Downrigger Drift (19 page)

There was no time to think, only react. Even as his feet touched the rail, Ryan dropped the panga, drew his knife with his free hand and shoved off over the side, burying his blade up to the hilt in the side of the huge fish. He held on with all his strength, knowing if the mutie threw him off, his chances of survival were as slim as a minnow’s at feeding time.

The giant muskie kept going, and the sideways jerk as it landed in the water nearly yanked Ryan’s arm out of its socket. His hand a clutching claw on the knife’s hilt, Ryan used it to thrust himself forward, aiming his free hand toward the muskie’s huge gills.

He had just enough time to close his mouth before the water enveloped him, chilling him to the bone. His clothes were instantly soaked, and his boots, while not filling with water, turned into weights on his feet. Ryan tried opening his eye, but immediately squeezed it shut again when he realized all he could see was the rush of bubbles and roiling water caused by the fish’s movement.

Wedging his hand into the fish’s gills, Ryan made sure his grip was secure on the knife handle before pulling it out and bringing it in front of him. It was dark now, and he figured the fish was most likely diving, so the sooner he freed Jak and got him back to the surface, the better. Forcing the blade into the fish’s gills, Ryan
hacked with all his strength, not sure what he was hitting, but simply trying to damage the gigantic animal as much as possible. His lungs started to ache with the effort of holding his breath, and Ryan flailed even harder with the knife, feeling resistance as the blade met the fish’s innards, then nothing as it cut through them. The muskie bucked and thrashed, its wild movements slowing as the internal damage caught up with it. With a final spasm, it arched one last time, then stilled as death took it.

Ryan pulled his knife out and was able to look around for the first time since hitting the water. With the fish’s giant body still, he let a brief burst of bubbles out from his mouth to find out which way was up. Orienting himself, he realized they were sinking, the weight of the muskie dragging them toward the bottom. Clenching his knife between his teeth, Ryan reached up toward the fish’s head with his free hand, searching for its mouth. His lungs were aching now, and he saw small dots of light bursting behind his eyes.

With a final stretch, his exploring fingers sank into the corner of the mutie’s mouth—and immediately felt something blocking the opening. Grabbing the corner of the jaw with one hand, Ryan took the knife from his mouth and shoved it between Jak’s body and the roof of the fish’s mouth. Shoving up with all his remaining strength, he levered the mouth open, but the teen’s body didn’t float free.

Gritting his teeth, Ryan felt along the bottom of the fish’s jaw, finding several places where its teeth had entangled in sodden clothes and pulling them free, aware his fingers were getting cut and slashed from the sharp teeth. At last, however, he loosed Jak from the mutie’s mouth, and shoved him up with every last bit of muscle
he possessed. The albino youth slowly rose in the water, his white hair haloed around his head, his limbs limp and motionless, his eyes open and rolled back.

Ryan kicked for the surface as hard as he could, aware of his lungs fairly bursting for oxygen. He could now see the lighter surface water, but it seemed very far away, not to mention the strong possibility of one or both of them being attacked by either more of the lizardmen or another of the giant bastard mutant fish at any moment.

His vision growing gray and tunnellike, Ryan felt himself growing light-headed. The surface of the water now seemed to be receding from him, no matter how hard he kicked and swam for it. Jak’s motionless form drifted next to him, and Ryan wasn’t about to let either of them die without fighting for every last second of life. He scooped at the water above him with his hands, flailing to get to the surface, aware that his starved lungs were about to give in any moment now, and force his mouth to open, letting the brackish lake water pour down his throat…

Before he realized what was happening, his head broke the surface just as his mouth opened to suck in as much air as he could get. A spray of water still hit his mouth, however, making him gasp and cough as he shook the liquid from his face. Jak’s body was next to him, although it was starting to sink beneath the waves, and Ryan grabbed him and turned his face up so it was out of the water. Jak’s bone-pale features were even whiter than usual, his lips tinged with blue.

Kicking with all his strength, Ryan looked around wildly for the barge, and spotted it coming around to his right. “Hey!” he shouted, forcing his upper body
out of the water and waving his free arm to get their attention.

