Into the Deep (2 page)

Chapter Two

The vaulted ceilings of the aquarium’s entrance are lined in rock, similar to being inside an underwater cave. Blue lights embedded in the walls ripple, giving the illusion of movement. My skin turns clammy and Charlotte lays a comforting hand on my arm, reminding me it isn’t real.

“Why does this bother me?” I whisper.

“Because you had a pretty traumatic experience as a kid,” she replies in an equally soft tone. “And you still bear the scars from it. It’s only natural you have an aversion to the water, especially the ocean. You’ll be fine.”

Her reassurance helps and slowly the weight lifts from my shoulders. I can do this.

Mr. Campbell gives everyone their stamped tickets. “Do not lose these. You’ll need them to reenter if you have to return to the bus for any reason. You’re on your own until eleven, which is when we’ll meet for the dolphin show. Afterward we’ll have lunch and then I’ll take you to the Predators of the Deep exhibit to discuss the specimens there. It’ll tie directly into our lab tomorrow. Please attempt to behave. I know it can be difficult.”

Great, now I’ll have to at least try and venture into the shark exhibit, especially if he’s planning on quizzing us tomorrow.

Charlotte and I lag behind then wander into the first set of exhibits. A fleeting moment of panic sweeps over me, causing my pulse to pound in my ears. I suck in a few calming breaths. Thick glass separates me from the water. I have to remember that, but I’m also aware of the memories pressing in.

Then, I enter another world. A magical one I never knew existed. Tanks of jellyfish fill my sight. The muted lights accentuate the creature’s luminous colors and soft instrumental music plays through the speakers. I stand in the middle of the room, keeping the weight off my prosthetic and plenty of distance between me and the unknown.

One particular tank is full of pale, translucent pink jellies. The slight movements hypnotize me. Each organism has to be at least a foot long and they float peacefully, their tentacles tracing invisible messages behind them.

We explore deeper into the aquarium and discover floor-to-ceiling windows of glass housing the animals, giving me an unobstructed view of a world I have only dreamed about. Most are saltwater fish, brightly colored and all shapes and sizes. Again the only light comes from the exhibits themselves, casting a flickering pattern on the floor and walls. Same as the lobby, it gives me the illusion I’m actually underwater.

I pause, mesmerized by the stunning creatures, and tentatively step closer. The placard says it’s an exact environment of what is found in the South Pacific, near coral reefs. Blue and yellow striped fish circle lazily and orange clownfish poke out of huge sea anemones. Bigger varieties float higher up, silent patrols guarding the skies. Manta rays, with their flat, triangular bodies, cast shadows below. Starfish cling to the colorful reef and a crab sticks half its body out of a small recess in the floor, surveying the surroundings before scampering back inside.

The scene delights my imagination and I wonder how it would feel to snorkel among them, to spend my days as part of their environment, like my mom, who’d once been a pro surfer. When she was my age, Lindsay Lawson was a household name, a girl who reveled in her thirst for adventure. She gave it up when she had me. Now, the only surfboard we have sits in the garage, covered in an inch of dust.

I don’t notice the group of fish gathering in front of me until it’s gotten fairly large. In surprise, I draw back and study them. They float level with me, representing every color of the rainbow—purple, yellow, vivid green, red. A couple smaller ones swim in circles and wiggle. My lips turn up in response. Their fins and tails flutter faster in reaction, or that’s how it appears, which is completely insane.

“Charlotte,” I whisper. “Check this out.”

I move aside, making space for her, and a tingle creeps up my spine when the group moves with me. To test it, I step to the other side of the window and they follow again.

“What’s up?” Charlotte asks, standing beside me. “What’s with the fish?”

“No clue. Watch this.” I shift from side-to-side and they swim back and forth. The size of the school keeps growing, too. More start dancing—I don’t know what else to call their wiggling movements. They remind me of a puppy wagging with its entire body.

Charlotte laughs in delight, entranced by their reaction. “I’m kind of expecting them to break into a song and dance number.”

