Fury Of The Orcas Read online

  It turned out he’d watched too many movies where the local cops bristled when the feds swooped in to take over. Raquel was of the belief that the more informed minds dedicated to solving this puzzle, the better. So many theories had been bandied about, Chet was at a loss to remember even a third of them.

  The last of the vets, a retired gentleman with wild, Einstein hair white as cotton, had left an hour ago, shaking his head and muttering in Spanish. He spoke no English, but Chet saw plain as day that the man was frustrated.

  Luckily, Rosario had been writing down what she could understand all along on a legal pad that was now crammed with notes.

  “I’ll go through them, type them out so they make sense and send you the file,” she said to Raquel as they tossed their filthy lab coats in the laundry bin.

  Raquel gave an appreciative sigh. “Salud.”

  “I know that one,” Rosario said. “It means ‘bless you’, right?”

  “Very good.”

  “I used to love to watch Sabado Gigante as a kid,” Rosario said. “I had no idea what was going on but it was manic and colorful. I picked up a few words.”

  “I used to watch it, too,” Raquel said with a tired grin. It was the first smile she’d cracked all day…not that there had been anything to smile about. “I liked the dancing most. Ivan drove you here, didn’t he?”

  “He did,” Chet said, his hand on Rosario’s shoulder, feeling the hard ball of tension there.

  “I’ll drive you to your hotel. Or wherever you want to go.”

  Chet’s stomach made a gurgling protest. “As you can hear, I need to feed Seymour.”

  Neither woman got his reference to Little Shop of Horrors.

  “Before your time,” he said. Before my time, he thought. “How about I treat us all to dinner? Raquel, you’re the local. Where do you suggest we go?”

  Normally, inviting a beautiful woman out to dinner with your new girlfriend would be considered a major faux pas. Nothing about this situation was normal.

  “If it’s all right, I’d rather just go home, eat some soup, have a smoke and go to bed,” Raquel said. “I don’t think I’d be very good company.”

  Have a smoke. Chet knew what that meant. He could use one himself. Just touching Rosario’s shoulder told him she could, too. What was the etiquette when it came to asking someone you knew less than a day and after autopsying orcas to share their stash?

  His head hurt just contemplating it. Best to just pretend he hadn’t heard it.

  “I understand. I have a feeling we won’t be world class conversationalists either,” he said instead.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “The Catalonia Square,” Rosario said.

  “I’m going to assume you’re not in the mood for seafood.”

  They walked out the door, breathing in fresh air for the first time in almost ten hours. It was still warm, but the moon glow softened the heat’s edge.

  “That would be a good assumption,” Chet said.

  “I know a pretty good steakhouse by your hotel. It’s only a block away. I can take you there.”

  “Thank you, that sounds perfect,” Rosario said.

  The vast parking lot was empty save Raquel’s car. Chet pulled up short when he looked over toward the entrance.

  “Looks like we’ll still have to run through the gauntlet.”

  The entrance was lit bright as a baseball diamond during a night game. The news crews looked to have doubled since the afternoon. He wondered if the locals were now joined by international syndicates.

  Raquel spat a string of what he could only assume were curses under her breath.

  “I can only imagine the rumors they’re spreading,” she said, opening the car doors with a click of a button on her key fob.

  “Which is why Ivan is going to be a hard ass until we get him some hard proof of what made them turn,” Chet said, settling into the back seat. Rosario took the front, reaching back to take his hand.

  “I can’t imagine how he’s feeling right now,” Rosario said. She was right. No matter how bad they thought their day had been, it was nothing compared to what he had to go through. Visiting the families of his staff that had been killed must have worn him down to a dull nub.

  Raquel angled the car so it was directly facing the barricade.

  “Maybe I should just drive straight through them,” she said. Her tone was flat, her face serious.

  “That should get them to scatter,” Chet joked.

  The joke was on him when Raquel gunned the engine, tires screeching, the stench of scorching rubber billowing through the open windows.