“Stay where you are, we’re coming back!” Krysty shouted. Ryan concentrated on keeping Jak’s head above water, and keeping himself afloat. He had just reached a perilous equilibrium when he felt something large pass by his back. Twisting his head, Ryan saw the wake of a large fish dissipate as it swam past. He tried to keep it in sight as it moved around, but lost it in the dark water. The waves were getting higher now, and he couldn’t help noticing the line of dark storm clouds coming in from what he assumed was the northwest, since they were about to block out the sun.

“Hurry the fuck up, before we become fish food!” he shouted at the barge, which, although listing to one side, still seemed to be moving at a pretty good clip. Unfortunately, he spotted the telltale sign of the mutie fish coming back, its top fin slicing through the water as it came toward its prey. Ryan felt for his knife, but it was gone, lying somewhere at the bottom of the lake now.

Feeling at the back of the collar of Jak’s waterlogged jacket, and careful to avoid the razor blades sewn there, Ryan pulled out one of the youth’s leaf-bladed throwing knives. Although Jak was incredibly deadly with them at range, in Ryan’s hand the weapon felt little better than a toothpick, considering the twenty-foot monster bearing down on them, Still, he held it ready to stab as soon as the fish came within range, planning to aim for its eye. The wake grew larger, enough so that Ryan could now see the bullet-shaped head of the fish coming for him, only a few yards away. The boat was still about twenty yards off, and wouldn’t reach him in time. Ryan gripped
the taped handle of the knife, tensing to drive it deep into the fish’s skull….

Several claps of thunder exploded over the water, and the huge mutie arched as gouts of water burst all around it. Its head came up and out of the lake as it writhed from the heavy bullets slamming into its body and head. Its tail slapped the water one last time, then it sank beneath the waves just as it would have taken a bite out of Ryan or Jak.

Ryan looked up to see one of the prettiest sights in his life—Krysty stretched out along the bowsprit of the barge, aiming Jak’s .357 in both hands. She pulled the smoking blaster up as the boat drew nearer to the two men. “You’re not getting away from me that easily, lover,” she called to him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Here, help Jak first. He’s not breathing.”

The barge was close enough now that two other members of the crew were able to reach out and grab the sodden teen, hauling him onto the deck. Krysty disappeared, most likely to see about Jak’s condition, and all that was left was to pull Ryan from the cold lake.

A second sailor was reaching down for his hand, and had just caught it when a sudden ripple signaled danger from below. Before Ryan could be pulled out, a lizardman erupted from underneath the boat and lunged for him, wrapping its clawed hands around his waist and pulling him out of the sailor’s grip.

“Fireblas—!” Ryan’s shout was cut off by the cold lake water rising over his head. He was already tired from the exertion of going after Jak, and this was the last straw.

The lizardman butted at him with its head while it clawed at his back with its fingers, raking painful lines
of fire across his skin. Grabbing the mutie’s head, Ryan forced it back until he could get his thumbs into its eyes. Once there, he pressed with all his strength, crushing the orbs into jelly.

His attacker opened its mouth in a soundless howl of torture, the bubbles frothing around Ryan’s head. It whipped its head back and forth, trying to dislodge the stabbing digits. Feeling the creature’s legs kick up in an effort to push him away, Ryan released its head and went for its throat, partly to try to strangle it, and partly to keep its mouthful of teeth from sinking into his torso.

Blind and wounded, the lizardman tried to get away, but Ryan held on remorselessly, feeling the mutie’s wind-pipe bend, then collapse under his crushing hold. His attacker clawed weakly at his face, but Ryan moved his head away from its clutching fingers. The arms scrabbled at him once more, then stopped, floating down to rest at its sides. Ryan gave the creature’s pulped throat one last squeeze, just to make sure, then released the body, which drifted off into the dark waters below him.

Looking up, Ryan saw the lake’s surface about fifteen feet above him. As he slowly propelled himself toward it, however, it seemed to be a mile away. At last his head broke the surface again, just in time to almost get hit with a line that smacked into the water next to him. Grabbing it with the last of his fading reserves, it was all he could do to hang on as they dragged him to the side of the barge. In his exhausted state, Ryan couldn’t help feeling like a 200-pound piece of bait as he was towed to safety, and expected to feel needle-teeth on his legs or stomach any second.

“Easy, now—the man’s just been closer to the deep than any of us, and he survived.” Saire’s voice cut through the commotion as two of the sailors hauled him
aboard. Ryan landed hard on the deck, coughing and shaking as the chill air goosepimpled his skin. A rough blanket was tossed at him, and he wrapped himself in its warmth, casting about for his companions.

