The Sea Hag -Chapter Seven-

 

Gabriel

When I pulled into the old abandoned lot my twin was nowhere to be seen. This was not all that unusual, he often lost track of time when he was on the water. Even though the fancy, and expensive, tactile watch I had gotten him was utterly waterproof. He said knowing the time took him out of the moment. But he could still feel the angle of the sun and it was getting very westerly indeed. I was even a bit late picking him up, so when I laid on the horn for the first time I expected him to come toddling up with a bag on his back and a board on his head any minute.

I pulled out my phone to consult my messages while I waited. The pre-work date had gone very well indeed. His name was Matthew and he was five feet ten inches of rugged, yet sensitive, premium millennial man-meat. I’d given him a quick blowie in the bathroom of the beachside cafe we had met at just to keep him wanting more, and he had been messaging me more or less constantly in the intervening hours.

So, it took me a bit to realize that my brother had not, in fact turned up and it was now I who had lost track of time. Oh, Irony, you vicious bitch. I tried calling his phone, thinking maybe he had fallen asleep. No answer. I tried three more times, just to be sure, and laid on the horn again, desperation creeping into the maneuver.

With a curse, I pocketed my phone and leapt from the truck. “Mikey-boy, if you’re washed up dead on the beach I’m just gonna have to join your ass, or Mom’ll do it for me,” I muttered as I made my way down the steep and uneven trail to the beach.

I shook my head as I stumbled over a tree root and nearly face-planted onto a rock. How my brother got down this trail with a surfboard on his head and no vision at all never ceased to amaze me. Maybe he’d just been up and down it so many times that he had every root, rock and branch memorized. I hadn’t been down here with him in so long I felt a small twinge of guilt at that thought.

The man was tough. Tougher than me and a hell of alot stronger, too. He’s had to be. We both lost our father to a car accident when we were fifteen, but then, Mikey had to also contend with the sudden, total loss of his sight to a freak sinus infection that same year.

We were all hurting badly, grieving. Mom took comfort in her Catholicism, but her sons took after their atheistic father and found more hope in reason than in faith. Mikey and I saw his blindness as a challenge, a puzzle to be solved and I like to think that dad would have seen it that way, too.  Between my creative, out-of-the-box way of thinking, and his razor-sharp logic and intuition, there was no such thing as a problem we couldn’t find some kind of solution to.

There is nothing my brother and I can’t handle, as long as we have each other.

I let out a sharp, high whistle as I neared the beach. I could just make out a silhouette reclining on a blanket near the shore. It was hard to make out much, as the setting sun was causing too much glare, but I thought I saw someone stand up quickly and then turn and run for the crashing waves. I heard a high-pitched, femenine-sounding call before the figure completely disappeared into the water. I kept watching as I made my way to the blanket, but I didn't see her surface again. I shook my head and focused instead on the bloodstained head before me. My stomach twisted at the size of the bloody patch on the back of his head. Scalp-wounds bleed like you wouldn’t believe, but still, he must have gotten hit pretty damn hard.

“Okay,” I said and his head whipped around like he hadn’t heard me approach. Not a great sign. “First of all, what the fuck happened to your head? And secondly, who the fuck just sprinted into the ocean like the little-goddamn-mermaid?”

He was struggling to his feet until I placed a hand on his shoulder and firmly pushed him back down. “Sit,” I commanded. He sagged and grabbed the jug of water next to him and took several long gulps. “The back of your head looks like Neegan took Lucille to it, man. At least let me clean you up before Mom sees. She’s gonna shit a brick. You got a first aid kit in that monstrosity?” I said, referring to his enormous duffel as I pawed through it, finding a small plastic first aid kit, everything neatly labeled in braille.

“Who’s Neegan and Lucille?” he asked, a tad irritably while I soaked some gauze with water and got to work on the dried blood matting his hair.

“Nevermind, philistine,” I said, dumping water over his head cheerfully. “You still haven’t answered my questions.

“I forgot what they were.” He was clearly stalling, “I have a head injury, you know.”

I snorted and probed the back of his head none-too-gently, to see if there was any give to indicate a fracture.

“Ooowww!” he complained.

“Stop whining and tell me how this happened, so I can assure mom that it wasn’t my fault.” Satisfied that his skull was intact and that he was lucid enough to be an evasive shit, I finished cleaning the wound. The skin was spilt but not enough to warrant a trip to the ER for stitches.

Thank God. 

