The Endless Deep

Prologue

There was a change in the wind that David Saunders knew well. He’d learned from a young age to trust those winds and follow them wherever they deigned to take him. Often they led him to new and exciting adventures, other times they spared him a one-way ticket to Davy Jones”s locker. He wasn’t sure when they started to double as his instincts, but they had woken him early this morning, blowing fiercely against his bedroom windows, and had not quieted until he was on his boat, heading for the open sea.

The sun was still rising, the day cloudless, the water unusually calm. David leaned over the side of the boat, swirling one hand through the tepid water. He checked with a thermometer, then shook his head ruefully. Warm, too warm for the surface. He’d have to take a dive later to be sure, but this could be a new record for the region, and he was miles offshore already. At this rate, he’d be lucky to find a single piece of colored coral in the sea of white.

He sat back on the boat’s bench, reaching for his logbook. He was jotting down the newest data when his phone rang. He was surprised it had picked up a signal this far out at sea, until he realized who was calling, then cursed advancing technology. He tossed it back onto the bench without answering. He’d already given his answer in person. Curt, and with no room for negotiation. The call went to voicemail, then rang again, and again, and again to the point where David considered tossing it into the ocean. He settled for shoving the damned phone beneath a cushion instead.

The wind howled, sweeping in with a vicious urgency that rocked his boat and nearly swept David off his feet in the process. He cursed colorfully, his hands outstretched and feet planted to stabilize him until it died down.

“Was that really necessary?” he wryly asked the invisible entity. He received no response as expected, but there was a distinct thump as the hull of the boat bumped into something solid. He found his bearings and peered over the edge once more.

It was another boat, completely submerged except for the bow and metal gunwale sticking up from the waves. It wasn’t particularly large, probably a chartered vessel that had run aground on a reef.

David grimaced, looking around him for any signs of life, of jet skis or life rafts going back towards the shore for help. He would have to call the coast guard. He didn’t want to imagine the kind of damage that had been done beneath the surface, but it was his job to see for himself. The blessing and curse of his life”s work.

A few minutes later he was sitting on the edge of the boat, lowering the anchor that would guide him to the wreck. The hull of his boat thunked against the gunwale of the sunken one in a rhythm to the waves” pulsing beat, adding more character to The Captain”s Lady as scratches formed along her painted name.

Flippers dangling in the water, David focused on his breathing, lowering his heart rate until it synched with the waves, then hoisted himself over the edge. The wreckage was not deep, and there was enough daylight now that there was plenty of visibility to where the vessel had hit the reef.

He shook his head ruefully as he took in the destruction. Shards of coral were still settling to the sea floor, breaking off their hosts as the boat rocked into them with each shift in the current. It was a tourist vessel, and it had taken out several rock formations, including a turtle cleaning station in the heart of the reef. The fish that should be happily munching on the algae mucking the carapaces were disoriented, trying to make sense of the modern monstrosity that had destroyed their home. Thankfully he saw no turtles in the area, but this boat should have never been in these waters to begin with. If he had to guess, they were looking to make extra money by overloading their boat for a rare turtle excursion. Instead, it cost them their investments, and then some.

The coast guard may help with the cleanup, but the restoration would take years of hard work. Still, David was excited by the challenge it proposed. He couldn”t wait to restore this reef, to rebuild it even stronger than before. He would ensure it became, and remained, a safe place for these creatures to return to.

He was scoping out the impact site, checking for healthy coral that could be salvaged, when something glinted in the light from his peripherals. He swung his head around, but nothing was there.

No, there it was, as he was turning his head back, something beneath the shifting sand. He tilted his head, the reflection was shining in his eyes. He moved closer, sifting around the sand until he grasped something firm. He winced, yanking his hand back and inspecting the new slice on his finger, right through his glove. Sharp and stuck, whatever it was would need pliers to extract.

With his lungs knocking for air and curiosity surging to the forefront of his mind, David returned to the boat just long enough to grab his weighted tool kit, and his greatest masterpiece in the compartment beneath the bench cushion. His phone had 37 missed calls, and he suspected there would be even more by the time he returned.

All the more reason to stay underwater as long as possible.

Back below the surface, he pulled out his pliers, working to carefully extract the object hidden by sand, rock and bits of coral. He thought it may be a buried piece of the wreck, until the last of the debris was cleared. After a final tug, he yanked the object free, and frowned.

It was a fish scale. Only, it wasn’t.

David had seen a lot of scales over the years, studied them under microscopes along with the anatomy of the fish they came from. It was one of the largest he’d encountered, glowing like an oil slick in the streams of sunlight that penetrated the water.

Pocketing the pliers, he pulled out what he’d grabbed from the compartment, placing the unfamiliar specimen inside. He waited a few moments, creases in his brow deepening when its results came back with nothing but a singular direction, east. The same direction the winds had been blowing.

He looked up as a sound began to resonate, like the call of a lone whale, distressed and pleading.

David pushed for the surface, climbed back into the boat and raised the anchor. He set the device above the wheel, but he barely needed it as the winds gave another, hard shove in the direction of the rising sun, coaxing the waves to push him faster. One question lingered as he followed their guidance.

Where are you leading me now?