I laugh with her. Without a doubt, it’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Go to the next window. Maybe that’s what it is, Zoey.”

I walk five feet to the next observation area and wait. A few seconds later, the entire happy parade gathers in front of me once again. People nearby notice what is happening and crowd in.

On a whim, I turn a complete circle. Part of me expects it, but I’m shocked as the school mimics my action, each animal completing one rotation. I repeat my motion one more time and so do they.

Now it’s creepy, unnatural. Charlotte’s mouth gapes and I wish I have some of her wise words to use. She sort of resembles one of the little creatures with her face like that.

“Dude, that’s crazy,” someone behind me says.

I turn to find Scott, star of the basketball team and junior class hunk, smiling at the aquatic display on the other side of the glass. Impatiently, I brush my hair out of the way. Even on a decent day I’m not his type, not nearly shiny and glossy enough, but I still hold myself taller, straighter.

“What’s the sickness fish catch? It’s twirling disease, right?” I blurt after wracking my brain for a witty response. That certainly wasn’t it.

“Whirling disease?” he says. “That’s in trout, freshwater fish. Maybe you just caught their attention.”

I’m too distracted to do anything other than smile shyly at him and wander into the next area with Charlotte close behind. Surrounded by water and he is what makes me uncomfortable. Awesome.

“He was totally flirting with you. Scott’s so cute. He’s…” Her voice trails off as she glances around with her mouth, once again, hanging open. She isn’t staring at me, but over my shoulder. “I don’t believe it.”

She points and I turn. We’re in another section, with different fish whose enclosures don’t connect to the dancing, obviously sick guys, but these are doing the same thing.

The placard next to this display even says they’re from a separate part of the Pacific. They move happily, caught up in my every gesture. A cold, hard rock of anxiety settles in my stomach and my hands start to shake. I’m frantic for a logical explanation to their behavior.

From my peripheral vision I spot Mr. Campbell passing through, talking with Paula, the class suck-up.

“Mr. Campbell. Can I ask you a question?”

He ambles over. “Of course, Zoey.”

“Have you ever seen behavior like this?”

Pushing his glasses up his nose, he steps closer to study the fish, who continue to show off. “Very odd. I’m no expert on marine life, but this is quite mysterious.”

“It only gets weirder. Show him,” Charlotte orders.

Aware I have an audience, I walk between two windows, followed by a line of tiny wiggling bodies.

“Extraordinary. Somehow you’re capturing their attention.”

“Is it possible that whatever is affecting the fish in the oceans is affecting these?” This question also comes from Charlotte.

“Hardly,” Paula provides in her high, snobby tone. “Most of these creatures have spent their lives in captivity.”

“Not necessarily,” our teacher begins, “it’s actually quite possible. A lot of mysterious behavior is being exhibited by the world’s sea life. This could be connected somehow.”

He hasn’t exactly alleviated my unease because, for some reason, I know his explanation isn’t right.

Everyone hangs out a while, captivated by the show, and the weight of their gazes is intimidating. For me, it’s such a curious thing. Oddly enough, it’s normal. No, not normal, that isn’t correct. I mean it isn’t surprising. I wouldn’t dream of uttering these words aloud, but the way their gaze is fixated on me leaves me feeling whole or accepted. I’m honored by it even as it causes my heartbeat to skyrocket. I mean, I’m far from special.

Mr. Campbell breaks the silence. “As interesting as this is, it’s time for the dolphin show. Perhaps we can come back later and check if they’re still acting bizarre.”

Taking a final glance behind me, I let Charlotte pull me along with the crowd.

Chapter Three

The outdoor theater is a three-sided arena surrounding a deep pool of clear, turquoise water. A platform, where the trainers stand, stretches out into the pool. I sit a couple rows up, almost eye-level with the top of the tank, and gather my tangled, curly hair into a loose bun. I can’t shake the lingering suspicion I’m missing something important.

When the show starts I lean forward, blocking out Charlotte’s excited squeals, and envy the elegance of the sleek gray dolphins as they race through the water. How would it feel to move with such grace and freedom? A shudder passes through me and I chalk it up to fear of the water and the memory holding me in its jaws.

