Oceans of Fire (3 page)

Abigail sat still for a moment, baffled by their unusual behavior. She’d never seen either male dolphin act in such a way. They were highly agitated. Dolphins were enormously strong and fast and could be dangerous, and bottlenose males sometimes formed coalitions with other males and herded a lone female until they captured her. Surely they weren’t doing such a thing with her? Had they formed a coalition with the rest of the male groups to keep her from the harbor?

She glanced from them to shore. The moon spilled light across the dark waters and the wooden boards that ran out over the water. Buildings rose up, two restaurants with glass facing the sea, illuminated by the moonlight, but the businesses were closed and the harbor was devoid of the bustle of activity that took place during the day.

Her boat rose with the waves and slid deeper into the calmer waters of the harbor itself. Sounds drifted across the bay, voices, muted at first then rising as if in anger. Abigail immediately scooped up her binoculars and focused her attention on the wharf. A party fishing boat was tied up as usual beside the restaurant. Just beyond the wharf was a second pier in front of a metal business building. A fishing boat was moored there, which was highly unusual. The fishing boats used the other side of the harbor and she’d never seen one tied up close to the businesses.

A small speedboat, a Zodiac, engine humming softly, was moored beside the fishing boat. She could make out at least three men in the speedboat. One, wearing a plaid shirt, had his arm extended and, looking closely, Abigail suddenly feared he held a gun. A second man stood up. The action put him directly in the moonlight. It spilled across him, revealing his salt-and-pepper hair, navy shirt, and the gun in his hand. Both guns were pointed at a third man, who was sitting.

White tendrils of fog had begun to float from the sea toward shore, forming ghostly fingers, obscuring her vision even as her boat drifted closer to the wharf. She blew softly into the air, raised her arms slightly to bring the wind. It rushed past her, taking the streamers of gray mist with it, clearing the way across the expanse of water.

Someone spoke harshly in what sounded to her like Russian. The man sitting replied in English, but the ocean boomed against the pier as her boat drifted even closer and she couldn’t hear the words. Abigail held her breath as the seated man launched himself at the one in the plaid shirt. The man in the navy shirt picked up a life jacket, held it over the muzzle of the gun, and pressed it against the back of the victim’s head as he struggled desperately for possession of the other gun.

“Shoot him now, Chernyshev! Shoot him now!” The voice carried clearly, thick with a Russian accent.

She heard the muffled explosion, a pop, pop, pop that Abigail knew would forever haunt her. The victim’s body slowly crumpled and fell to the bottom of the boat. The fishing boat next to the pier moved slightly and both men turned their heads, one shouting an order.

Gasping, she realized the distinctively marked fishing boat was one she recognized. Gene Dockins and three of his sons ran a fishing business out of Noyo Harbor. The family lived in Sea Haven and was well liked. To her horror she saw Gene slowly rise from where he’d been crouching in the bottom of his boat. His hands were raised in surrender. He was a large bear of a man with wide, stooped shoulders and a shock of gray hair that fell to his ears in a shaggy bowl, wild and untamed like the seagoing man he was.

Her breath caught in her throat and her heart began to pound. The man gestured with his gun for Gene to climb out of his boat. The fisherman went to the ladder, paused, then dove into the sea just as the guns went off. Abigail knew, by the way his body jerked as he fell, that Gene was hit, but she could see his arms move as he hit the water and went under. He was definitely still alive. The two gunmen cursed and began shooting into the darkened waters, spitting the bullets through life jackets in an attempt to muffle the sound.

Abigail gave Boscoe’s signature whistle, throwing her arm forward in a command, hoping the dolphin would obey. Though she only had a small ability for telepathy with her sisters, she had a much stronger connection to the dolphins and they often either understood or anticipated what she wanted. Boscoe took off like a rocket, heading for the pier instantly and erupting with several squeaks and whistles that were clearly signals to the other dolphins in the pod.

