The Fires Beneath the Sea ebook - Lydia Millet (primary phonics .txt) 📗

as they walked. They weren’t allowed to run—there was a measured pace to everything, a kind of dignity that had to be observed. Even if his arm weren’t broken, Max couldn’t. He’s too vulnerable. So if he goes around—if he tries to get in—we have to make a wall. You and me.

Cara thought Yes. OK.

Max had already taken enough of a beating.

“Don’t let him distract us from the ritual,” called Max. “It’s what he wants. Even I can see that, and that’s without any ESP. At least, that I know of.”

“Be careful, Max,” said Jax. “OK? Be really careful.”

Here they were, in the marsh flat again, the mud beneath their feet. Reeds tickled her shins.

“On our knees,” said Max as they came together. “Foreheads in the water. And her name.”

Cara felt her knees sinking into the mud, and out there somewhere she heard the not-dog splashing in the bay. Maybe he was already going around, trying to get to them. The top of her face was wet as she bent over, her hair dripping into her eyes. She squeezed the lipstick tight and held it to her chest, where she thought her heart was—in the middle and kind of to the left.

“Lily,” said Max. At the same time Jax said “Mother” and Cara said “Mom” and thought: Come home.

“Here he is,” said Jax, and they looked up from their kneeling positions to see the not-dog swimming in front of them. Swimming across the water a few feet out, in line with the shore … toward the place, on the other side of Jax, where there was a hole in the salt line. And no protection.

She felt the coldness in her again, not his deadly cold but the coldness of being afraid, and having to prepare. Still she braced herself, and she knew Jax was doing the same. He was getting ready.

They rose, backing away toward the salt-line gap, keeping their eyes and their headlamps on the not-dog, who was still paddling past them … keeping their eyes on the water.

What would they do? How could they keep him off Max, out of the safe place they’d made for their mother?

She didn’t know. She felt the confusion of panic and reached out with her mind to Jax—

But then, behind the not-dog, something rose out of the waves. It was dark and light, both black and white and impossibly huge. She’d never seen anything that big rise out of the water—how it could even be here, in these muddy shallows, was a mystery …

It was an orca. A killer whale. Its teeth shone white in the light of their lamps as its great head reared out of the water of the bay. It rose above the not-dog, and the not-dog didn’t even have time to bark.

“No!” Cara heard herself scream—because inside the not-dog was Rufus—it was Rufus, whom they had all loved for as long as she could remember—

The orca went higher and higher, an arc of water following it, a screen of water splashing out into the air—

And Max was screaming, too, and Jax—

But it was over in a second.

The not-dog was in the orca’s teeth, and the orca sank back and was submerged again. There was not even a ripple where the orca had been.

Rufus was gone.

No one said anything for a while. They were done, she guessed—nothing left but to walk back up to the house. He was gone, anyway. And there was not a thing they could do about it.

Stunned, hanging their heads, they walked, defeated, back up through the reeds, through the trees, across the back lawn.

“Was that a—?” asked Max.

“Orcinus orca,” said Jax. “Killer whale, or more rarely blackfish. Sometimes also called the seawolf.”

“Do we even have those around here?”

“Not in three feet of water,” said Jax quietly.

They took up their positions, their faces to the wall of the house. Cara felt tears streaming down her cheeks as she stood there. It was her fault. All of this. Her poor, dear dog.

The stupid cinnamon shaker. It was a tiny detail—a tiny, minuscule thing. The size of the holes in the shaker had gotten Rufus killed.

Her fault.

“No, honey,” said someone behind her. “It’s not your fault at all.”

She knew the voice, of course.

But she didn’t believe it. She was almost afraid to turn.

She did, finally. Slowly. Still clutching the lipstick.

And so did Jax, and Max. Cara was vaguely aware of them, off to the sides along the house’s back wall.…

The spot of Cara’s headlamp trembled and then stood still. There she was. Their mother.

The same as ever, though maybe more tired-looking.

Her dark hair was stuck to the sides of her head, soaking wet and trailed back over her shoulders; she was barefoot and wore only the sundress Cara had brought.

She blinked in the glare and raised a hand to shade her eyes from the brightness of their headlamps.

Then they were running and piling onto her, their arms around her. Yelling, practically.

“Shh,” she said, though maybe she was tearing up a little too, Cara thought, under the wide smile. “You’ll wake up your father!”

“Who cares?” crowed Max.

“The thing is”—and their mother spoke softly, her arms still around them—“I’m afraid we’ll have to let him sleep, this time.”

They stepped back, looking at her—at least Cara and Max did. Jax was still clinging, his arms around her waist. She kept one arm around him, too.

They all took their headlamps off; Max reached up and hung his on a tree branch. It lit the yard around them.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t stay, darlings,” she said, almost wincing. It was as if it hurt her just to say it.

“You can’t what?”

Max took another step back.

“I know, Max,” she said, nodding. “I know. It seems so wrong. To me, too.”

“Tell us what’s going on,” said Cara.

“I can’t tell you all of it. Not yet. But this is something we’re all a part of, something we all have to do. It’s what I told you when I came in the