She lay flat, holding Una’s hand, as the echoes of the explosion roared over the water. Waves pitched the dinghy violently from side to side. Jill clung to Una with one hand and to alifeline with the other. Fresh ashes stuck to their wet skin and clothes.
The man was the first to sit up. Hearing him stir, Jill and Una did the same. They waited for him to restart the motor, to speed them to safety, but he just sat there, staring into the water.
“What the fuck?”
Jill didn’t want to look, but she did.
Mrs. Smith was right under their fragile little boat. She floated inches below the rubber hull, her arms fanning lazily in the current. Her scales gave off an iridescent sheen. Her eyes were half closed. Her tongue protruded from the depths of her cavernous mouth like a piece of seaweed.
She didn’t attack. She didn’t do anything. She seemed to be in a daze.
“What the fuck?” the man repeated, raising an orange flare gun into the air.
“Nooooo!” Jill shouted, but it was too late.
He fired the gun, sending a red flare high into the sky.
Mrs. Smith’s eyes snapped open. Two tentacles shot out of the water and wound around the man’s neck.
Una roared and buried her harpoon into a tentacle. Jill picked up her hook and stabbed the same tentacle. They stabbed again and again while the man clawed at the scaly flesh cutting off his oxygen.
Then, there was a sickening crunch and the man’s head popped off his neck like a champagne cork. It dropped into the water, a grotesque buoy bobbing in the current.
Mrs. Smith rose out of the water. First came her head, then her serpentine neck, and finally, her calloused torso. She opened her mouth wide, revealing the bits of skin and flesh between her teeth.
“You took my sister,” Una said.
A series of low clicking noises resonated from Mrs. Smith’s throat. It sounded almost like laughter.
“They will hunt you,” Una went on. Her voice was irrationally calm. “Like they hunt whales or sharks. There is no place for you to hide. This is not your world anymore.”
Tentacles torpedoed through the water. There was no time to warn Una. No time to do anything but stab at the ones that slipped over the side. One curled around Jill’s waist. The second roped around her ankle.
The boat hook made holes in Mrs. Smith’s tentacles, but she didn’t let go. Jill stretched out her left arm and grabbed the flare gun box. There were two flares left.
“Una! Give me the gun!”
Una tossed the gun to Jill seconds before a third tentacle immobilized her arm. She kept hacking away at the one attached to her leg as Jill loaded the flare gun. As the tentacles tightened and pain coursed through her body, Jill aimed at Mrs. Smith’s mouth and fired.
The flare buried itself in Mrs. Smith’s right eye. She threw her head back and released a high-pitched keening. Her tentacles went slack and slipped back into the water.
“Hit her again!” Una yelled.
Jill reloaded the gun and fired. This time, the flare struck the water and was instantly extinguished.
The light from the burning yacht bounced off Mrs. Smith’s scales as she sank. Blood streamed out of the charred hole in her face, and for a moment, Jill dared to hope she was dead.
And then, she heard claws tearing the dinghy.
More searchlights swept over the water. More boats were approaching.
“HELP!” Jill screamed as the middle of the dinghy began to sag.
Una crooked her finger at Mrs. Smith, daring her to come closer.
“Una,no!”
“Give me that hook.”
