The Raven (A Jane Harper Horror Novel) (15 page)

The concussive force hits me like an ocean wave, lifting me off my feet and carrying me high into the air. Slabs of dark red meat, slippery globs of fat larger than me, and thousands of small, toasted white worms soar through the air beside me. I see the boat spin away below. The damage to the hull is significant but above the waterline. And the whale, now a headless, ragged throat and body, slides back into the water, leaving a slick of lumpy, long-since-coagulated blood across the deck. Something hard, like a skull fragment still coated in flesh, or maybe whale brain, collides with my head and knocks me out cold.

My trip to never-never land lasts only a second. I’m awakened first by an impact and second by the frigid North Atlantic. The water quickly seeps through my clothing and burns my skin like I’m being cooked over a rotisserie flame. I’ll be dead in a few minutes. Less if something decides to swallow me.

There’s one whale left in the advance group. Then five more coming from ahead and six more from behind.

As the
Raven
comes about to pull me from the water, I remember Malik and look for him. He’s just twenty feet away, floating on
his back. He’s unconscious, but he had the presence of mind to wear a life jacket. It saved him from drowning, but it won’t do anything against the cold. He’s been in the water at least thirty seconds longer than me. Thirty seconds closer to death.

“Malik,” I shout, but the sound comes out all funny. My teeth are chattering.

I try to swim to him, but my muscles are twitching and hard to control. I manage a pitiful doggy paddle, but by the time I reach him, we’ll both be dead.

“Malik!” I scream it this time and manage to say it right.

The man twitches. Then wakes. Then screams as the cold that grips his body finally registers. Leaving him unconscious might have been a mercy. But we need to get him moving. “Try to move! Stay warm. They’re coming back for us!”

I look past Malik. The
Raven
has completed her turn and is on the way back, but they’re still at least a minute away.

The best Malik can manage is a glance in my direction. “I—I hope.” His teeth chatter madly. “You did not come…to save…me…”

“I wouldn’t save you if you were the last person on Earth,” I say with a shaky smile.

A strange huffed laugh emerges from Malik’s mouth. It disappears when bubbles rise from the deep and pop to the surface. When more bubbles rise, forming a circle around Malik, our eyes widen. We both know what it means. Humpbacks use the technique when hunting herring. Working together, they corral the fish by blowing columns of bubbles the fish won’t pass through. Then, as one, the pod of whales rushes to the surface, mouths agape, and consumes a massive amount of fish—up to a thousand tons a day.

“Get away!” Malik shouts. I can see he’s doing everything he can to move but is as stuck in place as a fly in a web. “Don’t let it get us both! Go! Now!”

But I don’t need to move. I learn as much a moment later when the whale’s open maw rises up and around Malik and misses me by several feet. Malik’s eyes find mine as the upper mouth starts to close like a clamshell. His gaze burns with anger.

The whale begins sliding back beneath the surface. Malik’s voice rises from the still closing mouth. “Kill them, Raven! Kill them a—”

The mouth closes.

The whale is gone.

Malik is dead.

But not really. He’s inside the whale, sure, but he’s not being eaten. He’s being transformed. Even if he drowns in the whale, the parasites populating the massive tongue will flood his body, keep him alive, and take control. If I ever see Malik again, I will have to kill him.

Assuming I don’t die here and now.

The
Raven
is just thirty seconds out, but she’s not alone. The telltale black fin of the ocean’s most deadly predator slices through the ocean surface. The killer whale is feared by walruses, great white sharks, and even blue whales, the largest creature to inhabit Earth, ever. While orcas don’t normally consume people, I think this one might be an exception.

I
f I had the energy, I would cuss a blue streak. Not only is my life being slowly sapped away by the freezing water, not only is a killer whale bearing down on me, but now a circle of bubbles rising around me indicates the humpback’s return.

Do the Draugar want to bite me or swallow me? I’m pretty much dead either way. I wouldn’t think a collective consciousness would compete with itself, but hey, what the hell do I know, right? No assumptions.

I don’t have a lot of options. Okay, I don’t have any options. I can barely move. Screaming isn’t going to help. Not that I could scream if I wanted to. My mouth has given up on chattering and simply locked shut, the muscles painfully paralyzed from cold. If I’m lucky, the cold will take me in the next few seconds before the whales arrive.