Jak sat against the outer cabin wall, looking like a drowned rat, his white hair dangling limply around his face, a bloodstained bandage wrapped around his skinny stomach. A small puddle of vomit and lake water pooled beside him, but he was breathing, and nodded his thanks at Ryan as their gazes met.

Next he looked around for the woman who’d just saved his life. “Where’s Krysty?”

Saire frowned in confusion. “What do you mean? She was right here a moment ago. Mebbe she went below for more supplies.”

Ryan pushed himself to his feet, swaying for a moment as a wave of dizziness crashed over him. “No, I just saw her before that mutie tackled me.” Stumbling to the cabin door, he threw it open and looked inside, finding the small space empty.

“Krysty!” Ryan’s eye was drawn to the starboard side of the boat, where he and Saire had fought for their lives just a few minutes ago. Amid the blood and water sloshing across the deck was a glint of shiny metal.

Ryan stooped to pick up Jak’s .357. The entire blaster was covered in muck, and the sight was encrusted with sticky, black matter—as if it had been used to strike someone.

“Jak!” Ryan stalked back to the other side. “Did you tag one of those fuckers with your Magnum?”

“No. Too busy tryin’ to shoot.” The teen’s features wrinkled in a puzzled frown. “Why?”

Ignoring the question, Ryan tossed the weapon to Jak and went back to the starboard railing, examining it more closely. He came up with his answer there—a torn scrap of blue jumpsuit. Leaning over, Ryan’s boot hit something in the inches of blood and water on the deck. Feeling around, he came up with a revolver—Krysty’s
S&W 640. Snatching it and the scrap of cloth, Ryan clenched it in his fist as the meaning became clear. He stalked back to Saire, who was staring at him in puzzlement, and held the scrap out to him. “They’ve got Krysty, and we’re going after them.”

Saire’s forehead furrowed. “Go after ’em? Go where? We just saw the bastards for the first time today, and we haven’t the faintest fuckin’ idea where they might be hidin’ now. Besides, if you hadn’t noticed, my boat’s got a big hole in it, and there’s the mother of all storms comin’ up, so if we don’t get back to shore, ain’t none of us gonna be alive to save your woman.”

Ryan felt the red rage rise up behind his eyes, and tamped it down with an effort, although a dark part of him wanted nothing more than to lay the barrel of his SIG-Sauer alongside the captain’s temple and make him find those bastard lizardmen. But the more rational part of him realized the truth of Saire’s words. Without a place to start looking, they could be searching forever before finding where Krysty was being held. Ryan didn’t even consider the possibility that she wasn’t alive. If they’d wanted her dead, they would have killed her on deck.

“Let’s try to get over to the
Banshee
, otherwise we might not make it back anyway.” Saire’s face was pale, and Ryan noticed the crude bandage wrapped around his middle was stained with dark crimson. But he held the wheel with grim determination, and Ryan got out of the sailors’ way while they maneuvered the
Lament
over to its sister ship.

J.B., Mildred and Doc had fared significantly better than their counterparts on the
Lament
. Not only was their boat undamaged by the school of aggressive fish, but they had fought off the aquatic lizardmen’s attack
without sustaining too much damage. Even better, they had captured two of the creatures alive, one injured, one whole and unwounded. Ryan was all for trying to interrogate the two muties right then and there, but when J.B. pointed out the total lack of a common language, he gritted his teeth and settled down, awaiting his chance to get some information out of them any way he could.

Once the boats were lashed together and heading toward shore ahead of the approaching storm, Mildred began working on stabilizing Saire, even managing to pry him off the captain’s wheel to dress his wound. Aided by the rising wind, they managed to reach port just as the first drops of rain pattered down.

Staring at the pair of captives, inspiration seized Ryan. The moment the boat’s hull scraped against the dock, he dragged the unwounded lizardman behind him by the rope binding its hands. Donfil More was at the doorway of the fish processing building, his eyes widening in disbelief as the black-haired man stalked toward him.

“Ryan! What is that? What happened?”

The tall man brushed by him, heading for the stairway leading to the elders’ room. “Found the bastards attacking your ships. Caught a couple, but they took Krysty. Now we’ve got to find out where they’re holing up. Figure your elders can help with that.”

