Quickly, Adam learned that Hunts were nothing more than a reason to gain more scars. Another battle was not a righteous battle engineered to progress his desire to clear the world of sea monsters, but rather a scattered, bewildering battle that left him nursing wounds. This was war and there was nothing glorious about it. There was no burning fire in him that could only be quenched by the blood of the sirens. It was resentment that fueled him still, but it was starting to feel more and more like he was running on nothing. He was doing a lot of sleeping. He wished often that the Ensigns ate, because at least that would be something to do, instead of training and monitoring and hunting and fighting. He was covered in tattoos now. He was missing pieces of himself; chunks of his arms and legs were gone and he was missing his pinky on his left hand, the result of a particularly unfocused battle. There was to be another Hunt today and he was dreading it. They had told him yesterday, while he was sitting with Curtis at the window of Curtis' room, the two of them staring out and watching the fish dart back and forth. They had been sitting like that for days without a single twitch of their fingers. Just sitting. The occasional handful of fish darted back and forth amongst the currents, tapping faces and swimming in their frenetic, darting way. Adam and Curtis watched them unblinkingly. They did not see the door open. They did not turn their heads to see the two people walk into the room until they were standing in front of the window, forcing them to shift their attention from the empty, fish-tinged sea.
'We've located the frenzy,' Rose had signed. Her lips were in a tight frown. She didn't mouth the words as she spoke the way she usually did. She was angry with them. She was a relatively recent addition to the Ensigns and she couldn't understand why the two of them, who had lived so much longer than any Ensign ever before, who had tattoos in neat lines up the front and back of their torsos and now on their faces, did not want to lead training or even speak to anyone. Adam was in charge, officially-the armband that had amazed and impressed him when it was on Anton was now tied securely around his arm-but unofficially, Rose was in charge of training the others and searching for the frenzy. It was common knowledge among the Ensigns. If you had questions, if you had ideas, if you had any thoughts at all, you took them to Rose. Adam rarely entertained even looking at any of the Ensigns. Adam did what he did best, perhaps the only thing he could do now: he led the Hunt.
Rose was with another newer Ensign, a tall kid named Myles who was stuck to her like glue. He followed her everywhere. The two of them had an interesting dynamic on the battlefield, one that reminded Adam of his beginning days of being an Ensign, where he went out of his way to make sure that Curtis remained alive, except, the two were equally matched in skill. It was like watching a double hurricane sweep through the sirens.
Adam nodded to show Rose that he would show up to the Hunt, as he always did.
'You'll be there?' she asked, the doubt clear on her face. The past couple of Hunts she had seemed to be more and more suspicious that he wouldn't rise to the occasion. He didn't understand why. He was only alive now to kill the sirens. He was nothing more than a glorified weapon, like the very cutlass he carried into battle. He was here to cut the limbs from the great frenzy, nothing more, nothing less. What else could he possibly do?
'I'll see you in the mess hall,' he said. Rose lifted her hands, like she wanted to say something else and then thought better. Her hands drifted slowly back to her sides, her fists clenched tight. Like feathers wandering back to the earth after they had been removed from the warmth and security of the bird that had grown them. Would she confront him at some point? Adam didn't know. She was still in that strange mindset of the Ensigns, the one that made her face lit from the inside out, that pushed the expression onto her face and eyes. It didn't exist in him anymore.
He tapped Curtis on the shoulder. It was strange to see the tattoos there, and even worse to see the great scar that cut through the left side of his face. Adam had a scar that disfigured his lips, he knew, but somehow, he suspected, he had been born only for this kind of suffering. Curtis' scars were jarring. Curtis didn't belong here.
'Do you think she'll lose it?' he asked Curtis.
'Lose what?'
'That.... I don't know how to describe it...' Adam closed his eyes and took in a deep, settling breath, 'The tenacity.'
'I don't know. Can you lose that? It's always been stronger in her than in me, but, then, I thought that about you too. It gets bled out of you, I think. A drop a battle. When you've been fighting for too long, it just... runs out. And then you're doing it because you have to. It's horrible, isn't it?' The guilt was written all over Curtis' face. Adam understood intimately. This was a loss that brought only guilt.
