I mean, a military transport plane on a critical government mission just crashed into the sea. Surely somebody saw that on the radar and sent help.
Right?
Now it’s night again. The temperature is dropping. Salt is crusted around my eyes. My mouth feels like sandpaper, my skin like it’s on fire. Freitas is slipping in and out of consciousness again. He’s still breathing, but barely.
Having hardly slept in three days now, I feel the gentle bobbing of the raft start to lull me to sleep. I know I should keep my eyes open, to monitor Freitas, to keep watch for a passing ship to flag down. But I feel so weak. Bone-tired.
I think again of Chloe and Eli, who I pray have made it safely to the Idaho lab by now. And I know I have to keep going, keep fighting. They need me. The world needs me, I think, feeling myself start to drift off. To survive dozens of animal and feral human attacks on land, only to die on the open water…
The blare of a foghorn startles me awake.
It’s just before dawn; the sky is an incandescent blue. I don’t see anything in front of me. Painfully, I turn around—and behold a glorious sight.
A gray navy destroyer, off in the distance, steaming our way.
“Dr. Freitas!” I exclaim, gently shaking him awake. “They’re coming! We’re saved!”
He groans in acknowledgment. And I think I detect the tiniest smile on his bruised, bloody face.
A black Zodiac raft is soon lowered from the destroyer into the water. It speeds toward us, carrying about eight men in dark-blue camouflage uniforms. A few of them are wearing white armbands bearing a red cross: medics.
The highest-ranking sailor calls to me as they get near: “Are you Jackson Oz?”
“Yes!” I croak. “And I’m all right. But Dr. Freitas is in serious condition. The rest of our team…and our specimen… both of them…they’re dead.”
Their boat comes to a stop near our yellow raft. Medics quickly rush aboard, carrying a stretcher over to Freitas. “You’re safe now,” the officer tells me.
Am I? I wonder, as I’m wrapped in a silver thermal blanket and guided onto their craft. Twenty-four hours ago, I witnessed a seemingly normal human being turn into an unrecognizable beast. Without explanation. Without warning.
We speed back toward the looming destroyer, bouncing up and down in the waves, the cool ocean mist spraying my face.
As I glance around at all these young sailors, I can’t help but wonder: Could any of them be next? Could their commanding officer? Could Freitas?
Could I?
Chapter 30
Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam. In 1941, it was the site of one of the most devastating surprises in American history.
Across all the main islands of Hawaii, wild animal attacks are as bad as anywhere. But there have been exactly zero feral human ones. Ever.
At least that’s the word from Captain Paul Fileri, the stern, buzz-cut commander of the vessel that rescued me. My de facto escort since we arrived on base, he’s standing next to my bed in the infirmary as a nurse drains my wounds and changes the dressings.
“That’s good news,” I say, adding, “or I suppose it is. But what I really want to know—”
“You suppose? ” Fileri asks, almost offended. “Oz, a third of the president’s Animal Crisis Task Force—from what I understand, the leading international experts in this matter—was just killed. The team leader is down the hall in a medically induced coma. Maybe you don’t quite grasp the severity of the situation, but—”
“With all due respect, Captain,” I say, clearly irking this career military officer who isn’t used to being interrupted, “I’ve devoted years of my life to this ‘situation.’ I’ve traveled to every corner of the globe looking for answers. Shit, I just captured one feral human in the wild, then killed a second with my bare hands! So I think I grasp its ‘severity’ very well, thank you. But right now, all I care about is my family. Are they all right? Please. Tell me.
Right?
Now it’s night again. The temperature is dropping. Salt is crusted around my eyes. My mouth feels like sandpaper, my skin like it’s on fire. Freitas is slipping in and out of consciousness again. He’s still breathing, but barely.
Having hardly slept in three days now, I feel the gentle bobbing of the raft start to lull me to sleep. I know I should keep my eyes open, to monitor Freitas, to keep watch for a passing ship to flag down. But I feel so weak. Bone-tired.
I think again of Chloe and Eli, who I pray have made it safely to the Idaho lab by now. And I know I have to keep going, keep fighting. They need me. The world needs me, I think, feeling myself start to drift off. To survive dozens of animal and feral human attacks on land, only to die on the open water…
The blare of a foghorn startles me awake.
It’s just before dawn; the sky is an incandescent blue. I don’t see anything in front of me. Painfully, I turn around—and behold a glorious sight.
A gray navy destroyer, off in the distance, steaming our way.
“Dr. Freitas!” I exclaim, gently shaking him awake. “They’re coming! We’re saved!”
He groans in acknowledgment. And I think I detect the tiniest smile on his bruised, bloody face.
A black Zodiac raft is soon lowered from the destroyer into the water. It speeds toward us, carrying about eight men in dark-blue camouflage uniforms. A few of them are wearing white armbands bearing a red cross: medics.
The highest-ranking sailor calls to me as they get near: “Are you Jackson Oz?”
“Yes!” I croak. “And I’m all right. But Dr. Freitas is in serious condition. The rest of our team…and our specimen… both of them…they’re dead.”
Their boat comes to a stop near our yellow raft. Medics quickly rush aboard, carrying a stretcher over to Freitas. “You’re safe now,” the officer tells me.
Am I? I wonder, as I’m wrapped in a silver thermal blanket and guided onto their craft. Twenty-four hours ago, I witnessed a seemingly normal human being turn into an unrecognizable beast. Without explanation. Without warning.
We speed back toward the looming destroyer, bouncing up and down in the waves, the cool ocean mist spraying my face.
As I glance around at all these young sailors, I can’t help but wonder: Could any of them be next? Could their commanding officer? Could Freitas?
Could I?
Chapter 30
Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam. In 1941, it was the site of one of the most devastating surprises in American history.
Across all the main islands of Hawaii, wild animal attacks are as bad as anywhere. But there have been exactly zero feral human ones. Ever.
At least that’s the word from Captain Paul Fileri, the stern, buzz-cut commander of the vessel that rescued me. My de facto escort since we arrived on base, he’s standing next to my bed in the infirmary as a nurse drains my wounds and changes the dressings.
“That’s good news,” I say, adding, “or I suppose it is. But what I really want to know—”
“You suppose? ” Fileri asks, almost offended. “Oz, a third of the president’s Animal Crisis Task Force—from what I understand, the leading international experts in this matter—was just killed. The team leader is down the hall in a medically induced coma. Maybe you don’t quite grasp the severity of the situation, but—”
“With all due respect, Captain,” I say, clearly irking this career military officer who isn’t used to being interrupted, “I’ve devoted years of my life to this ‘situation.’ I’ve traveled to every corner of the globe looking for answers. Shit, I just captured one feral human in the wild, then killed a second with my bare hands! So I think I grasp its ‘severity’ very well, thank you. But right now, all I care about is my family. Are they all right? Please. Tell me.
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