Another shark rose up at Tuck’s back. He swung around and punched it on the snout as hard as he could, taking the skin off of his knuckles on the shark’s sandpaper skin. The shark slid away.
The motion in the bow caused the stern to dip underwater and the next attack came at Kimi. He tossed Roberto into the air as the shark came into the boat. Roberto spread his wings and soared into the sky. Kimi reached down and came up with the rubber fuel line.
Tucker looked for anything they could use as a weapon, then remembered the folding knife he had put in his pocket the night before. It was still there.
Kimi was slapping the shark with the rubber hose and backing his way up onto the huge gas tank that made up the midsection of the boat. Tuck opened the knife, then lunged forward at the navigator. “Kimi!”
Kimi reached back and Tuck fit the handle of the knife into his hand. The shark had worked half of its nine-foot body into the boat. Its tail thrashed at the water to power the shark up onto the gas tank. Kimi scrambled backward. Roberto swooped and screeched in the air above.
Kimi’s right foot found purchase on the screw cap of the gas tank and he sat up. Tuck thought he was going to strike the shark with the knife, but instead he cut the gas line and squirted a stream of gas into the shark’s gaping mouth. The shark thrashed and slid off the side of the boat.
Kimi brandished the knife in the air. “Yeah, fuckface, you run away. That not taste so sweet as Kimi, huh?” He fell back onto the gas tank and took a deep breath. “We show that shark who the boss.”
Tuck said, “Kimi, there’s more.” He pointed to set of fins approaching from the stern.
20
Leadership’s a Bitch
The storm had been easy on the Shark People. A little thatch lost from a roof here and there, a cookhouse blown over, some breadfruit and coconuts stripped from the trees, but not enough to cause hardship. Some seawater had washed into the taro patch, but only time would tell if it was enough to kill the crop. The Shark People went slowly about the business of cleaning up, the women doing most of the work while the men sat in the shade of the men’s house, drinking alcoholic tuba and pretending to discuss important religious matters. Mainly they were there to pass the heat of the day and get good and drunk before dinner.
Malink, the high chief of the Shark People, was late rising. He awoke shivering and afraid, trying to figure out how to interpret a strange dream. He rolled off of his grass sleeping mat, then rose creakily and ambled out of the hut to relieve himself at the base of a giant breadfruit tree.
He was a short, powerfully built man of sixty. His hair was bushy and gone completely white. His skin, once a light butterscotch, had been burned over the years to the dark brown of a tarnished penny. Like most of the Shark men, he wore only a cotton loincloth and a wreath of fresh flowers in his hair (left there by one of his four daughters while he slept). The image of a shark was tattooed on his left pectoral muscle, a B-26 bomber on the other.
He went back into the hut and pulled a steel ammo box out of the rafters. Inside lay a nylon web belt with a holster that held a portable phone, his badge of leadership, his direct line to the Sorcerer. The only time he had ever used it was when one of his daughters had come down with a fever during the night. He had pushed
the button and the Sorcerer had come to the village and given her medicine. He was afraid to use the phone now, but the dream had told him that he must deliver a message.
Malink would have liked to go down to the men’s house and discuss his decision for a few hours with the others, but he knew that he couldn’t. He had to deliver the dream message. Vincent had said so, and Vincent knew everything.
As he pushed the button, he wished he had never been born a chief.
The High Priestess was also sleeping late, as she always did. The Sorcerer
jostled her and she pulled the sheets over her head.
“What?”
“I just got a call from Malink. He says he’s had a message from Vincent.”
The High Priestess was awake now. Wide awake. She sat upright in bed and the Sorcerer’s eyes fell immediately to her naked breasts. “What do you mean he’s had a message from Vincent? I didn’t give him any message.”
The Sorcerer finally looked up at her face. “He was terrified. He said that Vincent came to him in a dream and told him—get this—to tell me that ‘the pilot was alive and on his way, and to wait for him.’”
She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t get it. How did he know about a pilot coming? Did you say something?”
“No, did you?”
“Are you kidding? I’m not stupid, Sebastian, despite what you might think.”
“Well, how did he find out? The guards don’t know anything. I haven’t said anything.”
“Maybe it’s a coincidence,” she said. “Maybe he was just having bad dreams from the storm. Vincent is all he thinks about. It’s all any of them think about.”
The Sorcerer stood and backed away from the bed, eyeing her suspiciously. “Coincidence or not, I don’t like it. I think you need to have an audience with the Shark People and give them a direct message from Vincent. This whole operation depends on us being the
voice of Vincent. We can’t let them think that they can reach him directly.” He turned and started out of the room.
“Sebastian,” she said and the Sorcerer paused and looked over his shoulder at her. “What about the pilot? What if Malink is right about the pilot being on his way?”
“Don’t be stupid, Beth. The only way to control the faithful is to not become one of them.” He turned to leave and was struck in the back of the head by a high-velocity whiskey tumbler. He turned as he dropped to the floor grasping his head.
The High Priestess was standing by the bed wearing nothing but a fine golden chain at her hips and an animal scowl. “You ever call me stupid again and I’ll rip your fucking nuts off.”
21
How the Navigator Got from There to Here
Watching the sharks circle the boat, Tuck felt as if he was being sucked down the vortex of a huge bathroom drain.
“We need a better weapon,” Tuck said. He remembered a movie once where Spencer Tracy had battled sharks from a small boat with a knife lashed to an oar. “Don’t we have any oars?”
Kimi looked insulted. “What wrong with me?”
“Not whores. Oars!” Tucker pantomimed rowing. “For rowing.”
“How I know what you talking about? Malcolme always say oars. ‘Bloody oars,’ he say. No, we don’t have oars.”
“Bail,” Tuck said.
The navigator began scooping water with the coffee can as Tuck did his best to bail with his hands.
A half hour later the boat was only partially full of water and the sharks had moved on to easier meals. Tucker fell back onto the bow to catch his breath. The sun was still low in the morning sky, but already it burned his skin. The parts of his body not soaked with seawater were soaked with sweat. He dug into the pack and pulled out the liter bottle of water he had bought the day before. It was half-full and it was all they had.
Tuck eyed the navigator, who was bailing intently. He’d never know if Tuck drank all of the water right now. He unscrewed the cap and took a small sip. Nectar of the gods. Keeping his eye on Kimi, he a took a large gulp. He could almost feel his water-starved cells rejoicing at the relief.
As he bailed, Kimi sang softly in Spanish to Roberto, who clung to his back. Whenever he tried to hit a high note, his voice cracked