If there was one thing that scared my tough-as-nails brother, it was hospitals. Bad, bad memories for all of us, but for him especially. He went to sleep one night in a hospital bed with perfect vision, and woke up the next morning totally and permanently blind. I couldn’t begrude  the guy perfectly reasonable hospital-phobia after that.

His shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh. “I wiped out. Hard, on my last run. It just got away from me, man. I don’t know.”

I nodded as I placed a gauze bandage over the back of his head and wrapped a roll of gauze around his head to secure it. “Happens to the best, bro,” I assured him.

“I got hit with my own board, lost consciousness,” he continued as I felt my heart speed up with what almost happened. “I woke up on the beach. She was giving me CPR.” There was a fond little smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

“Who was?” I pressed, “Ariel?” I gestured broadly at the sea as I gathered things up to put back in the bag. I squinted out at the cove for any sign of, well, anything. Nada. “The fuck did she go, anyway?” I muttered.

“Her name is Sirena,” he said seriously.

Of course it was. I rolled my eyes, “Of course it is. Well I hope you got her digits. Or do they not have cell service in Atlantis?”

Micheal had gotten to his feet, only wobbling a little bit and began shaking out the blanket and folding it up for storage. “Har har,” he said. “Laugh all you want, but we’re meeting back here tomorrow.” His expression was smug as he felt around in the sand for his surfboard.

“Four o’clock,” I supplied, by way of direction and he dutifully turned, knuckles bumping the surface, and grasped the rails of the board. He tucked it under one arm and walked over to where I was shouldering the bag, holding his free hand out slightly.

“Well, well, a second date with a mermaid,” I said as I brushed my arm against his hand to let him know I was ready. “Sounds like a Rom Com in the making. Second Date with a Mermaid! In theatres this summer!”

He laughed as he traced the contact to lightly grip my elbow and we started back. “She’s not a mermaid,” he said and paused uncertainly, “I don’t think.”

“You don’t think?!” I laughed, exasperated. “Mermaids. Are not. Real. I think you may have had too much sun today. And too much head injury. You’re not thinking straight, little bro.”

“I was born five minutes after you,” he said, grouchily. “Gestationally we’re the same age-”

“Head trauma!” I cried, cutting him off. “You’re clearly delusional. What you need is Mom’s pozole, a shot of tequila, and a nice long sleep. In that order.”

He looked like he was about to argue but just shrugged, “That actually sounds really nice. Mom made pozole?”

I shrugged the arm he clung to as we mounted the treacherous trail back to the truck. “She was prepping it when we left this morning. Should be good and ready by now.”

His stomach rumbled loudly and then so did mine. We both started snickering and didn’t really say anything else until we reached the top. 

I stumbled a couple of times as the light faded. 

He never so much as stubbed his toe. 

The jerk.

New story: Mara, part 1

Hi PD folks, I'm back with a new short story. I've been poking at this one for a year and a half (!), so it's time to finally release it into the wild. :) Hope you enjoy...

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MARA

There’s a storm coming and inside the store, under the buzz of fluorescent lights, third in line for the register, Mara is restless. Her attention is fixed on the sensation of building pressure, the humidity that the air conditioning can’t manage to suck out. Beneath the no-brand pop music that the convenience store pipes in overhead, she thinks she can hear a roll of distant thunder; it presses in against the hum of the lights. Her bare arms prickle, up and down their lengths.

The Sea Hag -Chapter Eight-

 

Michael

“Aye, Dios mio!” cried our mother as soon as I set foot in the house.

I had followed Gabe in and was reaching to close the large, heavy, front door behind me when the Madre’s light, quick steps hurried up to me and her thin, callused fingers began caressing my face. “Miguelito, Angelito, what happened?” Her hands stroked and prodded worriedly at the bandage around my head and I could only imagine the wounded, haggard picture I presented.

“Mama, I’m fine,” I assured her, grabbing her fluttering hands in my own and kissing them to stillness.

“Dumbass got hit in the head with his own board,” supplied my loving twin with a derisive snort, and Mom lunged toward him. I heard a muffled thwack, and a grumbled “ow” from Gabe.

“He’s right, Ma,” I said, reaching for her.“It was a stupid mistake; I was out there too long without a break and I lost focus.” She took my hand and kissed it with a little sniff of acknowledgement. “It won’t happen again,” I promised.  

“See that it doesn’t.” she said primly. Then she sighed and patted my cheek “You boys are  making me prematurely grey.” 

“Premature?” Gabe said incredulously. “You’re nearly sixty, Mamá!”

“I’m fifty-four, cabrón,” she said dryly.

