Chosen
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Chapter 8: Melusine
And then he heard the sound in the distance—a sound he knew all too well, the distinctive whoosh and whine of Thunderhawk's jets. He scanned the sky above the trees hoping for glimpse of red, the sound growing louder and closer.
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So how was your day in town?" asked Sector, the first to arrive at their rented riverside cottage when the searching was called off for the night. The team had spent the past three days unsuccessfully hunting for Burns: Trakker in Thunderhawk, Hayes in Gator, Lopez in Firefly, and Sector in Raven.
But today, Monday, Lopez had gone into town, giving only the enigmatic explanation of "a better idea of how I can find him..." He was now working in the cottage's kitchen. "Productive," replied the doctor.
"I see. You got groceries."
Lopez chuckled. "I did, and more." He was preparing dinner for the team, currently chopping vegetables for some sort of stir-fry.
"Beer? We drank the last of what we had last night."
"No beer, but something better."
"Must be pretty good then."
"I got a job."
"A job? Really now?"
"Well, just volunteer work really. I'll tell you when the others get back."
Hayes returned next with Trakker straggling in last. He was still taking Calhoun's loss pretty hard. In fact it seemed that only the temptation of a good meal waiting on the table was what got him to bring Thunderhawk in for the night.
"I'll be working at the medical clinic here in São Miguel," he told them all over a huge skillet full of stir-fried chicken and vegetables. "It's just on a volunteer basis. I told them I wanted no pay—just the permission to ask after my missing friend."
"Your friend that was abducted by a prehistoric river monster?" asked Sector, raising an eyebrow.
"You mean my friend that fell overboard while boating."
"That actually sounds like a pretty good plan, said Trakker.
"Dr. Salazar, the head of the clinic thought so. And one of the three nurses there offered to give me some Portuguese lessons after work to help a bit with the language barrier."
"Is she cute?" asked Hayes.
"Only if you like curvy twenty-something redheads."
Hayes pretended to think about whether he liked curvy twenty-something redheads or not.
"So I start tomorrow at nine in the morning and work until the clinic closes at five. Sundays are off."
"But how long will you stay? The PNA only gives us a seven day window to search. We started on Saturday, and it's Monday now. Four days isn't much."
Lopez nodded as he put some rice onto his plate. "I've called home to the clinic in California. I told them I might be gone a month. There are enough doctors there to cover for me."
The others all paused, shocked at the sacrifice Lopez had decided to make.
"You'll really stay that long?" asked Trakker.
"I think this might be our best chance of finding him. These people know the river. They travel on it. They work on it. They're sure to notice something out of the ordinary."
Trakker set down his fork and leaned over and took Lopez's hand. "Julio, I can't thank you enough."
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Calhoun Burns lay on the sandy shore of his island prison, his torso on the beach and his legs in the water. He could feel tiny fish nipping at his feet and swimming between his toes. The ragged straw hat she had brought him lay over his face to protect him from the morning sun.
A slosh in the water announced the return of the fishwoman. He lifted the hat and his head, and sure enough, she was there rising from the slow-moving stream. "Hello, Melusine," he said, having named her after the medieval mermaid. Her blank expression turned to a smile at the sound of her given name. She came up to were he was stretched out and presented the results of her nocturnal hunting expedition. There in her net bag was what appeared to be a six pack of cola and several oranges. She gave the bag to him, and indeed, she had returned with sodas, probably stolen in the night off of someone's boat or the porch of a riverside house. Despite being her prisoner, she did try to please him and keep him fed and entertained, and it was painfully obvious that she loved him.
Eagerly he grabbed a can and popped it open, drinking deeply.
Melusine sat there watching him, and when he lowered the can to take a breath, she wrapped her huge webbed hand around his wrist and drew it to her face to sniff at the can. She was always curious about the things he consumed, and fascinated by the way he took the fish she brought, cut the head off, cut the organs out, and cooked the flesh over a fire before he ate it. It seemed like a lot of trouble considering she ate them raw and whole.
He set the can down and took one of the oranges from the bag and tore open the peel. He tossed the pieces of peel into the water, offering one to her so she could sniff it. Though intrigued by the scent of the cola, she was repulsed by the scent of the citric acid, and he smirked at the way her face scrunched up in reaction to the scent. And while she had picked up the cola can and licked at the top of it, the orange did not even get such a second try.
He had discovered that she licked things to taste them, to explore them. Anything she was interested in got licked, himself included. At first he was disgusted by the sight of her pointed pinkish-white tongue coming out to touch his hands and feet and torso, and he would push her away. But she was not easily put off, and with her strength she would hold him in place, or even hold him down. She was slightly taller than he was, but more slender and without an ounce of discernible fat on her figure. Instead she had muscle. Her strength was that of at least two men, and he was no match for her. It was just easiest to let her have her way.
After eating the orange he picked up his cola again and finished it, tossing the can back up onto the beach. He had made a conscious effort to make the island look inhabited, even if it meant making it look trashy.
And then Melusine grabbed him and pulled him further into the river. Breakfast and a cuddle—that seemed to be developing into a routine. He ended up sitting, submerged to his armpits in the water, with her lying just below the surface, her arm hooked around his thigh so as not to drift off in the slow current. She looked up at her air-breathing mate and smiled, some loosened water-plants having caught in the fins attached to her head, giving something of an impression of hair. She found his hand and opened it, carefully studying his fingers, and then lining them up against the four on her own hand. She touched the tawny yellow webbing through the spread of his fingers, and then kept shifting her hand, trying to decide which of his fingers was the one she was missing. And then she peered closely at his fingernails, comparing them to the two-inch long claws that terminated each of her digits. And all through the examination, she smiled and clasped him gently.
