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Beyond the Depths

Chapter 6: The Rescuers and the Tribe Elder

The turbines of the dinner cruise liner U.S.S. Titan sputtered. Their engines had overheated, and the gears had grinded too long against the bone nets that had restricted it. The five crew members and their sole surviving passenger stood in the eerie silence of the ship deck, praying that the engines would hold out long enough for them to make it back to shore. By the grace of some higher power, the ship chugged along, and the glow of a large metropolis on the horizon alerted them that land was only several miles off.

The woman who had sat beside Sam to comfort her looked up in worry. "Can't you make it go faster?" she begged. "They could still be out there."

Jimmy, the crew member holding onto an emergency radio, said in a daze, "This is all we've got. If we try to push it, we'll blow the rest of the engine."

Sam's hands shook as they gripped onto the woman's arm. Her purple eyes were wide as she stared beyond the railings of the cruise ship. The waves around them were black. An oblivion. Her tongue was tied at the sight of it—her cheeks streaked with tears. She'd been unable to speak ever since the merboy had slipped off the ship. And all she could think about now was his face twisted in hate, then his face pained with sorrow, then the image of her father lying on the ground, the blood inching out beneath him in the chaos—

But soon enough, the radio began to blip, and everyone flinched. Whatever the merfolk had used to jam their frequencies had begun to bleed away, and voices began to crackle through the static.

"—ing. In. U.S.S. Titan, respond—"

Jim's hand shook as he flipped the switch in desperation. "This is U.S.S. Titan, requesting immediate assistance. We've been attacked, I repeat we've been attacked! Only six survivors, and one's injured. Engines are shot." Jim's voice broke. "It wasn't—not human—" Words failed him as he swallowed hard. "Mer people."

Suddenly, the frequency whined up high, and a smooth, feminine voice cut in. "This is the Global Oceanic Defense. We have intercepted your S.O.S. and are deploying a ship now. Please provide coordinates."

Jimmy looked down at his gear and provided the coordinates, still a bit shaky and dazed.

The female voice cut in again, "Thank you. Please power down your engines and remain on standby for our ship."

"…Wait, what? You want us to hang out here?"

"We will come for you. Do not approach shore. I repeat, do not approach shore."

"But why?"

"Situation is delicate. Extraction from ground zero must remain covert. We need you to power down your engines and wait for us."

The crew member looked to the remaining survivors and to Sam. He was hesitant, but he supposed the best thing he could do was follow orders. "…Copy that. Powering down engines now."

"Do not worry," the female voice said. "G.O.D. will protect you. Our ETA is seven minutes."

Soon enough, G.O.D. arrived to provide them safe passage home. The ship was a gun-metal gray, with infrared lasers gridlocking the deck areas and heavy assault artillery jacked in strategic corners. G.O.D. looked as if it would not tolerate an attack of any kind, and while Sam knew they were here to save her, she also swallowed hard. The sight of weaponry made her feel ill all over again. The rush of the water, the roar of their engines—it was all too much. It reminded her of the screams of the dead and hisses of the merfolk.

"Thank goodness," one of the crew members nearly dropped to his knees in relief. "We're saved. We're gonna be okay."

A heavy-steel bridge began to jut from the side of the ship, stretching up to match the deck level of the U.S.S. Titan. The deck beneath them rocked with the force. And then a door hissed open, and several medical aids with military backup rushed out.

In a blur, they approached, reaching out to the survivors. Several of the crew members broke down in tears and collapsed from the adrenaline. Sam blinked wearily as an armed military agent dropped down beside her. It was a man. "Don't worry; we got you now," he said. "We're gonna get you on our ship and then check you over. Okay?"

She nodded listlessly, her purple eyes still a bit unfocused with shock.

He looked down at her ankle, which was still bloody and punctured. He pulled a blanket from his backpack and set it around her shoulders. Then he picked her up easily, locking strong arms beneath her legs and back. "You're gonna be fine," he told again. "No one's gonna hurt you anymore." Wind began rushing. She realized they were moving back to the ship, but she felt dizzy and nauseated and barely managed a nod.

