Primordial

Chapter 8

“It’s got to be Sweeney. Or what’s left of him.” Joaquin grimaced at the grisly remains that lay on a sheet of plastic underneath a bright light. He had carefully unlaced the boot and pulled it wide to remove the foot from inside. The flesh was pale and wrinkled, the ragged edges of skin at the ankle marked by the tiny scallops of feeding fish mouths. The shiny white inch of tibia sticking up was sheared through cleanly, a shard of fibula snapped beside it.

“How can you tell it’s Sweeney?” Aston asked. “Did you take his toe print?”

Joaquin looked at him through narrowed eyes, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Finally deciding that Aston was joking, he barked a laugh. “No. I just compared the boot to the pair Sweeney was wearing in some of the raw footage we have from the camp. There are instances where he walks past the camera and we get a good view.”

Aston made a noncommittal grunt.

“Well, the circumstantial evidence certainly points to it being him,” Joaquin went on. “He’s the only person we know about who went missing in this area recently. It’s a fairly remote location, so the odds anyone else was eaten by a monster in this same spot are pretty slim.” Now Aston had to wonder if it was Joaquin who was joking. Slater grinned, but Aston noticed she didn’t look directly at the severed foot.

Joaquin scratched his chin, considering. “His personal effects are stored back in the States. When we return, Mister Holloway can have someone try to extract a DNA sample from one of the items and then match it to the foot.”

“You’re going to carry that foot through customs?” Slater asked.

Joaquin grinned. “Mister Holloway can get the foot back home. Not that there’s any doubt in my mind that it’s Sweeney’s. All that’s left of the monster’s lunch.”

“We don’t know what happened to him.” Aston’s reply was automatic, but he had to admit his mind was struggling to concoct a scenario in which a foot, the bones sliced clean through, could end up wedged in rocks below the surface of the lake. “We can’t draw conclusions without conclusive evidence.”

Slater rolled her eyes. “Whatever. All I know is this baby’s going to make for some awesome television footage. Wait until the network hears about it!”

“We need to keep this under wraps.” Aston hadn’t heard Holloway enter. “No one can know about this find until I decide what to do.”

“What’s there to decide? We need to notify the authorities,” Slater said.

Aston was no friend of law enforcement, but he privately agreed. Covering up what was almost certainly a death seemed like a good way to run afoul of the powers that be.

“We will, but not right away.” Holloway began pacing, clenching and relaxing his hands again and again. “The local police already don’t want us here. You saw how that man, Rinne, acted toward me. I had to pay him off. We’ve had to lie about the reason we’re here. If we bring him a body part, he’ll shut us down for sure.”

“So what’s your plan?” Aston asked.

“Put the foot on ice, just for a little while. Long enough to follow up on this lead. Sweeney’s gone; everyone knows it. The foot is just confirmation. What’s the harm if we hold off a week before turning it in? Heck, we could put it back where we found it. It’s not like the police were going to find it otherwise.”

Aston shook his head. “You’re the boss.”

“So, were you able to learn anything from the remains?” Holloway asked.

“The exposed soft tissue has sloughed away a bit, and been attacked by small scavengers, but the bone is instructive in that it’s cut clean. It wasn’t sawed, hacked, chewed, or crushed. It would have taken a tremendous amount of force and a razor-sharp cutting surface to do that.”

“Like the fangs in Sweeney’s picture,” Holloway breathed as he leaned down for a closer look at the exposed bone. It was such a candid moment that Aston began to doubt his earlier opinion that Holloway had faked the photo. “Nothing else we can tell?”

“Not that I can see.”

“I guess it would be too much to hope for a giant tooth wedged in the bone.” Holloway managed a laugh. “All right. If you’re finished with it, we’ll ice it for the time being.” He nodded to Joaquin who carefully wrapped the plastic sheeting around the foot and carried it away.

Slater gazed at Joaquin’s receding figure. “If I find that in the beer cooler I’m going to throw up.”

“Is there a beer cooler?” Aston asked.

Holloway shook his head. “Sorry. Dry ship.” He stretched and yawned. “I think I’ll turn in. This was a good day. See you all manana.”

As soon as Holloway exited the cabin, Aston caught another movement from the corner of his eye. Gazsi crouched out on the deck, peering in through the narrow window. His eyes were slits, his perpetual frown deeper than ever. In an attempt to mollify the man, Aston flicked him a wink and quick pistol fingers. A look of disgust crossed the first mate’s face and he disappeared from view.