“You don’t look a day over forty-four to me,” I assured her with a sassy smile. This earned me a scoff and a shoulder-smack of my very own.

“Kiss-ass,” said Gabe.

“Ven, both of you cabrónes.” Mom said, exasperated, “Sit down and eat.” She took me by the hand and led me to the kitchen. Not that I needed to be led. I’d grown up here, lived here most of my life when I wasn’t away at school. I knew it like I knew my own body. Still, she was my mother, and I allowed her to mother me at such moments. My head ached fiercely, though I was working hard to hide it, and my belly whined plaintively at the thick, spicy smell of Mom’s Pozole that permeated the house.

“He’ll be fine, Mamá,” Gabe elbowed me as he passed on his way to pull out his own chair. “Just a little bump on the noggin. Good thing that mermaid was there to save you, huh? What was her name again?”

I turned my face to try and level a glare at him. “Sirena,” I said tightly, “and she is not a mermaid.” Probably. “She has legs.” And gills, but nevermind that.

A gasp came from the vicinity of the stove and Mom bustled over, clinking two steaming bowls before us and settling into the chair to our left. “Mijito, you met a girl?” she asked like a highschool gossip. “Tell me everything. How old is she? What does she do? Where does she live?” She paused and added in a stage whisper, “Is she pretty?”  and I knew that this last question was directed at Gabe.

“I didn’t see too much of her before she dove back into the sea like a friggin’ dolphin and disappeared,” said Gabe between mouthfuls of hot soup. “Pretty great ass, though,” he added thoughtfully.

Mom scoffed softly and I busied myself with my own soup while I felt her eyes boring into me impatiently. I was so hungry, and the soup so delicious, that I forgot about her and her questions for several minutes while I finished it. 

When I had drained the last of it’s spicy, tomatoey goodness I sat back and closed my eyes with a sigh. I opened them again when Mom made a polite, throat clearing noise and said, “Well?”

There was a clinking and splashing sound and a small glass touched my fingers. “Drink up, bud,” said Gabe, his voice a mischievous grin. “Tell us all about the fish-girl I saw you suckin’ face with.”

“She’s not a fish-” I stopped, giving up with a sigh, raised the tequila shot with a muttered “Salud” and downed it, wincing at the burn. “She’s some kind of ocean environmentalist. She didn’t say which group, just that she'd been alone out at sea a long time. I don’t know how old she is, but she seems to be near enough my age.”

“She’s gotta be some kinda free diver, Ma,” Gabe interjected, sounding like he had just taken a second shot. “ Cuz I didn’t see her come up for air once after she dove in. And I didn’t see a boat out there, bro.”

I shrugged a shoulder, my face a non-committal mask. “Make up whatever bizarre theories you want about her.” I pushed myself away from the table and stood with finality. “Maybe she’s a mutant. Maybe she’s an alien. Maybe she’s just an eccentric person. The fact is, she saved my life today. If she doesn’t want the world to see her right now, then the least I can do is respect her privacy. I owe her at least that much,” I said softly, hanging my aching head. Then I turned to make my way to my bedroom, pausing to add, “And, frankly, so do you.”

I walked away then, as Mom’s plaintive, “mijo…” followed me down the hall and I heard Gabe say, “Well, he’s not wrong,” before I climbed the stairs to my room and closed the door.

My room hadn’t changed since I was fifteen. Nothing in the house had, really. Both because keeping everything consistent made it easier for me, and, I think, as a sort of homage, or shrine to my father. We’d suffered two terrible losses, traumatic changes, in the same year and all three of us had dealt with it in our own way. Mom’s response had been to solidify as much of her life as she could, to insulate herself from further trauma. Gabe had done the opposite and embraced chaos as a way of life; in a bid to be an agent of change instead of its victim.

Me? I kept my world small, academic, and largely impersonal. I looked at the unpredictability of life through the fractal lens of chaos theory. It made me feel safer to know that even chaos has it’s order, it’s patterns. And that life can be deciphered, even predicted to a point, if only you understand it clearly enough.

My head pounded in time with my heartbeat as I made my way to the en suite bathroom. I took off the bandage and felt gingerly around the swollen knot just above the base of my skull. The skin was split in the center but not large enough to need stitches. 

I trusted Gabe’s assessment on injuries since he had been a paramedic once. 

For about six months. 

The man went through careers like runway models went through clothes. He was brilliant and learned new skills easily, but seemed to get bored once he felt he had mastered a particular area. This year he was bartending and learning carpentry between Grindr dates.

