UNDERTOW

PROLOGUE

The creature furiously clawing its way to the surface of the tranquil sea was one conjured from the depths of the ocean and the depths of its own madness. It had been hunting. It was always hunting. A feral child of the sea, within its chest beat a heart pregnant with rage.
And fear.
That fear eclipsed all other thoughts. Compassion, mercy and reason were forgotten. All that remained was the terror.
Its task temporarily complete, it fled its home. The prospect of the wrath of a stern and pitiless master overrode even its own cunning intelligence, making it forget stealth and caution entirely. Only the most basic of instincts directed its actions. This nightmare from the deep raced desperately to the surface, abject horror distorting its visible features into a reflection of the very evil it fled.
Once the surface had been breached and its feet were able to touch the bottom of the ocean while keeping its head above water, its struggle was over. Black skin glistening wetly in the sunlight, it stood upright on its two legs and casually walked out of the water. The day was warm, and the sun beat down fiercely, forcing it to squint as it waded its way to the safety of the beach.
Removing the now useless breathing apparatus from between its teeth, it examined it carefully. The mouthpiece of the regulator once again bore marks where, in a moment of overwhelming panic, its teeth had dug into the hard plastic. No matter, such trifles could easily be replaced and were beneath its consideration. The dual air tanks on its back still held a decent amount of oxygen, so that had not been the reason for its struggles. No mere equipment or physical problem had driven it from the sea.
This creature was driven by demons, their roots much darker, and far more sinister than any mere biological imperative. This monstrous creature was locked in a deadly, ritualistic struggle with the sea itself. In an epic battle in which the water must eventually triumph, the very soul of the monster was the ultimate prize. There was no question that the creature would one day become yet another sacrifice to the voracious appetites of the sea, but for now, enough had been done to maintain the status quo and to ensure its continued survival.
For now.
The hunt could not be allowed to end just yet. Sacrifices must continue to be made. The cycle would be completed.
No one on the busy beach had noticed the violence of the creature's emergence from the grip of the deep. The tourists populating the beach, mostly Italian and German professionals whiling away some their precious vacation time in the pursuit of the perfect tan, were all busy applying suntan lotion and attempting in various ways to attract the favourable attention of one or another of their fellow sun worshippers. No one paid the monster the least attention, even as it set foot on the white sand of the beach.
In Sharm El Sheik, scuba divers were always walking out of the ocean onto the beach. A first time visitor might be a little shocked at the appearance of a black latex clad figure suddenly bobbing to the surface of the ocean a dozen yards from the shore, but anyone who had been on any beach in the area more than once wouldn't be the least bit surprised to see a diver pop out of the water. In fact, that was why most of the folks lazing on the beach had brought their toned and soon to be tanned bodies all the way here in the first place. The tiny Egyptian town nestled on the southernmost tip of the Sinai Peninsula was considered by aficionados of the sport to be the gateway to one of the foremost dive sights in the world, and almost everyone on the beach had walked calmly out of the ocean at one time or another.
No one paid much attention when they read about the hapless female diver that had gone missing in the local paper the next day, either. People drown in the ocean. It happens.

*****

Scott Carruthers was dreaming about her again. She was so fine.
He wished that he could see her face, but every time he swam close enough, she flicked that amazingly supple tail, and she was once again hidden by the poor light here on the ocean floor. He knew he was dreaming, but even that knowledge wouldn't let him see her face. The dream was always the same, and most of the time, he was aware that he was dreaming and able to control the experience to a certain extent. As always, his mermaid hovered just beyond his field of vision, allowing him quick, tantalizingly suggestive views of her body as she continued their game of sub-oceanic tag.
When he was awake, Scott reasoned that some part of him wanted to maintain the mystery by keeping her just out of reach and not allowing the dream to degenerate into nothing more than a run of the mill sexual fantasy. Right now he wished that part of him would let the rest of him handle the dreaming side of things, thank you very much. It wasn't as if her identity was a real mystery. He knew full well who his mermaid was, but his mind stubbornly refused to allow him to see her face. Ah well, he thought, if wishes were fishes, and with a powerful flick of his own spectacular tail, he set off after the object of his fishy desire.
He was just about to reach out and grasp one of her admirably human breasts, when he felt a shooting pain below his waist, about where his knees were when he was a fully awake human being. Looking down, he saw to his horror a long, barbed shank of metal protruding from his marvelous teal hued tail. The spear had torn through the tail just about dead center, and he could see blue green scales floating a few feet from him, torn loose by the impact of the spear. The water all around was becoming cloudy, tinted red with his blood, and he was beginning to feel light headed from the blood loss.
The spear was from a spear gun, and he was intimately familiar with the weapon. He knew that the un-pointed end of the shaft would have a little ring attached to it, and attached to that would be a length of strong, thin nylon cord. The cord in turn would be attached to the spear gun itself, which would be held by someone, or something that Scott had a feeling he didn't really want to meet.
He swam frantically around in a circle, already feeling the tug of the rope dragging him backward. His mermaid, her beautiful golden tail, flowing black hair and ever so perfect breasts were nowhere to be seen. The chivalrous part of him was gratified that she had escaped the danger. The rest of him resented her leaving him in this predicament. Women. Just my luck, he thought, the girl of my dreams isn't playing hard to get; she isn't even interested in the game at all.
More immediate concerns began to force their way into his thoughts however, when the tugging he was feeling began to become more insistent, and thus more painful. He struggled against it, but it was no use. The shaft of the spear was steel and it was embedded firmly in the tissues of his tail, which despite being damaged, refused to allow the barbed tip of the spear to be pulled back through them. To avoid the pain, he had no choice but to swim toward whoever or whatever was reeling him in. Strangely, although he knew he was dreaming, he found that he really was horribly afraid of what he would find at the business end of the line.
The blood clouded water suddenly cleared, and a terrified Scott Carruthers found himself sitting in his bed, clutching his own legs, which moments before had been a less than stylishly pierced tail. His now totally human body was drenched in sweat, as briny as the seawater he had just recently been immersed in. His ankles were totally entangled in the bed sheets, and he had to concentrate to stop them from thrashing around in futile swimming motions.
A few deep breaths later, he extricated himself from the soaking linen, turned on the light on the table beside his standard issue hotel bed and pulled on a pair of shorts purchased in the hotel gift shop. The logo on the right leg of the shorts was a caricature of a shark, its mouth open impossibly wide, revealing bright white, and razor sharp teeth. Surrounding the cartoon shark appeared two rows of words in the same teal blue as the tail he sported in his recurrent dream. The words read, "I survived Sharm El Sheik."