X-Files: Trust No One by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: IDW Publishing
Published: 2015-07-28T16:00:00+00:00

KING OF THE WATERY DEEP

by Tim Deal

OFF THE COAST OF JEDDAH, SAUDI ARABIA

11th MAY, 2000, 11:00 a.m.

A thick cloud of dust and sand settled over the Red Sea and shrouded the forty-foot Marietta in parched gloom. Jane Pepper pulled her sleeves down and flipped up her sweatshirt hood. Grant Hicks walked by, his wetsuit unzipped to the waist.

“No dive?” she said.

“Captain’s lost,” he said over his shoulder. “Can’t see a damn thing.”

The crew was posted around the Marietta keeping a lookout for the jagged coral that could rip a hole in the hull.

“Grant, relax, let’s go into the cabin and have some wine.”

He waved a hand in the air.

A shout punctuated the air—from the bow, one of the crew members spied something. A dark shape loomed just a few meters ahead.

“What the hell is that?” she said.

“Land!” yelled Tito, one of the Filipino hands.

A sharp outcropping of rock pierced through the sandy veil. It was charcoal gray, mottled with barnacles and broken crab shells.

Jane flipped on her camera and recorded the approach to the cluster of rocks. The expanse of land widened, revealing a small island or peninsula. There was nought but small sagging trees, scattered, dry shrubs, and dead vegetation.

Jane headed to the cabin and walked into the galley. Her friend Maggie Pelham sat at the table, one hand clutching a novel, the other gently rubbing her husband, Gavin’s, head. Gavin, meanwhile, lay on the galley bench with a plastic bag hovering near his face.

“You’re missing all the excitement,” said Jane.

“I don’t know, things are pretty exciting here,” said Maggie.

“Hang in there, Gavin. We’ve had to anchor near an island until the sandstorm blows over.”

Gavin lifted his head up. “Island?”

Jane grabbed a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator and popped the cork. She filled a glass for Maggie, then filled hers. “Happy early birthday my friend.” They clinked glasses.

Gavin sat up, and Maggie looked him. “Feeling better?”

“No,” he said. “I need to get off this boat, I—” he paused and dry-heaved into the plastic bag. He stood, grabbed the table for balance, then left for the deck.

“The air will do him good,” said Maggie. “This wine, however...”

“It’s consulate stock, and it’ll have to do,” she said.

The galley door burst open. It was Tito.

“Miss Maggie,” he said. “Your husband swam to the island.”

“Should I be worried?” said Maggie.

On the deck, most of the crew was perched on the bow calling out to Gavin. Jane could see no sign of him. She looked around for Grant.

“Where’s Grant?”

She yanked the sleeve of one of the crewman, an Indonesian named Bayu, she thought.

“Where’s Grant? The American?”

“The American? He there, he follow.” He pointed at the island.

A scream, sharp and desperate, pierced the air. The crew froze and went silent.

Jane looked at Maggie, saw the smile slip off her face, her eyes widen, hands move involuntarily to her mouth.

“That was Gavin,” said Maggie.

Bayu started hoisting the anchor, Tito and the rest ran towards the cabin.

“What are you doing?” said Jane. She grabbed Bayu’s forearms, tried to stop him from cranking up the anchor.

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