Several aids surrounded her as they moved, touching her arms and injured ankle.

Their voices were a blur. "Injured survivor is young female, several lacerations with possible poisoning. Still conscious. Prepare infirmary room 527 for immediate detox. Include light sedation options to counteract shock."

A harsh voice cut in through the comms as they all pounded down the ramp into the GOD ship. "Operative, we need to debrief her ASAP."

"You're gonna have to wait, sir. She's in bad shape."

"Then tell me when she's ready. I'm not going to lose our tactical advantage against this menace."

Heavily reinforced doors began to unlock as one of the aids punched in a code. Several armed agents trained guns over the side of the ship in preparation for an attack. But none came, and the doors hissed open.

More blur, more rushing wind. Fluorescent lights. Pokes and prods.

Sam blearily lifted her head as they rushed through a dark hall. Several G.O.D. agents pulled back to give them an unhindered path. The heavy metal began to leech into frosted glass, and Sam soon realized that the big red cross painted on the glass likely symbolized the infirmary.

"Okay, here we go," the man carrying her said. "You're gonna be okay. I'm going to sit you down, and doctors are going to look you over."

"Okay," she said meekly, in that moment too overwhelmed to do anything but follow along.

The metal table was colder than ice, sparking goose-bumps across her body as he set her down. She almost didn't want to let go, and tears sprang to her eyes. This was all different and messed up and new. She wanted her family. She wanted to still be sitting in a plush red seat, complaining about the unnecessary splendor.

Instead, a team of doctors and nurses scrambled to her, peeling her out of her ripped and bloody dress. Their hands were clinical and precise as they pulled a white robe over her to cover her nakedness. The soft cloth brushed against the crusted blood of her shivering body and her sensitive skin, and it made her cry. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to breathe.

"Oh my god," she cried, voice hoarse. "Oh my god."

A bright light shined into her eyes, and a female voice asked politely, "Please tell us your name."

The question seemed as difficult as traversing a mountain. Her tongue struggled for a bit as tears streamed down her face. "S-Sam," she whispered. She couldn't say her last name.

"Very good, Sam," the woman said, shining the light in her other eye to check dilation reactions. "It's nice to meet you. You're in shock right now. I'm sure none of this makes sense, and that's okay. Can you tell me what month it is?"

She inhaled shakily, then tried to think. "September," she said.

"Very good," the woman said, and she smiled. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't having any amnesia. Do you feel sick?"

"…I hurt," she whispered. "My ankle…" But then she realized that hands were already reaching for her ankle, dabbing the puncture wounds with gauze soaked in alcohol. Her eyes widened, and tears blurred her vision as she gasped.

The woman doctor placed her hands on Sam's shoulders. "You can lie back," she said. "We need you to rest for now while we clean you up, okay?"

She swallowed hard, her throat feeling scratchy and dry. "'Kay," she nodded, still tense in anticipation for more antiseptic to sting her. She had a lot of scratches. She winced as she leaned back onto the table, trying to fight down more tears. The fluorescent lights were blinding her.

The team quickly wrapped up her ankle and cleaned up her legs from the splattered blood. Then they began to pull up the arm sleeves of her robe. One of the medical aids looked at the scratches curiously. "These aren't bite marks." Then she took Sam's pulse and said, "Huh. All merfolk have poison in their claws. What did you do to stop the reaction?"

That brought Sam out of her daze, and she stared wide-eyed at the aid. And her face began to blush as she thought back on the merboy who had carefully licked her wounds. "I didn't do anything," she said, voice hoarse.

The aid gave her an odd look as she pressed an alcohol pad against the scratches. Sam inhaled quickly, eyes widening and lips tightening up. "There's only two things to get rid of their poison," the aid said, gently wiping away the blood and dirt. "One of our antibody shots, which I haven't given you yet, or merfolk saliva."

Sam looked a bit nauseated from the pain. She supposed there wasn't any point to lying. "He stopped it," she whispered.

"He?"

She nodded, feeling as if she had given away something important. She half-wished she could take the words back.

