Tasha shoved him back. “Stop pushing, Malik. You’ll tip us over.”
“Both of you stop it,” I said. It was hard to speak. My heart was still in my throat. My skin tingled. If the fish had been equipped with teeth—well, that would have been it for me. Shuddering, I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Another dead fish bobbed to the surface, its festering tail flicking slowly back and forth. Even underwater, we could see that its entire length was covered with open sores. Scales and strands of flesh floated from its sides. A third appeared, and then a fourth—then a whole school of fish, varying in size and type. The surface teemed with them. The chief leaned out over the bow and Carol kept watch from her side.
“There’s more here,” she cried.
“Here, too,” Chief Maxey reported. “Dozens of them. Everybody sit back and hang on tight.”
He started the motor. There was a grinding sound from underneath the lifeboat’s hull. Blood, scales, and a decapitated fish head floated to the surface. The zombie fish had been chopped into bits by the propellers. Chief Maxey gunned the engine and the boat’s front end tilted up into the air, knocking us all backward. We held on as he pulled away. The boat leveled out again. I looked back, and in our V-shaped wake, I saw more undead fish—and something else. A sleek, dark shape closed the distance between us and disappeared beneath the boat. Something bumped into us from underneath, scraping along the bottom and jarring the lifeboat. A triangular fin resurfaced on the other side.
Carol gasped, “Oh my God…”
“Shark,” Malik shrieked, jumping up and down. “It’s a shark!”
More fins erupted from the water, appearing on both sides of the lifeboat. They paced us, having no trouble keeping up. The chief pushed the throttle to its maximum and we pulled ahead. The fins fell behind, but the creatures were still determinedly giving chase.
Carol gripped the bench. “Are they alive or dead?”
“It don’t matter,” Malik shouted at her. “They’re sharks. Ain’t you ever seen the movies? They’ll eat us either way.”
Tasha had left the rifle lying on the bench. As the boat shot forward, it slid toward me. Snatching it up, I shouldered the weapon and peered through the scope. Everything was blurry and I had to read just the magnification. Then, able to see, I moved the crosshairs around, searching desperately for a fin. I found one, and scanned the water, looking for its head. The effort was pointless. The shark’s body was submerged, its head hidden. Cursing, I squeezed the trigger, aiming for where I thought the head should be. The rifle bucked against my shoulder and pain tore through my chest. Through the scope, I saw a plume of spray as the bullet sliced the ocean’s surface. I must have missed, because the shark didn’t slow. Raising my head to get a better look, I noticed more sleek fins dotting the surface. One of the sharks was close enough for me to see that it was missing a chunk of hide. Gray skin gave way to pink and white meat. The open wound confirmed what I’d already suspected. The sharks were dead.
The zombies circled closer. The chief leaned forward, as if willing the lifeboat to go faster. I looked through the scope and fired another shot. The fin changed course, swerving away. I shot at it again, but the bullet still seemed to have no effect. Meanwhile, another of the creatures cut us off from the front and swam head on, as if intent on ramming us. The chief shouted for the shotgun, but before anyone else could act, Malik grabbed the weapon and ran to the bow. He aimed the shotgun, thin arms struggling to keep it aloft. The shark emerged from the waves. Its mouth was open wide, flashing rows of white, razor-sharp teeth. Malik squeezed the trigger. The shark’s black eye exploded and some of its snout was sheared away. The blast knocked Malik to the floor. He looked stunned, but he kept the shotgun clutched tight in his hands. As he struggled to stand, I took aim with the rifle. The shark skated along the side of the lifeboat. Its ruined eye leaked blood and pulp, but it didn’t cease its attack. Shrieking, Carol scooted out of the way as it raked the hull with its teeth. I lined up the crosshairs right over the gaping hole where its eye had been and took my shot. The shark reared up out of the water and then sank beneath the waves. The frothing surf turned red.
Quickly, I searched for another target, while Malik stumbled to his feet. Gripping the shotgun, he stomped over to the side and aimed, letting the barrel lead the shark by a few feet. Despite the chaos, I was once again amazed at the boy’s adaptability. It was like he intuitively knew how to shoot.
