Monstrum (19 page)

“Just tell us about the bleedin' whale so we can get into dry clothes before we all perish from frostbite,” Murphy says. “Enough with the buildup.”

“It's not a whale.” Dr. Baer's grin is blinding, and he's aglow with so much excitement that I expect him to do a victory lap around the cabin. “Well, it's not entirely a whale.”

“Are we supposed to know what that means, man?” Murphy asks.

“No.” Dr. Baer's enthusiasm flickers, but he still manages to eject his words at fifty miles an hour. “I suppose not. I'd better just tell you, not that there's any easy way to explain. And I want to warn you. When I take you next door to see it—”

Murphy loses it. “Spit it out!”

Dr. Baer hesitates before plowing ahead. “It's a chimera. The one that caused your plane to crash. We've been tracking it for days. Which is why we were in the area when your plane went down.”

Murphy's face goes slack. The others and I blink at each other. Cortés stills.

Dr. Baer doesn't seem to know what to make of this lack of reaction. “A chimera,” he repeats, his smile fading.

“A chimera is a mythical creature,” Sammy says dully.

“True,” Dr. Baer begins. “But in fact—”

“We read about them in mythology,” Sammy continues. “They have the head of a lion, the body of a goat and the tail of a snake.”

“A serpent,” Maggie corrects.

“It's a female. Don't forget that,” An adds. “And it breathes fire.”

“Wow,” Dr. Baer says. “You kids know your stuff—”

“Dude,” Carter says. “They're mythological. Which means they
don't really exist
.”

“They exist in the very next room, Carter,” Dr. Baer says with serene triumph. “I'll show her to you.”

Maggie cocks her head, considering. “One animal. With the characteristics of three.”

“That's correct,” Dr. Baer says.

“Hang on,” interjects Gray. “How can some lion-headed thing be swimming around in the ocean?”

Dr. Baer and Captain Romero exchange repressed grins. “This is a salt-water chimera,” Dr. Baer says.

Espi rouses herself. “A who?”

“It has features of killer whales, crabs and octopi,” Dr. Baer explains.

There's a long pause.

“That's ridiculous,” Sammy says flatly. “I thought you were a legit marine biologist.”

Dr. Baer laughs. “I am. I have the PhD and the six-figure debt from Woods Hole to prove it.” Then his smile slips away and he hesitates. “I'm actually a cryptozoologist.”

There's a puzzled silence, probably because no one knows what that is.

“Oh, come on,” Sammy says, looking disgusted now. “That's not a real thing.”

“A
what,
man?” Murphy asks.

Dr. Baer opens his mouth, but Sammy speaks first. “A cryptozoologist, which is not a real degree or career. It's like he's a professional mythical creature hunter. He looks for things that probably don't exist. Cryptids. Right, Doc?”

“Up until the middle of the nineteenth century, people also thought gorillas didn't exist,” replies Dr. Baer, unfazed.

“We've had enough of your yammering and nonsense theories.” Murphy crosses his arms over his chest and glowers at everyone. “You're obviously a quack. And if you expect us to believe—”

Dr. Baer ignores this and focuses on Sammy, as though he understands that if he can convince him, he can win the group. “I have a couple of questions for you. Do you know how much of the earth is covered with ocean?”

Sammy twitches his shoulders, looking uncomfortable. “Seventy percent. Give or take.”

“And how much of it is unexplored?” Dr. Baer asks.

Sammy hesitates. I'm getting the feeling that he hates it when his knowledge is used against him. “Most. Maybe ninety percent.”

“Ninety-five,” Dr. Baer crows. By now, the rest of us are beginning to fidget. I don't know about everyone else, but I, for one, don't like where this cross-examination is going. “And would it surprise you to know that some estimates project that there are around seven hundred and fifty thousand—that's three quarters of a million, for the math challenged in the group—species out there that haven't yet been identified?”

Sammy's brows contract into a thoughtful frown. When he doesn't answer, Gray comes to his rescue.

“Yeah, but what are the chances that—” he begins.

“Perhaps you should save your breath, Eli,” Captain Romero says. Amusement glints in his eyes. “They need to see it.”

“Maybe if I remind them that eight new species have been discovered in the past decade?” Dr. Baer wonders.

“Yeah, but nothing the size of a whale, right?” Mike asks.

“Our chimera friend isn't as big as you think,” Dr. Baer says. “She's about the size of a dolphin.”

A rumble of disagreement makes its way through us. I speak up first. “Hang on. That can't be right. That thing knocked over our life raft with all of us inside it. Plus, I saw how you had to struggle to get it onto the ship. It's got to be bigger than a dolphin.”

“Two things,” Dr. Baer says. “First, her strength is disproportionate to her body size. Sort of like an ant.”

“Or a chimp, right?” Maggie adds. “They have the strength of two or three men, don't they?”

“Exactly,” says Dr. Baer. “The second thing is—and this is important to know about chimeras—they're tricksters.”

My head cannot process this information any better than my stomach could process tree bark. You'd think there'd be some limit to how many times my mind can get blown in one day, but if there is, I haven't reached it yet. Neither have the other kids, judging by the stunned looks on their faces.

The wall phone rings, and Captain Romero hurries to answer it. “Excuse me. This will be the latest weather report. Very important.”

Dr. Baer impatiently checks his watch. “I really need to get back, Captain.”

“One moment, then we will all go together,” Captain Romero says, turning his back and murmuring into the phone.

