Monstrum (16 page)

A breaching dolphin . . . And another one . . . And another. Probably a dozen in all.

All smiling their happy little dolphin smiles, leaping in their lovely little arches and continuing on their way to their little dolphin crib, looking about as dangerous as a bunch of goslings trailing along behind mama goose.

“Oh, my God,” I say again, sagging with relief and pressing a hand to my racing heart so it won't pound straight through my chest.

“It's a dolphin.” Cortés lets out a shuddering breath of relief. “A pod of dolphins.”

“I s-see that, thanks,” I say, now beginning to feel foolish and maybe a little unhinged, none of which is helped by the fact that I still can't breathe properly. I suck in several breaths and double over, resting my hands on my thighs as I try to get my lungs back online. I hate that Cortés is seeing me for the true mess that I am. And so soon after meeting me, too. “And th-thanks in advance for not laughing at me, b-because I really wouldn't handle that so well r-right now.”

As it turns out, I didn't need to worry. His face is dark and tight with concern, and he doesn't laugh. Instead, he puts a hand on my forearm and gives it a reassuring squeeze. I'm grateful—if a little embarrassed—for the comfort, because the attacks are exhausting and the very last thing I need at the end of this nightmare day.

“You okay?”

I nod. And then, in a fit of openness that I didn't see coming, I straighten and confess my secret. “P-panic attack.”

“After what you've been through? You're allowed.”

Well, there it is. A plausible scenario that makes me seem more stable than I am. And what do I do? I open my big fat mouth and tell the truth, because some ridiculous and perverse part of me won't let me pretend to be something I'm not.

“I h-had them before,” I admit. “I'm a nut job. Clearly insane.”

Giving me a don't-you-dare-badmouth-yourself frown, he shakes his head. Enough of the dying light remains to let me see the vivid flush that creeps across his face.

“You're insanely fierce. That's all.” He hesitates. “I like that about you.”

I gape at him, breathing crisis forgotten.

As though he knows how fast my head is spinning, he changes the topic. “What happened out there?” he asks urgently.

I shake my head. I don't want to go there. “I can't—”

“Bria.”

“The captain went insane, okay?” I wrap my arms around my stomach and try to ward off a renewed wave of the shakes. “We heard him kill the other two people in the cockpit with him. We couldn't stop him. Then he acted like the plane was just taking off and sent the thing vertical—almost like a rocket. Three of the adults were killed because the food cart they were trying to use as a battering ram to get into the cockpit went flying through the air and smashed them. Then the captain acted like the plane needed to land and ditched us into the ocean. And then a few of us managed not to get killed in the crash, and some . . . some
thing
came after us from the water. It flipped over our raft and it butchered Espi's mother.” I pause. “We could hear her screams,” I continue, tapping one of my ears. “I still hear her. And I still hear the sound that creature made. It was like a shrieking roar that shouldn't even come from this planet—”

Cortés nods grimly. “I know. Whales can make—”

“It didn't sound like a whale!” Frustration makes me yell because I can tell he doesn't—he
can't
—understand the full enormity of the situation. “Do you get that? And I saw its eye. It was like it was looking at me so it could make sure to recognize me if it ever saw me again. . .” I trail off, my energy suddenly zapped. “You know what? Forget it. You'll never understand.”

“Try me.”

I pause, calming down and considering. Cortés looks like he's ready for a fight over this issue, with his feet planted wide and his hands fisted on his hips. His firm chin and tight jaw give him a stubborn look that really pisses me off.

And really fascinates me.

“Please,” he adds, and the explanation is pouring out of me before I can think to stop it.

“This morning on the plane, everyone was alive and happy. And here we are, a few hours later, and most of those people are dead, and they didn't deserve to die. And if they didn't deserve to die, then that means I didn't deserve to live.”

“Bria—”

“No! You wanted me to talk, well now I'm talking. So listen.”

His lips twist into a disgruntled frown, but he nods.

I take a deep breath. “Espi and Mike lost parents. Espi also lost her best friend. There was a flight attendant on the plane. Emily was her name. She wasn't that much older than me.” My throat goes hot and tight. “And she was brave and did her best to save us, and now she's dead, too. All those people dead, and their families are just finding out about it. All those hearts being broken, and all those lives changed. Forever.” I pause, overwhelmed with a memory of Mona's cackling laugh, which used to annoy and embarrass me on a regular basis. Right now, I'd give my right arm to hear that laugh again, just once.
“Forever,”
I repeat. “And I know you know what that's like. Don't you?”

Staring off over my shoulder, he nods and swipes a hand under his nose.

“And in the middle of all this is some crazy whale thing that I don't think is a whale at all—”

“What is it, then?”

“How should I know? It's
other
,
”
I say helplessly. “And your father wants to tag and bag it like he's on some cool fishing trip with his drinking buddies. Well, I am
scared,
Cortés. I'm still scared, and I'm going to be scared until we set foot on some dry land. We should all be scared.”

“Bria.”

He comes closer, taking my forearms in his firm grip and hanging on. The contact between us is warm and intimate, and I flinch but don't pull away.

The next thing I know, I am wrapped fully in his arms with my head resting against the solid warmth of his chest and my ear listening to the quickening thud of his heart. And I, Bria Hunter, a prickly girl who doesn't open up to strangers, hold tight as though I own this space with him.

And then he ruins it.

“My father and his men are experienced explorers,” he murmurs, his lips in my hair and his breath hot against my scalp. “They may be on to a new species here—”

I jerk free, feeling foolish and vulnerable. Of course he doesn't get it. Why did I think he would? “A
violent
new species!”