  Chet fumbled in the back seat, looking for his seat belt.

  “Maybe you should slow down,” he said.

  Rosario planted a hand on the dashboard. “Raquel, what are you doing?”

  The marine tech sneered. “I haven’t slept in over forty-eight hours and I’ve seen things I can never forget. I think I’ve earned the right to blow off a little steam.”

  “By running people over?” Chet exclaimed.

  She had flicked on the brights, the twin beams captivating the tight gaggle of reporters and police. Many of them shielded their faces from the sharp glare.

  Chet’s heart slammed against his chest. He considered reaching over and taking control of the wheel, but that wouldn’t do squat to slow them down. Plus, he’d probably end up flipping the car over, taking out more people than if they just hit them head on.

  Rosario somehow remained calm, though there was a sharp edge to her voice. “Okay, joke’s over Raquel. Either turn away or slow the hell down.”

  Raquel didn’t reply, but Chet’s mouth went dry when he saw the needle on her speedometer jump up a few more kilometers per hour.

  “Cut the shit,” he wailed, his voice cracking as if he were back in puberty. He grabbed ahold of Rosario’s shoulders as if he could prevent her from flying through the windshield on impact any better than her seatbelt.

  Some reporters had started to scatter, but they were thwarted by the crush of people and equipment. Chet thought he saw one of the cops go for his gun.

  Holy shit!

  Sleep deprivation or some kind of post-traumatic stress had caused Raquel to snap. And now, even if they somehow didn’t mow down a slew of people, they were going to be shot. Chet wished to hell he had taken the front seat and Rosario was in the safer position in the back.

  Rosario barked, “Slow…the fuck…down…now!”

  The cop now had his gun out, pointing at the car. Cameras and lights had swiveled, the barreling car now the focus of the news.

  Chet wanted to turn away, but couldn’t. “Holy Christ!”

  Just as they were about to hit terminal velocity, Raquel downshifted, cutting the wheel hard and veering to the left of the captive targets. The rear of the car fishtailed. Chet knew she was going to lose control and they were going to slam into the barricade and people on his and Rosario’s exposed side of the car.

  In the scant flash it took to pass by the stunned crowd, time seemed to stand still.

  He saw the policeman’s hand tremble as he realized he didn’t need to shoot the encroaching vehicle.

  A female reporter dropped her microphone, burying her face in her cameraman’s chest, awaiting the inevitable.

  There were some screaming faces, but most were wide-eyed and mute, powerless to save themselves, resigned to their fate.

  And just like that, they disappeared in a cloud of burning tires and asphalt.

  The car zoomed along the perimeter of the parking lot’s fence.

  Raquel let out a low giggle.

  Chet wasn’t sure he could breathe. It felt like something was jammed in his throat. Rosario still had her fingers dug into the hard plastic of the dashboard.

  “What the hell was that?” she shouted.

  “Maybe now they’ll go away,” Raquel said.

  Chet had to practically pry his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Or, maybe they’ll call
in reinforcements to cover the story of the crazed lunatic who tried to go all Death Race 2000 on them!” He twisted around to look out the narrow back window. All he could see were the lights from all the news crews. “Now how do we get out of here without getting arrested?”

  “No worries,” Raquel said. “I know another way.”

  She swerved to avoid a row of speed bumps. Chet and Rosario bounced around the car.

  True to her word, there was a small exit to the rear of the aquarium that must have been used for deliveries. No one was covering that side of the marine park. They sailed through the slim gate, the car jouncing as it ate up the pavement.

  She slowed down to a normal speed, cruising down the mostly empty streets to the center of Barcelona.

  “My father raced cars for a living,” she finally said as way of explanation. “He taught me everything. I had dreams of following in his footsteps, but he begged me not to do it.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t teach you to scare the shit out of innocent people who thought you were going to kill them,” Rosario said. Like Chet, she sounded more relieved than angry. A brush with death could do that to you.

