Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Home.
Which isn’t something I ever feel on land.
But here?
Swimming beside fish or towards coral or past manatees is basically my version of going into the office.
Although…unlike most people who work in offices, I actually look forward to coming here.
Honestly, who doesn’t wanna be greeted by a cute little school of fish?
Once I’ve reached the appropriate range for searching, I casually start.
Maintaining an even level is rather effortless; however, minding the appropriate space of my surroundings requires a bit more.
Not pissing off or metaphorically pissing on certain creatures’ territory truly requires focus.
A lot particularly when scouring the territory for wooden remains.
Rusty ship pieces.
Really fucking old chests clearly filled with lost pirate treasure or whatever people have convinced themselves will be found in the wreckage.
Personally?
Aiming for a pen or pendant or a coin.
They’re small.
Easy to carry.
No need to worry about damaging my gear.
Plus, they provide distinguishing markings that are easy to verify as real or forged.
My first check of the area is fruitless – like I expected – but I check a second time.
I mean I’m not fucking perfect.
Pretty, but not infallible.
Things can be missed.
Mistakes made.
And just to be clear, missing a ruby necklace or creepily stacked dishware are the only types of mistakes that I’m okay with making here.
Others could cost me my life.
After a reasonable amount of time and distance have passed, I prepare to head back empty handed when unexpected movement occurs to my left. Certain it’s a dark color marine creature yet unable to ignore the niggling in the pit of my stomach that it’s something else is what pushes me to swim towards the unknown.
To brace myself for a whale or a shark, sharks who like me often get a bad rep.
Unfortunately, the next time I manage to catch sight of the creature in hopes of discovering what it is, it’s too late.
An underwater speargun is instantly fired, damn near tearing through my drysuit. Gratitude that my tank – the literal gas I need not to die the watery death I know I’m inevitably going to one day – hasn’t been hit is short lived due the swift retraction of the device, indicating whoever fired is planning for a second round.
Panic does its best to pierce my entire system only to be met by composure.
Because composure will aid in keeping me alive.
Freaking out all but guarantees I end up dead at these depths.
Swiftly swimming away, keeping natural barriers between us, works in my favor.
The individual who is undoubtedly in pursuit of me – which I’m now wondering what the fuck for – does their best to keep up and take another shot. Their relentless nature – despite their lack of success – pushes me to continue weaving and working the water rather than executing a straight shot back to our boat.
Diving deeper manages to slow down their efforts and present a struggle in visual range, a factor that plays to my benefit when I decide to slip into a narrow opening, one that results in them becoming stuck when they try to follow me through.
Torn between fighting to free themselves and taking another shot in my direction allows adequate time for me to swiftly cut through the water, stroke after stroke, putting more and more distance between me and the unknown assailant.
Who the fuck were they?
Were they targeting me?
They had to be, right?!
You don’t just follow a stranger to unalive them for sport.
Okay.
Typically, that’s not something people do.
Yeah, I’ve read the horror stories and see the want ads on the dark web, but in general that’s not super common.
Or as common as fear mongering online makes it out to be.
Maybe they think I saw them doing something?
Dumping a body?
No.
You just throw that shit overboard and chum the water.
Illegal fishing?
No.
Didn’t see any lines.
Didn’t spot any bait.
Oh shit.
Oh shit!
What if they found something?!
What if they found what it is we’re looking for?!
What if they’re looking for it too?!
My hasty movements don’t cease until my hands are wrapping around the edges of the ladder to aid in foisting me back onto the boat.
“Shit!” screeches Zero, nearly falling out of the deck chair he was catching sun in. “Don’t just jump on the boat like a baby orca!”
I rip the piece out of my mouth, focused on the actual announcement I need to make as opposed to a witty rebuttal, “We have a problem.”
“What?” Garcia inquires at the same time he creeps away from the helm towards where we are. “What do you mean we have a problem?” His tequila glass free hand slides into his pocket. “With like the boat?”
“With like someone trying to kill me.”
Chapter 11
Zero
I decline the French fry Salay is offering with a quick shake of the head, fingers hovering anxiously above the keys to my “in case of an emergency” laptop that I always keep in the car for code red sitches. “I need more info.”