Over the days he had spent there, she had learned to touch him carefully, lest she injure him with her claws and he run up into the cabin or climb a tree. Then she would have to go extract him and start anew. The scratches she had given him accidentally did not heal as quickly as her wounds did. His body was all skin—smooth and delicate compared to her fine snake-like scales, and there was skin even underneath his hair which grew in odd patches it seemed. And when she looked very closely, even the skin that appeared bald had tiny fine hairs all over it.
And then he heard the sound in the distance—a sound he knew all too well, the distinctive whoosh and whine of Thunderhawk's jets. He scanned the sky above the trees hoping for glimpse of red, the sound growing louder and closer. Firefly had passed nearby two days ago but had not even come into view. He had hoped that perhaps the trash he had left about the island would catch someone's attention. Perhaps the owners of the fishing shack would come back and take away the squatter.
And then Melusine heard the sound as well and noticed Burns' eyes searching the sky. Angrily she sat up and seized him around the waist and dragged him into deeper water, heading for the cluster of bushes that grew at the head of the sandbar. She pulled him beneath their cover, possessively hiding him from the outside world. The Beetle-Guide belonged to her now. No one would take her prize away.
The sound began to fade away, Thunderhawk obviously having passed by but not overhead. "Matt..." he whimpered and let himself go limp in Melusine's arms. At least they were still looking for him.
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Taking a break from searching, Trakker stood outside of the mission school awaiting the dismissal of the students. When the bell rang, children poured out of the building, dashing in all directions. Spotting Maria, Trakker waved to her. She came over to him, a boy that appeared to be an older sibling or a relative following along, a soccer ball under his arm.
"Maria," he smiled.
"Hello Mr. Trakker. Did you find Mr. Burns yet?" she asked expectantly.
He shook his head. "No, but I brought you something."
"Oh?"
He handed her the bag of mixed candy that he had purchased at the grocery store near the cottage. The puzzled look on her face turned immediately to delight and she dove into it, digging for a piece that appeared to be a favorite. And then she offered the wealth to the older boy, who eagerly and immediately found a few pieces he wanted before giving the bag back to her. Interrogating children was nearly effortless...their confessions and stories were so easily bought.
"Maria, I was hoping I could ask you some questions. Could we go sit somewhere to talk? Your friend can come too," he said, nodding at the older boy.
"This is my cousin Diogo."
"Nice to meet you, Diogo," he said with another nod.
"I hear you have a flying auto," he said.
Trakker grinned. "I do." They had been trying to keep their vehicles fairly low key, but of course people would see.
"Sensacional!"
Maria led the way to a quiet bench under a spreading tree in the schoolyard. She sat down and helped herself to another piece of candy from the bag while Diogo kicked his soccer ball around the sodless schoolyard.
"Maria, we're trying hard to find our friend, and I hoped perhaps you could tell me more about the River Princess.
"Oh? Like what?"
"Just anything. You said you have known her since she rescued you, yes?"
"Yes, when I was very little, almost a baby."
"Where does she live?"
"Just in the river. The river is her home."
"Is there somewhere she sleeps at night? Or anywhere she spends a lot of time?"
Maria thought about it. "Not that I know of. But she comes to see me so I guess she spends a lot of time near our house. But she hasn't come since she took Mr. Burns. I think maybe they are trying to make a baby."
Trakker ignored the girl's comment. "How often did she come before she took Mr. Burns?"
"Every few days, and we would play and swim and she would sometimes bring a big fish for my family to eat."
"And did she talk to you?"
"Of course."
"Did she ever say where she came from?"
"She tells me that she came from a long way away—somewhere far up the Mother River. That's what she always says."
"What has she told you about her home...about her family?"
"She said that when she was little she lived in a big lake with her family and other fishpeople families."
"And now she lives here. Why did she come here?"
Maria sighed. "She said she didn't want to live here. She said that one day when she had gone to the Mother River with her friends, they were playing with the ropes a boat was dragging. And she got caught in it. Her foot was stuck and she could not escape. The boat pulled her for days and that was how she came to São Miguel." Maria reached down and began rubbing her ankle.
"How long ago was this?"
"Many years. Long before I was born."
"And she did not try to return home?"
"She said she tried, but it was such a long way and she was so little and so scared."
"I see." Trakker could already envision Sector whipping out a map and studying the Amazon basin, trying to decide where the creature originated when he shared this bit of information. It would make sense for the River Princess to seek out a human mate, so long separated from her own kind. "Are you sure she doesn't have a home or a nest somewhere nearby?"
Maria shook her head yet again. "If she did I guess she would have taken Mr. Burns there."
"That's what I was thinking." He took Maria's hand and squeezed it. "If she does come back, could you tell her how worried we are about our friend?"
"I will," she said, smiling up at him and then looking again through the bag of candy.
"If you can't find us at the cottages by the river, you can find Mr. Lopez at the clinic near the big church. He is working there now."
"Yes. Doctor Lopez. Everyone knows he is there, the foreign doctor who asks everyone about Mr. Burns who fell into the river." She giggled, apparently well aware of this cover story. The whole town is now looking for Mr. Burns."
Trakker smiled. Lopez had been quite right. This was a better way to go searching.
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Chosen continues in Chapter 9: "Saturday"
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M.A.S.K. and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of DIC Enterprises, Inc and Kenner Toys. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.
This fic is dedicated to Ben Chapman (1925-2008), Ricou Browning, and Tom Hennesey (1923-2011)
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