As she reached for her radio to call for help, the two men in the speedboat spotted her. At once the man with the salt-and-pepper hair turned and brought up his arms in a two-handed stance. Abigail’s blood froze with sudden fear. Other than the sharp diver’s knife attached to her belt and a long punch stick, a device of her own making she carried to ward off sharks in the event they attacked her during a dive, she had no weapons. No real way to protect herself. Bullets hissed into the water and thunked into the side of her boat. Snatching up the punch stick, she dove. Something hot sliced across her back and shoulder just as she hit the water. Salt stung, adding to the burning pain, but then she went numb with the combination of adrenaline and the icy blast of the ocean.

She came up gasping, worried about more than just the pair of gun-wielding murderers. Ordinarily only sand and a few leopard sharks inhabited the harbor. The fishermen were meticulous about keeping any fish remains from the harbor waters, but several more dangerous species of shark inhabited the waters along the coastline, preferring the shallow channels. The area was known to have great whites as there was a seal rookery close by. With both her and Gene bleeding in the harbor’s water she knew she had to get to safety as soon as possible. She faced away from the harbor, toward the cliffs of Sea Haven, lifting both arms up and out of the water, still clutching the punch stick in her hand as she called the wind and sent it across the ocean in a message to her sisters.

The speedboat was bearing down on her fast, both men firing at her. Bullets zipped through the water; one cut through the air so close to her ear she heard it as it whistled past and penetrated the water behind her. She dove again, kicking her legs up to get a faster push toward the deeper water, her heart pounding as the boat came up on her, the propeller cutting dangerously close.

She had to hurry, had to get to Gene. Boscoe, if he was holding Gene at the surface, would be vulnerable to attack from sharks, should any be drawn into the harbor. The dolphin couldn’t hold the bleeding fisherman up for long if sharks became aggressive. Looking up through the motion of the water, she could see the two men peering over the edge of their now stationary boat, trying to get a shot at her. She moved carefully, knowing she had to come up for air and attack all at once. Kiwi brushed close to her in reassurance, and took off to the opposite side, drawing the attention of the two men by suddenly leaping out of the water almost in the face of the man in the plaid shirt.

Kiwi signaled with a series of clicks as he leapt and Abigail lunged out of the water on the opposite side of the boat. Chernyshev’s gun was tracking the dolphin as his partner fell back in alarm. Chernyshev fired off a round just as Abigail slammed the end of the punch stick against his calf and triggered it. He screamed as the blow was delivered with tremendous force, the sound muting as she disappeared back beneath the water.

The water closed over her head and Abigail kicked away strongly, swimming down a few feet for cover in the murkier depths and heading out to sea, away from where they would expect her to come up. Almost at once she felt the water tugging at her, grasping her body and rolling it. She was coming up on a shallow channel and the back wave was dragging her down.

Kiwi bumped her, sliding his fin almost under her hand in invitation, and she grabbed with more instinct than thought. He took her through the stinging sand with a burst of speed and rocketed into the calmer waters of the harbor straight toward the pier. When she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she let go and kicked strongly for the surface, coming up choking, spinning wildly around to keep the speedboat in sight.

The speedboat was beside her own vessel and the man with the plaid shirt leaned in to grab something, before shoving off out toward open sea. Kiwi nudged her again, presenting his fin. He was clicking and squawking, pushing at her in urgency. She caught his fin and went under, allowing him to pull her through the water at a pace she’d never be able to go herself.

Kiwi halted abruptly just as Abigail was certain her lungs were deprived forever of air. She kicked strongly, anxious to rise to the surface. Something brushed against her back. Eerily, it felt like fingertips skimming across her shoulder blades and she spun around to find she was face-to-face with a dead man. His eyes were open and he stared at her in a kind of macabre horror, his dark hair floating like strands of seaweed and his face pale beneath the water. His arms were outstretched as if on a cross, yet swaying with the movement of the water, and he rolled with the incoming wave, his body bumping against hers.

Her stomach lurched, and she gasped, losing her last bit of air and swallowing seawater. She kicked, desperate to reach the surface, her head breaking through as she coughed and gagged. Her eyes burned from the salt, or maybe from tears, but she dragged air into her lungs and caught at Kiwi a third time. Something scraped down the back of her leg as the dolphin pulled her through the water. A gray shadow slid noiselessly by.