I hear my name being shouted like a distant howl of wind. I look up and see the black hull of the
Raven
behind the killer whale. Willem stands at the bow. If he raised his arms he’d look like a much more manly Leonardo DiCaprio in
Titanic
. I’m king of the world! My lips twitch in an attempt to smile at the thought. The pitiful grin disappears when I realize I’m about to share Leo’s fate. Probably worse.

The killer rises ten feet away.

Definitely worse.

The orca exhales loudly, billowing a cloud of fish-scented steam into the air.

Something about the smell feels wrong.

Or right.

I look back to Willem. His arms aren’t outstretched. He’s holding the harpoon, aiming it at the orca’s back. The first problem with this is that Willem is on a fast-moving vessel and he’s targeting an equally fast-moving orca that’s also moving vertically. He’s likely to miss. The second problem is that the whale is nearly upon me. If Willem manages to strike the killer, the resulting explosion will likely do me in. Even if it doesn’t, there is still the humpback rising from below. Given the amount of bubbles surrounding me, I’d say it’s on the way up now.

So unless Willem can shoot the harpoon through the orca, hit the rising behemoth, and then pluck me from the resulting geyser, I’m shit out of luck.

It takes all of my strength and will, but I manage to unlock my jaw and scream, “Don’t shoot!”

Willem must hear me because he doesn’t pull the trigger.

The orca dives.

Moment of truth.

I dip my head beneath the water and open my eyes. I need to see this. The salt water should sting, but I really can’t feel anything. I can see just fine, though. The first thing I see is a large black circle directly below me—the humpback’s mouth. I’m oddly indifferent to the rising maw, that is, until I see Malik wedged at the back of the thing’s mouth, covered in a shifting film of white parasites.

Still, I don’t scream. But it’s mostly because I can’t.

The white pectoral fins glow turquoise as they near the sunlit surface. Were this a nature documentary, it would be the shot of a lifetime. Movement catches my attention. At first I’m confused by the dark blob sliding through the water. Then I see the distinctive white spot of a killer whale. But it’s not headed toward me.

It’s heading for the humpback.

The giants collide. The killer whale opens its mouth, enveloping the humpback’s pectoral fin and driving its snout into the giant’s side. Without pause, the killer thrashes its head to the side, removing the fin. Then it swims away.

The humpback’s course is altered as it can no longer maintain a straight trajectory, but it’s too close and its mouth too wide to save me.
Thanks, Shamu, but too little, too late.

Just as the humpback is about to swallow me whole, its course shifts dramatically. The open mouth misses me by less than a foot. The wake of the passing giant spins me around, but I catch sight of its fluke. Or rather, what used to be its fluke. Half of the fin is now missing.

Then I see them. Five killer whales. Five killers of whales. They’re dismantling the humpback, working efficiently as a team, the way they do during a hunt. But I sense this is more than a simple hunt. The orca aren’t eating the fins as they bite them, they’re casting them aside. Watching the killers move swiftly through the water, like guided missiles, I think I’ve never seen something so beautiful in my life. I decide it’s an acceptable last thing to see and close my eyes.

But fate, or maybe just Willem, has other plans for me. A splash draws my eyes open again. The patchwork lines floating in front of me confuse me. Then I recognize it—a fishing net.

Live to fight another day, Jane. It’s what wins most wars. If the Colonel were here, he’d be screaming it at me. So like the good daughter I never was, I listen. I reach my arms out through the netting, bring them tight to my body, and hold on tight.

Whoever is topside must have seen me move because I’m above water and rising steadily just a second later. My body, coated in saturated clothes, coupled with my weakened state, feels like I’m being reeled in with a whale gripping my ankle. But like Ripley in the air lock in
Alien
, I manage to hold on against the impossible.

Hands grab at my sodden clothing, and I’m hauled over the rail like the day’s catch. I roll onto my back. Willem, Helena, Klein, and Talbot are there. It probably took all four of them to pull me in so quick.

I see their mouths moving, but can’t quite make out what they’re saying. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m dazed or simply because they’re all talking at once. Jakob arrives and his voice cuts through the others.

“Jane,” he says. There’s no question asked, but his voice oozes concern, which warms my heart at least. But then I see what he’s carrying—my cloak, which I left on the bridge, and an electric blanket. The blanket seems like a silly idea until I see a long orange extension cord twisting across the deck.

