Just as the world begins to tilt, the dolphin carrying me flips me through the water. A cloud of bubbles erupts from my mouth as I land in the rig’s water-elevator. I just manage to hit the button before I collapse, forgetting not to breathe. Salt water pours into my lungs, choking me. I’m drowning.
Suddenly air, not water, is pouring into my abused, waterlogged lungs. From a long way off, I hear men shouting. My head is turned to the side and someone pounds on my back. I spew water, again and again.
Everything goes black.
* * * *
A crack sounds seconds before the pain hits my cheek. “Come on, freak, wake up. You’re too heavy for me to carry.” Craven is propping me up, dragging me to the helicopter. I stumble along beside him. “God, you may be skinny, but you weigh a ton. Must be those damn fish parts you’re made from. Now get in.”
He shoves just as I manage to pull myself in and my head hits against the steel side of the chopper. I sink face down into the back seat.
“Let’s go,” he yells to the pilot.
“The back door’s not secure,” the pilot responds.
“Of course it is, now let’s go.”
“Sir, I really don’t think—”
“You’re not paid to think, asshole. Let’s go.”
“What about his arm? It needs bandaging. I’m afraid he’s going to bleed out before we get back to four.”
“That’s my responsibility. Now fly this damn thing or I’ll find someone who will.”
The chopper lifts. I drift under the pain, my mind hazy. The wind picks up and we hit an air current. Clang. Air is flowing through the chopper, pulling at me.
“I told you the door didn’t catch,” the pilot yells.
I’m slipping. My good arm is pressed between my body and the seat and my bad arm is next too useless. The air current has pulled my feet and legs outside of the chopper.
“Help him,” the pilot screams.
Guiding the chopper with one hand, he twists around, grabs my bad arm, and holds on. “Help me or by God, I will see you up on murder charges.”
“What, because the door didn’t catch?” Craven takes his time about reaching back and hauling me in. He finally shuts the chopper door.
I lie gasping for air like the fish he accuses me of being, my body going from hot to cold as I shake uncontrollably. The bastard would have let me die.
“I’m going to report this,” the pilot says.
Craven laughs, an unpleasant sound that has the back of my neck prickling. “Oh yeah, and what are you going to say? That I tried to kill the freak? Do you think anyone will believe that? What they will believe is that the door didn’t close properly, possibly because you didn’t give it a thorough inspection before takeoff.”
“The kid will back up my story.”
“The freak has lost so much blood, he has no idea what happened. He’s floating around somewhere in la-la land. All you’ll do is make yourself into a laughingstock.”
“Why are you doing this? Why do you call him a freak?”
“Because that’s what he is. A damn freak.” The venom in his voice lies thick and heavy in the air. If I wasn’t already shivering, I’d be shaking. Even in the labs, I’ve never felt this helpless.
I think I hear the pilot mutter, “Just looks like a kid to me.” Then there’s nothing but silence. My body is light. The pain is abating.
When awareness returns, the two men are pulling me out of the chopper. Leif comes running toward us. “What the hell happened?”
Craven answers. “I have no idea. He showed back up at the rig with a knife wound.”
Leif muscles both men out of the way, throws me over his shoulder, and hurries into the rig. He calls over his shoulder to the pilot, “Thanks, John. I appreciate all you’ve done. We’ll take it from here.”
The pilot replies, “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll stick around.”
Craven speaks up quickly. “That isn’t necessary.”
“Oh, I think it is.”
Leif moves quickly down the steps. “Craven, get the doctor.”
“But…”
“Now.”
We’ve reached the lower level. Leif places me on the bunk. He grabs a towel and wraps it around my arm. “Tell me what happened.”
“I don’t know how he got his arm slashed, but the chopper door wasn’t secured. It came open and an air draft nearly pulled the kid out. Craven made no effort to save him, until I yelled for him to help.”
Leif swears fluently. Even in my weakened state, his extensive vocabulary is impressive.
“Why is he kept down here?”
“He likes his privacy.” Leif’s voice is dry.
Good one. Ha ha. I’d laugh but I don’t have the energy. Can barely open my eyes. When I do, I’m looking down at them, not up. I’m floating from the ceiling. This isn’t good.
“Go make sure Craven went after the doctor. If what you said is true, he’ll take his own sweet time. And I don’t think we have time to spare.”
The pilot hesitates.
“Hurry,” Leif barks.
The pilot gives him a half salute and trots out of the tiny room.
Leif steps up to the cot and presses my good hand. “Don’t you dare check out on me, kid. You hear me? That’s an order.”
He strides through my door and pounds on Amy’s. “I need you, Amy.”
Amy rushes in. “Oh my God. Is he dead?” She runs to me and takes my hand, but I can’t feel it. I’m cold, so cold. “What happened? Can’t you get the bleeding stopped?” She wraps another towel around my arm. Warm salty liquid is falling on my face.
You’re going to drown me, Ames. That’s what I want to say, but nothing comes out.
An invisible thread connects my spirit to the still form on the bed as I watch and listen, from several feet above, to what is going on in the room.
“The doctor’s on his way. Listen, Amy, he’s going to need a transfusion. Is your blood compatible?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re the best bet he’s got.”
“What if it kills him?” The tears are coming faster and harder.
“He’ll die without it. I’ve seen men bleed out before.”
The door crashes open and the doctor rushes in, Craven and the pilot on his heels. “What the hell happened?”
“Don’t know. Can you save him?”
The doctor rips off the bloody towels. “Looks like a knife wound,” he mutters. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”
“You’re stating the obvious, doc.”
“Where would he have gotten a knife wound?” Craven asks. “You must be mistaken. He probably caught his shoulder on the sharp edge of a boat or maybe the propeller.”
The doctor snorts then snaps a command to Leif, “Wash your hands and get the sutures out of my bag.” For a big man,