Ryan Lockwood - Below

Not Travis and Hector. This would be their second successful operation. And as long as they didn’t attempt it too often, Travis figured he had found a way to pay for some mad surf trips to Central America. Maybe even Hawaii. Besides, Travis liked Mexicans. They just wanted a better life and all, right?

Travis drained the rest of the beer and tossed the bottle overboard as he moved toward the helm. He didn’t have time to screw around once the drop had been made, and knew he had to hurry. Even summer waters got cold if you spent too long out there, and currents could move a floating group far and fast. If he hurried, Travis could simply cruise over to the coordinates using the GPS and the previous visual cue from Hector. He would slow when he neared and look for flashlights, which Hector would have given to the men in the water. That was it. Piece of cake.

The operation was really quite simple, as long as the weather was good. They would have called it off otherwise.

Travis found the ignition and turned the key.

The boat didn’t start.

“Shit!” He turned the key again, but there was no response from the motor.

“Calm down, bro. You can figure this out.” Travis talked himself through the problem. He knew it wasn’t the battery, because the lights worked and he didn’t hear a clicking sound when he turned the key. Maybe the engine wouldn’t start if the prop was raised. He wasn’t sure, because he wasn’t much of a mechanic. He checked the prop, but it was down in the water. Swearing again, he walked back to the helm.

After several minutes, Travis laughed when he saw the problem. He had shut the boat off while still in gear, and left the throttle out of position. He popped the throttle back into neutral and turned the key. Relief washed through him when the motor immediately rumbled to life.

He would have to hurry now. That had cost him precious minutes. He eased the Boston Whaler forward until it pointed south, then gunned it. As the boat cut through the dark swells at more than twenty knots, rapidly closing the distance to his destination, Travis felt better. It was only two miles or so. Probably would take only five minutes or something. Travis liked the rush he got from doing this, the chance he could get caught. Kind of like riding a mondo wave.

Besides, he had to pay for his surfing somehow.

It was very still. The swells, small and gentle, made faint lapping sounds as they found the exposed shoulders of the men around Miguel. The water smelled of salt. He normally liked that smell, when he got to see the ocean. Now it only seemed foreign. He looked up at the stars. They were bright, but cold and distant. He shivered.

They had been floating in the darkness for what seemed a long time. The panga must have left them ten minutes ago. Or maybe twenty. He was sure the other boat should have already come. Was it coming at all?

Everyone in the group had grown quiet. A few men floating together nearby were saying something about the boat not coming, discussing what to do if it didn’t show soon. Miguel looked around, in every direction. He couldn’t see the lights of shore.

He looked down into the water again, wondering how far away the bottom was. His brother would be mad if he kept turning on the flashlight, but not being able to see anything was making him scared.

Miguel suddenly remembered his wristwatch, which his uncle had brought to him as a gift when he had visited from America. He pressed the button on its side and the face lit up, a bright green circle. It cast very little light in the water around him, but he could at least read the hands. He would watch the time, which would give him something to do. The light went out after several seconds, and he counted to thirty.

He lit up his watch again. Only twenty-two seconds had actually passed. In the greenish underwater glow, he could see small particles, green in the chemical light, floating around his jeans-clad legs and pale feet. Below that, nothing but blackness.

Just as the watch light went out, he thought he noticed something far below him.

Another faint light. No, not a light—a glow. A momentary, greenish glow, kind of like his watch, but coming from below him. Miguel’s heart jumped, and he felt a surge of adrenaline course through his body, accelerating his heartbeat. Had somebody dropped his flashlight? He became transfixed on the deep water, staring down past his feet to try and see the glow. He turned on his flashlight and shined it downward for a minute, then switched it off and stared down into the dark again as his eyes adjusted. A minute passed.

There, again!

He was sure he saw it this time—a widespread, pale glow, faint but distinct. Down below him. Below all of them.

The other men began to whisper. Maybe they had seen it, too. Much of the water below and to his left had glowed faintly, but not all at once. The glow had rippled through the deep water, like firecrackers going off.

“ Mano , did you see that? The light below us. Qué es ?”

Miguel looked toward his brother, and realized he had drifted away from him in the past few minutes. Miguel was maybe twenty feet from the others now. He shouted at Elías again, and then raised his hand out of the water, pointing down with his flashlight so his brother could see. But the larger glow, coming from underneath them, was gone again.

“Turn off your fucking light, manito ! Seriously. You want to get caught?”

“But did you see it?”

“I saw nothing. Only your fucking flashlight. Don’t worry. The boat will be here soon and we will be safe. Oye! You are too far away. Swim back to me.”

“But mano , there were lights under the water!”

His brother didn’t respond. Miguel looked down again, but only saw blackness. He strained to see the glow again. The brief pulse of glowing, greenish light had rippled widely, but had come from many different sources. It reminded him of a gathering of fireflies he had once seen when visiting his cousins in Mexico, but instead of yellow winking lights, these were pale, greenish glows.

Miguel’s heart pounded. He would use his watch to see. It was much dimmer. He turned his watch light on and directed the face underneath him, back and forth, trying to see something in the soft light it cast. But it was far too weak, and he saw nothing except for his slowly moving feet.

They were close now.

The lights had reappeared momentarily, inviting the attention of the gathered host. The shoal began to circle where the lights had been. Spiraling closer, shallower.

The sensitive eyes in the shoal no longer needed the lights to see the shapes that had emitted them. They could now clearly see the larger objects revealed in the dim starlight from above the ocean. The objects moved slowly, drifting, but the shoal sensed that they were living. Unfamiliar, but nonthreatening. Ripples of color moved through the shoal, as messages were sent. The mob swirled slowly closer, now very near the floating objects. It slowed, hung motionless in the ocean, each member emitting gentle pulses of water.

Another faint glow rippled through several members of the shoal. One of the largest individuals, a female with only one eye, was drawn to a specific floating object. A small glowing light flashed on this object.

The light of prey.

The large female watched as the glowing light moved rapidly; first it shot upward, disappeared, then reappeared again, darting side to side. Moving evasively, like prey. This excited her, and the shoal around her sensed her excitement.

And her aggression.

The shoal rippled with expectation, as though a shock wave had coursed through it. Slowly, the massive assemblage changed shape as aggressive, excited members surged toward the source of the light, forming a large finger protruding from the group. At the tip of the finger, the one-eyed female emitted several more rapid bursts of light. The eager members stretched out from the main body.