Monstrum (24 page)

With that, Axel blows.

“I don't get you, man!” Spittle flies as he marches over to the captain and gets in his face. “You saw what that thing did to Juan. And now you think it's—
what
? Some random coincidence that three seconds after you bring it onto the ship, someone else gets killed in a bizarre way? And you don't believe Bria just because she didn't get the whole thing on high-def video? You people admit you don't know what this thing can do, so how do you know it didn't, I don't know, stretch out one long tentacle and use it to suck Espi dry without ever leaving the tank? Did you ever think of that? And now you just tell us to get ourselves tucked in bed for a few ZZZs, like that's ever going to happen with this thing on board? What's with you, man? It's like you're not even human! And we're supposed to just blindly follow you and not notice how many crazy mistakes you're making?”

“Ah, okay, gentlemen.” Dr. Baer takes a hesitant step forward and moves between Axel and the captain. “I-I think we all need to take a deep breath and calm down.”

“Stay out of this, Baer!” Axel never takes his eyes off Captain Romero. “Go count Mindy's teeth or something! This is between me and Captain Queeg, here!”

Captain Romero's face contorts and a low growl rumbles in his chest.

“Why don't you do the right thing, man?” Axel continues. “Stop being blinded by your greed, take a couple of pictures of the thing for posterity, and then throw it back overboard! Or, better yet just kill it outright? I'm happy to do the honors if you won't!”

Captain Romero clasps his hands behind his back. From my position to one side of him, I can see his shoulders square off and his restless fingers flex and curl into fists. He lets his eyes drift closed and leans his neck left and right, as though his collar is suddenly two sizes too small. When his eyes flash open again, there's something reptilian about his pupils as they focus on Axel.

“You will maintain a respectful tone with me, young man,” he says slowly, “or you will regret it.”

“Screw you, man!” Axel roars.

“Hush, now, Axel Hendersen,” Murphy says, putting a restraining hand on Axel's arm. “You're overwrought, and your temper isn't helping the situation. It won't bring any of our dead back, now, will it?”

Axel wrenches his arm free. “Maybe it won't bring anyone back,” he tells Murphy, “but it's making me feel a whole lot better!”

“Axel,” Mike says in a stage whisper. Like me, he's eyeballing the two silent crewmen, who are suddenly looking much more alert and edging closer to Axel. “You need to chill, man.”

“Yeah, dude.” Gray claps a hand on Axel's shoulder. “Dial it back.”

Axel ignores this advice and focuses all his attention on Captain Romero. “I just lost my father. You think I'm afraid of
you
?”

“You would be.” Captain Romero's expression is fixed. Malevolent. “If you weren't so foolish.”

This taunt launches Axel into a frenzy of rage, and his bellow sounds like a primitive battle cry. Wheeling around, he lunges for Cortés and nearly knocks him over as he wrenches the baseball bat out of his hands. Cortés tries to tackle him, but his arms close around air as Axel darts out of reach and heads for his target.

The rest of us shout warnings and scramble to get out of Axel's way. Then we scramble to restrain him.

Axel is too quick, even for Gray and Carter.

At first I think he means to smash the tank and kill the chimera, but that's not what he has in mind at all.

He wants Captain Romero.

“This is your fault! I'll kill you, you bastard!” Axel's face is twisted in a gargoyle's grimace as he raises the bat high overhead and readies for a Barry Bonds-worthy swing. “I'll kill you!”

Captain Romero, who apparently has balls of titanium-plated brass, doesn't bother trying to dodge. With no appearance of urgency, he raises one hand and signals to the crewman standing behind Axel with a lazy flick of the wrist.

A shot rings out.

Axel flies forward, and his chest explodes in a shower of gore.

“No!” I screech.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Murphy cries. “Why, man?”

I watch in high-definition slow motion as Axel continues, airborne, on his current trajectory. I see the bat fall out of his limp hands and hear it clatter to the floor. I see Axel land, spread-eagled and facedown, at Captain Romero's feet. I see the bullet's tiny entrance wound in a blossom of blood squarely between Axel's broad shoulders.

I turn my head and see the crewman lower his pistol, and the chimera, now awake inside his tank, watching avidly with its face pressed against the glass.

Time returns to full speed.

“Axel!” Mike shouts, dropping to his knees at his side.

Someone—An?—retches.

“You're a murderer, man!” yells Murphy, over and over again, as he tries to attack the captain and is held back by Gray and Carter.

Dr. Baer, panting and shaking his head, collapses onto the nearest stool.

Cortés, wild-eyed and apoplectic, backs away from his father. “Why did you do that? Why did you
do
that?”

I stand alone, watchful and disbelieving, as the captain reaches into the breast pocket of his shirt, produces a pristine white handkerchief, and uses it to wipe a fleck of Axel's red blood from his own chiseled cheek.

“That . . . was unfortunate,” he says, and there's a complete lack of inflection in his tone and concern on his face. Looking at him, you'd think he'd done nothing more upsetting than accidentally hit a squirrel with his car. “I trust there will be no more dissent?”

“You're a murderer, Romero!” Murphy bellows, still held on either side by Gray and Carter. “And when we get to Eleuthera in the morning, you can be sure we'll take it up with the authorities!”

A hint of an amused smile lights Captain Romero's face.

