Jeremy Robinson - Kronos

Trevor chewed on the proposal. Atticus, it seemed, could think clearly regardless of the adrenaline no doubt pumping through his veins. The offer was reasonable, but would Atticus hold to his end of the bargain once his daughter was freed? Better yet, how would they retrieve the girl from the belly of the beast without first killing it or themselves in the process? Questions for another time, Trevor thought. He would truly make up his mind about what to do later. First, Atticus needed to be placated. “Agreed,” Trevor said with a smile. “You’ve managed to raise the stakes yet again. Well done!”

Atticus stepped back, satisfied. “Are you okay?” he asked Andrea.

“Peachy,” she said, rubbing her head where Remus had yanked her hair. “Just your average day on the Love Boat.”

Remus stirred and Trevor saw his opportunity to bring things to a close. “I believe it best if we all retire to our quarters for the remainder of the day. Some time apart will allow heads to clear and plans of action to be formulated. We will talk again in the morning.”

Trevor could see that Atticus was about to protest, but a gentle hand on his shoulder and a calm voice put an end to it. “I think he’s right, Atticus. Nothing productive can be done today. We’re all too…shook-up. Especially you.” O’Shea pointed to the sonar screen. The large green mass that represented Kronos had gone deep-out of their range. “And Kronos is out of our reach.”

Trevor had never been happier to have O’Shea on board. The man had become indispensable at disarming confrontations. While Remus’s techniques proved entertaining, O’Shea’s gentle touch had a far more profound effect in volatile situations. The priest deserved another bonus.

Atticus relented with a nod and moved toward Remus, who was rubbing his head and looking around in a daze. Atticus bent down, picking up his knife and the Beretta. He held the gun up in front of Remus’s eyes. “Thanks for the gift.”

“Go to hell,” Remus grunted with a cough that caused him to wince and clutch his ribs.

With that, Atticus turned to Trevor, and said, “In the morning we’ll talk. If I don’t like what you have to say, you’re packing it up and leaving.”

And there it was. Another order. It was said so coolly and confidently that a lesser man would have simply agreed and left it at that. But Trevor was not a lesser man. His insides became a roiling caldron of fury. Atticus transformed from an admired warrior to insolent whelp in Trevor’s eyes. A very dangerous whelp, Trevor reminded himself.

“Enjoy the night…” Trevor said through a tight smile as O’Shea led Atticus and Andrea off the bridge.

It will be your last.

The Titan

Atticus paced in front of the long window that stretched along the outside wall of his cabin’s living room, agitated eager for action. With every glimmer of light reflecting off the ocean outside, he would glance up, hoping to catch sight of Kronos rising and falling-alive. The creature he’d fought so passionately to kill could live without fear of death at Atticus’s hands. In fact, he would do everything he could to make sure Kronos survived. He’d promised Trevor he would kill Kronos once Giona’s safety had been ensured, but he knew he couldn’t do it. His thirst for revenge, now squelched, had been replaced by concern for his daughter and a renewed interest in preserving the ocean’s life, of which Kronos represented the pinnacle.

A modern mystery. An unknown species. Primal yet intelligent. What did it want? Why would it swallow Giona if it had no intention of digesting her? And why did it let him live?

Answers to his questions did not exist, so he buried them, ignoring their repetitious chant. But in the absence of questions came a torrent of emotions. Self-loathing over wrecking the submersible, preventing him or anyone else from returning to the deep, pummeled his nerves. Relief that Kronos and Giona had survived the battle gave him hope but twisted a knot in his gut. Giona sat alone, inside a giant sea creature. She needed him more than ever, and he couldn’t get to her. And fear, the most powerful of the emotions torturing him, fueled his doubts. Giona might have been alive earlier, but she could already be dead. The shell fired from the big cannon could have hit her. Kronos could have spat her out, deep underwater. Stomach juices could have finally done her in. A lack of oxygen…The many ways Giona could die inside the belly of the beast numbered so high they overwhelmed Atticus.

He pictured his girl, terrified, sitting in Kronos’s belly, knowing she would eventually die there, alone. Images of her crying throughout her life filled his mind’s eye. Age three after a toy had been stolen. Age six after stubbing a toe. Age ten when she fell off her bike. He’d always had trouble seeing her cry. Her face had a way of looking so sad and desperate for comfort. The memory of her face haunted his imagination and distracted him from the question at hand.

What do I do now?

A hopeful glance at a distant wave found nothing but the setting sun. Night would soon arrive, then the morning. By that time he’d need a course of action that would allow him not only to retrieve Giona, but also convince Trevor that Kronos would die soon after. With the return of his daughter’s life also came his previous values. But with this renewed moral compass came guilt. He’d betrayed all that he held dear for an act of vengeance. Killing had once been a part of his life, but Maria had changed that. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she would have been ashamed of him.

One look at Andrea as she entered the living room from the bedroom told him he was wrong. Andrea had forgiven him, and Maria would have as well. As Atticus continued his internal monologue, he failed to notice Andrea toss a water bottle to him and shout, “Catch!”

The bottle caught him in the side of the head and bounced to the floor. Atticus, caught off guard, staggered backward and nearly fell over. Once stable, he looked to the floor to see what hit him and turned to Andrea, who had her hands clasped over her mouth. Atticus couldn’t tell if she was afraid she’d hurt him or if she was hiding a smile.

Atticus chuckled. “You trying to finish me off?”

“I said, ‘catch,’” Andrea pointed out, allowing her own infectious giggle to escape. She moved over to him and examined the mark left by the bottle. “You’ll be fine.” She stood on her toes and kissed his forehead. “See? All better.”

“Gee, thanks. You’d make a great mom”

Andrea’s smile faded, and Atticus cursed himself as he realized what he’d said. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Andrea said. A slight smile returned to her lips. “And for the record, I was a great mom.”

Atticus looked into Andrea’s eyes as their bodies moved closer. Like a ship caught in a whirlpool, he slid toward her, unable to stop. In that moment, all his concerns, worries, and self-torture disappeared. “Maybe you will be again?”

Andrea’s smile grew, and she was about to respond when a quick knock came at the door. Atticus’s hand went to his side and rested on the reloaded. 357. He and Trevor might have an understanding, but Remus would be trouble again. His ego had been bruised too many times to see clearly and was too stupid to know when to quit.

Moving silently over the smooth, hardwood floor, Atticus reached the door and peered through the peephole. His hand came away from the magnum when he saw O’Shea standing outside the door looking about nervously.

Atticus opened the door and greeted the black-clad priest with a half smile. “Come on in, Father.”

When O’Shea didn’t move forward, Atticus frowned. “What?