Daughter of the Deep(16)

‘Prefect,’ I correct him, though it’s hard to come across as serious when I’m wheezing hysterically.

Hewett frowns. ‘I wish we had more time. We spent almost a year slowly orienting your brother. He was being trained to lead, to take over where your parents left off. As much promise as he showed, the pressure nearly destroyed him. Now, I’m afraid I have to ask even more of you. I wish –’

He’s interrupted by a ding from his tablet computer. I’ve never heard it make any sound before, and despite the cheerful noise I can tell from Hewett’s expression it isn’t good news.

‘They’ve found us,’ he announces.

Gem’s hands gravitate to his sidearms. ‘Is it the thing I saw on your screen before? What was that?’

‘No time,’ Hewett says. ‘Alert the crew. We’re under attack!’





They literally erupt from the sea.

I have time to yell ‘Incoming!’ before scuba divers rocket to the surface on our starboard side, all on kickboard-size DPVs – diver propulsion vehicles – moving at twelve knots or more, faster than any I’ve ever seen. I register eight hostiles, some carrying strange silvery weapons that look like harpoon guns, others brandishing … Wait, are those grenade launchers?

Two fist-size metal canisters plunk onto our gangway and roll hissing and steaming across the deck.

‘Flash bangs!’ Gem yells.

I shut my eyes and cover my ears, but the explosions still leave my head ringing. For a moment, I can only stagger in a daze through plumes of blue smoke. By the time my crewmates and I have recovered from our confusion, our enemies have fastened grappling hooks to the starboard rail, discarded their DPVs and oxygen tanks, and begun climbing over our gunwale like they’ve been practising this assault for months.

Eloise and Cooper are the first to return fire. They spray our attackers with their M4A1s, but it’s like they’re shooting wax bullets. The rounds make smoking white impact points against our enemies’ wetsuits, making them flinch but causing no visible damage.

Two hostiles fire their silver weapons. Miniature harpoons impale Eloise’s shoulder and Cooper’s leg. White arcs of electricity blossom from the projectiles, and both Sharks crumple.

I scream in rage. My friends closest to starboard, most still unarmed, charge the intruders. It’s a desperate move, but a melee with armed opponents is better than getting shot down one by one, and we seem to have numbers on our side. I want to join them – I want to take apart these attackers with my bare hands for the destruction of my school, for Dev – but Gem holds me back.

‘Fire if you see an opening.’ He hands me a Leyden gun. ‘But stay behind me, please.’ I bristle at his demeaning orders but obey as he yells to his remaining housemates. ‘Dru, Kiya!’

He tosses them each a gun from his gold-level case like he’s Militia Santa Claus. ‘Point and shoot!’

Perfect instructions for a Shark.

Two more attackers are just climbing over the rail. Gem makes them pay for their late arrival by shooting both of them centre mass. They topple backwards, flickering like defective Christmas lights until they hit the water. Maybe their wetsuits will keep them afloat. Maybe they’ll come to before they drown. At the moment, that’s not my biggest concern.

Dru Cardenas shoots another intruder. Unfortunately, the electricity also arcs to Nelinha, who had been in the process of pummelling said intruder with a socket wrench. Both of them go down.

Five enemies left, scuffling with about ten of our crew who happened to be on deck at the time. Why would they attack us with so few? And where is Dr Hewett? He hasn’t yet followed us out from the bridge. Just as I was starting to believe he might not be a traitor, my trust pendulum swings back towards extreme doubt.

I can’t tell much about our attackers. Dive masks and full hoods obscure their faces. Nevertheless, the Land Institute insignia is clearly emblazoned on the breast of each wetsuit: an old-fashioned harpoon in silver, its rope making a circle around the letters LI.

Our attackers must be upperclassmen – they look taller and older than us, but not like adults. Land Institute surely has faculty trained in combat, armed security, adult alumni. If catching us is so important, why are they sending students? And, as nasty as those harpoon guns look, they don’t appear designed to kill. After destroying our entire school, why hesitate to use lethal force?

I wonder if this could be a ruse … some sort of training exercise. No. The destruction of HP was real enough.

But this whole thing smells fishy …

My hands are sweaty on the stock of the Leyden gun. I can’t get a clear shot. After what happened to Nelinha, I’m not going to fire randomly into the crowd with a weapon I don’t fully understand.

One attacker shoots Meadow Newman point-blank with a mini-harpoon Leyden pistol. She falls, electric sparks popping around her. Ester gets revenge by body-slamming the guy – Ester is an excellent defensive lineman – and the attacker goes down flailing. Top joins the party, clamping his jaws around the guy’s throat, which is absolutely a form of emotional support. If not for the strange bulletproof fabric of the dive hood, the guy would be Top’s lunch. As it is, he crab-walks backwards, screaming and trying to shake off the furious twenty-pound fluff demon attached to his windpipe.

This is too easy, I mutter to myself, though I doubt my unconscious classmates would agree. Six are now out of commission, some bleeding from nasty harpoon barbs.