Malik and I sank two more zombie sharks before the chief managed to outrace them. Even then, the fins followed along behind us. Again, I thought of the slaughter that must be taking place under the sea. How many different species of fish and crustaceans lived in the Atlantic Ocean? How many of them were dead already, and hunting the others? As Malik and I reloaded, the GPS gave out a series of loud, rapid beeps.
“Look around,” the Chief shouted. “We should be able to see the jack-up!”
We glanced expectantly in each direction, but saw nothing except gray water and clear sky. The two merged, indistinguishable from one another.
The horizons were empty except for the circling birds moving across them in great flocks.
A dolphin chattered off the port side. I lined it up in the crosshairs, but held off on taking the shot. It didn’t look dead. Then the dolphin leapt from the water, soaring through the air and splashing back down again, sending up a huge plume. When visibility improved again, I saw the water turn red as the dolphin thrashed. Something else was attacking it from below. The dolphin’s body turned over again and again. By the third spin, its white underbelly was scarlet. I pointed the scope down and my eyes widened. A school of undead dolphins were ripping their brother to shreds. They spun him with their noses, ramming him and darting in for quick, savage bites. Then one of them noticed us. It swam toward the lifeboat. The scope’s magnification made the creature’s gaze seem malevolent. Before I could shoot it, the dolphin plunged below the waves.
I moved the scope around, trying to find the dolphin again before it could reach us.
And then Carol screamed.
The zombie dolphin launched itself from the water and soared through the air. I could only stand there gaping as it landed in the lifeboat, knocking my oars into the sea. Carol screamed again, scuttling backward on her hands and feet like a crab. The chief pressed himself against the side, unable to let go of the throttle, because if he did, the boat would stall. Then we’d be dead in the water—in more ways than one. Brave but weaponless, Tasha watched the dolphin warily. I raised the rifle and lined up the crosshairs. But before I could act, Malik pressed the shotgun against the creature’s head and pulled the trigger. The dolphin squeaked once and then died. Its tail slapped against the sides of the boat as its brains and blood leaked out onto the bottom.
“Get away from it,” I warned them all. “Don’t let the blood come in contact with you.”
The GPS suddenly rang a shrill alarm, distracting all of us for a second.
“I see it,” the chief shouted. “The oil rig. I see it, on our port side!”
We all looked in the direction he was pointing. There was a black dot on the horizon.
“That?” Carol asked, squinting.
“Yes, indeed,” the chief said. “That’s the jack-up. Ladies and gentlemen, we made it.”
We cheered, staring in disbelief. Tasha ran over and hugged me. Carol began to weep with joy. Malik raised the shotgun over his head and laughed.
“Let’s go,” the chief yelled. “Hold on tight.”
Before we could even heed his warning, he turned the lifeboat in a wide arc, flinging us all to one side. We grasped the benches and the sides, trying to avoid slipping or falling into the dolphin gore. The boat whipped forward, racing across the surface, the front end shaking as it bounced up and down on the waves. The zombies fell farther and farther behind. A scarlet cloud spread out in our wake as they turned on the other creatures of the sea.
“We can make it,” the chief shouted over the engine’s roar.
I wondered who he was trying to reassure—us or himself. I waited breathlessly for something else to go wrong, for the engine to smoke or sputter, for us to run out of fuel or for another school of zombie sharks to suddenly emerge in front of us. But nothing happened. We rocketed across the ocean and the oil rig drew nearer. We could see it easily now—a big black barge with an oil drilling rig and living quarters attached to it. Its size was astonishing. Like a small town. As we drew closer, I noticed there was even a tanker truck and several forklifts parked on the platform. I remembered that either the chief or Turn had told us that a jack-up was actually a small operation. I wondered just how big a full-sized oil rig was.
“Usually,” the chief said, “the oil companies bring their personnel in either via helicopter or boat. There’s a landing pad on the platform and lower level docks at the water’s surface. I’ll pull alongside that. Lamar, you stand ready with that rifle while Carol and the kids disembark, just in case any of those things try a last minute