Trainers instruct the dolphins to jump and flip, directing them through a routine. They act so free. Then, a few minutes in, the animals appear distracted. My stomach sinks and dread skitters across my body. It’s impossible.

One by one the dolphins swim over to my side of the pool and fixate on where I’m sitting with their intelligent stares. It can’t all be a freaky coincidence, especially after this. Hunching over, I attempt to make myself smaller and pray it is part of their routine.

Why is this happening?

The dolphins act exactly the same as the fish, excited and playful. They lift their heads and chatter crazily. No matter what the trainers try, they cannot recapture their attention.

Only a few of the people who were present to witness the wacky fish are at the dolphin show and they’re studying me intently, like I suddenly sprouted horns or deliberately caused the interruption of their entertainment. Running off will only draw more attention. Instead, I drop my head on my folded arms as Charlotte rubs my back and wait to wake up from this crazy dream.

A couple minutes later, the announcer comes over the speakers and explains that the show is cancelled. Groans escape from the crowd and I take it as my cue to leave, lurching down the steps as quickly and carefully as I can.

“That was too creepy,” Charlotte states as she catches up.

In the aquarium’s cafeteria, we buy sandwiches and bottles of juice as I reason, “It can’t be because of me.” We choose a table by the windows, but I don’t have an appetite. A sense of foreboding pushes in from all sides, buffering me with dread. I can’t shake the feeling I’m missing an important clue. “Maybe it’s a sun flare or a virus. I mean, I’m a normal girl, not the kind who has animals following her.”

Charlotte laughs and her blue eyes twinkle. “We’ve had this discussion, Zoey. You’re not normal and it’s good. We don’t want to be normal.”

I chuckle with her and, thankfully, the mood lifts a little. “Leave it to you to help me chill. I’m reading too much into this, right?”

“Absolutely. If you were some freaky animal whisperer we’d have noticed it before. They’re fish, they have tiny brains. It has to be a natural fluke. You heard the teacher. It might be connected to the other weirdness out there in the world.”

“Valid point.” I pick at the bread. “I sort of looked forward to this all week. Now, I can’t wait to leave.”

Mr. Campbell calls for us to gather and we venture into Predators of the Deep.

“This exhibit,” he lectures, “is brand new. It’s extremely impressive, too. Sharks aren’t known to survive very long in captivity. The ones features here are some of the largest, another reason this exhibit is so unprecedented.”

I still haven’t made a decision. The idea of those monsters swimming so close locks me in place, but Charlotte’s words from earlier echo in my head. She said to confront my fears. The problem is I’m not exactly the bravest person to begin with. Drawing in a deep breath is challenging, as if a heavy weight is perched on my chest.

“If you need to skip this part you can,” Mr. Campbell offers.

Snickers and mocking glances are directed my way, giving me the tiny bit of strength I’d been searching for. “I’ll be okay.”

An immense, glass tunnel directs the public through the heart of the exhibit with water on three sides. Scott snakes up to us as we enter and Charlotte nonchalantly moves ahead. His proximity doesn’t have a chance to make me nervous. My attention is captivated by my surroundings.

The pale, blue light casts an otherworldly atmosphere. I can’t remember ever seeing anything so magnificent. The scene resembles the ocean floor, complete with a wooden shipwreck the walkway passes through. Even the sharks gliding above us are beautiful, a far cry from the frothing monsters my imagination makes them. Their movements appear silent, whispering through the water like a dark secret.

Awe shifts to panic and I step closer to Scott, the action clumsy because of the angle of my artificial leg. He reaches out to steady me and must feel me trembling.

“Geez, Zoey. Are you okay? They’ll understand if you need to leave.”

Of course he knows what happened to me. Unfortunately, everyone has heard the story no matter how long ago it happened. As familiar as I am with the pity in his gaze, it stings.

“I’m fine,” I grind out through a clenched jaw.

Pity is replaced by admiration. “I’ll be right here. Just holler if you need to go.”