All along the tables, villagers stopped what they were doing to stare at the grim, soaking-wet man dragging the scaly, dark green mutant, which hissed and bared its teeth at them.

“Shut the fuck up.” Ryan snapped his fist out and thumped the mutie on the side of its head, which seemed to quiet it down. At the base of the stairs, he stopped when Donfil managed to squeeze in front of him.

“Ryan, you are proceeding without paying the proper respect. The elders will not appreciate this sort of—”

Sticking his face into the taller man’s, Ryan’s voice dropped to a cold whisper. “Get out of my way. Your people—
you
—came to us asking for help with this problem, and one of mine is missing because of it. Now your people are going to help me, one way or the other. You want these bastards chilled, we’ll do it, but you people have to give me something to work with here, too. You hear me?”

He held his stare until Donfil dropped his gaze. “Of course, One-Eye Chills. I’m merely saying that I should go with you, to smooth the way.”

“All right, then, lead on.” Ryan waved him up the stairs and followed, yanking the mutie along with him. Movement behind him indicated that J.B. and the others had come in as well, and now followed behind him.

Donfil knocked on the door, which cracked open as a clap of thunder shook the building. When she saw who it was, the attendant at the door opened the portal wide. “Donfil More, what brings you here again?”

The skinny Apache nodded at Ryan. “He would ask a favor of the elders.”

The attendant considered the request just long enough for Ryan to consider kicking the mutie out of the way and shouldering his way into the room, but then she stepped aside. “Enter, please.”

The row of fishmen seemed less alert than when Ryan had first seen them. The one on the far end was even dozing in his chair. Ryan shoved the lizardman out in front of him, hard enough to make it fall to the floor, where it quickly gathered its legs underneath it and tensed to spring until Ryan placed the muzzle of
his SIG-Sauer next to its temple. The creature relaxed immediately at the touch of the cold metal.

“It appears it understands what a blaster is,” Ryan said.

The elders, prodded into wakefulness by the sudden disturbance, muttered among themselves before one of them spoke up. “What is the meaning of this? Why have you brought this…thing…among us?”

The lizardman growled deep in its throat before Ryan tapped its skull with his blaster. “This is one of the bastards who have been raiding your ships, killing your people. They attacked the ships we went out on, too—just ask Saire, soon as he recovers from the mauling he took fighting them off. Killed a few, but they took one of mine before they left. Now, I can’t talk to this thing, but he—” Ryan nodded at the large tank to his right “—can probably read its mind or something, like he put those thoughts in ours earlier today.”

The uproar over Ryan’s suggestion was much louder this time, with a few of the elders rising from their chairs. Their protests all merged together into an overlapping cacophony of voices.

“How dare you come in here and demand…”

“Why would you think he would deign to attempt contact…”

“Give us one good reason why we should allow this…”

“Donfil, what is the meaning of bringing these outlanders…”

Ryan gave them their head for a few seconds, then stuck his fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle that cut through the babble of voices. He noticed that while the shrill noise bothered the elders, it actually irritated his prisoner, making it shy away from him as
far as it could get before he grabbed its hands again. Pulling his captive along with him, he walked to the glass, where the sixth elder floated, regarding him with those eerie, unblinking eyes.

“I’m only going to say this once. This—” Ryan yanked on the lizardman’s bound hands again “—is the only way of finding where the rest of the group is hiding. Once we find them, I’ll chill every last one if I have to, especially if they’ve hurt Krysty. But I need to know where to look, and as I see it, the only person who can answer that question, the only person I need to ask—” Ryan tapped on the glass ever so lightly “—is swimming in there. It isn’t your call to make for him. It’s his.”

The being swam up to the glass and stared at Ryan—no, more like stared through him. That strange light emanated from his body again, bathing Ryan in white phosphorescence. He drifted closer to the glass and raised his flipper-arm, placing the end against the glass. His eyes dipped to the lizardman, then to his arm.

Hauling the captive’s hands up, Ryan slapped them against the glass. The mutie started at the sound, but didn’t move away. The tall man waited for something to happen, but seconds passed without any kind of reaction from either the fishman or the lizardman. Catching the swimming mutie’s eye, Ryan watched as it pointed to his other hand, then placed that flipper on the glass, as well.

“Great.” Knowing he had no other choice, Ryan placed his hand against the glass.