  “I’m what you call…how do you say it in America…an adrenaline junkie.”

  “No,” Chet said, “We call that lunacy.”

  Raquel laughed. “Don’t worry. No one was hurt, were they?”

  As shaky as he was, he had to admit, the only things that had been harmed were the tires.

  Raquel dropped them off in front of the steakhouse without so much as an apology. She uttered an innocent goodnight before driving away.

  Rosario looked to Chet, slowly shaking her head. “That bitch is crazy.”

  He hugged her, feeling the tension slowly melt away and she wrapped her arms around him.

  They staggered into the packed steakhouse and were lucky to get a table. Chet had been to Spain numerous times and still couldn’t believe how late the natives had their dinner. Back home, restaurants would be thinning out by now, not humming in the shank of the evening.

  A glass of wine helped take some of the edge off, but not enough to quell Chet’s private worries.

  He didn’t know Raquel, so there was no way to tell if what had just happened was par for the course.

  If it wasn’t, then what came to him next was far more frightening than almost killing a crowd of reporters and police.

  What if whatever had affected the whales had somehow infected them?

  How long would it be before he and Rosario turned on the people around them, or each other?

  Chapter Ten

  By the time the steak arrived, along with a side of crispy potatoes and vegetable medley tossed in olive oil, Chet’s appetite had vanished. Yes, his body was a bit on the trembly side, his stores of energy as empty as No Man’s Land. But creeping dread had kicked his hunger aside, and nothing could make him swallow more than a few mouthfuls.

  “Are you feeling alright?” Rosario asked, tucking into her filet.

  “I think I’m more tired than hungry,” he lied.

  “I’ll be able to sleep for days after this meal. Come on, you sure you don’t want to try a little of mine?”

  He waved off the fork of meat she hovered over his plate.

  “I’m sure.”

  While Rosario ate, he kept worrying that his loss of appetite was the first sign of infection. It was ludicrous and completely self-inflicted paranoia, but he couldn’t stop himself. The runaway train to Anxiety Station had ditched the brakes and was heading down the tracks at death defying speed.

  When the waiter asked if they wanted dessert, Rosario took one look at him and declined. He could see she was disappointed but didn’t want to keep him in the restaurant any longer than she had to.

  “You look pale,” she said as she got up to go to the ladies’ room.

  “I do?” He had to control himself not to sound like a frightened fool. What he couldn’t stop was the line of sweat beads from breaking out on his forehead.

  “Yes, you do,” she said, her brows creased with worry. “You need some rest. I think you’ve hit the wall.”

  Looking at his full plate, he sipped from his water glass, hoping to hide the fear in his eyes.

  “I’ll be quick. Then it’s to bed for you. And not the fun kind of to bed.” She kissed his forehead. “Well, at least you don’t have a fever.”

  The moment she stepped away, he used his napkin to soak up the perspiration on his face and the back of his neck.

  I don’t have a fever. That’s a good thing, right?

  For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out where this was coming from. He’d never been known to be a hypochondriac. Then again, he’d never seen anything like what happened back at Marine Paradise.

  He noticed his hand trembling as he laid his napkin back across his lap.

  “Get your shit together, man,” he hissed.

  “Pardon?”

  Of course their waiter had chosen that exact moment to cozy up to the table.

  “No-nothing. Just the check, por favor.”

  Rosario came back and he paid with cash so he didn’t have to wait for his card to be run through the machine. They walked back to the hotel. It was a beautiful night, a hint of the salty Mediterranean on the silky breeze. Rosario talked while he listened, hoping his legs didn’t give out, fearing that his mental and physical breakdown were sure signs that he was about to turn into a homicidal maniac.

  Would there be enough warning to get the hell away from Rosario before he hurt her?

  Was all this the very warning that he was choosing to ignore? He took her offered hand as they entered the hotel lobby, hoping he wouldn’t turn on a dime and rip it out of its socket in a fit of uncontrollable rage.

