Because sitting beneath gallons of water and a mass of water serpent lies Christopher’s prize.
A man chained to a metal folding chair.
At the bottom of the Sea Witch’s aquarium.
Seven minutes. Thirteen seconds.
Chapter 25
CHRISTOPHER
I’m really starting to hate this guy.
Making me climb up two stories of slick marble was one thing, but using my crew member as fish bait?
That’s a whole different level of fucked up.
“Hang in there, mate. I’m going to get you out.”
He must sense my presence through the thick panes of reinforced glass because Finley slowly blinks his eyes open.
Wild and unfocused, they look about as fucked up as you would expect for someone to wake up underwater. An oxygen mask clings to his face, the life source keeping his lungs replenished diminishing by the second.
Six minutes. Fifty-four seconds.
That fucker’s got a sick sense of humour.
Finley must read the hopelessness in my expression because he starts to struggle. Thick chains keep his arms and legs pinnedto the metal folding chair, the sadistic contraption keeping everything except his clothes from moving with the water.
“Just breathe. Everything is going to be okay.”
Six minutes. Thirty-nine seconds.
Scanning the base of the aquarium, I search for a quick release latch, an emergency valve, anything that would give me direct access to the bottom of the fishbowl. Nothing turns up, and with the number on Finley’s oxygen tank counting down, it leaves me with one alternative.
Going in through the top.
Considering how long it took me to get down here, I calculate it will take me twice as long to get back up. That leaves my crew member less than three minutes of oxygen should everything go to plan.
Which, given my track record, is not fucking likely.
Readying myself to start climbing once more, the saving grace comes in the form of a ladder. Clinging to the side of the aquarium like my own personal saviour, the metal rungs are the perfect solution to my problem.
But now I have togetto the ladder.
Grabbing the edge of a nearby sewer pipe, I hoist my body up and over the massive cylinder. My sneakers slip and slide on the slick edge, but a fumbling start has me close enough to lunge for the ladder.
I catch it with inches to spare, and without a moment of hesitation, I start climbing.
Up past the sandy blonde hair floating through the water.
Up past the sea creatures eyeing me hungrily through the glass.
When I finally reach the top, a grated bridge awaits me. Suspended over the rippling water, I can hear the generator coughing and churning while dark shadows swim in the depths below.
Water splashes up and seeps into my sneakers, soaking my socks and dampening my spirits as I stare into the blue haze of death. Eels of all shapes and sizes swarm every corner of the oversized fishbowl, the sheer quantity of the serpents blocking my view of Finley entirely.
“Bloody hell.”