The aid looked away, but something in her gaze was worried. She focused on spreading an antibacterial ointment across the scratches on Sam's arm, then smiled painfully. "The commander will want to debrief you on your experience. A lot is at stake here, and you're the first survivor of a direct attack that we've ever had."

"…The first?" Sam whispered. The statement reminded her of the only. It chilled her tired spine.

The aid tried to brush away Sam's fear as she wrapped up her arm. "Don't worry; it's just going to be some simple questions. We want to get them back for everything they did to you. G.O.D. wants to keep this from ever happening again."

"…Oh." Sam fell silent at that, watching the aid work to wrap her wounds and brush her hair back. The aid even gave her a thick blanket so that she would feel more covered, and the remaining medical team left the room one by one, convinced that other patients needed their time more.

"There," the aid said, stepping back with a smile. "Now you look a little more human. We'll be transporting you to the Amity Park General Hospital for an official checkup, once we hit land. But for now, how are you feeling? Any more pain anywhere?"

Sam bit her lip, feeling dazed. She shook her head.

"Good," the aid nodded. "I'll give you a few minutes to rest, and then I'll call the commander to—"

Tap tap. Sam flinched at the sound, which reminded her of the way the merboy's claws had pinged against broken dishes. Even the aid jumped a bit, and the two of them looked to the side.

At the door to the med bay room stood two adults, a man and a woman in dark gear, knocking on the frosted glass.

The aid pursed her lips and pulled away, telling Sam apologetically, "One minute." And then she entered the code to open the door.

"Is it alright if we speak to her for a minute or two?" asked the strange woman, peeking her head in. A flash of sharp-cut red hair flickered like fire. Sam blinked at the color.

The aid hesitated. "The commander—"

"—won't ask any of the important questions," the woman said firmly. "This is for research purposes. As long as you think she can handle it."

A few seconds passed in tense silence. "Just don't ask too much of her," the aid said, quirking an accusatory brow. "She's in shock. Be nice." The aid turned to Sam and said, "These two are from our Special Research division, Madeline and Jack Fenton."

"Call me Maddie, dear," the woman said, striding into the infirmary with great poise. "Madeline just sounds so official." For as sweet as her tone was, she wore a tight jumpsuit outfitted with weapons, some kind of specialized gun strapped to her thigh, demonic red goggles hanging from her neck. Whatever kind of scientist she was, she looked ready for war too. But the closer she got, the more Sam could see that this Maddie was somewhat older. Her beautiful face was lined with slight wrinkles at the mouth. "Is it okay if I talk with you?"

Sam, never to be one to willingly cry in front of others, sucked in all of her tears and managed a small whisper, "Sure." She pulled her thick blanket tighter around her for strength, her bare feet peeking out from the edge.

The woman smiled. She sat down beside Sam's examination table. "What's your name?"

Sam told it to her, and this time managed to include her last name, even though she stuttered at the reminder of her family.

Something pained entered the woman's face at that. She probably already knew that Pamela and Thurston Manson were dead, their bodies lost at sea. "I am glad that you're doing better, Sam," the woman said softly. "My husband, Jack, and I are scientists who research supernatural beings. For the last thirteen years, we've studied the merfolk. You'll have to forgive our curiosity, but we've only been able to work off the preserved specimens from the Massacres. We've never seen one alive before." She looked almost excited about it. "We want to ask you a few questions about your experience."

Sam blinked, and then her breath began to hitch, eyeing the woman's weapons. Then, slowly, she began to understand what this was. An interrogation for intel. The thought made her feel nauseated because she knew those weapons were meant to cause pain. "You just wanna kill more things, don't you? My parents are dead, and you want to talk shop?" Her voice broke. "Is that it?"

A new voice—a boom of a baritone—cut in. "Hey Mads, have you seen the new infirmary wing they got? This is better than the old one!" The man who was her companion—Sam assumed it was the aforementioned Jack Fenton—was a beast of a man. Large and tall. He turned around, jolly and completely unaware of Sam's discomfort at their presence.

