“The ship’s gone,” Gail said. “There was a break in the fog, and we saw—they left us here.”
“Bullshit. Riffle wouldn’t do that.”
“I’m telling you, it’s gone! What are we going to do, Novak?”
He stared at the ocean, and then suddenly leaned forward and pointed over the starboard side. “Look, it’s Warren.”
Gail turned to see. Sure enough, Warren floated by on the crest of a wave. His body was limp.
“I’ll get him.”
Before she could react, Novak leaped into the ocean and quickly swam toward the unconscious man. Gail gripped the sides of the lifeboat, watching carefully, urging him on. With a few powerful strokes, Novak reached Warren and flipped him over. Then he screamed.
Warren’s head was gone.
“Get in the boat,” Gail yelled. “Novak, get back here, Whatever did it might still be out there.”
He waved her off and began tugging at Warren’s corpse.
“We’ve got to find his head,” Novak called. “If we can find his head, he’ll be okay.”
“Novak, you’re in shock! Goddamn it, McCann and I need you alive if we’re going to make it out of this. Now come back here. Please?”
He turned toward her and when Gail saw the haunted expression in his eyes, her heart broke all over again. She had to strain to hear him over the rain and surf.
“You’re right. Need to get my shit straight. ”
He released Warren’s body and gave it a gentle push. The headless corpse floated away, spinning slightly as the current caught it. Novak swam toward the lifeboat.
A sleek, black fin appeared behind him.
CHAPTER 41
“Swim,” Gail yelled, waving her hands. “Oh my God, Novak—fucking swim!”
The shark fin sliced across the surface, drawing closer to him. Novak raised his head and stared at her. Seawater dripped from his chin.
“What’s wrong?”
“Don’t turn around. Just swim. Hurry!”
Novak turned around.
“Oh, shit.”
“I said not to look!”
Eyes wide, he plunged toward the boat with broad, powerful strokes. He kicked his legs. The water churned behind him. The fin closed the distance between them. Novak glanced over his shoulder, saw its proximity, and screamed.
Gail watched from the side of the boat, leaning so far forward that the craft tilted dangerously under her weight. She’d never felt more helpless than she did at that moment. She had always scoffed at the idea of events occurring in slow-motion, but that’s what was happening now. Each heartbeat, each breath, seemed to last an eternity. For an instant, her senses were hyper-accentuated. The rain drumming against the boat sounded like gunshots. The waves roared like freight trains. Novak’s face was flushed red, whether from fear or exertion she couldn’t be sure. Maybe both. She could see a lone, black hair hanging from Novak’s left nostril, and the lines around his eyes…
…and the white splotches of fungus growing on the shark’s dorsal fin.
The creature bore down on Novak. Gail spotted its silhouette gliding beneath the surface, and realized that it wasn’t one of the half-shark, half-human hybrids that they’d encountered, but instead, just a regular old run-of-the-mill shark. Tatiana would have called it old school, but Tatiana was still aboard the ship, and the ship was gone.
What the hell is wrong with me? Focus, damn it.
She stretched out her arms. “Come on, Novak. You can make it.”
At the last minute, the shark turned away from Novak and seized Warren’s corpse in its jaws. It shook the body and then tugged it beneath the waves. Novak reached the boat as bits of Warren floated back up to the surface and spread out on the currents. Gail tugged Novak into the boat. He collapsed onto the deck, chest heaving. When he tried to sit up, he was overcome by a bout of coughing. Gail pounded him on the back.
“I’m okay,” he rasped. “Just… swallowed water. Give me a… minute.”
Gail turned her attention back to the sea. The shark was still there. Warren’s body had bobbed back up to the surface, and the creature was ripping off chunks, swimming away, and then returning for more. Three more fins appeared in the water. Each of them rushed toward the grisly prize. They were ignoring the boat, at least for the moment. She glanced around, searching for something to use as a paddle, but there was nothing except Novak and McCann. For one second, Gail considered using the unconscious man. She saw herself dipping his arm or leg into the water and using it to propel them forward. She dug her fingernails into her palms, horrified that she could actually envision such a thing.
Novak coughed again.
“You okay?” Gail asked.
“Yeah. I needed a bath anyway.”
He snickered, and then began to laugh. Gail stared at him in shock. Then she started giggling. She sat down on one of the benches and found that she couldn’t stop laughing. Tears ran from her eyes. Her stomach began to cramp, but still she couldn’t stop. Novak joined her on the bench. They clung to each other.
They were still laughing when McCann finally stirred. He opened his eyes, blinked, and then sat up. Frowning, he rubbed the back of his head.
“What’s so funny?”
Novak and Gail fell silent. They looked at McCann and then at each other. Novak snorted and then both of them burst out laughing again. The sound echoed out over the waves.
“We’re screwed, aren’t we?” Gail asked, gasping for breath.
“Yeah.” Novak nodded. “I think we are.”
“Do you still think we should consider a group suicide pact?”
“At this point,” Novak said, “does it really matter?”
CHAPTER 42
They drifted for a while, too tired to speak. The only sounds were the rain and the waves. All three of them stared out into the swirling mist, watching for—and expecting—a new threat to emerge from the fog, but nothing did.
Gail rubbed her shoulders and shivered. Her clothes and hair were soaked, and her skin had turned pale. She frowned, staring at the white marks her fingers made on her flesh when she pressed. She wondered how long they could survive under these conditions, and then tried to remember the signs of hypothermia. It was hard for her to think. She felt drunk—whether from delayed shock or simple exhaustion, she didn’t know, and then realized that she didn’t care. Better to die sooner than later. Gail decided she’d rather slip over the side and into the water, either drowning or getting eaten, rather than sit in this boat and die slowly. At this point, fighting to survive would be an exercise in futility. She was going to die from exposure to the elements or starvation or as a meal for one of the underwater denizens. And even if, by some miraculous turn of events, they did find shelter from the weather and food to eat, then there was still the white fuzz to contend with. They still didn’t know much about it, but Gail presumed that floating in the middle of the ocean was probably a good way to catch it.
“We’re gonna die out here,” McCann moaned.
Neither Gail or Novak responded to him. Gail stared straight ahead, looking at nothing. She became aware of noises out there in the fog. There were occasional muffled splashes, as if something had briefly jumped out of the water. She heard birds calling from somewhere overhead. Clicking noises echoed from their starboard side, and then faded. A few times there was something like a dolphin’s chatter, but it was low-pitched and harsh. And once, a deep, rumbling baritone rumbled across the sea like a blast from a horn.
The boat lurched as something bumped into it. Gail squealed. Her hands gripped the sides tightly. Novak leaned forward, his shoulders tense, and then he visibly relaxed. When he glanced back at her and McCann, he looked relieved.