Away in a Tentacle Lair

26. Kai

Chapter twenty-six

Kai

T here is no way out of the tank, but that is only the start of my problems. The marine centre is open to the public, and I am the main attraction. I have spent most of the morning trying to attract people’s attention and pushing my breathing limits. I need these people leaving here with doubts about how real I am. If the word gets out that there’s a real mermaid in the tank, my family will work out where I am.

The worst part of this ordeal is that I’m actually enjoying myself.

I keep telling myself I shouldn’t, and then the next little girl plasters her face against the glass, and I move closer to interact with her.

This little girl has a teddy in her arms, and she is talking, but I can’t hear her. All I can do is wave and then spin around the tank. She starts running around the tank, her hand touching the glass, so I swim with her, my hand against the glass near hers. She is going to remember this experience for a long time.

Her family join her, pinning her excitement to the spot. We interact until the family decides it is time to see the rest of the animals trapped here.

With a flick of my makeshift fin, I dart to the other side, waving and blowing kisses. They're eating it up, and I am thrilled. I play peek-a-boo with a toddler who giggles so hard he nearly topples backwards, only to be caught by his dad. Moments like these remind me of my dad and all the times I left the water to be with him. I should have stuck with him more than I did, but I loved the water so much that it made my time with him mean more. I appreciated Dad whenever he turned away from his task to give me his undivided attention.

I’ve stopped timing my breaths; I just swim to the centre and sit on a little ledge beside the oxygen pipe. The bubbles trickle out constantly, but when I put my mouth over the nozzle, I can inhale as much oxygen as I need.

Then I’m back to amusing myself until the next visitors come to pay me some attention.

A group of men a few years older than me come closer, huddling against the tank. When I swim closer, one of them points at me and then his watch. He’s asking how long I can hold my breath. I give them a cheeky grin and then hold up my index finger, telling them to wait. I head to the pipe to renew my breath before returning and pointing at the watch. I’m surprised when they take deep breaths, and we all wait, holding our breath together.

It’s barely any time before the first man gasps for breath. The others look like they are struggling, but I feel fine. I could do this all day.

I mean, I have been doing this all day, but I’ll only stop when my family comes to rescue me. I know they are gathered around, coming up with a plan; I just need to be patient. If they go with blowing the pumps as a distraction, they need Leo to show them in, and they need the visitors to leave. So, I will happily fill my day with these encounters and wait for the centre to close.

I must keep faith that my rescue will come before the moon replaces the sun in the sky. My octopus body may not need an air pipe to survive, but my skin needs salt water to survive. A night in this tank could kill me.

The final man starts spluttering, drawing me back to the moment, and I laugh at their attempts. When I point at his watch, the man indicates three minutes. We sit here until five minutes before the men get bored and wander off.

No one comes near me after that. The flow of new visitors has come to an end. Once everyone here goes home, the centre will close, and my stomach starts somersaulting at the prospect of what will come next.

A grating sound comes through the water, and I look up. The hatch is open, and moment later, the bubbles from the tube stop. I might as well head up to the surface now; there is no benefit to putting off the inevitable, but I don’t expect my family to be the ones waiting. They wouldn’t have turned my air supply off to force me to rise.

As expected, I’m greeted by more scientists than necessary.

“Good evening Braireus. How was your day?” Oslo greets.

Breathing one hundred percent oxygen all day means my first breath of the stale centre air goes straight to my head, and I’m hit with a wave of giddiness. By the time I’ve been redressed in the clothes I stole this morning, I’m used to this new air, and I can think again.

“I’d like to ask you a few questions while we wait here for the sun to set,” Oslo enlightens me. He clicks his fingers, and the guards pull me to my feet. I struggle against them, even though I don’t stand a chance.

“Do you want me to tell you what I think will happen when the sun goes down?”

“The Kraken will rise and destroy your facility?” I shrug.

“Right species. But I’m thinking a bit smaller. I think I will find my missing octopus from last night. What do you think?”

“After a day out of the water? I don’t rate its chances of survival.”

“Neither do I,” Oslo sneers sinisterly, stepping so close that I can smell his lunch on his breath. “But I don’t think it’s been kept out of the water all day, do you? I think it’s been well cared for in the right environment.”

I know he means me, and it’s almost funny that he thinks I needed to be in the water all day to survive, but it does explain why he didn’t try questioning me before now.

We both know time is working against me, and soon, I will have no way to stop my transformation.

A deep boom shakes the whole facility, something that can only be the destruction of the filter system. I smile at the idea of my rescue, but the tightening grips on my arms reminds me that I'm not out of danger yet.

The sight of movement has all the guards drawing guns from their belts, but if I know my family, they haven't come unarmed, and they have the advantage of cover.