Knowing I’m going to survive brings clarity. We’re still in the middle of a battle. And we’ve got allies! “Jakob,” I shout. “Get back to the bridge!”

He grins in response, already moving away. “She’ll be fine,” he says.

Willem takes the blanket and cloak when Jakob hands them to him.

“Helena, Klein, Talbot,” Jakob says as he climbs the stairs to the bridge. “Man the rear guns! They’ll be coming from behind now!” After a few more steps up, he pauses again and adds, “Don’t fire on the orca unless you see them get bit or they act aggressively!”

The crew springs into action, all except Willem. He crouches down next to me. “Looks like I get to take off your clothes after all.”

“B-b-bastard,” I say while shivering.

We’re not modest about it. In fact, he pretty much manhandles me in the same way the Inuit slaughter a seal on the kitchen floor. But the result is equally effective. I’m stripped naked of several soaking layers of clothing in just over a minute flat. Willem throws the cloak around my shoulders, buttoning it in place and then pulling the hood up over my head. The cloak is phenomenal at keeping the cold out and the warmth in, but right now I don’t have a whole lot of body heat to trap. Willem unwraps the electric blanket next and wraps it around the cloak. I wonder why he didn’t just put the electric blanket on first, but then he explains.

“Jakob has it turned up all the way,” he says. “It might burn your skin, so be careful when you hold it.”

The heat seeps through the cloak a moment later. It feels like I’m on fire for the first few seconds, but the cloak’s muted heat never becomes unbearable. My muscles shudder as they loosen and expand. All except for my feet.

I look down at my bare feet on the metal deck. I’m about to ask for something when Willem slides out of his boots, removes two pairs of socks, and hands them to me. I slip the socks on and sigh. They retain Willem’s body heat and go nearly up to my knees.

I’ll be fine
, I think. After maybe ten more minutes of thawing out and a quick run to my room for clothes, I can get back in this fight.

Then Talbot’s voice pierces the air. “Here they come!”

Then again, maybe we’ll all be dead in ten minutes. Dead like Malik.

“Malik,” I say. It’s just a whisper, but Willem hears me.

“I know,” he says. “He died well.”

I look up, tears in my eyes, and say, “He died horribly.”

The subject sets a fire in my gut that warms me faster than any blanket. I shuffle for the stairway door, dragging the blanket with me.

“Where are you going?” Willem asks.

“You seen
Rocky III
?” I ask.

I can’t see him with my back turned, but I’m sure he’s confused. “I think so,” he says. “But what’s—”

I pull open the door and look back, setting my serious gaze on Willem. “It’s round three, Willem. Round three. Time to hit back.”

R
ound three has a very anticlimactic start. I hobble through the ship, heading for my quarters and clothes. Halfway there, my legs start to shake. I feel like I’ve just finished a triathlon. The cold, rust-speckled walls support me as I slide, somewhat zombie-like, toward my room. Luckily, all the doors are closed, so I just
bump-thump
down the hall, moving from wall to door, hoping that one of the doors doesn’t spring open and spill me onto the floor like that old LifeCall lady. “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!”

The doorknob to my quarters turns slowly as I fight to turn it against my now-shaking hands. When the door swings open, I nearly fall inside but maintain my grip on the handle and stumble to the bed. The first aid kit is still on the bed. I shift closer to it and manage to pull it open, but when I try to rummage through it for painkillers, my shaking hand just makes a mess of things.

“God damnit!” I shout. This feeling of helplessness is intolerable. My muscles tense, exacerbating the pain and shaking.

This is the kind of moment where the Colonel’s advice is all but useless. When your own body is fighting against your will, you can’t just grit your teeth and push through. Sometimes you have to take the time to let your body heal. Unfortunately for me, and my body, I’m not a patient person. But I’m willing to give it a few minutes.

I decide not to fight. It’s against my nature, but I manage it. Sitting still, I wrap the cloak and electric blanket fully around my naked body. Then I lie back on the bed, legs out straight, arms over my chest like I’m the lost wife of King Tut. A deep breath and slow exhale help me relax. I close my eyes, focusing on loosening my muscles and absorbing the warmth of the electric blanket, which miraculously is still plugged in, thanks to the ridiculously long extension cord.