"Get out of the water!"
There was something in his tone that stopped her cold—a note of fear, even panic. She saw that he was not looking at her, but farther out to sea.
Con was gripped by Rick's fear and began to swim as fast as she could toward the shore. When she reached the shallows, she rose to her feet and began to run. The water slowed her movements like in a nightmare where every-thing is slow motion. Rick dashed into the waves, ex-tending an arm. Where the water was as high as Con's knees, they met. Rick grabbed Con's arm and wrenched her toward him. She almost fell. As she staggered to re-gain her balance, something caught the corner of her eye—a huge dark shape moving in the water.
The mosasaur snapped its jaws on the empty water where, just an instant before, Con's legs had been. The momentum of its final burst of speed carried it toward the beach. Its underside scraped against sand and, as the wave receded, the reptile was momentarily exposed. It peered around in confusion and saw its prey standing out of reach on the shore, staring back.
Con gazed in horror at the cold green eye that watched her. There was no question that she was staring at death itself. Beneath the eye was over two feet of triangular teeth. The reptile was an ambush hunter that expended its energy in a single savage burst. Foiled, it displayed no more emotion than a sprung trap. A wave washed over the three-foot head. The water churned as the creature bent like a serpent and twisted back into deeper water. A final thrust of the mosasaur''s powerful tail splashed both Con and Rick as it disappeared.
Con swung around and glared wildly at Rick. Terror, shock, and embarrassment transformed into hysterical rage.
"Don't look at me!" she screamed.
Rick stood transfixed, his expression unreadable.
Con struck him, scraping his face with her nails. "Go away!" she cried, as she hit him again. "Leave me alone!"
Rick passively submitted to her blows. Frozen by awk-ward confusion, he had no idea how to react. As suddenly as it arose, Con's anger dissolved. She ran sobbing to her wet, sandy clothes and quickly dressed.
When she dared to look at Rick, he stood a short way down the beach, touching a cut on his face.
"Just go," yelled Con. "I'll be all right."
Rick seemed struggling to say something, but remained speechless.
"Go!" screamed Con.
Hesitantly, Rick turned and walked away.
8
CON SAT ON THE BEACH AND WEPT. CONTRADICTORY
emotions swept through her, waves of an inner storm that batted her one way, then another. She trembled as she imag-ined those cruel teeth tearing her apart, staining the water red as she dissolved into nothingness. There was no emotion in the nightmare eye that burned in her memory. It said, "You are merely food. Your existence, your pain mean nothing beside my hunger." Yet the eye was gone... foiled. She had survived unscathed. Relief swept over her and grew into giddy jubilation. She was so happy, if she could only stop crying, she'd shout. Shout to the world how good it was to be alive. Beautiful. The world was beautiful. As lovely as a tapestry. Yet, the tapestry hid monsters. Now she could smell their breath—the stench of death. The lovely vision that had enthralled her that morning was shattered. A feeling of pro-found loss overwhelmed her. Con, racked by sobs, mourned her innocent paradise. The bliss of floating with the ammo-nites had been defiled. She had not risen from the sea like Venus, she had been chased naked to... the guide! What must he think? Humiliation gripped her. So stupid! I've done everything wrong. How can I ever face him?
Con replayed everything over and over until she was emo-tionally drained. Nothing was resolved. Then she recalled stories of her namesake, the pioneer woman. That Constance faced worse than this, she thought. It was small comfort. She was made of sterner stuff. Still, thoughts of her ancestor's trials—tales of panning gold while nine months pregnant— made Con cease crying. She peered about and saw she was alone. The sun had risen higher in the sky and had lost its rosy color. Its hot light revealed a different landscape, harder and stripped of fancy. With one last convulsive sigh, Con rose. With wariness and with trepidation, she walked to the water and attempted to wash the redness from her eyes. She doubted she had succeeded. Then she walked back to camp.
JOE LOOKED AT Rick's battered face with wry amuse-ment as they walked to the aircraft. "You sure have a way with the ladies. Most guys would get smothered with kisses when they saved a girl's life, but not you."
Rick remained silent.
"So what happened?" asked Joe. "You say something wrong?"
"I didn't say anything," replied Rick.
"Nothing?"
"Not a word."
"You're kidding!"
"It was an awkward moment. She was ..." Rick hesi-tated.
"She was what?" queried Joe.
"She was unclothed."
"So? You must have seen a woman naked before." Joe looked at Rick and read his expression. "No!
Don't tell me ... you've gone through college with your nose in a book."
"More like a rock."
"No girls at all?"
"I'm not gay, if that's what you're asking."
"Just shy," said Joe.
"I've had girlfriends. But they were friends. Friends and colleagues." Joe snorted. "That Greighton girl's sure no 'colleague.' Not likely she'll be your friend, either. So what'd you do, just walk away?"
"She told me to."
"Oh man, that's ignorant! She was probably hysteri-cal," said Joe. "She needed comfort. Someone to talk to, no matter what she said."
"What makes you an expert?" countered Rick.
"I'm no expert, but I know a thing or two. You have to listen with more than your ears. Women don't always say what they mean."
Rick sighed. "I feel like a dope."
"Good. . . then our little chat taught you something." Joe looked at Rick's downcast face. "Don't worry," he said more gently, "it's curable."
AS CON APPROACHED the compound, she smelled the aroma of cooking bacon. It was a comforting smell, and it made her aware of how hungry she was. She went straight to the dining pavilion and found her father seated with Sara and James. There was a silver coffeepot on the table along with platters of omelets, muffins, bacon, and a large bowl of fruit. Sara was taking grapes from the bowl and feeding them to John, one at a time. Engrossed in one another, they didn't notice Con until she reached the table.
"What have you been doing?" Sara asked, staring at Con's disheveled hair and damp, sandy clothes.
"You're a mess."
John Greighton glanced at his daughter. "Go change before you eat."
"Daddy, something happened. I..."
"Tell me when you're properly dressed."
"But. .."
"Now!" he commanded.
Con tried to remain composed, but felt sobs welling up inside her. She quickly turned and retreated toward her quarters before she burst into tears.
"Well, she has an attitude," said Sara. "You've spoiled her, John."
"My ex did that," he replied. He leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head "Now why don't you spoil me? I'd like some of those strawberries."
Sara smiled and, placing a berry between her teeth, leaned over, and fed it to John. James sat and silently sipped his coffee, his face as bland as the brew in his cup. He was playing "the host," genial and discreet. He understood that to people like John and Sara he was only "the help," a species of human wallpaper. The family drama had unfolded before him without his comment. He knew none was expected or desired.
WHEN CON RETURNED, rinsed off and in fresh clothes, she found James seated alone at the pavilion. "Your fa-ther and Miss Boyton have finished breakfast and left for the beach. The protected one," he said pointedly. "If you've forgotten where it is . . ."