Jake Morrison's Arc

Chapter 13 of 54

The yacht pulled clear of the dock. The sea opened ahead. Jake dropped to the deck and caught his breath. Then he heard it. A wet scraping below the rail. Something had ridden the hull out with them. A wretch had clung on during the fight and hauled itself aboard. Now it dragged itself toward the cabin stairs. If it slipped down there, it would find them all packed in tight. Jake grabbed the bat. "It's on the boat!" he shouted. "Marcus, cabin door!" Marcus dropped his wrench and lunged for the cabin hatch. He was the mechanic who'd once held Jake at gunpoint with an empty pistol, and now he moved on Jake's word without asking why. He slammed the hatch shut and stood on it. "Where?" he barked. "Stern." Jake stalked toward the sound. The wretch crouched near the harpoon mount, jaw dripping, one arm hooked over the rail. Its yellow eye found him. It hissed and scrambled forward on all fours. Jake met it. He swung the bat into its skull. The blow knocked it sideways, but it didn't fall. It clawed his boot. He swung again, harder, and felt the head cave. The wretch went limp on the deck. Marcus was already there, wrench in hand, ready. He didn't need it. "Toss it," Marcus said. Together they heaved the body over the rail. It splashed and sank. Jake leaned on the bat, chest heaving. "Any more?" Marcus checked the bow, the deck, the ladder. "Clear." Jake let out a breath. The boat was theirs now, safe. Then Sofia leaned out of the wheelhouse. "Engine's running smooth," she called. "But watch the water. They swim." Jake turned back to the stern. That was when the tentacles came up over the rail. This one was different. A tall, stretched thing with a long neck and a swollen belly. From that belly hung long, curling arms like a squid's. They wrapped Jake's leg and yanked. He hit the deck hard. The bat skittered away. The thing pulled him toward the rail, toward the black water. He grabbed a cleat and held. His fingers slipped. "Marcus!" But Marcus was too far. A new voice cut across the deck. Marisol. She'd swung her leg over the harpoon mount. She gripped the launcher and cranked it around, aiming down at the creature's stretched skull. Her hands were steady. Her eyes were hard. "Let go of him, you witch," Marisol said. "He's my man." She pulled the trigger. The barbed spear shot out and punched through the creature's head. The tentacles snapped loose. The thing slid off the rail and dropped into the sea, dragging the harpoon line with it. Jake rolled onto his back, gasping. Marisol climbed down and reached for his hand. He took it. She hauled him up. The deck was clear. But the harpoon was gone, ripped into the water. Their one long-range weapon was lost, and eighty miles of open sea still lay ahead.