Abigail fought the urge to try for the surface. She knew the skin of a shark was covered with hard toothlike scales, called dermal denticles, and when rubbed from tail to head felt like sandpaper, the exact sensation she had had down the back of her leg. Whatever had scraped her was following, trying to circle, but Kiwi was taking her through the water at a dizzying speed. Kiwi’s echolocation was so precise they nearly hit Boscoe, who was still valiantly keeping Gene’s face above the water.

Astounded, Abigail watched as several dolphins began to ram sharks, driving them to the bottom with such force that debris rose from the floor of the ocean and churned in a dark mass. The normally docile sand and leopard sharks were aroused by the scent of blood. If a great white was in the vicinity, she was certain it would be rocketing through the water to join in the frenzy. She added to the melee, shoving her punch stick against a small shark and triggering the pressure block to deliver a forceful, powerful punch to the shark’s nose in an effort to deter it. She reset the stick as quickly as she was able and swam to the pier.

Tossing the punch stick onto the wooden planks, Abigail attempted to pull herself out of the water. Her back burned and her arms protested. She fell back into the sea almost on top of a small shark. Kiwi rammed it, hitting it hard, driving it down toward the bottom as she made another try. Using one of the dolphins as a stepping-stone, she was able to drag herself out of the water far enough to gain a crosspiece of wood to use as a ladder.

Immediately she reached down and snagged Gene’s shirt, pulling him around and freeing Boscoe so the dolphins could swim away from the sharks. She hooked him under his shoulders and dragged him, wincing as she scraped his back against the wood. He was a big man and his waterlogged clothing added to his weight. She struggled to hold him, whistling to the dolphins, begging for further aid. Boscoe returned, using his enormous strength to shove the unconscious man up and out of the water. She was able to pull Gene nearly all the way onto the pier, although his legs dangled over the edge. She saw Kiwi come up from a dive, blowing water from his airhole and dragging the dead man by the arm. As she reached down to get the stranger, she was horrified to see blood on the dolphin. The bullet must have skimmed him just as one had sliced across her. She dragged the dead man onto the pier, pulling him back behind her and away from Gene.

Abigail signed for Kiwi to go out to sea, to head for Sea Lion Cove. More than anything she wanted him safe after all he’d done for her, but she had to try to save Gene. She knew her sisters were out on the captain’s walk. Worried. Waiting. Ready to help.

“Come on, Mr. Dockins, you can’t die on me,” she whispered. She had no idea how he’d gotten mixed up in this, but she didn’t believe for one moment that he could have done anything illegal. She’d known him most of her life. His wife, Marsha, had often comforted her when other children were afraid to play with her. Gene had taken her out in his boat often and told her tales of the sea.

She could see where three bullets had torn into his body, one in the shoulder, one in the chest, and one that had shaved skin from his skull. He was bleeding profusely now so she clamped down hard on the two worst wounds.

The back of her neck prickled in alarm. Somewhere, out at sea, a dolphin squawked a warning. She swung around, reaching for the punch stick, a pitiful weapon against a gun.

“Don’t you move.” The voice was low and shook with rage and the accent was not as distinct, but it was definitely Russian.

Abigail froze, her stomach clenching. The dolphins couldn’t help her now. She could only hope that her sisters had sent aid and it was on the way. She sensed movement behind her, but she didn’t hear footsteps. Her entire body tensed. She shifted slowly, enough so when she turned her head, she could see shoes and trousers. He was standing over the dead man.

A stream of Russian curses burst from his mouth. He stepped forward and grabbed her braid, yanking her head back to press the muzzle of his gun between her eyes hard. Her heart stopped. Her gaze collided with a pair of midnight blue eyes, black with ice cold rage. There was a moment of absolute terror and then recognition fought its way into her brain. Her heart resumed its frantic pounding. She kicked out at him, suddenly furious herself, slapping the gun away from her face. “Get the hell away from me!”

“Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.” He tried to fend off the kicks to his shins. “Damn it, Abbey, what the hell are you doing here? Look at me! You know me. You know I would never hurt you. It’s over. You’re safe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”