“Do you think he’ll make trouble?” Slater asked.

Aston shrugged. “Who’s he gonna tell?”

“He might radio the police.”

Aston paused, wondering how likely that might be. Before he could answer, Slater said, “I’ll talk to Olli. The captain is a pretty stand-up guy and he saw us bring the foot aboard. Didn’t seem fazed by it. I’ll ask him to keep Gazsi quiet.”

“Okay, good idea. But let’s watch that guy. There’s something a bit off about him.”

Dave, who had been lurking in the background with Carly, presumably filming, sidled up to Aston. “I agree. He was kinda sleazing on Carly earlier and when I stepped in he looked at me like he wanted to stab me.”

“Not good,” Aston agreed. “We’ll watch him.”

Dave grinned impishly. “And, er, I’ve got beer. Party in my cabin in ten. Holloway and the captain are not invited. And Gazsi certainly isn’t.”

“I don’t know. The captain looks like a drinker to me.”

“Right, and I don’t want him downing my entire stash. We’ll see you below decks.” He and Carly left together, chatting happily.

“You coming to the party?” Aston asked Slater.

“See you there.”

Slater padded along the deck, her socked feet making no sound on the cool metal. She glanced at her watch — three in the morning. Everyone would be deep in slumber by now. Hopefully they remained that way for a while yet.

The temperature had dropped steadily since sundown, and the damp breeze blowing over Lake Kaarme whipped her hair around and sent goosebumps crawling across her flesh. She loved the night — the peace and quiet, the way the darkness hid the world’s imperfections. But most of all, she loved the stars. She paused to look up at the sparkling velvet dome above and soak it all in. Most nights in Los Angeles, the lights of airplanes passing overhead outnumbered the visible stars, but here, the sky was like her very own planetarium. How she longed to stretch out on the deck and bask in the glory of the night.

But that was not an option. She needed to take care of business and get back to her cabin before someone found her out. Who knew if the captain or his mate made nightly rounds? Besides, she was a little drunk, even though she’d been careful not to indulge too much with the others. She badly needed some sleep.

She slipped inside the bridge and softly closed the door. She considered locking it, but that would only raise suspicion should someone discover her here. She’d leave it unlocked, and if anyone came around, she’d say she’d had trouble sleeping and decided to come up here and review their data.

Heart racing, she fired up the computer, slipped off her t-shirt, and draped it over the screen to dull the glow. She felt a little funny sitting there in boxer briefs and a sports bra, but who was going to see her? The monster? She let out a tiny laugh at the thought but quickly stifled it.

“Get to work, Jo.”

She checked the satellite connection, opened up a web browser, and typed in an address. She watched, cursing every second the computer buffered. When the browser finally opened to the desired site, she hastily logged in, biting her lip as her fingers clicked away at the keys. Even her most delicate touch sounded like a twenty-one gun salute in the stillness of the early hour.

She glanced at her watch. Only three minutes had passed. So far, so good.

Hastily, she navigated the hard drive, clicking on the files she considered most important: the best shots of the wallow, close up images of the severed foot, and a copy of her findings. Enough, but far from everything they’d gathered thus far went to one location. Then she sent everything to be backed up to the other.

“Come on, you slow ass mother…” she whispered as the files began to upload.

Why couldn’t they have decent upload speeds? This was the twenty-first century and Holloway was filthy rich. ’More money than Davey Crockett,’ as Forrest Gump had put it.

A dull bump caught her ear and she jumped, banging her knee on the low shelf on which the computer sat. “Dammit!” Heart in her throat, she stood, crept to the door, and opened it an inch. Cool air wafted in, and with it, the sound of another bump.

She relaxed. It was only their metal dinghy tapping against Merenneito’s side.

“I’ll bet that gave me a gray hair or two.” She returned to the computer and was relieved to find the last file uploading. Moments later, she surfed over to her email server and fired off a quick note.

That should keep things ticking over for a while.

Finally, she opened up the browser’s internet history and deleted only the two sites she had just visited. Her tracks covered, she shut down the computer, slipped back into her shirt, and headed out onto the deck.

“Jo,” she whispered, “you are living dangerously.”