I had changed out of the wetsuit into a t-shirt and board shorts on the ride back home, and now as I striped naked to get into a cool shower, I felt the sharp ache in my sternum where her strange and wonderful hands must have struggled to make my heart beat again. I smiled as I rubbed my chest gingerly and stepped under the spray, letting it soothe away the pain of my injuries.

What a strange and beautiful creature this Sirena was. I remembered vividly the feel of the webs between her long, thin fingers. Much longer than was usual for a human and tipped in thick, sharp claws. Her skin was impossibly smooth and hairless, like a dolphin but with a strange pliability that reminded me of nothing so much as the feel of an octopus. Her head was likewise hairless, and she had only slight ripples surrounding small holes where ears should have been. I hadn’t gotten a good feel of her eyes, but they were probably oversized in order to pick up more light in murky depths. I could feel her breath on my face when we kissed, but no protruding nose, like other women, so her nose must be either very flat or nearly so.

Her construction made perfect sense for a marine mammal. If I were going to design an aquatic humanoid, she is what I would aim for. The gills were an anomaly, though. There were no mammals on earth that possessed gills; our metabolism simply requires too much oxygen.

My soapy hands roamed my body as I thought about the feel of her beneath my hands. Her tiny breasts and pert nipples stiffening beneath my touch. I felt my cock twitch and begin to swell at the memory. My hand worked its way down and I began to stroke myself as I remembered the way she had straddled me on the beach. Her mewling, pleading noises as she ground against me through the wetsuit. The feel of her lips, her hands, her claws. I grunted, leaning against the wall of the shower and bit down on a cry as I came hard to the memory of my hands on her firm, smooth buttocks.

I stood under the water, catching my breath for a moment before rinsing off, toweling off and falling into bed.

The ocean crashed outside my open window and I couldn’t wait to see her again the next morning. I gripped my pillow in a full-body hug and fell quickly and deeply asleep.

Mara, part 2

Hi PD, 

Here's the second and final part of "Mara"! 

If you missed part 1, here it is. Sorry the story's only two parts - but this one is a long and steamy one. :)

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“C’mon in,” he says from the doorway, a little breathlessly. “Can you get my bag?” As she nods, he stretches his left foot down to reclaim his shoe. He stuffs both the card and then his foot into the shoe. She stoops to grab the handle of his backpack, then pauses to take one last look over her shoulder into the courtyard behind them. A few other people are hurrying by, glancing anxiously at the sky; nobody takes notice of her. She takes a breath, feeling as if she’s about to take a dive, and follows Pete into the building.

The door closes them into a dim, air-conditioned foyer with a slate-tiled floor. Mara sets Pete’s backpack down and watches as he retrieves and replaces the card in his wallet, the wallet in the backpack, all with his foot. His hands are curled more tightly, as if in concentration.

“Can I ask,” she says carefully, “when you decide to do stuff with your feet, and…?” She tells herself that if her face is cold, it’s because of the sudden air conditioning, and not that she is, on some level, petrified.

He gives her a look that’s hard to read, then sits down abruptly in front of the backpack. After a moment, she realizes that he was positioning himself so he could shrug the backpack onto his shoulders. “I don’t like making people wait,” he responds after another moment. “So like if there’s a line at a store, I’d rather ask for help. But if it’s just us…”

The Sea Hag -Chapter Nine-

 

Interlude

Aboard the superyacht, Cerulean

The tall, well-built man with a square jaw and twinkling eyes bent over at the waist, studying a large flat-screen monitor. He was looming over the shoulder of a nervous-looking young man in a headset who didn’t seem to know if he should get up and offer his boss his seat, or remain awkwardly silent until he was spoken to.

“Are we sure that’s her?” said Altus Venter, tech billionaire, in his melodious South African accent. He was squinting at the satellite image of a blurry grey figure standing on a beach of light brown sand and holding what appeared to be a bright yellow surfboard. 

The young tech nodded. “Her implant is still pinging, barely, but once the crypto-geeks posted sightings we knew where to point our eyes and ears.”

Venter smiled in satisfaction and placed a large hand on the tech’s shoulder. “Thank Zuck for social media, eh?” he said with a pat that sent the man’s ergonomic chair bouncing.

“Yes, sir,” he said with more conviction than he really felt.

Venter eyed the young man sourly and stood, folding his hands behind his back. “You should lighten up, Brad. The first Pacific Hab is nearly complete. Once I bring her back into the fold, we will have everything we need to ensure that humanity survives the coming cataclysms. Is this not worth at least a smile?”

