MaryJanice Davidson - Dead Over Heels

“Right now,” she said grimly, “it seems a fairly useless talent.”

“Aw, don’t be so hard on yourself. I—what’s the matter?”

For she had turned her head and was looking off into the distance, straight (or so it seemed to him) into the setting sun.

“That hammerhead shark is back,” she said casually.

He nearly shrieked. “Hammerhead?” Then, “Back?”

“Yes, it occasionally noses around, mostly while you’re uncon—asleep. I keep warning it away.”

“Oh—the telepathy. You talk to fish, too?”

“Of course. But she’s heavy with pup and is not inclined to listen. I—oh, in the king’s name,” she said, exasperated, and this time he could see the fin arrowing out of the water toward Ree.

“I will come back,” she said, and dived to meet it.

“Ree!” he screamed. “Get in the boat with me!” But she couldn’t hear him, so he lunged over the side—and sank like a stone.

Luckily, he’d taken a big breath before hitting the water, and even better, the water was warm, but the salt stung his eyes and for a moment he couldn’t see anything.

Then he saw Ree darting to meet the shark, which looked like it had about a zillion teeth. He wished he was telepathic; he’d tell her to get the fuck away from it. He wished he’d thought to grab the oar on the way down. He wished he’d taken those swim lessons at the Y.

He clumsily swung his arms in the water and made about half a foot of forward progress. Meanwhile, Ree had deftly caught the shark—an eight footer!—by the jaws and was holding them open. Then she reared up, let go of the jaws, and grabbed it by the hammer-thing. It snapped, but Ree was too quick and it missed her tail by about four inches.

Then—he wondered if the salt was blinding him, because he was having trouble believing his eyes—still holding onto the hammer, Ree somehow lunged forward—and took a bite out of the shark’s back!

The shark tried to rear away from her and she let it, giving it a smack on the fin as it sped away from her, trailing blood. Then she turned and her eyes widened as she saw him.

He managed a wave, still sinking, trying to drown without being too much trouble, and she arrowed toward him, seized him under the armpits, then darted toward the surface. He was amazed; she was swimming, with his bulk, even faster than he had sunk.

They popped to the surface and he took a breath, then coughed. “Lucky I was there to save your ass,” he gasped, suddenly conscious of her breasts pressing against the back of his T-shirt.

She heaved him into the boat like a sack of potatoes—Christ, she was strong!—not once letting up with the scolding. “What were you thinking, stupid Con? You cannot swim! You would have had no chance against a pregnant shark, particularly that breed. She was starving, which is the only reason I did not kill her, but if she comes back I will kill her, and you, too, if you do such a foolish thing ever again.”

“Couldn’t let you get eaten on my account.”

“We are the top of the food chain in the ocean, as you are on land, stupid Con! I was in no danger.”

“Now you tell me,” he mumbled.

She paddled agitatedly around the boat for a minute, then said, “I cannot put this off any longer. You need land.”

“Now you tell me,” he said again.

“I do not know how long it will take. It may take too long.”

“Whatever,” he said, yawning.

She seized the bow (or was it the stern?) of the boat with one hand and started to swim. Slowly, the boat started to move. He tried to sit up, thinking he could help row with the (broken) oar, but saw at once it was no good—he’d cracked it too thoroughly on her head.

So he flopped back in the boat and dozed. He had no idea what she was up to, but felt perfectly safe. Anyone who could fight off a hammerhead in ten seconds could certainly manage his destiny.

He woke up to a gorgeous sunrise, to see Ree stumbling through the surf, dragging the boat behind her. “We are here,” she croaked, looking at him with enormous dark-ringed eyes. She staggered forward onto the sand of the small beach and collapsed, deeply asleep almost at once.

He scrambled out of the boat (which she had considerately hauled up on land for him) and went to her, gently touching her shoulder. She must have hauled the boat all fucking night, he thought, appalled and amazed. And was out cold from sheer exhaustion.

He stripped off his shirt and covered her with it, then went to look for firewood. The island was tiny—he could walk the length of it in less than ten minutes—but had lots of shrubbery and trees, and he had no trouble finding plenty of kindling and firewood. Then he went to the rowboat and found the matches.

One thing he could do was start a fire with a minimum of matches, and the wood was nice and dry. By the time Ree woke up, he had a nice blaze going.

“Oh, good, now you can cook,” she said groggily, sitting up and shaking the sand out of her hair.

“I can’t believe you towed the boat all night! You’re an angel!”

“Oh, well,” she said modestly, but looked pleased. “I am a hungry angel. I will come back.”

“Wait!” He pressed her back into the sand. “Aren’t you pooped? Maybe you should rest awhile.”

“No,” she said firmly, removing his hands from her shoulders. “I have responsibilities.”

“I’m not your damned pet!”

“Yes, but you have no fishing gear and are still starving. Also, did you find the fresh stream on the north side of the island?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “But there’s plenty of coconuts we can eat; they’re all over the ground.”

“Cooked fish will be better for you.” She stood, shaking out her long hair. Then seemed to remember something. “I, ah, apologize for my appearance.”

He goggled at her. “Huh?”

“I am aware of your cultural taboo against nudity. If I had clothes I would wear them, so as not to offend you.”

“Uh, Ree, where I come from, a gorgeous woman walking around naked is not offensive.”

She relaxed. “Oh. Perhaps I was misinformed. Very well. I will come back.”

“I’ll be here,” he promised, watching her dart into the surf and make the cleanest dive he’d ever seen. Her legs went in and he saw a saucy flash of her tail and then she was gone. Again.

He flopped back down in the sand. God, it was so great to be on land and out of that nasty little boat! And with fascinating company, no less. If he ever got out of this mess, he’d have the most amazing comeback show in the history of the channel! He’d tell them all about Ree and how she saved his life and fought a shark and tugged the boat to an island and brought him food. And—

Wait.

If he got out of this—if he was rescued—he doubted Ree would come with him. And what would he do without her? He’d die without her.

Wait.

Once he was back on land, he wouldn’t be in any danger. He wouldn’t need Ree.

Except that felt like the biggest lie on land or sea.

Reanesta felt much better once she hit the water. It had been a long, exhausting night and for a while she feared she’d lost her bearings and wouldn’t find the island. But her sense of direction had not deserted her, and just as the sun was coming up she spotted it. By then she was so tired her limbs were shaking and she feared she might vomit like Con frequently did.

Instead, she dragged the boat up on shore and immediately went to sleep. When she woke, it was to burning brightness and she realized that her helpless biped could do at least one thing. Besides make her feel strange in her stomach.