Sam stared at Jack Fenton for a second with a listless sense of nonimportance. But then she saw him—really studied him. His eyes were blue and brilliant and not unlike—

Sam's jaw dropped, and she inhaled sharply, tears automatically rising to her eyes. She could see it. Jack was older, taller, a bit chunky, but she could trace the lines in his face away to smooth out one similarity after another. The boy. This man looked like the mer-boy.

Sam forced herself to look away before either could notice her strange attention and fear. Oh my god. I'm going insane.

Maddie hushed her husband. "Yes, Jack. The infirmary is much better." She then turned back to Sam, and her face pulled in concern. "Dear, you look ill. Are you okay?"

She sniffed and wiped away the tears in her face. "I'm fine," she snapped dully. "I just want to be left alone. I don't want to talk to you anymore."

At the charged words, Maddie fell silent for a second, her face faltering. "You know, we had a son, once," she began slowly. "He was a beautiful boy. So caring and sensitive. One day, we were taking samples of the pH levels of the ocean. We were way out at sea, and we'd taken him with us because he'd begged to go along." The words became more halted. "We were so engrossed in our work—I heard a splash behind me. I turned around and saw he was gone. We both jumped in after him, but the water was so murky, we couldn't see anything."

Maddie swallowed hard. "They never found a body. We were charged with careless neglect and almost got our oldest taken away from us." She gently grabbed onto Sam's hand, careful of the girl's bandages and scratches. "So I know. I know what it's like to lose the closest people to you."

Sam stared down at the woman's gloved hand, which radiated a human heat that almost reminded her of her own mother's hand. "Oh," Sam whispered. This odd scientist was a mother. It was harder to see Maddie Fenton as an evil, obtrusive scientist now she knew the woman had lost family at sea too. Jack had returned from his inspection of the infirmary, the strong lines in his face pulled with a pain that did not seem to suit him. Sam almost felt guilty for snapping at the two, even though she still felt leery about their weapons.

"It's actually why we became so interested in merfolk," Maddie added hesitantly. "And why we want to talk to you."

"I don't understand," Sam said slowly, pulling away from Maddie to hold onto her blanket.

"G.O.D. tried to hide it from the public, but legends go that the merfolk are the souls of humans who drowned at sea," she smiled weakly. "No one knows what they really are, how they change over. But several of the merfolk who were captured and killed during the Massacres were later identified as having facial features similar to people who had gone missing at sea."

Sam blinked at that, not quite comprehending.

"Sam," Maddie begged when she got no reaction, "you're one of the first people to survive a direct attack from them. We just need to know. We want to understand. And we want to ask you a very serious question."

She looked to Jack, who nodded. He pulled out from his pocket some kind of heavy, laminated paper, clutching it as one would priceless gems. He tentatively pushed it before her and asked, "Did you see anything that looked like this?"

It was a photograph. And on the photo was a boy with wild black hair and blue eyes. He looked happy and innocent. He looked like a miniature version of the merboy.

Sam broke into tears.

Deep within the heart of the ocean currents and underwater canyons and coral reefs, Phantom swam, pulling along the reeds to propel himself faster. He had never been to this part of the ocean before, which forced him to use his sense of smell and sharp eyes to track his Tribe. His family had already relocated, taking their spoils with them. He could still smell the scent of human blood within the currents.

Strange—now that he was back in the form of a mer, the scent of human blood did not bother him half as much as it had when he'd taken a human form. He could recall now how sweet Sam's blood had tasted when he'd bitten into her ankle. But then he could still recall the dislike he'd held for it when he'd licked her wounded arms. The very thought made him feel uncomfortable and pained.

The sleek gills along his neck flared, as if he were taking in a deep, shaky breath. Instead of calming him, the action only drove the scent of human blood deeper into his system, reminding him that the tinge was not unlike the blood of fish he'd so often shredded to pieces in hunger.

He groaned and grabbed at his white hair in frustration, stopping in the middle of a coral reef to swim against the soft plants for comfort. I have to figure this out. It was a gnawing in his heart—a hunger for truth. What in the world was he doing with a fish tail and an instinct toward carnivorous activity if he was human himself? What did this mean?