“Of course, sir,” said the tech, who’s name was actually Brian. 

Working for brilliant innovator, and tech-giant, Altus Venter had been a dream come true for young Brian. And when his hero and role-model picked him for the top secret project code-named “Deep Blue”, he had been ecstatic. But now they had been chasing down rumors of a mythical Sea-Hag for six months, aboard a lavish five-hundred-foot superyacht whose crew quarters only seemed to get more cramped and smelly by the day. All information about the project was strictly need-to-know, so that no one but Venter knew exactly how all the moving parts connected. Brian had heard a rumor that these stringent measures were a direct result of a similar project being mothballed due to an act of corporate espionage and sabotage ten years ago.

 Brian smiled dutifully and, with a few mouse clicks, widened the view and he tapped through a few more sequential photos from that day. “This is the second day she’s come back to this beach, sir. And today she appears to have encountered a local.”

Altus’ eyes narrowed, flicking back and forth as he frowned at the images of their quarry appearing to rescue a blond-haired surfer, staying to chat with him, then changing her skin tone, and disappearing back into the surf just before another golden-haired man appeared.

“My my my,” Altus said, grinning and rubbing his chin like a Bond villain. “Has my little Sirena gone full Little Mermaid?”

Brian looked at him askance. Was Altus Venter, progressive genius, really intending to capture a sentient being and hold her against her will? The way he’d said her name, the fact that she had a name and he knew what it was, raised all sorts of uncomfortable questions that Brian was not ready to look at.

He bit his lip and stared at the screen. At the image of a bald woman, leaning over a surfboard and passionately kissing the shirtless surfer. He flinched at the pang of conscience but found that he didn’t have the words to object. Or was it his courage he couldn’t find?

“They grow up so fast,” Altus sighed, unaware of Brian’s internal moral dilemma. His eyes gazed hungrily at the strange, alien-looking woman on the screen. He waved a hand, dismissing his own sentimentality. “A shame to break up young love, but progress will not be delayed, eh?” He nodded to himself and slapped the young man on the back with one meaty paw while he pulled a walkie talkie out of his pocket with the other and spoke into it. “This is Posiedon. Tell Seal Team Blitz to surround the cove, eyes up. Wait for her to surface. I want her on this ship by lunchtime tomorrow, ja? Good work, Brad,” he called over his shoulder as he left the communications deck.

“It’s Brian,” Brian sighed quietly and muttered, “but I’ve only worked for you for three years, why would you know that?” He turned back to his screens and the incoming queries for location specs from Venter’s mercenary goons.

Seal Team Blitz was the stupid name that former Navy Seal, Chief Petty Officer Marco Reyes had come up with for his team on Project: Deep Blue. He and his boys, all former Navy and Marines, a couple of whom were even honorably discharged, had chosen the name when they were deep in their drinks the night before they had boarded this ridiculous floating testament to the necessity of guillotines.

As a high-priced mercenary, Reyes had worked for numerous rich assholes. Rich assholes were the only assholes who could afford his services, after all. He had money banked, no doubt about it, and a hefty trust fund for his kid, but he would never peacock his wealth the way some of these guys did. At least Venter was actually trying to do some good in the world, Reyes, thought. At least this one cares about people, and the oceans, and our future. Reyes admired that about Venter. He’d known far too many bastards who didn’t care about anything but their own pride and ambition. It was nice to work for someone with a conscience, someone with a plan to make the future better.

Still, when Venter’s Soufrican accent pronounced his team name over the walkie on his chest he rolled his eyes hard before going to rouse his men from their bunks. “Copy, Posiedon. We’ll be suited up and on the boats in ten. Over.”

“Brad up in comms has your mission specs,” Venter replied. “Tranq guns only. I want her unharmed. Her well-being is absolutely vital to the success of this project, understood?”

Reyes rolled his eyes again. The man could never learn to say “over” when he was finished speaking. “Understood, sir. Querying comms now. I’ll keep you updated on our progress. Over”

“Do not fail me, Reyes,” came the low, slightly menacing reply. “Over and out.”

Reyes looked at the walkie like it had sprouted tentacles. “Huh,” he said before turning and pounding on the narrow cabin doors behind which his team slumbered. “Alright ladies, get your faces on!” he shouted as he stalked down the hall, the force of the blows from his thick muscled arms rattling the doors in their flimsy housings. “This is a stealth mission!” he bellowed into the face of Rogers as she opened her cabin door. She flinched disagreeably and took a step back. “A snatch and grab, but, as you know, our quarry is amphibious; so be prepared for movement of both the aquatic and land-based variety!”

