Okay, writing all that awkward fish out of water/dating stuff is annoying. So I’m going to skip forward to mid-January. The tourists had mostly gone away, the waters of the gulf were teeming with life. Veronica was officially my girlfriend and I hers and at her prompting, I applied for Mexican citizenship under some obscure law about home births. It worked, though I had to rent an apartment with Veronica near the marina by the research base to establish residency. And Manny, who I’d revealed myself to if only to make sure he cut and destroyed any footage showing my tendrils to, vouched as my employer.

Veronica was still working on her reef sharks and by disclosing my existence to Manny, I’d escaped appearing in a shark special. Or “horrors from the deep special.” He’d been shocked then world wanted to know if I could get night footage, as it was dangerous to dive then. Reef sharks are nocturnal hunters on the reef and more accidents happen at night. Unless I was there filming, then the sharks left Veronica alone as if she wasn’t there. We did these shoots on the nights she spent out on the water with me and Manny stayed back on land to review data or edit footage.

As long as I keep the boys away, turns out I could get some great shots for the video to go along with the critter cam and those Veronica and Manny shot themselves. I was listed as an “on site assistant” and paid for it too. Malcom was never far from me when I was in the water, even if we were filming other shark species and I took to strapping a backpack with a change of clothing and a Velco cut out for my tendrils just in case I had to go ashore unplanned near humans.

Trouble was brewing on our horizon, even if I didn’t know it. Changing political stances in North and Central America were fueling a series of migration waves to the north. This meant that less, um, scrupulously morale men decided that taking some up the coast in rickety, barely floating boats was a grand idea.

Given storms that liked to blow in off the Pacific and it was a recipe for disaster. And of course, the friendly coastal water spider could hardly ignore people in need. There were many people in need that winter. Ok, in Baja, winter is more an idea than a snowy reality, but it was colder, whales were starting to swim south toward the tropics and humans were sailing north. Good times.

My first boatload of refugees, for what else do you call people fleeing famine, gang wars and hell, was on New Years Day. Veronica was back in the US to give a speech at her Alma Mater on the sharks she was studying and meet with a PHD board for her doctorate progress. It seemed like a hassle to me but she thought it was necessary so I did my best to help her.

Gods, I missed her so much though.

I’d spent New Years Eve with Dr Maruicio and Mrs Annabella Estelle, the head researcher and his dive supervisor/supplier/maintainer/wife. As much as he could hyperfocus on the sharks he knew by name or tag number, she was on top of everything else. They served a lovely dinner, we watched some ball drop in NYC (I guess normal people think that’s a bfd but tis just a ball), and I left them shortly after midnight for the water wearing a backless one piece swimsuit. Without Veronica, I felt better sleeping in the waters of the channel between the main body of Mexico and the Baja peninsula with the boys. I was there, drifting in a cross current area about fifty feet down when I heard the sound of a small explosion overhead. The water at the depth they boys and I were at was pretty calm but above I could see it thrashing as if being boiled.

I was on high alert, tense with adrenaline flooding my veins and worried it was the Company. But turns out the people on the boat had no idea that I was there.

I came near enough to the surface to see flames licking along the backside of a rusty boat and could hear the screams from above. The water was turbulent here and just staying near the ship was difficult. If those humans went in the sea, it would be impossible to save them all.

Unless you didn’t believe in no-win situations. Then it was a matter of pleading for all the help I could get and hitting the surface in a burst of water. Air flooded into my longs with a scream and I was drenched in fresh water from the storm overhead when I landed on the bow of the boat. Seven men, eight women and nine children clung to each other and the side of the boat. The only person wearing a life jacket was the only plump person on board and he pulled a gun on me.

I launched myself at him, tendril slamming into his fist and knocking the gun away, legs sweeping under him and I tossed the man behind me to get to the fire. It was fueled by a leak in the fuel line and once boat fuel goes up, its near impossible to get out with an extinguisher or tanker truck. Which of course the damn boat didn’t have. I whirled and brought the “captain” to me, snarling, “Please tell me you have life boats on this floating rust heap.”

He didn’t answer at first, but a broken pinkie helped loosen his lips and he shook his head no while pleading with me to save his life. Take the others but spare him.