And that is officially the most he’s ever said to me. I guess if I have to be stuck in this nightmare the company won’t be bad. This time my heart flutters for a new reason and I concentrate on the touch of his hand.

I venture farther in, tuning out the teacher’s voice, and the group spreads out. Scott points out more of the sights, including the hammerhead slowing in front of us. I’m so busy gazing at its funny shape that I don’t notice the huge shark swim overhead. The dark shadow it sheds finally catches my attention and I flinch in reaction.

It’s a huge great white, at least twenty feet long.

I track it as it circles to the area directly in front of me, now populated by a dozen sharks executing a strange pacing movement.

Fright tiptoes down my neck as my gaze keeps returning to their powerful jaws. The shark that attacked me wasn’t nearly this big, but it’d been fast. The one I’m looking at dwarfs everything around it. My leg twitches…the missing one.

“The fish were cool, but this is freaking me out,” Scott whispers.

His words comfort me the tiniest bit. I’m glad I’m not the only one who finds it disturbing. A menacing mood settles over the entire crowd. The sharks don’t wiggle and dance, they stalk me.

The notion is startling. Why do I automatically assume they’re stalking me? Because I’d been attacked before? It’s quite possible there’s a rational explanation here that doesn’t cross over into paranoia. Regardless, the urge to escape latches on.

“I have to get out of here,” I hiss, but nobody hears.

The two largest sharks break from the group and swim overhead, gathering speed, tails twitching in agitation. I hope their absence will break up the others, but it doesn’t. Panic springs up inside. I’m not panicking over the possibility these animals are sick. This is threatening.

Movement grabs my attention. The two sharks that separated glide quickly in the background, their speed disconcerting. The larger of the two pivots and darts toward the glass, fast, directly where I’m standing.

It zooms over the tunnel with inches to spare, causing everyone to duck and shout in alarm. Scott tenses and begins to drag me away, but the shark prepares for another pass.

This time, it rams the glass, making the entire structure vibrate. The walls hold, but a smear of blood remains behind. Everyone in the tunnel is momentarily stunned. The impact doesn’t affect the shark at all.

It’s already swimming in an effort to regain speed.

People flee in each direction, not noticing the smaller great white also coming at the glass. The walls aren’t built for this, especially if they keep hitting it. An animal that size carries a lot of momentum. I’m overcome with the desperation to run, my body itches with it, but there are too many people between me and the exit.

The shark hits the same spot, followed immediately by the larger one. The force of the strike shakes me and I almost lose my footing. I watch with sick fascination as they repeat the process to jab at the tunnel again. The space is filled with shrieks and screams, muffling the creaking of glass. Chaos erupts as everyone scrambles over each other to exit.

An ear-splitting crack rises above the commotion as a bloody spider web races across the glass. Water starts to leak through and the fissures expand farther. A dark red cloud follows each of the attackers, making it impossible to view the amount of damage they’ve inflicted on themselves.

Scott and I rush toward the entrance. Over my shoulder, I catch sight of the larger great white struggling to follow. Its nose is a ragged, pulpy mess and the mouth opens wide, revealing sinister teeth. A scream is ripped from my throat as I pass out of sight.

Once they’re certain everyone is clear, the attendants shut the heavy waterproof doors with a comforting clang. The reality of the attack sinks in and my classmates shriek and huddle together. I sink to my knees awkwardly, unable to stop the hysteric cries from bursting out. People stop and stare, but I don’t care. I bend close to the floor and try to hold myself together, to stop my sanity from shattering.

Charlotte kneels beside me, stroking my back. “Buzz off, everyone, there’s nothing to see here.” She leans closer. “Shhh, it’s over now.”

Her words calm me and I slowly pull myself together. I wipe my nose and cheeks with the sleeve of my T-shirt and shift to sit on my butt. As I stretch my legs out, Charlotte asks, “Did I see what I think I did or was it my imagination?”

A fresh wave of tremors spasm through me. “If you mean the giant sharks trying to kill me, again, then yes.”