His team filed out smartly in identical black neoprene wetsuits, hair tightly bound when it wasn’t cropped close. There were five of them, four men and one woman, and they were all decently professional on an op. But they had all been idle and cooped up for weeks and this mission was critical with a capital C. He pulled a ruggedized tablet out of a pouch on his chest and perused the mission specifications as he turned and marched down to the boat launch at the stern of the ship. Five pairs of bare feet marched in time behind him.

On this deck, the stern of the ship had an open U shape. Ocean water filled the shallow pool it created, making a convenient landing zone for small craft to arrive and depart from.

He put the tablet away and nodded at the crewman readying the black rubber zodiac that floated in the pool.

Reyes pulled a wetsuit from a nearby rack and began stripping down as he spoke. “The target is in a small, isolated cove approximately two clicks west-south-west of our current location.” Naked, he began pulling on the wetsuit while five pairs of unimpressed eyes regarded him coolly. “While the target is asleep somewhere in said cove we will quietly set up a net at the entrance to the cove, thereby preventing oceanic egress.”

Rogers’ hand flew up, but Reyes could see a smartass comment coming from a hundred paces and ignored her. They were on a clock now.

He continued, giving Rogers a significant eye as he did, “Should the target attempt to flee by land, their progress will be impeded by dense vegetation to the east and high rocky outcroppings to the north and south.” Rogers' hand went back down with a little smirk. “Our biggest challenge will obviously be securing a net across the half mile wide mouth of the cove in complete silence and in total darkness. Fortunately, we have night vision goggles, so that should make it a bit easier.”

A crewman zipped him up in the back and he motioned for everyone to pile into the boat. He opened a box at the prow displaying the night vision masks, snorkels and fins for everyone to grab. Opening another revealed a stack of air-powered dart guns and six bandoliers full of marine tranquilizer darts. “As you know, the target is extremely high-value,” he said, hefting one of the guns and checking the sights. “This will be an ambush, wait until the target shows before you fire. If it takes until dawn, that’s how long it takes, got it? The target is to be taken alive and unharmed, or not at all, clear?”

A chorus of ‘Yes, sir’s sounded while his team got themselves situated and five pairs of eyes looked to him from the sides of the boat. “Alright, guys, let’s go fishin!’” he shouted and fired up the little two-stroke engine at the back. Cries of “Ooh-rah!” and other cheers rose up into the night as he revved the engine and steered them out of the port and out toward their prey.

The Sea Hag -Chapter 10-

 

Sirena

I slept in the relative calm of the center of the cove, floating submerged and waking slightly every couple of hours to grab a breath from the surface. My dreams were a strange mix of elation and sadness. Filled with Micheal’s face, his voice, his soothing presence, then suddenly being ripped away. Altus Venter’s angry, leering face. Dr. Morgan’s soft, sad smile. My brother, eating his last meal and falling over dead. Me, throwing the tray of tainted food at the man who brought it. My claws sinking into his throat and tearing it out. Blood, screams, gunfire and death. I escaped out an airlock and never looked back.

Shimmering sunlight filtered through the waves, waking me with a small spasm of dream-terror. I blinked and got my bearings. I had disturbed several small fish who had found sustenance in my orbit while I slept, and they eyed me in annoyance as they swam away to find a more appreciative buffet.

I stretched, turning in a lazy circle as I did so. The sun was already fairly high, I realized. Micheal would be here soon if he wasn’t already. The thought of seeing him again made my stomach do a funny little dance. My hand went to my lips as I remembered the feel of his and shuddered in pleasure. I decided I would see if he was on the beach yet and, if not, I would forage for some breakfast mollusks while I waited. I kicked to the surface, popping high out of the water just for the fun of it, and took a deep breath as I scanned the beach.

Something shot past my rib-gills as I did so and I looked down, confused. A small metal thing glinted as it sank a few feet in front of me. Then, something else bit into my leg and I gasped sharply as I grabbed it and brought it up. A small metal dart. Dread panic made my heart hammer in my chest as I turned and submerged. I saw the diver swimming toward me, readying another shot. My leg tingled with a spreading numbness where I had been hit.

I could outswim a clumsy human with ease, but I knew they were pack-hunters. There had to be more. I sent out a series of rapid clicks through the murky water and, sure enough, at least two more human-sized shapes lurked just beyond visual range. They were between me and the open sea. I considered the shape of the darts as I dodged another one and the other two divers came into firing range. They were designed to fly through water, but were heavy enough that they might not travel as well through air. Whoever these guys were, they knew what they were dealing with. I was certain they would have cut off escape from the mouth of the cove, probably with a net. 