  Would the mania that had ultimately led to the demise of the three orcas hit him like a hammer blow from behind? Would he in turn bash Rosario like a hammer blow from behind?

  His swirling thoughts only added to his nausea, turning his muscles to expired yogurt.

  Somehow, he managed to open their door, heading straight for the bed and plopping on his back.

  “I’m starting to worry about you,” Rosario said as she stood over him. His eyes were closed, his breathing ragged. “I’ll get these clothes off and tuck you in.”

  He was doing what he could to help her get his shirt off when his cell phone started chirping. It was after midnight. Hardly a time for social calls.

  Assuming it would be one of his friends back home where it was nine hours earlier, he ignored it. Rosario had hustled into the bathroom to get him a glass of water and some aspirin. He’d started out a mess and he was ending the day in even worse shape.

  Do I tell her? he thought. She has a right to know. If it’s happening to me, it can happen to her.

  When she came back into the room, his phone went off again.

  “Someone wants to talk to you,” she said, plucking the phone from his hand. Her eyebrow rose when she looked at the display. “It’s Ivan.”

  That didn’t allay his fears. His stomach, already turned over twice, dropped to his knees.

  He took the phone from her and swiped the screen to answer. Before he could say hello, Ivan was blurting, “Turn on the television!”

  The less than tactful order snapped him from his delirium.

  “What?” Chet said.

  “Go to Telecinco. Quick.”

  “Rosario, can you hand me the remote?”

  “Sure. What’s going on?” She grabbed the remote from the top of the TV and tossed it to him. He caught it with a remarkably steady hand.

  “I don’t know, but I don’t think Ivan is calling to recommend a good movie to watch.”

  “I wish to Christ I was,” Ivan said. “Are you watching?”

  “Hold on.” Chet fat fingered the control but eventually found the station. There was breaking news coverage with a live feed from what appeared to be an offshore oil rig. “What the hell am I looking at, Ivan?”

  He coul
dn’t figure out how to get the closed captioning for English. The video, taken from a helicopter high above the rig, showed a brightly lit platform above a pitch black sea.

  “That’s a new oil rig at Algarve, just off Portugal’s southern coast. Hold on, they’ll get a good shot in a second.”

  Chet had put Ivan on speaker. Rosario said, “A good shot of what?”

  True to his word, the camera shifted, zooming in on one of the sturdy legs of the rig. Now they could see the water boiling, white caps exploding everywhere. Someone had directed a spotlight on the water.

  The hump of an orca flashed briefly into the light. Rosario gasped as it smashed the rig with the top of his head and disappeared.

  It wasn’t alone.

  Chet couldn’t be sure because of the unsteady camerawork and bad lighting, but it looked like there had to be at least a half dozen orcas down there.

  “They’re attacking an oil rig?” he said, no longer thinking about his impending spiral into madness and death.

  “It started three hours ago,” Ivan said. “There was a pod of eight at first. Then it was joined by another pod of eleven. You can’t see them now because they’re on the other side of the rig, maybe resting. About fifteen minutes ago, a third pod came into the picture. They’re estimating there are a dozen or more in this new pod.”

  The orcas took turns assaulting the unyielding rig, oblivious to the pain.

  Multiple orca pods congregating wasn’t that uncommon.

  Dozens of orcas trying to batter a manmade structure in the middle of the sea was.

  “Are there any more coming?” Rosario asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and gripping both her knees until her knuckles went white.

  “That’s the problem,” Ivan’s tinny voice replied. “They think there may be as many as a hundred or more heading their way.”

  “What?” Chet said, pacing the room. “Did you say a hundred or more?”

  “Best estimates we can get in the dark.”

  Chet had heard of multiple pods temporarily getting together that numbered up to two-hundred. This, however, seemed like a suicide mission. They couldn’t possibly knock down the rig.

  Could they?