Thirty Nine Minutes (COMPLETE)

Chapter Seventeen: A Fish

Craig had stopped crying for now, but had been quite content to remain in the arms of Helen. She stroked down his back over and over as he explained becoming tangled in old fishing lines as he hung around the dock, before becoming entangled in the net of Neil's father's ship.

"Once I was found by someone, it didn't take long before I ended up in that tank. I couldn't have been more grateful though: I'd been swimming lost for maybe days before I got stuck in fishing lines, and then, struggling to keep afloat, I couldn't get out of the way of their trawler net."

"This was ten years ago?"

He nodded. "I was twelve."

The stars were dying in the growing light at the horizon. A pinky hue bloomed from the still waters. Helen rolled onto her back and watched the stars get snuffed out one by one as the light below them grew. Her thoughts drifted to the ridiculous situation she now found herself in: lying on a beach in the Mediterranean dawn, beside a merman she had fallen in love with. She scoffed to herself as she considered it: it beggared belief. Craig shuffled over to her.

"So what now? We can't exactly stay here."

"You'd be right. There should be some transport coming for us soon to take us back to the States."

Craig looked sceptical. "That's not the most reassuring thing you've ever said."

"Our options are a bit limited. Unless you fancy swimming us back to America."

He visibly shrank and shuddered, and she chuckled.

"That's what I thought." 

The shot came from almost out of nowhere. Craig flinched as it flew past his ear and blasted Helen on her shoulder. The sound of a metal thunk ricocheted into the quiet morning air and she yelped.

"Helen!" But he too caught a bullet in his chest and sent him thudding back on the sand.

The world spun. Helen gripped on Craig's chest to steady herself, to protect him from the threat that had seemingly come out of nowhere. Her shoulder throbbed, but there was no blood but definitely a deep-seated ache that would certainly blossom a bruise in the very near future. She gasped as she wrapped her arm over Craig's chest.

"We have to move. I don't think the bullets are lethal, but they hurt like a bitch. Craig, we should swim. We need to swim. The shots came from the over that sand bank, we'll be safer in the water."

"I can't! It's too deep!"

"We have to!"

A brash voice shouting in a language Helen didn't understand echoed out, drowning out her voice and rendering her silent. Craig's arms tightened around her as the thudding of boots on sand surrounded them. The long face of a woman with slicked back dark hair pointed a gun at the both of them and barked a command. She was dressed in khaki pants and a black tank top, and her bronzed skin was lightly dusted with sand.

Craig was breathing hard and heavily, his fingers digging into Helen's arms - not that it mattered as they were numbed by her own panic. A blond man with a hooked nose and angry eyes joined the woman, and poked Craig's tail with the barrel of his gun. Craig inhaled sharply. The man reached for him.

Even though she was severely winded, exhausted and not exactly dressed for it, Helen flung herself over Craig. "No," she said to the man, looking both him and the woman directly in the eye. "No," she repeated.

"English?" said the woman in a thick, possibly European accent. She cocked the gun.

"American."

"And the fish. What is the fish?"

"Fish?" Craig almost sounded offended.

"Why did you shoot at us?" asked Helen, inching herself closer onto Craig, if that were possible.

"Off the fish," commanded the man.

"I'm not a fish!"

"Why did you shoot?" Helen asked again.

"No longer your concern. Ichmaël!" The man looked over at her as she spoke in a language Helen couldn't even begin to recognize.

"I bet these are those Russians that want you. Did we get set up?" She whispered to Craig.

"They're French."

"What? How do you know that?"

"They're speaking French. I can't believe they think I'm a fish. I don't even have gills."

"Not the time right now, Craig. Can you understand them?"

"No, I just recognize the language. Dad used to watch a lot of French films with me."

Before they got too lost in their conversation, reality barged in as the man apparently called Ichmaël advanced on them and grabbed Helen's sore shoulder, hauling her off Craig. He was fairly big, strong, making it look almost effortless. She yelled in pain as she rolled off to the side.

"Goddamn, what the hell did you shoot us with?"

"Only rubber bullets. Non-lethal."

"Helen, help!" Craig was pulling himself away, trying to find purchase on the sand as Ichmaël grabbed the base of his tail. "Get off me!" he shouted, but it went ignored.

"Let him go!"

"You come with us now," said the woman, revealing a cable tie she pulled from her pocket.

Craig hadn't made much ground, not having a lot of grip on the soft sand. Ichmaël was dragging him up towards the sandbank. As powerful as Craig could be in the water, he was about as effective as a beached whale when on land.

"Get off me, and get off him!" Helen demanded, but it went unanswered. Ichmaël was talking into a radio, having already hogtied Craig who writhed on the sand as best he could. "Where's Neil?"

No answer but a firm boot on her back, pushing her onto the beach.

"Helen?" Craig's voice wavered. She looked up. Maybe ten others had joined the scene, all dressed like the other two, all brandishing the same type of weapon. Neil was nowhere to be seen.

"Ichmaël! Le poisson."

"I'm not a fish!"

"La fille aussi."

"Look, I don't understand what you're saying...Hey, let me go! Where are you taking us?" With little ceremony and zero explanation, Helen was hauled onto her feet and marched across the sandbank, past a struggling Craig who could only look up helplessly.

"Où est le professeur?"

"Professor? What professor? Do you mean Professor Hines?" Craig's tone was suddenly frantic, desperate even as Helen was marched down to a small speedboat resembling a lifeboat dinghy. On the horizon a bigger boat was anchored in the water, bobbing slightly on the waves.

"What professor!?" Helen looked back at Craig who was now shouting his question over and over again as he was dragged over the sand. It went unanswered. A hood was placed over her head and she was shoved forward once again, towards the lapping waves.