It looked like my only option was to find whatever trail Michael had used to get in and out, maybe hide in the brush. My camouflage ability should make me practically invisible in such conditions. I dodged another dart and turned and swam hard for the beach.

Under normal circumstances I am leagues faster than a human swimmer and, even with an increasingly uncooperative leg slowing my progress, I quickly out-paced them and their guns. The surf deposited me unceremoniously onto the sand, my leg dragging behind me. I got up and hobbled for the tree line, quickly spotting the hole in the vegetation next to an old wooden sign with faded letters proclaiming “Parking Lot” and an arrow pointing up.

The buzz of an outboard motor made me turn and see a big rubber Zodiac bearing two humans heading for the beach at top speed. Four divers with tranq guns emerged from the surf, kicking off their fins and sighting their weapons.

Small panicked sounds were coming from my throat. My skin was shimmering through sand colors, my panic keeping it from settling. I hobbled faster.

I reached the trailhead and clambered up the steep incline on all fours, my skin automatically changing to shifting mottled browns and greens. The pneumatic sound of the tranq guns firing followed from about a hundred feet. I had no idea what I was going to do. I had no real plan beyond: Hide and Hope so, when I heard the distinctive rumble of a certain diesel engine above me, I threw all caution to the wind. It no longer mattered if Michael and his brother knew about me. As long as these men, whoever they were, did not capture me.

With a wordless cry, I threw myself at the steep trail, dragging myself up hand over clawed hand until I reached asphalt. There, standing next to an enormous, growling beast of a truck, was my Micheal. I called out  his name as I stood and his face was a tangle of confused surprise as he turned and stepped forward with a hand out.

“Sirena?” he said.

“What the fuck?” said a man with long blonde hair and a long, golden beard from inside the cab. Micheal’s brother, I presumed.

Pneumatic hisses came from the forest behind me and I flinched as I was hit in the back of my right arm at the shoulder. I frantically pulled it out, but the spreading fire meant it had already delivered its narcotic payload. 

I lurched forward, the world tilting wildly beneath me. “Please,” I said, my voice going soggy, “please, Micheal. Help…” I pitched forward into him and, after a startled fraction of a second, his strong arms wrapped around me and lifted me like a baby. “Don’t…” I started to say as his face swam in my vision, but I couldn’t remember what I had been about to say, and I was so sleepy…

The Sea Hag -Chapter 11-

 

Gabriel

Some kind of chameleon lizard-person had just crawled out of the woods and thrown itself at my blind twin brother before passing the fuck out. 

Mikey had called the thing “Sirena” so obviously this was his new girlfriend. Fantastic. The Sirena-creature had some kind of dart sticking out of it and I assumed that was the doing of whoever was lurking in the trees in black suits. They weren’t announcing themselves the way not-bad-guys would normally do, so I assumed also that they were up to no good.

An air-gun hiss and a dart cracking into the open door my brother stood in front of confirmed my suspicions. “Jesus fuck, get inside, both of you,” I yelled at my brother. As he scooped the creature up and labored to get both it and himself into a cab that sat five feet off the ground, I pulled the old lever-action hunting rifle from the rack and began loading it without taking my eyes off the trees.

“You fuckers got more than air guns?” I called to the four or five shadows bobbing furtively in the brush. I pulled the action and pointed the rifle with the ease of many hours spent at the gun range.

There was a heartbeat of silence, then one of them muttered something, and an answer came crackling over a tinny speaker. They all began to retreat without a word. Spooky-ass motherfuckers.

“I thought not,” I called as they retreated, but didn’t drop my hold until I was sure they were gone. With a long, slow release of breath I unloaded the rifle and stowed it above the back window once more. “Well, that’s the first time I’ve ever had to draw that thing,” I said as I closed the door and put the truck into gear. We roared out of the debris-strewn old lot and onto an old unused dirt road. The mostly empty back-end of the truck slewed a bit in the loose gravel before I could get it under control. My hands were trembling with adrenaline aftershocks and I didn’t want to look at the thing sleeping with its head in my brother’s lap. I just tried not to let it touch me as we bumped back up onto smooth asphalt and I shifted into higher gear. “It’s really just there for decoration. Not even sure it would’ve fired.” I added, like an afterthought.

