At Ocean's Mercy

After crossing through the gates, Ray pushed toward the outside valve. A thin, red thread unraveled in his wake, dissolving and reemerging, a bloody trail left by a fleeing prey. The cut stung a little bit, sending tremors rippling up his entire arm.

His course veered slightly to the right as he favored his uninjured side, his strokes jolting and uneven. It wouldn't matter in the open ocean, but in the confines of the gateway the skewed swimming felt uncomfortable.

There was no need to conserve oxygen. Ray was sure his pursuers would catch up to him before it ran out. He concentrated on putting as much distance between Driftmoor Exchange and himself as possible, on buying his friends the precious time they needed to escape.

His eyebrows drew together in doubt. Hoping that Coral wasn't throwing herself into another reckless situation right now, Ray mentally begged for her forgiveness. He really wished that their reunion could have lasted longer and included less running and hiding. But her life was worth more than one happy memory.

At last, the ocean welcomed him. The blue emptiness lounged serenely, watching him, hiding nothing. Just the worst, the ships would see him the moment they exited the gates. The least he could do was get out of their line of sight. Every moment the company men spent looking for him was one more moment for his friends to get away.

Ray's thoughts repeatedly returned to all of them. Had they come up with a plan, or had the criminal gang caught up with them first? Had they subdued the remaining guards, or were instead overpowered? Had they gotten safely back on the submarine, or were there more enemies waiting inside?

He worried that Marlin was rushing right into unnecessary risk. That Koi wasn't paying attention to the dangers around her. That Coral... Coral, and all the innumerable threats that she never took seriously. About her, he worried the most.

The water flowed over him, pulsating with invisible meanings he read with his skin. There it was, a bit further to the left. A low hum echoed behind. His time was about to run out.

A strong undersea current streamed in front of him with a tremendous force. Where might it lead? Ray shivered from the uncertainty gaping in front of him. That was what you got for not coming up with a proper plan. A smirk spread across his face. He tallied a simple calculation to lull his writhing thoughts: things to gain — incredible speed; things to lose — he didn't have any left.

Ray prayed that his friends wouldn't waste too much time looking for him, then surrendered to the current.

His arms and legs grew numb as if restrained, his lungs caved in under the pressure, his eyes struggled to stay open, irritated by the unrelenting water. Despite the physical discomfort, Ray found it effortless to stay calm. More than just calm, he was overcome with the sense of peace, or was it joy? After all, having no plan meant there was nothing that could go wrong.

Waiting for the current to weaken on its own, Ray floated at the mercy of the ocean, staying alert not to be thrown against the rocks and tracking his position in relation to Driftmoor Exchange. The water flow was hectic, meandering from side to side, indecisive about where to spit its passenger out.

A parade of dark, hazy clouds passed overhead. Right, it should have been about time for the turtle watching festival. Ray turned, positioning himself at an angle relative to the current's direction, and propelled his body forward, inching out of the grasp of its overwhelming influence.

Giant flathead turtles migrated in an unhurried, collected procession, paying no mind to a human approaching them. Ray considered his options. Should he hide among the enormous beasts, or would they shun him? Try to hitch a ride by grabbing onto the animal's shell, or would it shake him off like a pesky parasite?

The pressure inside his lungs grew hotter. And he thought he could already catch the whirl of the propellers closing in.

Was it possible to anger the turtles and compel them to attack the ship? Ray shook his head. He was too insignificant a presence to get their attention: not a threat, not a snack, not even enough to be an annoyance. These giants were calm and phlegmatic by nature. Very few things were able to set them off.

Since Ray hovered in the same spot for some time, pondering, a soft, bloody mist spread around his arm. A shadow zoomed above. Could his pursuers have already reached him? He tensed, ready to pounce or flee, and took out a pocketknife. One thing he knew for sure. He would never let them catch and interrogate him. He looked up.

A megaloshark circled over him, sensing an easy prey. A shudder ran through Ray, an image of being snapped in two repeating in his mind. He kicked his legs to swim up, determined to get closer to the turtles. A blinding beam of a searchlight froze him in place.

Shielding his eyes, Ray squinted at the craft slowing down beside him. Its hatch slid open, and a dozen armed shadows emerged. Extra thin hydrosuits, thermal visors, harpoon launchers, water propulsion leg prosthetics. Vulcan men.

They cautiously glided through the water, trying to encircle Ray, patient, watching for his next move, probably waiting for him to run out of oxygen. But he wasn't backing down without a fight.

Ray smiled wryly. This may be his most foolish choice yet, but it was his own. After giving the blade of the pocketknife a wistful look, he plunged it into his injured arm and twisted, opening up the wound.

A burning agony throbbed in his arm, sending painful tentacles throughout his body, reaching every cell. A gasp escaped Ray, and he swallowed a mouthful of briny water. His sight grew hazy, his limbs — weighty, his lungs filled with spiky icicles.

Agitated and tense, the guards moved in closer. A weak smile tugged at Ray's frigid lips. He was sure they wanted him alive, but it didn't matter anymore. There was no stopping the instincts.

The enormous shark swooped down, baited by the fresh scent of blood. The sweet temptation irresistible. Harpoons flew through the water, followed by a barrage of darts zipping out of the ship's turret. Ray blinked, his eyes refused to focus. The water felt solid, tumultuous, feverish against his skin.

Ray silently cheered on the megaloshark as he slipped further into unconsciousness. Something nudged him in the back, but he was too numb to understand what it was. This body wasn't his anymore. It belonged to the ocean now.

The depth swallowed him.