“Perhaps it needs a thumping bass,” Slater jibed, rubbing Aston’s shoulders again. “You know, something that really hits. Get that primal beat going, stir her loins, get her hungry for some companionship.”
Aston wondered if Slater might be hungry for some companionship herself. She’d been touchy enough today. Then again, it might be the undercurrent of fear running through the crew, Holloway excepted, that made her crave any sort of contact for comfort.
“How about some Taylor Swift?” Carly added. The young engineer had been walking about in a seemingly permanent state of unease since Aston and Slater had returned from the lair, even as she ensured she caught everything on film. Somehow, the story of their experience in the cavern had driven home the reality of the creature in a way their previous evidence had not. Her tiny laugh sounded thin and forced.
“Philistines, the both of you,” Aston said. “If our beast doesn’t listen to Motörhead she’s not worth catching.”
“You’re all wrong.” Holloway had slipped in unnoticed and stood beaming over Carly’s shoulder. Their failure hadn’t dampened his spirits one bit. “I’m thinking some Hank Williams Junior will go over nicely.”
Aston played along, doing his best to hide his utter disdain for Holloway. “Nope, it’s all metal all the way. I’m in charge of the music, so it’s my way or the highway.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “Sorry, boss. It looks like my idea was a bust.”
“Never apologize for trying and failing.” He clapped Aston on the shoulder. “What’s the old saying? We didn’t fail; we just found a few new ways not to catch a monster.”
“You’re in high spirits,” Slater said.
“That’s because it’s time for phase two. Joaquin’s back with the bait.”
Chapter 33
The crew followed Holloway back out onto the deck. Aston tagged along last, reluctance slowing his steps. The whole venture was starting to take on the trappings of a farce, or perhaps a suicide mission, but the billionaire was undeterred. Joaquin had tied the dinghy up at the dive platform and Ollie Makkonen was helping him to lug three unhappy sheep into the SCUBA room. Each poor animal was trussed up tight and bleating plaintively, eyes rolling in understandable panic.
“This is not right,” Slater said, lips twisted in disgust.
“You’re not wrong,” Aston said. “Sheep are terrible at SCUBA diving.”
She looked at him, eyes flat.
“The mask leaks because of their woolly face?” he tried.
“This isn’t funny, Sam. This is all kinds of messed up!”
He sighed, nodded. “You’re right. I’m joking because otherwise I think I might go mad.”
“More of your gallows humor?” She shook her head. “I don’t know what bothers me more — what he’s about to do to those poor animals or what might happen to us if he actually succeeds in luring the creature out. What if it’s so big it causes the boat to capsize?”
Aston grimaced as he watched the scene unfold. “There is a bit of good news on that score.”
Slater cocked her head. “Really? What’s that?”
“If we do capsize, you don’t have to be the fastest swimmer on the crew. You just have to be faster than the slowest swimmer.”
Slater gaped at him and then broke out in laughter. “Or at least faster than three sheep, I suppose.”
“Leave that one there!” Holloway shouted, pointing down into the dinghy.
Joaquin and Makkonen paused, the third and last sheep hoisted between them, half out of the small boat.
“Leave it here?” Joaquin asked.
“Just put the thing down.” Holloway bustled in, forced the sad animal back into to the bottom of the tinny and ushered Joaquin and Makkonen out. He fired up the outboard and motored away, frightened bleating fading as he went. The remaining two sheep lay on the Merenneito’s deck, silent but panting and wide-eyed.
“We can’t just leave them like that. At the least they could stand.” Slater grabbed a dive knife and cut the ropes binding their feet together. Using the same rope, she made makeshift leads and tied them to storage lockers on either side of the room.
Immediately the animals began to calm, standing still and looking up at the people around them as if answers might be forthcoming.
“Do we have anything to feed them?” Aston asked.
“I’ll get something from the galley,” Joaquin said. “Some spinach or lettuce. Full stomachs might help them settle down.”
As he walked away, Slater said, “You know what would calm them down? Taking them back to wherever the hell you got them from in the first place.”
“Yeah,” Aston said quietly. “Come on, let’s see what our mad leader is doing up there.”
They made their way to the top deck and paused, stunned by the sight. Carly ran ahead of them and filmed from the ship’s rail. Holloway was on his knees in the dinghy, the boat rocking violently as he tried to force the sheep’s legs, free of rope now, through the fittings of a life vest.
“What in the actual hell?” Aston rubbed his eyes as if he could clear away the bizarre sight.
Before long, the creature was crammed into the bright orange vest, its bleating even more panicked. Small, white buoys, spaced every three feet or so, kept the top of the catch net level with the lake surface before it trailed back up to the winch. Holloway tied the sheep’s rope between two buoys and then fastened the other end tightly to a plastic buckle on the life vest. Then he tossed the sheep over the side.
Aston had no idea a sheep could scream, but there was no better description for the noise the poor animal made as it thrashed and rolled in the cold water. Slater put a hand over her mouth, but couldn’t tear her gaze away any more than the rest of them. Holloway watched for a moment to be sure the sheep wouldn’t sink, and then gave a single, satisfied nod. He revved the outboard and motored the small craft back to the Merenneito. His face was split in a wide grin that Aston considered at least partly manic. The man had clearly tumbled over some cliff edge of sanity in his enthusiasm and it didn’t look like he was about to stop falling any time soon.
The sheep had finally accepted its fate and bobbed in the water like a stunned, woolly buoy by the time Holloway joined them on deck. He trotted up to them. “That should draw the monster in, don’t you…” He stopped talking, face crumpling into a frown.
“What’s the matter now?” Makkonen asked. Even the grizzled old captain seemed uncomfortable with the turn of events.
“What’s it doing just hanging there?” Holloway demanded, like it was the crew’s fault.
Carly moved around to get a better view of Holloway with the camera, occasionally panning back to the terrified animal in the water.
“What do you mean, hanging there?” Slater asked. “What’s it supposed to do? Sing and fucking dance?”
Holloway scowled at her. “What kind of bait is that?” He gestured toward the floating sheep. “It’s supposed to thrash around, make a lot of noise like it’s in distress. It’s supposed to attract my monster.”
My monster, Aston thought. He already thinks he owns it.
They stood staring for several minutes. Holloway paced back and forth, mumbling softly to himself. Aston neither knew nor cared what he was saying. Every now and then the sheep would let out a plaintive bleat, and then fall silent again. It didn’t move, paralyzed with fear, Aston presumed.