Hell of a man there, right? Yeah, I thought so too and wasted no more time on him. Overboard mental note to my friends that no one was to help him.  He belonged to the sea now, for better or worse.  The sharks, far more than my pack, two humpback whales and a small pod of Spotted Dolphins gave him a wide birth.

The men, women and children were staring at me in horror, some whispering prayers to gods old and new. I held my hands up. I matched their mix of Guatemalan and Salvadoran languages, blending the two to get my point across. “I am good guy. Pacific water Spider-woman. Do not fear me. I will help you to shore. The boat will sink.”

It wasn’t perfect, I hadn’t heard it enough to be so but they got the point. It was a child, alone in the world, who took my hand first. She looked about thirteen and fourteen and her eyes had deep hollows beneath them. “I would trust El Diablo himself if he offered safety. I will follow a god of the ocean just as far. What do we do, Sea Spider?”

Araña de mar, was what she said but Sea Spider has a nicer ring. I met those shadowed eyes. “Are there any more life jackets?” A shake no. “And no life rafts either. Ok, I have friends in the water that will help us get to shore.”

Before I could explain more, the engine burst into a second explosion, this time knocking itself clear off the hull and leaving a gaping hole that water rushed into. “No more time,” I yelled. “Grab the kids too small to swim and start getting into the water.”

I had the larger of the whales come alongside the boat and loaded two women with babies, a child and two man on it. The second whale got the other children excluding the brave teen, three women and a man that couldn’t swim. Half of the dolphins began to swim circuits around the whales, their echolocation clicking as they made sure the humans stayed aboard.

The other four men and three women plus the teen went into the water with me. There were screams as they saw the sharks but when the teen went right up to Helix and grabbed onto the dorsal fin he kept at the surface for her, the others calmed down. The other dolphins swam over to the humans and offered them the same ride. The sharks formed a loose circle around us, catching anyone who fell and bringing them back if possible.

I was surprised to have a pod of Orcas, rare in these waters, be the last to answer my call for help. I had the largest carry me on her back, her dorsal fin tall with age. She was the clan matriarch and I sent my thanks to her through the language of the sea. The other whales spelled the much smaller dolphins as the matriarch directed everyone toward the shore.

I let her direct that while opening my grasp on my own abilities. What I’d done with the family fishing boat months ago I now did on a larger scale, calming the sea around our large flotilla of helpful carnivores and terrified humans. I screamed for control as the sea tried to intrude on my circle of calm waters again and again. It slapped against me, lightning shooting through the moving barrier to thunder overhead. The children screamed when it happened but I couldn’t stop it.

I was shaking and barely holding my grip on the matriarch orca when small hands wrapped around me to grab onto the dorsal fin. The teen had managed to get over to me and climb up behind me while I battled with the storm above. Her voice rose above the noise, “You need help to help us!”

“Thank you,” I screamed over the raging storm and if she said anything back, I missed it.

Two hours later the storm broke. The girl at my back whispered prayers to me, saying she’d do anything to aid me in exchange for her life. I assured her I just wanted her to live a good life and she wondered if that was even possible. Her childhood was one to make mine look easy and her life since puberty at eleven was worse. When I asked her what she wanted to do with her life if she got to America she said, “Anything that doesn’t involve my crotch. I don’t care, I just want to see a priest, be absolved of the sins inflicted on me and live my life.”

Four hours later, we made it to shore, all twenty-four refugees and one exhausted hybrid. The dolphins had taken turns with the orcas in hauling the hypothermic adults while the humpbacks swam along at their highest surface speed to keep up with the Orcas and Spotted Dolphins. The sharks, a collage of whites, hammer heads and a few tiger sharks all peeled back once we were close to shore. Many returned to the depths, alerted to a sunken whale carcass by Helix. I waved him and Star off to take the sharks to feed for their help and Malcom stayed hear me in the flotilla. I felt his weary on the orcas, known predators of great whites but they showed no interest in my pup.

I was so weary I barely noticed it was dawn as I helped the people make the trip from the whales and dolphins sides to the gravely beach. Light bathed the sea-swept beach in brilliant rays whose beauty was lost on me.

