Of Poseidon 02: Of Triton

up. Her screams are enveloped by the air above.
    I know what I have to do. And Galen won’t like it.
    But I push that consideration from my mind. Galen isn’t here, but if he was, he would help her. I know he would. I don’t waste another thought on it. I push through to the surface. “Hey! Let my little sister go!”
    This almost stupefies Don into releasing the rope a second time, but good ole Dad catches it and pulls. “Get it together, Don! Do you know how rich we are right now? Pull her in! I’ll get the other one.”
    Nice. The Syrena thinks I’m human and the humans think I’m Syrena. “Let her go or I’m calling the coast guard,” I say with more confidence than I feel. After all, this young girl and I look nothing alike. She has the beautiful Syrena coloring, while I probably look like a cadaver floating in the water. But it’s worth a shot, right? “And our parents prosecute.”
    This is enough to season their enthusiasm with a pinch of doubt. It all unfolds in their expressions: Do mermaids talk? Do they know how to call the coast guard? Do they prosecute offenders? Did that really just happen?
    Don shakes his head as if he’s come out of a trance. “Don’t listen to her, Paw. That’s what mermaids do, remember? They sing fishermen to their death! Haven’t you heard the stories? And don’t look her in the eye, neither, Paw. They hypnotize you with their eyes.”
    Well, crap.
    But at least she heard the exchange, and she suddenly seems to realize I’m not with them after all. “Help me!” she screams, reaching her hands to me through the net as they pull her in. Don pokes her with his finger, the same way one might touch paint to see if it’s dry. Paw laughs when she slaps his overgrown son.
    But Paw doesn’t think it’s quite so funny when she bites the meaty part of his own hand, that juicy part where thumb and index connect in a tender knot. “She bit me! The little witch bit me. What’s going to happen to me, Don? Will I turn into a mermaid?”
    Don sneers. “I swear you old folks are gullible. Everyone knows you don’t turn into a mermaid—”
    And it’s all I can stomach. I dive below, drowning out the sounds of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass with a hard underwater doggie paddle to get to my pet whale. “Please, Goliath. You have to flip the boat over. Hurry!”
    My heart drops as Goliath swims away from me. Did he not understand what I said? Is he afraid? Could I blame him if he was? Still, with his rapidly vanishing fin goes my only chance for helping this young Syrena—and possibly my only chance for making it back to Galen’s house anytime soon.
    Just when I feel a sob creeping into my throat, threatening to escape the hopeless depths of me, I see Goliath. And he’s heading straight toward me. I shriek and move out of the way. Surely he doesn’t mean to head butt me, right? He swooshes past me and up up up. His passing momentum spins me around in a little Emma whirlpool. A loud thud resounds through the water. He’s ramming the boat. It topples, but doesn’t tip all the way over. I hear the muffled screams of Daddy and Don above. We’re definitely on the right track.
    “Again, Goliath!”
    Again he disappears, this time for a few seconds longer. By now I’ve wised up enough to give him a wide berth. He zips past me, and I think for sure this time he’ll tip it.
    He doesn’t disappoint. The belly of the boat disappears, flipped on its back like a submissive dog. Fishing poles and cans and boots taper to the bottom of the ocean, followed by one, two, three big splashes. It doesn’t take a PhD to know which belong to the humans. Turns out, Paw and Don don’t blend in very well in their camouflage overalls.
    Still, they swim well enough. I make my way toward the wildly thrashing net. “Calm down,” I tell her. “Let me help you.” To my relief, she stops fighting.
    I take a minute to examine the net that hangs suspended around her like a holey parachute as she descends in slow motion. I pull and twist and tug. All the while, she watches me. Above us, two headless bodies weighed down with droopy overalls tread water and talk between themselves at the surface. They’re way too calm.
    Don swims under and pokes his head up into the air bubble created by the toppled boat. I don’t know what he’s looking for but it can’t be good. As I disentangle the net piece by piece, I try to pull her deeper and deeper. “I think they’re up to something,” I