Blue

Filthy Water

They moved forward through the water in the careful lines of reincarnated Roman soldiers, piled high with their armor and all of their fingers clenched tight around their weapons. Adam's fingers were so tight and white on the hilt of his cutlass that they were turning bone white, like he was a skeleton soldier in an undead army following Anton to fight an immortal and never ceasing battle. Anton led the way, his bright red leg band a beacon in the water, and the rest of them followed two by two, their arms and legs moving in unison. They reminded Adam of toy soldiers. When he was young, maybe five or six, he had had a battalion of green army men. They each had the same painted green face and fingers, though they were crouched in different positions. The Ensigns held the same energy as his little toy army as they marched through the sea, their shining cutlasses gripped tight in their armored fingers. Different faces but that same sense of being a collective mass intended for battle. Adam followed the person in front of him, his eyes watching the smooth and even motion of their marching feet. He imagined the sound of soldier's boots across concrete. They probably would have sounded like one single, enormous soldier marching, not thirteen.

They walked on for what felt like ages–though Adam's blood was pumping so nervously through his veins that time was starting to hold no meaning–before Anton tossed his arm up into the air, sending ripples through the water that snapped Adam back into paying attention. They were standing before a large forest of seaweed, which drifted back and forth slowly and ominously in the water. It was impossible to see through the seaweed to what lay ahead of them. Anton turned to face the rest of them, briefly shoving his sword into Fabayo's waiting hand.

'They're up ahead. All of you in this line follow me through the seaweed. We'll attack head on. The other line, split and go on either side. This is what we've been training for. Remember, Ensigns, death can only make us stronger. May we all die together and with honor,' he said. Around Adam, the Ensigns lifted their swords into the air. They were each thinking the same thing, the same thing that Adam was thinking. Death could only make them stronger. He followed his line and Anton into the center of the thicket of seaweed. It flapped and swayed as they muscled through it. They were the distraction, the people who were more likely to die first because they were going to face the sirens head on. Adam thanked whatever God was left that Curtis had been in the other line. He would focus on surviving first and then, when Curtis entered the battle, he would fight his way to Curtis to help Curtis make it through this. He had only two goals: kill as many sirens as possible and protect Curtis. Adam shoved forward, muscling through the heavy limbs of seaweed flopping around. He could only just see the glimmers of movement that were Anton and the other Ensigns pushing through the seaweed. He wondered briefly if the sirens could hear them fighting their way forward through the seaweed. Were they going to be ambushed as soon as they broke free of the heavy thicket? He raised his cutlass a little higher as he muscled through, and then, too soon, they broke free–finally–from the seaweed and he found himself face to face with the sirens for the first time.

The first thing that struck Adam was the number of them. There were so many of them; so, so many more sirens than the thirteen Ensigns, especially since six of those Ensigns were sneaking off to approach from the sides. He stood in his group of seven, all seven of the Ensigns momentarily frozen in place at the edge of the seaweed forest as they all took in the sheer number of the sirens. Even the more seasoned Ensigns–even Anton and Fabayo–stood with frozen legs as they gazed upon the frenzy of sirens before them. They were a writhing, undulating mass of women, their hair and tails waving back and forth as they swam round and round, their mouths open as they presumably spoke together. None of them were facing the Ensigns. They seemed to be talking to each other, but their mouths were moving so fast it was impossible for Adam to piece together any of the right shapes to lip read. Furthermore, their faces were completely blank. There was no reaction as they spoke, no interaction between the sirens other than the rhythmic swirling pass of body as they swam around and around in a massive knot. From the corner of his eye, Adam spied Anton lifting his arm to beckon the Ensigns forward. For a moment, nobody moved. The sheer number of the sirens was hauntingly terrifying. Adam could hardly believe that the Ensigns had been carrying out Hunts and successfully killing any sirens enough to make a difference in their numbers. Not to mention the fact that the Ensigns returned at all. Adam had no idea how the Ensigns had managed to not be immediately killed as soon as they faced that swelling, rippling frenzy of monsters. Nevertheless, the Ensigns around him started to move forward. His feet moved forwards too, bringing him towards the sirens despite his better judgement. The knot of sirens suddenly slowed to a stop as the sirens turned to face the approaching Ensigns, their faces just as expressionless in the face of the armored people intent on their deaths as they had been when they were swimming around each other.