Maura sighed and wiped her forehead, leaving behind traces of black kelp. She’d lost count again. Maybe it was the weather, or maybe she’d just picked the wrong time to cut back on coffee, but ever since she moved home, she couldn’t keep her head straight. It could just be that she no longer had to tax her mind like she did when she was planning expeditions. Now it was just packing boxes and printing labels. But she suspected it was more than that and it had something to do with that nagging white flicker hovering around the edges of her thoughts.
Maura began swiping worms into a pile again. They writhed in a film of water, trying to escape, lifting their tiny mouths and flexing their imperceptible fangs. Get one stuck on your finger and you’d experience a sharp pang. They weren’t called bloodworms for nothing.
She counted to fifteen, then took the clump of worms and dumped them into a baggie of black seaweed. The “weed,” as her dad liked to call it, provided the stable salinity that marine worms depended on. It would ensure they made it all the way to bait shops in South Carolina, where anglers could use them for bass fishing. Maura had to be careful that the worms themselves were good specimens, not too shrimpy or Earl, the proprietor of Blue Water Tackle, would be on the phone threatening to take his business elsewhere. After paying the diggers and dealing with her cantankerous buyers, there was barely anything left for her at the end of the day.
No wonder her father sold the business.
She wiped her hands on her jeans and packed the last of the boxes in a cooler. The worm diggers were all gone, aside from a few hangers-on in the parking lot. She could hear them outside, tossing a few back before they went to the grocery store to buy another six-pack. There’d been a time when you could make enough money digging worms to get by, but the demand for bait had fallen and diggers’ expenses were up, licenses, hell, even gasoline was higher. Many had given up and gone to work in some big-box store miles away.
Maura locked up shop and went into the office. She still had to wait for the UPS truck to pick up the shipment. She settled into a creaky office chair and printed out the labels she needed. She could hear the sound of a lobster boat chugging up to the wharf nearby, the same one her father used for years until he bought the worm shop. He had gotten her the job managing the place for the new owners and she still couldn’t believe this was her life now.
In some ways, it was better. She could be near her father, ailing and stubborn, still overtaxing his aging body. She often worried about him on her trips and now she could check in regularly, bring him a meal or two or simply catch the Sox game. Of course, more time wasn’t always a good time and his onerous nature had prickled her more than once. Sometimes she thought about going out west, San Diego, maybe even Mexico. Somewhere warm and sunny where she could run on the beach every day. But her options were limited. Her skill set didn’t exactly travel well.
There was a knock.
She kept telling them that they had to bring in their catch before she closed for the day. Maura ripped open the door. Standing there was an Asian man, far too young, in a black suit, minus the tie.
“If you want lobsters, you’ll have to check next door, but they don’t usually sell them off the boat.”
He eyed her strangely and she gathered he was not, in fact, here for lobsters. Maura began to consider that the man might not be a tourist at all, then had the sudden realization that the boys in the parking lot had probably already laid eyes on him. Locals were still highly dubious of outsiders. Especially, so-called, foreigners.
“Are you Dr. Maura Kates?”
Doctor. Hadn’t heard that in a while.
“Yes… Who exactly am I talking to?”
“My name is Zhang Yong. I was hoping you could spare a moment of your time.”
Maura hesitated. The young man seemed to indicate she should follow him.
“Just… let me lock up.”
She went back in the office and scooped up her keys along with her Red Sox hat then stepped out after him. It had been cloudy all day so she was surprised to see the sun was out. She pulled down the brim to shield her eyes. She was reminded of something her dad liked to say about Maine weather. Don’t like it? Just wait awhile…
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Zhang led her through the parking lot, past the diggers hanging out on their tailgates, swilling beer. He had taken a black cab, all the way from Bangor from the looks of it— the only city in Maine with an international airport. It stuck out like a sore thumb parked amongst the pickups with their mud-spatter and rusted-out tires.
The diggers were quiet, which was worse than whispering. It was bad enough she had left Maine at an early age, her only shred of credibility hanging on her being born here and her father having been a fisherman. If you were gone too long, you became someone “from away” and now that she was seen with someone from China, she might as well have been from Timbuktu. The rumors would swirl. The bait shop was being bought by the Chinese, Maura was working with the Chinese to undercut the local worm buyers. She could already envision the pitchforks.