When my twin didn’t respond, I blew out a breath and pulled over at an isolated spot, turning the engine off. I turned in my seat and watched as his hands stroked the creature’s weird, bald head lovingly. He kept checking her all over, as if to assure himself that she wasn’t hurt. Her skin, which had been a mix of greens and browns to match the forest, was now a mottled silvery blue. Her feet were two-toed and clawed, like a bird, but with a thick webbing between them. Her hands were human-looking but too long, webbed and taloned. I could see gill slits at her ribs and on the sides of her neck, but she seemed to breathe air just fine. Her alien-looking head was large and smooth, with only rippled holes where ears should be. Her eyes were too large and, when they were open, solid black. She didn’t have a nose, only a slight bump where it would be and two narrow vertical slits.

She had nice lips, though, and two tiny tits, so maybe that’s what my brother saw in her.

“Yo, Earth to Mikey,” I said, snapping my fingers at his face, thoroughly annoyed. 

My brother inhaled and seemed to come back to himself. He turned his face to me and his hands stilled. “Yeah. Sorry. What?”

“What --and I can’t stress this enough-- the fuck,” I said, gesturing wildly and futilely at the creature in his lap. 

He smiled wanly, stroking her shoulder. “Gabe, meet Sirena. The ‘mermaid’.”

I sputtered a laugh and his face darkened. “Maybe you don’t remember what a mermaid is supposed to look like, bro,” I giggled. “But that is no mermaid.” I paused, reflecting as I studied her unconscious form. “Maybe a Sea Hag, though.”

Michael's lip actually curled in anger. “Do not. Call her that.”

I held up my hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. When she wakes up we can ask her what she’d like to be called, mermaid, or sea hag--” I stopped as something occurred to me, “Wait. I know this. I’ve seen her before!” I pulled out my phone excitedly while Michael resumed petting his date. “Here!” I crowed triumphantly, pointing at the screen with a grainy picture of what might be a blue head with big black eyes. “‘Sea Hag Spotted in Puget Sound’,” I read the headline aloud and began to scroll while talking. “There’ve been sightings all over the world, dating back nearly a decade. Whenever she’s spotted, there’s a correlation with sabotage of nearby fishing equipment.”

“‘Environmentalist’,” Michael chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “She told me she was an environmentalist.

“So you do think she’s the Sea Hag!” I said, pointing a finger accusingly.

Michael rolled his eyes. “I think,” he said, pausing for emphasis, “that she is someone who needs our help. I think whoever tried to capture her is not going to give up that easily. And I think--” he sighed, his fingers stroking her face tenderly and his face reddening, “I think I might be falling in love with her.”

I blinked at that. Michael didn’t just fall for people. I could count on one finger the number of times he’d proclaimed himself to be in love, and that had ended...poorly. I’d assumed he had sworn off sex and romance all together (because he wouldn’t do the former without the latter, unlike myself), and maybe he had. But one afternoon with this creature and he was in love? For real?

“Gabriel, say something.” Michael said, with a touch of desperation, and I realized that I had gone still and quiet while I processed his news. 

We were nearly back home, and it looked like I might need to call into work. I remained silent a few more moments, sadistically enjoying the uncertainty on my brother’s face before, very quietly, I began to chant. “Michael-and-a-Sea-Hag, sittin’-in-a-tree. F-U-C-K-I-N-Ow!” His punch to my shoulder was hard, accurate, and eloquent. I rubbed my aching deltoid sourly. “Just for that, you can be the one to explain this bullshit to Mom.”

“Naturally,” he replied smoothly, “I am her favorite.”

Before I could explain how wrong he was, the Sea Hag moaned and appeared to be trying to join the land of the conscious once again. 

I pulled onto the windy drive that led to the small and weathered Edwardian manor house Michael and I had grown up in. The place sat off a winding rural road, near the edge of a sheer drop a couple hundred feet straight into the frothing sea.

There was a four-foot wooden railing guarding the ledge, of course, but the view was spectacular. Mom loved it here, said it reminded her of Dad.  I supposed if his spirit resided anywhere, it was here, with the people and the ocean that he loved.

Quite suddenly, I felt I was looking at our father’s face. The peace, the tenderness, the love on my brother’s face. It was the same look Dad had whenever he had looked at Mom. I couldn’t remember ever seeing that look on Michael’s face before.

A small part of me twisted in on itself with envy as he stroked her head and murmured soothing words. The way he regarded her, held her. It was a thing I had tasted but never touched, something I longed for but had never found.

By God, the stupid bastard was really in love. With a fish.