Drink The Water

1 “Don't drink the water.” Janine looked back, startled. A man stood a few paces behind her, towering over her. Kneeling at the end of the dock, nothing between her and the poisonous Nartressan sea, Janine felt a moment of vulnerability. A slight nudge would send her to her death. She couldn't see his face. The night fading, a blue glow to the east, only a few seaside cottage lights illuminated him from the side. “I know,” she replied, standing, “I'm a biologist.” A dark prominent brow dominated the face, the eyes sunk too far into their sockets. The skin was white from too little sun, the hair black as though dyed. He was clean shaven, dressed in a spare formall that seemed too insubstantial to protect against the chill blowing off the bay, a small maritime insignia at the left breast. In the deeply sunken eyes was the hint of a smile. “You must be Doctor Meriwether,” he said. “Carson, Thomas Carson, Chief Biologist at the Marine Institute.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the brightly-lit building on the hilltop. “You look nothing like your vid,” Janine said, wondering why she hadn't recognized him. She looked down to make sure she didn't trip over the equipment at her feet, and stepped— Hands shoved her backward off the pier. As she flailed her arms for balance, she looked at him, her body falling in slow motion toward the water. His expression hadn't changed. The water enveloped her, its chill cold fingers reaching every inch of skin. She didn't fight because she knew she was dead, the Nartressan water containing a prion that exuded a prothrombin antagonist. Her blood would stop clotting and would soon grow so thin as to seep between her epithelial cells. Within minutes, she'd be dead. Janine felt tentacles wrap her ankles and yank her downward into the darker depths, vines grasping every limb, working their way up her trunk to her shoulders, to her neck, to her head. Seaweed wrapped her head, occluded her sight. It'll suffocate me before I bleed to death, she thought, feeling curiously unafraid. Then her world went black. Randall Simmons sat up and gasped for breath, sweat pouring off him, the remains of the nightmare dissipating from his mind. “You all right?” his wife said, sitting up and rubbing his back. He shook his head. “Another nightmare, same one.” “That's the fifth night in a row.” He wondered how long he could keep doing this. Last night, he'd stayed awake until past midnight, hoping to make himself so tired that he'd sleep through the night. “You've got to see somebody.” He just grunted. She didn't understand, and he didn't expect her to. “Take a day or two off, maybe a week.” He nodded in dull acknowledgement, both of them knowing he'd do no such thing, both knowing he was committed to his work. Emergency Medical Technician, and now having nightmares about work. How many coworkers had burned out already, traumatized by the fruitless search-and-rescues, the w**d snatchings having left the populace terrified and helpless? He looked toward the window, a hint of morning light at the edges. Four hours sleep, restless, dreaming of w**d strands, of one wrapping his ankle and yanking him off the beach and into the surf. Randall stumbled into the bathroom, relieved himself, and looked at his reflection. Gaunt and pale, his black hair making his skin look paler than it already was. His coke came to life, the electrical implant in his ear crackling, a red alert blazing on his retinal. “Alert, all responders. Report to base.” Randall was in his boots and out the door. Brian Franks stepped off the yacht, and a seaweed tentacle wrapped his foot, the strand flattening to fit between the boat and dock. It yanked him off his feet, and he fell to the decking with a yelp, the slimy feel of seaweed on his leg matching the sick twist in the pit of his stomach. “Help!” he yelled, but no one was near, and the w**d dragged him to the edge. He grabbed for the gunwale and missed, flailed for anything to grab onto. More strands grasped his leg, yanked him into the water, and pulled him deep, straight down, the sky receding as he sank into the murk, and he found himself wondering how the bay could be so deep. And cold … Her head clouded with w**d smoke, Honeydew Diamond stumbled on the beach, thinking she'd put her high-heeled shoe into a hole. The night dark, she had to look twice, disbelieving. A seaweed strand wrapped her ankle. She pulled away, thinking it hallucination, and it pulled back, yanking her toward the water. “Help!” The friend she'd been with was nowhere around. She grabbed at the sand to stop her slide, the night on the beach with the high-paying customer turning into a nightmare on the beach. The seaweed tightened and dragged her toward the water. She screamed, the sand scraping off her evening gown up to her waist, her breasts. A tentacle, then two, crept up her legs and around her hips. Again she screamed, a wave crashing over her, the roiling surf taking what remained of her gown over her head. I always knew I'd die in the nude, Honeydew thought inanely …