Immediately his mind was filled with the elder’s presence—not simple word communication, but a tumult of images that flooded over him: a strange birth, aided by machines, in a laboratory; he was aware of it all from
the moment he opened his eyes; bright, white lights, whitecoated men, an explosion, the laboratory falling apart around him, escape to the cool, cold water, washing up on shore, saved by the villagers, of Waukee…

Ryan jerked his hand back with a start, sucking in air like he had been suffocating.

“You all right, Ryan?” Mildred asked.

“Yeah, just—took me by surprise, that’s all.” Turning back to the tank, he gingerly placed his hand on the glass again, concentrating with all of his might.

Let’s keep to the here and now, all right?

Another cascade of images sifted through his mind, but this time they were
from
Ryan, the many adventures he’d had throughout his life—people he’d met, others he’d chilled. The strange wastelands he’d seen, from the bone-chilling frozen snowscapes of the far north to the fetid, oppressive swamps near the Gulf, and everywhere in between.

Ryan sensed the creature’s eagerness to experience these places and things it had never known. It didn’t seem to be affecting him in any way, although a small lump grew in his throat when the telepath saw his first meeting with the Trader, long ago. He also saw enemies he’d crossed both paths and bullets with, including that bald-headed bastard Zimyanin.

He also did his best to keep from blushing when the fishman stumbled across memories of his lovemaking with Krysty. His first instinct was to try to stop those memories, but instead he let them flow, remembering her in the past months and years, and letting his concern for her flow out to the telepath, as well.

At length, the flow of images ceased, and the mutie let out a blinding white light that brought with it an overwhelming feeling of happiness and gratitude.

You’re—bored in here…

Ryan wasn’t sure how to take the idea that his life might be used for viewing enjoyment by this creature, but if it helped get Krysty back, then he really didn’t care one way or the other.

Now, help me find where they’ve taken her.

He pictured the fight on the barge, and Krysty disappearing, taken by one of the lizardmen over the side and into the dark lake.

The fishman lit up again, and Ryan saw a smile appear on his face. Another image appeared in Ryan’s mind: This mutant, swimming again, but not alone—there were others, including females, looking just as strange as he did, but they were all together, swimming in intricate patterns, and doing…other things as well…

Pursing his lips, Ryan watched the scene before him without any reaction or comment, aware that the being before him most likely thought it was repaying him for looking at the intimate thoughts in his mind. At last the show receded, and Ryan refocused on the elder and saw him staring back with that same beatific smile on his face.

He nodded. You understand, Ryan thought.

The fishman nodded back. He concentrated on the lizardman, who immediately stiffened, its black-eyed gaze becoming unfocused as the mutie rummaged through its mind. He recoiled once, but his hand stayed pressed to the glass. The lizardman, however, was not so inclined to cooperate. It thrashed and squirmed, trying to pull its hands away.

Donfil was suddenly beside Ryan, reaching out to keep the scaled, clawed hands against the glass. The lizardman’s low growl rose to become a whine, then
a shriek of pain, throwing its head back and jerking spasmodically.

The fishman’s smile had disappeared, replaced by a stare of grim concentration. Its light increased until the brilliance lit the entire room, so bright that it was almost impossible to look at the mutant. Gritting his teeth, Ryan squinted enough so that he could keep his eye on the lizardman and keep its hands on the glass. A hazy image appeared in his mind, interspersed with other strange images.

A dank room, the walls covered in mold and dripping water—a strange, bas-relief carving of some kind of tentacle-headed figure—maybe some kind of goddess—dark, dripping corridors, the walls cracked and broken—some filled with still water—the outside of the lair, through this creature’s eyes as it rises from the water—a large building, half-submerged in the lake, its strange concrete rows on the side now crumbling and falling into the water—feeding on pieces of humanoids—taken from the village—arms and legs—gnawing at the fresh, raw, delicious meat…

Ryan released the lizardman and staggered back, his blaster aimed at the mutie, the only thing keeping him from putting a bullet into the beast’s bald skull was the fact that it might go through the mutie’s skull and hit the glass behind it. Their victim hadn’t moved yet, but was still crouched by the tank. As he stared at it, the lizardman’s head slumped to its chest, and it keeled over to collapse on the floor, a thin trickle of black blood leaking from the corner of one sightless, staring eye.