Safely on land, the adults began to pray, thank me and cry, bodies shaking with hypothermia as much as the children were. Still at my back, the teen hadn’t left me as I helped bring women and children through the shallows. She didn’t leave me as one of the men staggered up the beach to a shack to go call for help. The refugees had no where to go, no money and no supplies, there was nothing else they could do but beg for refuge from Mexico.

I returned to the water to grab my backpack from Malcom as he swam in the now calm shallows, teeth bared in agitation.

“I do not like you so close,” he said. “Humans are mostly bad.”

“I cannot ignore their plea for aid,” I reminded him. “I may have been created to be a monster but I will be the hero that’s needed in these waters.”

“So long as the hero finds food better than whale carcass,” he agreed begrudgingly. Whites quickly swam into a sullen teenage-like mentality, as Malcom demonstrated. “That girl, the one who got on the orca with you, she’s coming toward us.”

I spun to look at the surface and there was the teen, her eyes wide as she saw me drifting alongside Malcom. I swam back up and surfaced near her, arms and tendrils flying to put on the backpack and hide myself in them. The likelihood of people believing a group of storm-tossed refugees was low but first responders seeing me as I was created might shoot first, shoot some more and maybe ask questions later.

The girl’s voice was raw from the salt water as she choked out, “Where are you going, Araña de Mar? Don’t leave.”

After clearing my lungs, I answered. “I have to hide my extra arms when around people. If I could have saved you guys without them, I would have. Come on, you’re shaking, lets get you out of the water.”

I held out a hand and she latched on so I could swim us both back onto the beach, though she stubbornly gained her feet to walk alongside me as I stumbled out of the water. On land, weakness hit me in a wave that near broke me. I managed to get out of line of the surface before slamming onto my knees. I called for the attention of the people while stars swam in my eyes.

“I do not exist,” I told them in Spanish, forgetting to switch to Guatemalan or Salvadorian. The languages were close enough some of them asked why. “Because, if the people who made me find me, they’ll kill me or put me in a cage forever. Or die trying. I don’t want to hurt people but I will to keep my seas and myself safe. Just say a few whales helped you to shore, ok?”

There were nods of agreement and one of the women spoke up, “Thank you, Araña de Mar. We will tell them the fat humpback whales saved us when the boat sank and the operator was killed when the engine exploded. Not sure they would believe the truth anyway.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” I stated to weary chuckles. I looked up to see the man who’d gone for help walking back with a woman on a cell phone. With a nod of gratitude, I looked up at the girl still by my side. “What’s your name? Are you alone?”

“I’m Maria,” she said brushing her tangled hair from her face. “I’m along, my mother died in child birth and I never knew my father.”

“Tell them you’re looking for your relative, Mauricio Estelle, he’s a researcher,” I told her. “I’ll let him know to expect your call. If you want to join our odd little family, call.”

I pulled a sharpie from my bag and wrote the number on her arm in block script. It was difficult given she was shaking with hypothermia and I was shaking with exhaustion. But we managed.

The man who’d gone for help rejoined the group that was now blocking me from the sight of anyone coming onto the beach. He said help was on the way and the woman on the phone repeated that in Spanish, asking if anyone was hurt. As I turned to leave, the girl flung herself at my back, whispering over and over, “I’ll call, Araña de Mar, I’ll call.”

I darted (okay stumbled) back into the waters as I heard approaching sirens and had Malcom help me swim down shore a few miles. I dragged myself out of the water enough to wake Mauricio up with the knowledge he had a cousin with a daughter in Guatemala, surprise and that she’d be calling for help as a refugee washed up from a shipwreck. Annabella took the phone from him for further details as she wrote everything down on her tablet.

My voice was shaking almost to the point of being beyond understanding when we hung up. They would take in Maria and sponsor her and I would see how brave my foundling was. I rolled back into the water more than walked and let the current pull me out toward Malcom. He shook his head at me, irritated at my poor self-care and with the help of his brothers, freshly fed, pulled me back out to the crosscurrent to sleep.

My last thoughts were, Being a hero is at least interesting but I have got to work on that name.