Siren, the Prequel/Chapter3/Michelle's Story

We have a pretty good handle on Michael. In this chapter, we find out about the visitor from the deep.

Chapter 3

Lifting her head from his chest, the young woman still feels the warmth of Michael's body. Delicate fingers spread as they glide to his waist. The heat traveling through Michelle's senses burns a path through her nervous system. She tenses slender shoulders as if a sharp snap of cold air rips through her delicate frame. In her colony, a group would find a spot in the ocean to rest from their constant hunt for food. Entangled on the sea floor, their cold-blood maintains its temperature with the embrace of others. The young woman has slept alone for a week. Her people all but destroyed as pods, families and even most of the colony scatter in all directions to escape the attacking humans. Distraught feelings of isolation ended when a young orphan on the sea used an automatic weapon to snatch her from the jaws of death.

Michael's eyes open, their vision cloudy and out of focus. He exhales as those emerald eyes shut. A stale breath of air leaves the soldier's mouth, reminding her his time is running out.

"You are so soft." She states as her probing fingers outline his pectoral muscles. "Human skin, it is so beautiful." Michelle closes her eyes as tears escape from strained lids. As they cascade down a taut cheek, memories of the last week creep into her vision.

"Why are they so bad? Some of them should be called." Sobbing, the agitated young woman raises her hands and pulls down the neckline of the t-shirt. "They are not human. They are monsters." A loud hissing sound fills the life raft as she snarls at the human before her. Hands shake, as she spreads her fingers. Clear nails grow to a point. As they take the form of claws. Dark eyes focus on Michael's throat. The sound of gunfire, ear splitting screams and words of hate in a language unknown to her overwhelm the young woman's hearing. A putrid smell of heavy fuel oil crawls up her nose, another better forgotten recollection. As if she is surrounded by the noxious smell, her petite nostrils flex and expand. An odor that symbolizes death to her kind. She is ready to start on the road of vengeance as sharp talons raise into the air. Pulsating blood sends a surge of hate filled emotion through her veins. Echoing thumps of a speeding heart is all she can hear. Now, on this vulnerable human she will strike the first blow.

And then there is silence. Interrupted only by frail waves of seawater smacking the raft.

Swinging in front of her a sparkling pair of metal tags catch the morning sun. A gift from him, that she took without asking. The lure she used to catch a fish. A fish she would feed to a starving and dehydrated boy, close to her age. Their moments together relived in her memory.

His reaction to seeing his Dog Tags hanging from her neck. I guess this means we're engaged. The words are foreign to her, but she presumes it to be a custom between human warriors.

The innocent giggles at his wild right eyebrow. The constant reference to his mother and family. Michelle bent toward the still body and embraced it. If he neared death, she would follow. The young mermaid only wanted the past week to disappear. Closing her eyes, she prayed for death, and an end to her memories. Both of her wishes would be unfulfilled.

Seven days ago

Two young mermaids followed the boat as it proceeds North. The havoc it caused made them orphans. Orphans intent on revenge.

Gliding through the pristine blue surface as it reflects a clear Pacific sky, the two streaking figures came to a halt. The approach of a larger ship catches their attention. Retribution is at hand.

The larger of the two signals with a webbed-fingers for the other to swim under the smaller craft. In a flash, a silver tinged tail ripples through the ocean speeding the slender form underneath the smaller vessel.

The two sisters realize several bodies of their colony will be transported to the larger ship.

Lifting her head to eyelevel above the surface, the older sister grimaces as the boom moves forward. Attached to a large rusted hook is a fishing net. Several bodies wrapped in canvas swing to the side of the boat. A tall man with a rifle slung on his back operates a winch. The screeching sounds from its metal gears can be heard in the distance. It is her signal to intercept this blasphemous treatment of her kind.

The larger vessel dispatches a small, sleek craft. Its engines rip through the water as if sliding on an ice covered surface. This is the moment the mermaid had waited for.

As the craft stops alongside the fishing boat's hull. Its white paint show sign of disintegration. The craft appears to be a typical low-level independent fishing vessel looking for schools of Yellow and Bluefin tuna. Not one with numerous armed seamen and S.C.U.B.A equipment littering the deck.

As the net begins to lower over the port side, two men in wet suits guide the catch onto their boat.

"Русалка!" The sailor in the crow's nest calls out. His voice breaks as he bellows to several armed men scanning the water.

Jumping into the ocean, a diver from each vessel swim to the mermaid. Harmed with harpoon guns, they would be no match for the strong and elusive marine warrior.

Another small craft leaves the bigger ship with two more divers armed and ready. It appears they have learned a costly lesson after losing two of their group in an underwater battle.

As they approach the larger mermaid, her sister leaves the position under the fishing trawler only to retreat by the other's high frequency blast. A signal to stay put. The divers are momentarily stunned but recover encircling their prey. One advances only to be whipped by a flapping tail. It cuts into his suit, bringing a stream of blood.

Cries of surprise escape from the surrounded figure. Something has hit her dorsal fin. The Material wraps itself around the struggling mermaid. Another diver fires at the stationary target. She is hit, but not by a harpoon. Upon impact a net encases her as movements slow. It is made of a substance unseen by her colony. The 5-layer plastic-like material tightens around her.

Shouts of "ху рэй" are trumpeted at their first capture of a live member of the species. Even the cries of celebration from the larger vessel, big enough to be equipped with a full science lab, filter to the smaller vessel.

Her sister can only watch from a distance, ashamed at this development. The mermaids hoped to recapture the bodies of their kind, in hopes of burying them as their tradition demands. Songs of sorrow at their loss and songs of joy to reaffirm death is a pathway to their ancestors. Now, the young woman floating farther and farther away from her only living relative clutches a scaled chest.

"No!" Michelle cries, breaking free of the past. A speeding heartbeat reflects the young woman's sporadic attempts to control her breath. And then, she is composed.

"Michael? Michael?" She realizes her outburst did little to stir the unconscious figure.

"I have lost enough of the people I care about."

Jumping into the water, she puts her hand through a loop of rope draped at intervals about the craft. Contorting due to her transformation, she struggles shaking her body and the lifeboat till the metamorphosis is complete.

Speeding through the water, she heads to the West. There is a beach where the older of her colony would meet a group of women friendly to their kind. Tales of these isolated females tell of their kindness and magic elixirs that can heal.

She smiles as water splits at her mouth. Michelle cuts the calm waters as if a speed boat skimming the surface.

I know they will help him. Save him. Her thoughts are only about Michael.

Of course, they will. She remembers. They wear the same symbol he does.

The symbol she almost broke his wrist over when she needed a fishing lure.

They wear a crucifix