Kronos Read Free Page B

heart…again.

 
     
     
    3
     
     
    Penobscot Bay, Maine—Thirty Miles Out
     
    The ocean lay flat and placid, calm in a way so rarely seen in the waters off Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Maine, collectively known as the Gulf of Maine. Jack Michaels leaned on the port rail of his fishing trawler, the Ragnarok, and wearily rested his chin on his hands. The herring season thus far had been abysmal, moving slower than the current four knots at which his ship was plodding along. It wasn’t that the fish weren’t there—other vessels were bringing in phenomenal hauls—but whether by some design of the sea or God’s working against him, the herring were avoiding the Ragnarok.
    His eyes trailed from the slowly undulating seas to the boat around him. The Ragnarok was ten years old, new by some standards, and carried a fresh coat of obsidian paint, giving her the look of a modern ghost ship. The look was reinforced by the myriad of dark sinew-like cables that stretched from various points on the ship to the trawler cranes, which were capable of pulling in tons of fish. The thick net dragged through the water kept the cables taut, ready to haul in the big catch.
    Thus far they’d proved useless. For all the ship’s modern accoutrements, including a global positioning system and hydroacoustic fishfinders, the herring had remained elusive. If things didn’t pick up soon, he’d have to take out a loan to make his house payments and carry the business into the next year. If he didn’t pull in a great haul next year, he’d have to declare bankruptcy and go to work for one of the other fishing ventures…maybe head down to Essex, Massachusetts, where he grew up.
    Jack considered the Ragnarok once again. Perhaps it was the ship’s gloomy visage that kept the fish at bay? He knew it wasn’t true, but this prime spot on the ocean, his personal secret, was devoid of fish, when it normally teemed with little silver bodies, swimming and swirling in unison. He sighed and removed a cigar from his jacket pocket. Usually reserved for the final successful haul, he felt there would be no use for it this year. Why not enjoy it now? After clipping the cigar and lighting up, he took a long drag, tasting the flavor, but quickly realized that without the success of a big haul, the cigar tasted more like burning dirt. He pulled the smoking cylinder from his cracked lips and looked at it. Its smell was suddenly noxious, and he moved to fling the thing out to sea.
    “Captain!” The voice was so shrill and sharp that he almost fell overboard. Jimmy, the excitable new kid on the boat, was prone to overreacting…though his eyes had never looked quite so wide before. Jimmy stopped, put his hands on his knees, and, in between gulps of air, said, “They’re…coming!”
    Jack crinkled his nose. The boredom was getting to everyone. “Who’s coming?”
    “The—the herring! The hydroacoustics just picked them up.”
    Captain Jack Michaels felt hope return. He straightened his stance and firmed his voice. “How many?”
    “I have no idea…”
    Jack sighed. The boy had been well trained to estimate the number of fish based on the information displayed by the fishfinder. Schools of herring often showed up as large masses of red, green, and blue speckles, and an astute mind could peg the number to within a hundred by gauging the width and length of the signature. But there was little time to scold the boy. He looked to the sky and found the telltale sign that the fish were coming. A flock of seagulls flew over the ocean, watching the waters below. Normally, the gulls would dive and pull fish from the sea, but this group looked as though they were having trouble keeping up. The herring were running. From what, Jack didn’t care. They were headed straight for the Ragnarok.
    Bounding into the bridge, Jack took a look at the hydroacoustic display screen. At the bottom were two corresponding lines, one red, and one green. They marked the ocean