Apex

part one | the human condition

JULY 10

DAKOTA

There was blood in the water.

Beneath an indigo sky, I trekked through seafoam stained red as gentle waves nudged my kayak further up the beachfront. A parade of emergency vehicles occupied the gravel road descending the steep cliffside of Cape Blue's cove, and the distant whirling of helicopter blades drowned out the irregular rhythm of my heartbeat.

If it wasn't for the adrenaline surging through my veins, I doubted I would be capable of navigating through the chaos unfolding around me. I wished I could rewind the clock and edit the script I seemed to be following. If I was being honest with myself, everything about the last two months felt as though it was part of an elaborate screenplay. I wondered what role I was acting out.

"Mr. Black?"

I emerged from the sea of sound, reality rushing in like an unwelcome wave. When I cut my gaze in the direction of the voice, the star pinned on the woman's navy uniform secured my attention. Its glossy film reflected the flashing lights emitted by the ambulance parked behind me.

"Mr. Black," the apparent sheriff repeated, her shrill voice straining. I recognized her now as the same hawkish woman who led the stereotypical safety talks in high school. According to her nametag, I was speaking to Sheriff Wakeman. "The paramedics still need to clear you."

"The survival rate of CPR performed outside of a hospital is under fifty percent," I stated, my throat raw from swallowing too much saltwater. "I don't think they say that enough."

If film school had taught me anything, it was how the film industry had a marginal appreciation for accuracy. Last semester in my Introduction to the Art and Technique of Filmmaking at UCLA, I critiqued the industry's portrayal of the emergency lifesaving procedure. But mirroring reality wasn't what earned billions in the box office - case in point, the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Complicated heroes always defied the odds to save the day and made top dollar. That was how show business worked, and I really should have figured that out by now.

"You did everything you could," Wakeman told me, placing a bony hand on my shoulder. "The next best thing you can do is to look after yourself."

I automatically nodded, knowing that she meant well, but I didn't give a damn. I needed to track down my supposed partners in crime to discover what they knew and how they wanted to proceed.

A sudden surge of commotion led by a series of disgruntled shouts snapped my attention away from the sheriff.

"Get back here!"

I turned to see a grizzled police officer standing guard at the perimeter of the scene, marked by yellow caution tape. Shadows obscured the crowd that had started to gather behind the tape, but their whispers transcended the flimsy barrier.

Another dead orca.

A missing girl.

The rumors on Friday Island had big teeth, but most of them proved to be true.

I watched the officer abandon his post, hustling after someone who had nearly succeeded in slipping by undetected. In the fading light and the periodic flashing of emergency vehicles, Allix McGovern's light brown hair appeared almost luminescent. Under any other circumstances, I would describe her as angelic.

Beside me, Wakeman waved off the officer and straightened her shoulders, seemingly bracing herself for the incoming storm of a girl.

Allix stopped a short distance in front of us. The denim jacket she wore over her black jumpsuit was too oversized to be her own. Her sapphire eyes glared daggers, locking with mine for a moment before flicking over to Wakeman.