They ventured out on a private dock, built by a wealthy summer person. He’d used it to ferry his family out into the harbor to his own secluded island. But his children had either lost interest or simply decided to vacation elsewhere and the dock had slipped into disrepair. Even standing on it now, Maura felt a touch of concern. Though her companion seemed oblivious, enjoying the views of the islands.
“Dr. Kates —“
“Maura, please.”
“I work for the Chinese Ocean Mineral Resources Research and Development Association. We were hoping you could help us with a situation aboard one of our vessels.”
Maura couldn’t help but laugh. She tried to contain it but the explanation sounded so absurd coming out of this baby-faced young man. In spite of her reaction, he continued.
“A few months ago we had an encounter with something near one of our drilling sites. We believe you may have had a similar experience in the waters off Sumatra.”
His words stopped her. There it was. The thing that had been flitting around the corner of her mind all these months. Her head swirled with images of the wound. Not of Jessie herself, but a closeup of her leg. She replayed the way the skin sloughed off in fast forward. Except in her version, the wound was crawling with ants.
“Dr. Kates..?”
“Yes. Yes, there was an accident.”
“Here.”
Zhang handed her a manila envelope and waited for her to open it.
She slid out a series of images printed on glossy paper.
Maura knew she was looking at someone’s flesh, but it took her a moment to realize it was a knee. The devastation surrounding it was extensive, the bone emerging from folds of skin like the peak of some bald mountaintop. A telltale purple lightning bolt danced away from the wound, as if death had taken a paintbrush to the person’s body.
Maura’s head was swimming.
“What’s this?”
She held up a form filled with Chinese characters.
“The autopsy report. There is a translation on the back.”
She flipped it over.
Intravascular hemolytic fractions present. Neurotoxins and cardiotoxins detected. Cardiac arrest, respiratory failure, renal failure. Source of toxin, unknown.
She fixated on the word unknown, like if she concentrated hard enough the letters would dissolve off the page.
“You are the only scientist with any direct experience of this species,” the man continued.
“I hardly saw anything.”
“But you did see something.”
“Anyway, I’m not a scientist. Not anymore.”
She handed back the autopsy report.
“I was barred by the Bureau of Oceans and International Scientific Affairs. Or didn’t your organization tell you that?”
“That’s not a problem for us.”
Not a problem? Maura couldn’t hide her disbelief.
“What exactly are you asking me, Mr.?”
“Zhang Yong. We are asking you to come aboard our flagship extraction vessel, The Overture.”
Maura inhaled sharply. Before she asked, she already knew.
“Where would that be?”
“All I can say is it’s not far from your most recent expedition.”
The Java Trench. They were going to dig it up. All of it.
“I’ve authored papers on the risks of undersea mineral extraction.”
“We know.”
“I’ve advocated for a moratorium on all drilling.”
“We know.”
“Then you must know there’s not a chance in hell I’m going to help you.”
“We examined the findings of the Bureau of Oceans and how they disputed your account.”
Maura stopped.
“They found that you put your crew at unnecessary risk by forcing them into water known to have Box Jellyfish.”
“It wasn’t a Box Jellyfish.”
“We know.”
Maura stared at him.
“We also know that until the scientific community accepts the truth, there will be more encounters. More unfortunate accidents, that are entirely preventable with the right information. You would have access to state-of-the-art equipment. A team of scientists from the world over. We even have some advancements I’m sure you’d find quite interesting. And of course, you’d be paid top scale.”
A thick fog began to roll in off the water.
“Please. Just think it over.”
He took the photos from her and in return handed her a small envelope.
“You have a beautiful home.”
Zhang took his leave, walking back to his taxi.
Maura watched him go. The diggers were long gone. The parking lot was empty. She returned to the sea, now socked in. The islands just a half mile offshore had completely vanished. Just wait a while… She opened the envelope. Inside, were plane tickets. Bangor to Philadelphia, Philadelphia to Doha, Doha to Perth, Perth to Broome, and then? The answer was as obscured as the islands in the harbor.