He closed his eyes again, breathing so deeply that he felt like he couldn't breathe at all. The air was stagnant. It wouldn't stay in his lungs anymore; it just bounced around inside of him before escaping from his body. They turned their attention back to the fish.
The world felt even more quiet that night as Adam laid in his cot. There was something ominous lingering in the air around Adam. It crept around him, tighter than the blanket he was wrapped in. It crawled around his neck and gave it a light squeeze. He shivered, trying to shake off the feeling. He always felt uncomfortable before a battle. This was a familiar edge. There was nothing to be worried about. His stomach didn't seem to be capable of understanding this, though, and it churned and churned. Tongues of lightning touched down all across his stomach lining as the dancing rage of stormy discomfort played out inside of him long into the night. It was a long time before he was able to sleep.
He was dreaming again, that same terrible dream about his mom, only this time, he knew he was dreaming.He could feel the robotic tug of each of his limbs, pulling him to the beach, jerking him back in again like a doll. He could hear that beautiful, glorious song, the silver threads of the siren song, carried towards him on a soft sea breeze. The song moved him, coaxed and tugged him. It was gentle in its beckoning, or, maybe, he just couldn't fight it anymore. It filled him up and urged him forward, sending him stumbling across the sand. His feet kicked grains up into the air. They dropped back down to the earth in artsy shapes, like curling cat tails and twisting snakes. His head was completely free of the compulsion driving his body into the surf and he raised it, so the moon could drape his entire face in its embrace as he wandered towards the siren's song. He opened his mouth and breathed in the salt air. He missed the beach so much.
"Adam? Adam!" Chase's voice cut through the air from behind him. This wasn't unusual; he often dreamed that Chase was there to stop him from drowning. Wishful thinking, perhaps.
Chase's hands caught onto Adam's arms. He was tugging, pulling, losing his grip like Adam was made of some kind of slippery glass instead of flesh.
"Adam! Adam!" he cried. He sounded so horribly upset. Adam turned his head, but could only catch peripheral glimpses of him. His hair, his shoulder. Never his face. Adam couldn't turn his body.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he told Chase, but he didn't know why. Was he apologizing for not being able to see him? He was nearing the water now. His feet walked slowly into the edges of the water, meeting the freezing cold surf. He drew in a soft breath.
"I'm sorry," he said again, "Let go. Let go." And Chase did. His fingers slipped off of Adam. He couldn't hold on. He called Adam's name still, but soon, all Adam could hear again was the vibrant song of the siren, luring him to his death again. At the first big wave, his body curled under itself with a crash of white foam. He shuddered and coughed as the waves batted at his body, but his body paid no mind to the force of the water. It continued to move desperately forward. He blinked rapidly, trying to keep the water out of his eyes. He was choking and coughing on sea water. The taste of the ocean filled his mouth, all salty brine. His throat was burning. His body switched swiftly from walking to swimming; he swam out towards the full moon in sure, even strokes. The great pale rock looked down on him impassively. It was unblinking in its observance of his death.
"Please, let me go," he called softly, the sound of it so quiet that the bubbling waves and sound of the night swallowed it right up. He knew it didn't really matter; the song wouldn't even waver. The siren sang on, coaxing him further and further away from the shore. His body moved like an Olympian, racing through the water with a swiftness usually reserved for those that trained for it, not choking and dying men. It was almost peaceful. The ocean had always scared him a bit in his youth. He loved to swim, but there was an underlying fear of something swallowing him up. A shark, maybe, or a stingray. The ocean held the ominous threat of secret enemies. He would never be able to swim without worrying what he might be stepping down on, or what might be following him. Now, though, he didn't have to worry. What siren would let her quarry fall prey to a shark? Even the beasts of the ocean would know better. Abruptly, his body stopped swimming. The notes of her song had changed slightly, coaxing him down, down, down. He was doomed. A torrent of bubbles and air streamed violently from his nose. The air inside of him was abandoning him. It pearled together and rose through the water, racing desperately back to the beach. He was almost jealous of it. He was drowning in earnest now. This was exciting though, for one reason. He looked around desperately. Where was she?
