Aaron
asked. “Sounds like that manatee came from the Bronx.”
“I
said a manatee bit him, I didn’t say how it happened,” Swartzman said. “Maybe
after hitting the manatee, the boater dove into the water to save the animal
and it bit him in a blind rage. Then the killer found him.”
Heingartner
shivered in her wetsuit at the mention of the beast that had been preying on
people near the lagoon. Glimpsing the panic in her light blue eyes, Aaron
realized that she wouldn’t have gone on this survey mission without a couple of
guys with her.
“So,
what kind of shape was the manatee’s body in?” she asked.
With
a grim look on his face, Swartzman shook his head. “They haven’t found the
manatee. There’s no trace of it.”
Heingartner
clasped her hand over her mouth. Aaron’s stomach began creeping up on him. No
manatee could travel far after being mauled by a boat. If it had died, its body
should float. It didn’t add up. In three days, there had been three murders,
one abandoned girl, one freakish turtle tumor, a manatee attack and a massive
fish kill all within this stretch of the lagoon. Had someone shifted the
Bermuda Triangle a little north?
The
skiff drifted to a stop. The craft gently bobbed up and down on the inviting
cool waters of the lagoon. It welcomed them—practically daring them to dive in
and escape the sweltering sun. It couldn’t have been more than six feet deep,
but they couldn’t see even a foot into the murky salt water. Normally, Aaron
dove down there without a care. Sharks were much more common in the ocean and
gators preferred creeks and lakes to the lagoon. This time, it took him a
couple minutes of staring the lagoon down before he strapped on his goggles and
snorkel. He imagined himself diving into the lagoon and coming up a few minutes
later floating stiff on his side with his eyes bugged out like all those fish.
Or maybe only his body would surface—minus his head.
Aaron
jumped at the touch of a hand on his shoulder. It was only Swartzman.
“Take
some precautions down there this time,” his professor said with what sounded
like actual concern for a human being he didn’t want beheaded. That’s a start.
“If you encounter any animals behaving aggressively or if the water feels
uncomfortable, I won’t think any less of you for coming back.”
But
he wouldn’t think any more of him either. Aaron knew that if he stuck his neck
out and found a link between all the craziness, no one, not Swartzman and not
Aaron’s father, would question whether he belonged at the institute.
Heingartner
handed Aaron an underwater camera and a global positioning system tracker with
the coordinates of the seagrass bed programmed in. She’d compare the new photos
with the ones taken six months earlier. She also gave Aaron several containers
for taking samples.
While
Aaron studied his new gear, Heingartner stammered around frantically looking
for something. “Shit!” she spat as she rummaged through a chest and slammed the
lid. As Swartzman flinched at the burst of foul language, Heingartner finally
found what she wanted. Her goggles had been atop her head the whole time.
“I’m
sorry,” she said as Swartzman gave her a long look. “I’m not usually this way.
It’s just with the fish kill; the conditions down there may not be so good.”
“It’s
cool. I get it,” Aaron chimed in before his professor could respond. “Don’t
sweat it, alrighty? I’ll be in there with you. If all else fails, you can
always flag the heroic Captain Swartzman on our great battleship.”
The
professor didn’t join in with Heingartner’s giggles.
Aaron
dove in first and she followed a few seconds later. Splashing along with their
flippers, they spread out toward where the two beds of seagrass should be. When
the GPS told him he had the right spot, Aaron bit down on the snorkel and took
a peek below. He saw the tips of seagrass blades poking up at him through the
hazy water. They gently swayed
asked. “Sounds like that manatee came from the Bronx.”
“I
said a manatee bit him, I didn’t say how it happened,” Swartzman said. “Maybe
after hitting the manatee, the boater dove into the water to save the animal
and it bit him in a blind rage. Then the killer found him.”
Heingartner
shivered in her wetsuit at the mention of the beast that had been preying on
people near the lagoon. Glimpsing the panic in her light blue eyes, Aaron
realized that she wouldn’t have gone on this survey mission without a couple of
guys with her.
“So,
what kind of shape was the manatee’s body in?” she asked.
With
a grim look on his face, Swartzman shook his head. “They haven’t found the
manatee. There’s no trace of it.”
Heingartner
clasped her hand over her mouth. Aaron’s stomach began creeping up on him. No
manatee could travel far after being mauled by a boat. If it had died, its body
should float. It didn’t add up. In three days, there had been three murders,
one abandoned girl, one freakish turtle tumor, a manatee attack and a massive
fish kill all within this stretch of the lagoon. Had someone shifted the
Bermuda Triangle a little north?
The
skiff drifted to a stop. The craft gently bobbed up and down on the inviting
cool waters of the lagoon. It welcomed them—practically daring them to dive in
and escape the sweltering sun. It couldn’t have been more than six feet deep,
but they couldn’t see even a foot into the murky salt water. Normally, Aaron
dove down there without a care. Sharks were much more common in the ocean and
gators preferred creeks and lakes to the lagoon. This time, it took him a
couple minutes of staring the lagoon down before he strapped on his goggles and
snorkel. He imagined himself diving into the lagoon and coming up a few minutes
later floating stiff on his side with his eyes bugged out like all those fish.
Or maybe only his body would surface—minus his head.
Aaron
jumped at the touch of a hand on his shoulder. It was only Swartzman.
“Take
some precautions down there this time,” his professor said with what sounded
like actual concern for a human being he didn’t want beheaded. That’s a start.
“If you encounter any animals behaving aggressively or if the water feels
uncomfortable, I won’t think any less of you for coming back.”
But
he wouldn’t think any more of him either. Aaron knew that if he stuck his neck
out and found a link between all the craziness, no one, not Swartzman and not
Aaron’s father, would question whether he belonged at the institute.
Heingartner
handed Aaron an underwater camera and a global positioning system tracker with
the coordinates of the seagrass bed programmed in. She’d compare the new photos
with the ones taken six months earlier. She also gave Aaron several containers
for taking samples.
While
Aaron studied his new gear, Heingartner stammered around frantically looking
for something. “Shit!” she spat as she rummaged through a chest and slammed the
lid. As Swartzman flinched at the burst of foul language, Heingartner finally
found what she wanted. Her goggles had been atop her head the whole time.
“I’m
sorry,” she said as Swartzman gave her a long look. “I’m not usually this way.
It’s just with the fish kill; the conditions down there may not be so good.”
“It’s
cool. I get it,” Aaron chimed in before his professor could respond. “Don’t
sweat it, alrighty? I’ll be in there with you. If all else fails, you can
always flag the heroic Captain Swartzman on our great battleship.”
The
professor didn’t join in with Heingartner’s giggles.
Aaron
dove in first and she followed a few seconds later. Splashing along with their
flippers, they spread out toward where the two beds of seagrass should be. When
the GPS told him he had the right spot, Aaron bit down on the snorkel and took
a peek below. He saw the tips of seagrass blades poking up at him through the
hazy water. They gently swayed
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