“Hold up, Doc.” Axel's voice now has a definite edge of anger now. “Are you telling me these bastards like to . . . what? Put whoopee cushions on our seats? Leave rubber vomit on the floor? What are you talking about? Do they perform magic illusions in their spare time, or—”

“Yes,” says Dr. Baer. “Well, no on the magic. But yes on the illusions.” He hesitates, pushing his glasses up his nose as he chooses his words. “No one understands all of their capabilities yet. But we do know that they can create what we call glamours. They're like illusions or mirages. They can tinker with your senses and make you see things that aren't real, or make time speed up or slow down for you. Again, science doesn't understand how they do this.”

“Is that what happened to Mami?” asks Espi, aghast.

I take a good look at her for the first time in a while and discover that she has a nasty green tint to her complexion now, possibly from seasickness. Right on cue, the ship pitches sharply to the right, and we all grab the nearest solid objects to steady ourselves. Murphy staggers to a metal stool and lowers himself onto it gingerly.

“Are you saying that the chimera . . . what?” Espi continues. “Made her see a ship that wasn't there so she would try to swim to it and it could attack her?”

Dr. Baer bows his head. “I believe that's what happened, yes.”

“Well, then,” Gray says slowly, “that must mean that the chimera made the pilot act crazy too, right? Made him, I don't know, think the copilot was a danger to him, and then made him believe he needed to land the plane even though we were over the water?”

“Yes,” Dr. Baer says. “And I also suspect that she likes to turn the lights out on us. Make things go dark. Maybe the dark is advantageous to her in some way. Maybe she sees better when it's dark. We really don't know. We do believe that they breed in the Bermuda Triangle, although we're also keeping an eye on the Puerto Rico Trench, which is in the neighborhood.”

Once again, my ignorance of all things geographical comes back to bite me in the butt. “Puerto Rico Trench?”

“Try to keep up,” Sammy says, giving me a look of weary disdain. “It's the deepest area in the Atlantic. About as deep as Everest is tall.”

“Oh,” I say.

“So, clearly, anything that vast and unexplored would be a great hiding place,” Dr. Baer says. “But maybe they hide right here, under our noses. It could be that they derive nutrients from the sargassum, or maybe the plant just provides good hiding places for their young. We don't know for sure.”

“And how can they breed if they're all female?” Maggie asks.

Dr. Baer shrugs helplessly. “We don't know. Maybe they're capable of changing their sex. Maybe the females kill the males after mating. Maybe the males are better at hiding than the females. We just don't know. We also don't know if the characteristics of the three animals blend together, or remain entirely separate.”

“Come again?” Gray asks, a puzzled frown crinkling his forehead.

“Well, orcas and crabs breathe air, but octopi don't, for example,” Dr. Baer explains, checking his watch again and shooting the captain an anxious glance. “What does the chimera do? Where can it survive? Air or water? Air
and
water? Does it have just lungs, or has it developed some specialized hybrid breathing apparatus? And is climate change making them more active or otherwise changing their habits the way it's affecting, say, polar bears? These are things we'll finally have the chance to study now that we have a live specimen.”

Gray shakes his head. “This is crazy. Abso-freaking-lutely crazy. I mean, what's to keep the thing from making all of us have delusions and, I don't know, sinking the ship or something?”

“We're trained professionals,” Dr. Baer says condescendingly. “We've taken every precaution.”

“I feel so much better,” Gray mutters.

“One thing we're pretty sure about,” Dr. Baer continues, raising his voice slightly, as though he wants to drown out any potential dissension, “is that they've been responsible for the mysterious disasters that have plagued this unfortunate area of the world.”

Cortés, who's been listening quietly and pacing in the shadows, strides forward, into the light. “What's with the
we
? Are you saying that there are more people out there that believe in these things?”

Dr. Baer looks wary. “Yes. I'm not at liberty to get into the details, but, yes.”

“My father is dead!” Axel erupts. “I don't want to hear about what you're at liberty to do and what you're not at liberty to do. I want an explanation!”

“I can't give you one,” Dr. Baer says solemnly. “I'm sorry.”

“Wait a minute,” says Carter, his eyes widening with sudden comprehension. “I'm betting this clown is part of some secret government task force or some such. Aren't you, Dr. Baer?”

Gray and I roll our eyes at each other. This has all the hallmarks of one of Carter's conspiracy theories.

To my surprise, though, Dr. Baer doesn't deny it outright.

“Wait. Carter's right, isn't he?” I ask, gasping. “That would explain why these things are—according to you—running around causing chaos and havoc, but we've never heard of them! There's a government conspiracy to keep it all hushed up, isn't there?”

Dr. Baer makes a
calm down
gesture with his hands, reminding me of a teacher trying to get his students to settle because they're getting too loud. “There's no conspiracy. This is a new and developing area. That's all.”

Carter isn't convinced. “You expect us to believe—”

“I don't expect you to believe anything,” Dr. Baer says, annoyed. “I took the time, as a courtesy, to share the scientific find of a generation and explain what I know, but now I have to get back. Do you want to see the chimera, or not?”

Captain Romero has finished his phone conversation and rejoins the group before anyone can answer. “Unfortunate news: we are in the edge of the hurricane's path, and I fear we're in for a rough night.”

Oh, God. A hurricane. Just in case we haven't had our fill of disasters for the week.

I reach for my aquamarine and rub it between my fingers, trying to ward off any breathing problems before they get started. Espi, meanwhile, puts a hand on her stomach and groans. Murphy produces a handkerchief from somewhere and presses it to his mouth.

“Nothing the
Venator
can't handle, I assure you.” Captain Romero's dismissive wave stretches my taut nerves to the snapping point. He's acting as though we simply need to detour around a crack in the sidewalk as we walk down the block for ice cream. “She's seen worse than a little storm in the Atlantic.”