Phantom stared down at his black claws, then at the black scales that trailed down his body. He felt corrupted in some way. If his own kin had attacked when seeing him in a human form, then perhaps it was best not to broadcast it. They would exile him at best—or at worst, force him to dry out again into a human so they could eat him. He swallowed hard. He did not want to be eaten. The Elders would not eat him, certainly. They liked him well enough. But he worried about the others in the tribe, who could hardly control themselves, just as he himself had lost control.

It did not help that several in his tribe already though he was odd. Most of the mer within his tribe were fully-grown, and had been so for as long as they could remember. But Phantom had been found drifting unconscious in the currents as a little child and was only now reaching adult form. It was rare for the ocean to give birth to a mer that was not fully grown, although not unheard of. No one had ever witnessed how mer came to be, and no one quite remembered the event themselves. But if that were how the ocean worked for merfolk, then it made little sense for it to occasionally grace them with the less-efficient task of having to raise smaller children.

The world-studiers in the tribe did not know why this was so backwards, especially since all the other fish in the sea seemed to come from eggs or from inside the mother's body and came out very small—even smaller than Phantom had been.

But the ocean was secretive and did not speak to them about this matter, even though they assumed it had created them for its own purpose. As a matter of fact, the ocean never spoke at all, beyond the murmurings of its waters, the rush of its currents…

Phantom sped through the depths of the canyons, blending into the shadows until he was nothing more than the black, his white hair hardly a glimmer. Soon enough, he found the new nesting grounds of his Tribe. In the caves bored out in the canyons, some of the human bodies floated, half-mauled and tied down by reeds. He looked away, feeling ill, thinking of Sam. The tribe's warrior class had been picking off humans individually, hiding the evidence, destroying all trails that would suggest their continued existence. The Elders had been adamant that they hold off for as long as possible from a large attack. One human had to go a long way and were reserved mostly for the adults.

But now the entire tribe was lazing about in the haze of the dark waters, floating on their backs, human stomachs distended.

Phantom kept his green eyes turned down, hoping to ghost by without notice. He clutched his bag of stolen goods a bit closer to his body, and his dark coloring and stealthy speed helped him remain hidden. He inhaled deep, his gills spreading wide. He was searching for his guardian—the merman who had taken him in as a charge. And then he honed in on the scent.

Thank you, he prayed to the heavens in relief.

He surged faster toward the farthest edge of the canyons. The metallic scent of blood began to sweep away behind him, and he pushed through the seaweed as he entered the cave that held the scent of his guardian. "Clockwork?" he called out in the mer tongue. It felt odd in his throat now, just as speaking and thinking in human terms had felt odd. (He did not think he could wield human language well. Poor Sam for struggling through his attempts.)

There, at a ledge within the cave, was the only merman who had lived before the Massacres. He understood more of the mer culture than anyone else and was something of an enigma. A timeless merman who almost seemed to grow younger and older at the same time. Clockwork's white hair floated around him, his purple scales glimmering despite his skeletal appearance. He turned a perceptive eye to his charge, looking him over, his dark scar over his eye glimmering in the dim light. "You're late," he said. He turned back to his project, which looked to be an odd time piece that had been salvaged from a ship wreck. "The hunting party returned quite a bit ago."

Phantom clicked in awkward nervousness. "Yes. I got…caught up."

Clockwork saw the strange bag of shrimp and crab cakes hidden behind Phantom's back, and his lips twitched—but whether in amusement or disappointment, Phantom did not know. "I see that you failed to bring back a spoil of your own. Did you already devour a whole human?"

Silence wavered between them.

Phantom swallowed hard. "I did not bring one back," he said vaguely. "I found things I liked better." He hesitantly offered up the bag. "Would you want some?"

Clockwork inhaled, and the blue skin of his neck parted with gills. He could smell the odd tinge on the food, which suggested it had been preserved in the humans' large metal boxes of cold ice. "I knew you would not enjoy the hunt," he said with a sigh. His smooth voice was always a calm echo in the waters. "But it is pleasing to me that you are not mad with hunger anymore, even if you act as if you had something to hide."