A chill of panic slithers up my spine, as stealthy and relentless as the chimera's tentacles.

“Didn't I mention?” he asks, and the diamond glitter in his eyes and velvety smoothness in his voice don't fool me for a second. This man is every bit as dangerous to us as the chimera is—maybe more so. “We changed course hours ago.”

Murphy cocks his ear with unmistakable disbelief as a stunned silence washes over all of us.

“We will have to skirt the hurricane as we head to Rio de Janeiro,” Captain Romero says. “I must deliver my precious cargo to my employer as soon as possible.”

“I
can't believe it.” Carter sits on the corner of An's bed and rocks back and forth. His eyes are vacant, his voice is dull and this is at least the fifth time in the sixty seconds since we arrived back in the cabin that he's said the same thing. “He shot him in the back. Just shot him right in the back.”

We all know who the real
he
is. Captain Romero is the one who ordered the shot, and that makes him our enemy. Not the crewman. And if I had to choose which enemy I preferred to face, the chimera or the captain, I swear to God, it would be a dead tie.

The eight of us are all that's left of the happy group that boarded the plane in the Bahamas, and I'm beginning to think that the dead are the lucky ones.

At least they don't have to deal with this crippling fear of what's next.

A stone-faced Gray sits on the end of my bed, next to An, and swipes his nose with the back of his hand while I lean against the headboard and wipe my eyes with a tissue. Maggie sits next to me, sniffling. Sammy and Murphy sit in straight-backed chairs and stare into space.

Mike sits by himself on the third bed and stares at something in his hand that I can't see. His despair over his best friend's senseless death seems to have eased into shock, and I'm grateful for that.

“He just shot him,” Carter begins again.

Gray looks over at him. “Can you do me a favor, man?”

Carter blinks and turns his head toward Gray.

“I need you to take your left shoe off,” Gray says. “Then I need you to take off that funky sock right there, roll it up into a tight ball and shove it in your mouth so you can shut up for a while. You feel me?”

“You think this is funny, man?” Carter yells, getting to his feet. I consider it a sign of how truly bad things are at the moment if Carter and Gray are going at it. “You think this is a joke? Huh? Well, how the fuck are we supposed to get out of this alive? You got a snappy answer for that one, Chris-Freaking-Rock?”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Gray deadpans. “Just because I'm black, I gotta be Chris Rock? What're you, some kind of racist? Why can't I be David Letterman or Jerry Seinfeld?”

One arrested second passes.

“Screw you, man,” Carter says with a weak smile. But laughter from any of us is out of the question for the foreseeable future. Flopping back onto the bed, Carter covers his eyes with his arm. “It'd be just my luck that the last thing I hear before my premature death is one of your lame-ass jokes.”

“Don't say that,” An says urgently. “We can't talk like that.”

“Why not?” Carter mumbles. “It's true.”

“It's not true, you yellow-bellied, snot-nosed brat,” yells Murphy. “So I want you to sit up, put on your big boy underpants—none of those Spider-Man Underoos for you—and help us think of a plan to save our hides. And the next one of you that uses foul language in front of me is in for a feckin' week's worth of detention when we get back. Are we clear?”

Grumbling, Carter sits up again.

“Right, then,” Murphy says quickly. “It seems to me that—”

“Hang on,” I say.

“Bria Hunter!” Murphy roars. “This is no time for a potty break!”

I scowl at Murphy. “Not that.” I look around to Mike. The cabin's small, but he seems a universe away over on the third bed. “Hey, Mike. You okay?”

Mike grunts.

“Why don't you come and sit with us?” Maggie calls. “I know you don't know us very well, but we usually don't bite. We're going to need everyone's brains on this one.”

Mike presses whatever he's holding to his lips and doesn't answer.

Maggie, An and I exchange worried looks.

“We're really sorry about Axel,” I tell him. “And I'm really sorry about saying ‘really sorry,' because I know how useless it sounds. But we are. We know you guys played football together and were tight and all.”

“Yeah, man,” Sammy adds. “We feel terrible.”

Mike keeps his gaze lowered, but I can see a muscle twitch in his jaw as he runs that thing back and forth, over his lips.

Looking closer, I see the glint of gold. “What's that? A ring or something?”

At that, Mike raises his head and looks at me with eyes so red and sad that it's like an injection of misery directly into my bloodstream.

“It's Axel's class ring.” A pause. “He gave it to me.”

There seems to be more, but my fried brain isn't getting it. “He gave it to you?” I echo stupidly, wondering why Axel would've given his ring to Mike when Mike surely had one of his own.

“Bria,” Gray whispers harshly. “Get a clue, will you?”

“Yeah,” Mike says, his mouth twisting into a defiant smile. “Guess Axel and I were a little tighter than you thought, eh?”

“Oh.” The gears grind inside my skull, and the last piece of this picture finally clunks into place. “
Oh
. Got it.”

“Yeah.” Mike hitches up his hard and chiseled chin and glares at each of us in turn. I'm getting the feeling he won't be happy until someone throws a punch at him so he can blow off some steam. “So I guess now you want me to keep my fairy self over here on my own bed. Right?”

“No, you dimwit.” Murphy's snarl is worse than usual, which tells me he's out of patience. “We want you to quit with the martyr routine, come sit with us, and help us figure out how to get off this cursed ship alive.”