"Adam?"
His mom swam before him, her pale hands reaching out to hold him. Where Chase had no grip, she held him easily in place under the sea. He felt his lips curve into a smile. Finally. This was what he had been waiting for. She looked the same as he remembered, except for the large, shiny tail. She was a beautiful mermaid, not covered in the excess and waste of the sea. There was no sea moss, no barnacles. Her hair drifted along the water currents like it was alive. A crown of jingle shells and abalone was nestled on her hair, shimmering.
"Mom?" he said, his voice not even escaping his throat. He had no breath to form words with. She didn't react to his voice; she just continued to hold onto his arms, holding him with those pale hands. They seemed so strangely pale for her, like she was dead. Her grip was soft. Her nails looked beautiful, shimmery, the way the shells on her head did. They were the same color as coral, some pastel tropical shade. He saw how short they were and revelled in the difference between his beautiful mermaid mom, who had defeated death, and those horrible sirens that caused it.
"Adam! I'm so glad you're finally here. I've been calling for you," she said. Her nails were so short and her grip was so gentle. He was confused now. She had called for him? He hadn't heard her, only the siren. He looked at her more closely. Her face was rippling, shimmering, just like her shells and her nails. She was shifting. There was something terrible happening. The shells on her head were broken, he realized, jagged and sharp. Her hair was too shiny, like it was slimy. It wasn't shimmering healthily. It was long strands of seaweed, waving in time with the currents. He needed to move away from her, he felt the sudden aversion to her tear through him. Her whole body seemed to shake and shine and move, a string of twinkling lights being battered by the storm. It was like watching her through a window... he couldn't tell who she was anymore. She wasn't a mermaid. His stomach churned. Her fingernails cut into his arms, sharp as knives. There were too many teeth in her mouth. He struggled to remove himself from the grip of this thing that wasn't his mother anymore. Her face rippled again.
"Adam?" she asked, her face moving and twisting.
"No, no!" he cried, but he was suddenly choking and drowning again. Panic, dread, the likes of which he had never felt to this degree before, were suffocating him almost as much as the water inside of him.
"Adam?" It wasn't his mom's voice coming out of that mouth. He couldn't believe it. Her face rippled for the last time, replaced by a familiar worried face.
"Blue?" he asked. She was horrible. She was decaying. Her teeth were so sharp.
"Adam?" Her voice was so very concerned.
He woke with a start. Curtis was standing over him uncertainly, his hand pulling back from Adam's body. He had clearly just been shaking Adam awake.
'Are you alright? You looked like death,' Curtis said. Sweat ran in rivulets down Adam's face. It clung to his shirt, plastering it to his torso. Adam could feel the panic settled on his face, pulling at his mouth and eyes. His gaze darted around the room. It was just Curtis.
'I... Blue. Chase. I dreamed about them all. My mom... I dreamed about them all,' he said, struggling to stop his hands from shaking as he signed.
'Were they alright?' Chase asked.
'They were-I was drowning again. I was drowning. And my-Blue was a siren. She was one of them.'
'I'm sorry,' Curtis said. It was still for a few moments between them.
'They're dead,' Curtis said. Adam nodded, his head moving erratically up and down in an overeager attempt to agree.
'No, I know. I know. They're dead. They're all dead,' he said. He wiped the sweat from his face. He changed his shirt. They had to go. He had to lead a Hunt. The unsettled feeling inside of him started to die. They were dead. The very thing that had killed his parents, that had killed Blue, that possibly could kill Chase and his Grandmother, he could hunt them now. He tried to take a deep, steadying breath. He was going to lead a Hunt. The face of his mother, of Blue, decaying, their teeth sharp and demonic, their faces melting into each other, bounced around his skull.