The young mer blinked his wide, green eyes. "Hide?" He tried to laugh nervously, rummaging through the bag so he could pop another shrimp into his mouth. He munched to hide the waver in his voice, which was now muffled with food. "Nothing to hide."

Clockwork turned around fully to behold him, a dark brow raised. "Did I not raise you all these years?" he accused in amusement. "How can you expect me not to know when you are hiding something?" He waved his clawed hand, then swam forth to accept Phantom's offer of food. "Tell me what ails you."

Phantom watched his guardian grab a fat shrimp from the bag. He backed away, feeling nervous. "You're not going to like it."

The guardian's red eyes flickered to him, the amusement faltering in his gaze. "I do not like many things you have told me," he said evenly. "This has never changed that your well-being is my responsibility."

"I…have a question."

Clockwork hummed. "Questions are dangerous and necessary. Ask away."

Phantom swam forward, looking afraid. "Do mer…turn into humans? Ever?"

Clockwork froze. The shrimp slipped from his hands. He looked completely shocked for a time. And then suddenly, he whipped forward, his strong arm grabbing at Phantom's shoulders. He pushed the boy against the wall of the cave, eyes glowing wide with anger and fear. "You do not speak of that," he whispered. He looked around, fearfully. "Not here. Do you understand me?"

Phantom gasped, gills flaring hard. His green eyes widened at the sudden violence in his guardian, and a deep fear came over him. His tongue fell useless. He nodded several times, silently.

Clockwork's red eyes bored into him, as if searching his soul. An awareness came over him, which was something of a protective disappointment. He held onto the boy's shoulders tightly, as if to anchor him from ever swimming out of the cave again. "You did it, didn't you," he demanded, voice lowered to hardly a whisper. "Did anyone see you?"

Fear turned to panic. Phantom hesitated, then nodded.

And a great pain came over Clockwork's face. "Us or them?"

The merboy was shaking in terror. "B-both," he whispered. He began to babble, "Please, I don't know—I d-didn't—"

Clockwork released him. The pain on his face turned to agony, and then he reached for Phantom again, this time pulling the merboy closer to him. He wrapped his emaciated arms around his charge, as if to protect him from even the water. "You silly boy," he mourned. "Oh, you silly boy. Who of us saw you?"

Phantom felt the sudden need to cry, but his mer-body did not allow for such an expression. He squeezed his eyes shut, thankful that at least Clockwork had not spurned him entirely. "Undergrowth," he whispered.

Clockwork began look at Phantom's arms, sharp eyes looking for injuries. He caught sight of the darkened bruise of skin around the boy's elbow, and suddenly he understood. Undergrowth had not returned with the hunting party, and everyone had assumed the odd merman had found yet another plant to tie to his body. He looked up at Phantom with deep pain. "You killed him, didn't you."

The merboy's eyes widened, and he shook his head. "No, it wasn't me. I didn't—" His voice broke. "The knife—the girl—"

"—Girl?" Clockwork demanded.

Phantom sank to the floor of the cave, hiding his face and grabbing onto his white hair. "She saved me," he admitted. "The girl."

The guardian stared at him hard, almost in consternation. "…Human?"

Silently, Phantom nodded, and Clockwork grabbed onto his arm. In a flurry, they were surging out of the cave together, the bag of food and the rusted clock left behind.

"You will tell me everything," Clockwork demanded worriedly. "The fate of our tribe could depend on it."

Phantom allowed himself to be dragged along. As they swam fast into the darkness of the ocean away from the Tribe, he meekly said, "At least I'm not hungry anymore."

But Clockwork did not laugh.

A/N: So this was way over-due. Thank you all for hanging in there with me. I still suffer from writer's block from time to time with this story, mostly because there's so many paths to go for plot—it's hard to choose just one, haha. I really appreciate all the ideas and questions you give me in reviews. Anyway, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everyone!

Please review with your thoughts, questions, comments, or critiques! Thanks!