“They're not going to back away from a situation that's challenging.” I make an outraged sound of disbelief, but he plows ahead. “This ship is big, Bria. You've seen the weaponry, right? The rocket launcher? And the water tank?”

“That thing is way too big for any onboard tank, by the way. That'll never work.”

He shrugs this aside. “The point is, someone will discover what this thing is at some point. Why not my father? This is the kind of thing he's worked his whole life for.”

I shake my head because his misguided notions make me incredibly sad. “The point is that we should all be running as far away from that thing as possible, and you've been buying into your father's delusions of grandeur.”

His brows lower into a forbidding line over his eyes.
“What?”

“And so much for us getting each other, huh?” I add, turning to go because I've had more than enough of this fruitless conversation. “Bye.”

“Bria,” he says, taking a step after me.

“There you are,” says a cold new voice.

It's Gray, emerging from the shadows with a stony face. “We've been looking for you,” he tells me, his gaze evenly divided between me and Cortés. “What's up?”

“Nothing.” I shove my hands in my pockets and linger uneasily between the two guys. I'm a knotted mess of emotions, mostly because things feel very turbulent between me and Cortés, but I'm also annoyed that I even care. Plus, it feels inexplicably weird to have one of my school friends show up when I've been talking with some new guy that none of them really know. I can almost feel Cortés's frustrated energy vibrating close behind me, and I'm guessing that he's not any happier about this interruption than I am. “Did everyone get through to their parents?”

“Yeah,” Gray says tightly.

“How'd that go?” I ask.

“Not great,” Gray says. “I had to talk my folks down from the ledge. I think they've been terrorizing the Coast Guard for not waving their magic wands and getting us home already. I'm pretty sure An and Sammy's parents are chartering an aircraft carrier to come fetch us. And Espi's dad and Axel's mom are both wrecked. No surprise there.”

“Oh,” I say.

Gray's gaze is hard and fixed at a point over my shoulder, and it's with some trepidation that I turn and see Cortés staring back at him, chin up and brown eyes flinty.

“Why do I get the feeling that I'm interrupting something?” Gray asks Cortés quietly, and there's an ugly edge in his voice I've never heard before.

“Because you are,” Cortés says flatly. “I need a second with Bria.”

Gray crosses his arms over his chest. “Can't. We need to get back. Murphy wants to talk to all of us, Bree.”

“Bree?”
Cortés scoffs behind me.

I'm not sure if Gray heard this or not, but he reaches out and takes my elbow, trying to reel me in. “Let's go.”

“Are you two together?” Cortés asks.

The idea is so inconceivably crazy that I can't stop my jaw from clanging to the deck. “What?” I cry when I recover the powers of speech. “Me and Gray? No! Of course not! He's like, one of my best friends!”

Gray makes an indistinct sound of irritation and yanks on my arm. “I said, let's go.”

My annoyance level shoots through the roof, and I snatch my arm free. “Watch your tone, Graydon—” I begin.

“You need to check your manners,” Cortés tells him. “Son.” Cortés has edged between us. His profile is harsh and I'm getting the distinct vibe that if he had, say, a stun gun, he'd be zapping Gray between the eyes with it right now.

Gray's face rearranges itself into a pretty good impression of a gargoyle, so I figure now's a good time to get him out of here.

“Let's go,” I say quickly, grabbing Gray's arm and yanking him after me before he can respond. “We don't want to keep Murphy waiting.”

“Bria,” Cortés calls after us. “We didn't finish our talk.”

The muscles in Gray's arm tighten to marble.

I freeze, undecided about what to do even though I'd been ready to walk away from Cortés just before Gray showed up.

“Bree,” Gray says, low, and it sounds more like a plea than a command.

I half-turn to look at Cortés, registering what looks like hurt in his eyes even as I remind myself that he and I come down on two very different sides of an important issue and, at any rate, when the ship arrives in Eleuthera, I'll go back to Atlanta, he'll go back to Charlotte and then Columbia, and we'll never see each other again.

“I think we were done talking anyway,” I tell him, which is the truth even if it feels like a lie.

Cortés goes very still. “I disagree.”

I could disagree with his disagreement, but what's the point?

Hurrying off, I lead Gray through a metal doorway and into the relative privacy of a hallway, and that's when he frees himself with a rough yank.

By this time, I'm just itching for a fight. Pivoting, I turn on Gray.

“What is your problem?” I demand. “When did you get so obnoxious?”

He's right in my face. “I don't like the way that guy was talking to you—”

“That's crazy!”

“—and I don't trust him or his slick daddy, so you need to stay away from both of them.”

I'm dumbfounded by this new side of Gray. Normally he's cheerful and mellow, so it takes me a long beat or two to work up a response.

“I need to—
what did you say to me
?”

“You heard me.”

“You don't get to decide who my friends are!” I shout.

“That guy wants to be way more than your friend, in case you're too blind to notice!”

I don't know what to say to this, but I have to say something. “Yeah? Well, if he does, you don't get a vote! Did I say anything when you hooked up with Sherri the stalker cheerleader last year? No!”

Gray snaps his mouth shut and quickly glances away, looking uncomfortable.

“And did I order you not to go out with Madison last winter? You remember Madison, right? She's the one whose bra size and IQ are the same number—thirty-eight! But did I try to interfere? No! Because I'm your friend and I trust your judgment and I know you'll always do the smart thing in the end. But do you give me the same courtesy? Apparently not! Thanks for nothing!”