught. Maybe they did. Maybe their guilt drove them to it. The men had their spear guns up, ready to fire. Geffen looked back at him from the cabin, waiting for the signal. He nodded brusquely at the pilot, and the boat accelerated in perfect silence, hurtling almost to the spot where the mermaids laughed.

When he looked back at the low, dim waves there was nothing. No,
that
was one of them . . . or no, it was only a seal . . .

The boat was still ebbing forward a bit from the momentum. On all sides there was only the stone-colored roll of the water, dancing trails of shadow, blackish scrolls that seemed to be hair until he focused his gaze on them and they turned back into weeds. All he could hear was the electrical hum of his helmet and the layered rhythms of his men’s exhalations against their built-in microphones. He usually tuned out the noise of their breathing, but somehow it was more intrusive now, as if it might be louder and quicker than he was used to . . . as if . . .

The world started spinning, slowly at first, like a merry-go-round just getting underway.

All the major could think for a moment was that he must be hallucinating. The dim blue world swept ragged trees across his vision as if it wanted to brush his eyes out of his head . . . then tarnished water . . . trees again, a diving cormorant, a sense of infinite distance.

“Major?”

He snapped back to the sight of his men stumbling or pressed up against the boat’s sides. The helmets hid everything but their worried, disoriented eyes. They were rotating at shocking speed now, each view of trees no more than a whiplash of passing darkness. Even worse, a mysterious circular blue wall seemed to be rising around them.

It was either that or . . .”Get us out of here!”

“I can’t, major! We’re in a funnel; we’re—”

“Gun the goddamn engines and get us
out!
”

He found himself staggering back and crashing down on top of one of his fallen men. His stomach lurched and speed hammered at his head. The centrifugal force was now so great that it was a struggle to shift his leg a few inches to one side. Through the cabin’s open door he saw Geffen’s body swinging in midair as he tried to keep his grip on the wheel; then the pilot lost his hold and smashed screaming into the wall. His wasn’t the only voice: the screams were all amplified by the helmets, throbbing into an intolerable, collective yowl.

It had to be
Luce.
She was the only one of those damn tails who could do something like this. She’d used the others as bait and lured the boat there.

Beyond the boat there was nothing but a blue blur of void, a towering emptiness. Blots of foam flew overhead. How far were they from the surface? Their suits would provide oxygen, of course. They wouldn’t drown, unless . . .

A few of the men looked like they’d lost consciousness.

The spinning slowed and the tall blue walls caved in.

***

“We should rip their helmets off while they’re still dizzy.
Dispose
of them.” The mermaids had darted some distance away then stopped to gaze back at the scene they’d created after drawing that boat to a spot where the water was especially deep. Through the rippling gray they could just make out the floundering shapes of the divers as they pulled free of their fast-descending boat, most of them dragging comrades who apparently couldn’t swim on their own.

“No.”
The smallest of the three mermaids flicked her blue tail. “We stopped them for now, and we showed them enough that they’ll be scared about what they’re doing. We’re not going to kill them!”

“They’re murderers,” the brown-skinned mermaid hissed. “They don’t deserve to live.”

“Dana . . . you’re a murderer too. So am I. Someone has to stop first. We should just hurry up and get
away
from here.”

“Dang,” the purple-tailed mermaid sniped, but she was laughing in exhilaration at what she’d just witnessed. It was incredible what these two could do when they deliberately joined their voices that way, and now they were starting to teach her, too. “You really do talk like that, that crazy—”

“Are you surprised, J’aime?” Violet retorted. “I
told
you who my queen is.”

14

It was evening again; in a few hours they’d all head out to sea for another round of training. It was going better than she’d dared to hope and Luce knew she should be happy; even Catarina had stopped objecting. But as Luce gazed across the light-streaked bay, anxiety kept twisting through her like cold wires binding her insides. More refugees were turning up every day, and while some of them were too rattled to do much but lie in the hammocks and stare at the nightmares spinning through their heads, others were all too eager to join Luce’s growing army.

The bay was getting crowded. It sometimes seemed like half the surviving mermaids on the West Coast must be living there now, under warehouses and rotting piers or in half-sunk boats. There were even larvae, and of course it was hard to make them understand how important it was not to let themselves be seen. Sooner or later the humans would realize mermaids were out there, and it was just plain dumb strategically to have everyone concentrated in a relatively small area with only one exit. More than once Luce had gone to scout out the Golden Gate, just in case, trying to determine if it would be feasible for the humans to block their escape route.

She couldn’t tell, though. Luce had to admit to herself that she just didn’t know enough to guess; she might be worrying for nothing, or she might be setting everyone up for death by letting them stay here.

She needed to find someone who knew more than she did. And no matter how long she brooded over the problem she kept coming back to the same absurd idea.

Luce glanced back around the tangle of nets. A lot of the mermaids were out; they’d gone off on their daily foraging expedition to the south bay, where there were large wild areas on the water with a good supply of shellfish. But Imani was swinging in her hammock, eyes closed, singing very softly to herself: a
human
song, Luce realized in amazement. She’d never heard a mermaid sing a song with words before, and she paused to listen. “‘If I could I surely would, stand on the rock where Moses stood. Pharaoh’s army got drownded; oh, Mary, don’t you weep . . . ’”

Where had she heard Imani’s song before? Luce swam over to her. Though Imani’s hammock was made from shredded white plastic shopping bags, they were all so intricately knotted that it looked more like handmade lace. “‘Oh, Mary, don’t you weep, don’t you mourn . . . ’”