3. Oona

There’s a boat in my lagoon.

Why there is a boat in my lagoon, I do not know, and frankly, I do not care. What I do know is that I need to make it leave, because when the boats come, they bring trouble with them. Humans, for instance. Humans are always bad news. They smell awful, taste even worse, and throw things into the water that make the fish bitter and metallic.

In short, I hate them. And they need to go.

Quiet as I can be, I wade into the water and approach the underside of the boat.. It’s a small thing, with a tiny engine that purrs like a kitten, and judging from the handful of voices, only a few humans as occupants on board.

It doesn’t matter how many there are, though, because I can eviscerate them all within a matter of seconds—so long as they didn’t bring their guns that roar and pop and make my eardrums hurt.

When a husky, deep voice speaks, I don’t understand a single word out of his mouth. The humans and I don’t share a language, which is also fine, because I don’t actually care what they’re saying. Over the years, I’ve picked up a few words here and there, but not enough to string a sentence together. Not even enough for small talk.

There’s a shout, some crying, and then a splash. I blink when something thrashes about in the water. A couple of nearby gators, much smaller than yesterday’s meal, slither through the water, no doubt curious and eager to enjoy a nibble.

But when I stride through the water toward the wriggling dark mass, they turn tail and flee. They know better than to tangle with me. I stare at the struggling creature in the water, keeping a healthy distance from it should it become dangerous. Then the boat on the surface purrs to life again and jets off, leaving only a bubbly wake behind.

Through the murky water, I make out the pale shine of skin, and a small mouth that opens in a scream.

Oh, buddy, that’s not going to work.

Knowing what I know about humans, which honestly isn’t a lot, I know that this one probably has only a minute before it’s lights out. No gills. That’s unfortunate. The whites of their eyes are clearly visible to me now as I draw nearer, and when they jerk their head, they finally see me.

Terror fills their dark pupils as they try to writhe away from my grip. They can’t swim? I look down at their legs and see they’re tied up with rope. No, they’ve just been bound. Grabbing hold of them by their middle, I kick off the muddy lagoon bottom and surge to the surface. We break through the water, and the human inhales sharply before choking on the water.

“You don’t want to swallow any of it, trust me,” I hiss.

The way they scream in my earhole reminds me that they can’t understand a word I’m saying. Frustrating, as well as inconvenient. The boat is long gone, so there’s no way I can return this thing to sender. Great. I can’t just leave them, either. I could drop them and leave them for the gators to handle, but something tugs at my heart as I stare into their terror-stricken face.

Empathy. Ugh. Gross.

When we finally reach the beach after an eternity of splashing and sputtering, they try to wriggle out of my arms and make a break for it. I grasp them tighter against my chest and hiss again.

“Stop it,” I warn. “No. Bad human! Bad. You’re going to get yourself hurt. Relax.”

But they’re not relaxing. If anything, they’re getting so wound up their breathing is becoming more erratic, and I’m afraid they’re on the verge of a panic attack. I set them down on the lagoon bank and wipe some of the mud off their forehead.

“There. You aren’t hurt, are you?” I ask.

Tears roll down their cheeks, mixing with the lagoon water clinging to their skin. I roll my eyes as I pat them on the head. The fur on the top of their head is soaked, of course, but I’ve had fuzzy pets before, and they always enjoyed a good stroke.

Too bad none of them ever lasted long thanks to all the predators skulking around. Rest in peace, Mister Bean. You were a good rat for all of … a day. Better not to get attached to anything out here.

“There, there. It’s okay. You’re not dead yet, so rejoice,” I say.

But they’re not rejoicing. In fact, the little human is doing just the opposite. They toss their last meal up in spurts. Right onto my feet with a splatter.

A cold shiver runs across my spine as the bitter scent assaults my nostrils and makes me gag. Humans are so disgusting. I’ve always known this to be true, yet I’m taking care of one anyway, even though I should have just ignored them the second they hit the water.

Crouching down to their level, I rake my claws across their back in what I hope they understand is a soothing gesture. They finish puking their guts up and look at me, their face screwed up in both fear and revulsion. Yeah. I know. I get that a lot from their kind. The feeling is mutual, though. With their clammy, scale-less skin and their beady eyes, I don’t see how they even find each other attractive long enough to mate.

“Come on. Let’s get you back to the nearest human settlement,” I hiss. They’re trembling as they stand upright. Even at their full height, they only come up to my torso. Are they a child, or…?

I blink, and they blink back. No. No, I believe this may be a full-grown adult. Possibly female. I scratch my head and sigh. Can never tell just from looking at them. Maybe their females are on the smaller side? He can’t be a male. The women of their species would sit on his pelvis, crack it, and then he’d die. Or maybe that’s the point, like with certain spiders and preying mantises? Nature is truly astounding in her grand designs.

The human continues to shake like a snake’s rattle, and when I take a step closer, their throat bobs up and down. Then I notice the fur on their face. There’s not much there, but I see it. Stubbly and dark along their throat and chin.

Yeah, no. Still can’t tell. Mammals are impossible.

I reach forward and say, “I’m not going to?—”

The human screams something in their language at me, then takes off at a sprint down the beach. I’m not quick enough to snatch their hand, so they get away easily, and within seconds, they disappear into the thicket of trees.

Oh, fuck. They are definitely going to die unless I go after them.

At this rate, this is going down as the worst week ever.