Kimko dives, disappearing. No longer curious, it knows it’s being hunted. I derive a small amount of joy knowing I have spooked it.

  Its massive dorsal appears fifty yards east, and I take a shot at it, but the boat is starting to slide off the ice, and I don’t think the bullet hit. None of my bullets hit. When did I become such a poor shot?

  Probably when I allowed revenge to completely cloud my judgment.

  Meanwhile, the orca circles to the northern tip of the giant sheet of ice, while I’m stuck closer to the south end. Can’t let the bastard escape. I am absolutely certain this will be my one and only chance to have my revenge. I can’t imagine doing this again next year. No, it has to happen now, dammit.

  Now, dammit!

  I cut the motor. When I’m finally free of the ice, I yank the engine alive again, and throttle it. I ignore the cold spray in my face and lower my posture, trying to help the boat become as aerodynamic as possible. I think it’s working. The whale isn’t quite as far as it was a minute ago. I’m gaining on it.

  Until it dives and disappears. I continue on the same trajectory, scanning the surface, head swiveling. Had it gone under the ice? Maybe.

  Crap.

  I ease back on the throttle and sit forward. For all I know, it’s dashed under the ice sheet and is already on the far side heading east... and out of my life. Perhaps it’s just as well. Surely, this is a fool’s errand. And look, my boat is indeed taking on water.

  A black dorsal rises up from mildly choppy surface, cutting a steady path directly at me. The damn thing pulled a 180 underwater. And it is Kimko, that much is obvious. I don’t see the saddle mark, but the epic dorsal fin is unmistakable, long and bulbous, so different than a shark fin.

  Never mind all that. Here it comes.

  Here it comes, here it comes!

  I stand in my boat, feet planted securely, raise the rifle, and take aim. There’s the blowhole, clear in the scope, behind the crosshairs. Two shots, they say, is all that’s needed to kill one of these monsters, but I’m going to empty the weapon in the bastard.

  Steady, steady... I pull the trigger.

  Nothing.

  Unbelievable. I forgot to work the action. What’s wrong with me? Head isn’t right. I palm the bolt, pull it up and back... but don’t see or hear an ejected bullet casing. I stare down into the magazine and see that it’s empty of bullets.

  I know for a fact that I loaded it... was it yesterday? This morning? I know I did. But it’s empty, and the black dorsal fin rides higher on the surface, cutting through the ocean as surely as an obsidian blade.

  I grab my bag, search for an extra magazine, don’t see it, don’t see it.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  The creature veers to the side, smart enough to know smashing into my boat is probably not good for its health. And why would it smash into my boat, or approach me aggressively?

  Because it knows. It knows.

  It knows I’m here to hunt it, to kill it. Surely it doesn’t know why or care why, but its instincts are to destroy a competitor, to kill a foe. Orcas do not run. They kill.

  No bullets. Nothing. Nowhere.

  What the actual fuck?

  What’s going on? I was ready for this fight, ready to avenge my son.

  My gaze falls upon the harpoon resting in the bottom of the boat. The rope is secured to the bow. If I use it, and I’m lucky enough to score a hit, the monster won’t survive the day.

  I dive for the harpoon as the swell of water the whale pushes in front of itself raises my boat up, up. I’m not really sure I’ve ever hefted a harpoon... it had basically been a permanent fixture of the boat, something mostly out of sight, out of mind. Once free from its clips, I’m surprised by its heft. It’s like throwing a damn flagpole.

  No matter, no matter.

  I’m ready, this it. Here it comes. Timing is perfect, perfect.

  I hold the harpoon high, and as Kimko swerves to avoid the boat, I hurl the metal spear as hard as I can at the passing blackfish, as they are sometimes called. I nearly launch myself off the boat with the effort, but am immediately pleased to see the harpoon stays true, as surely as if it had been launched from a cannon. No, I didn’t throw it particularly far, but I threw it accurately.

  It hits home—plunging deep into the fat along the creature’s right side, just below the dorsal. The beast jerks violently and lets loose with what could only sound like a cry, and for a moment—just a moment—I wonder how I could be so cruel.

  But there. Just above the already bleeding wound is the gray swoosh with the black dagger slashing down the middle, looking for all the world like a harpoon itself. This is Kimko-21, the very same beast that dragged my son to his death. The very same beast that took so much from me, including my will to live. That is, until I envisioned this very same moment, and whatever I had left of a will to live mutated into a desire for revenge.

  Kimko can cry out in pain, and it can die a very painful death for all I care. No family should have to go through what I have gone through. A stupid, pointless death at the hands of a man killer. In the woods and outlier towns, man killers are destroyed. No one can take a chance having, say, a cougar with the taste of human blood roaming their woods.

  Well, I say this is no different. What ultimately became of my son, I do not know. But a creature that derives pleasure from killing humans must be destroyed.

  Emotion floods me, wracking my body in a momentary fit of shaking. Soon this will all be over. Nothing will return my son to me. No, this asshole has taken him away, and there’s no undoing that. But I will have my revenge.

  Meanwhile, I’m surprised the harpoon doesn’t seem to slow the great fish; indeed, if anything, it seems to be moving faster. A new sound draws me back to the present. It’s a hissing noise. When I look for the source, I find it in seconds. The rope attached to the harpoon is presently unspooling at a high rate. I hang on to the gunwale.

  I’m about to go for a ride.

  Chapter Seven

  The rope snaps taut, and I’m thrown to the aft of the boat.

  I hit something that digs into my back, and it takes me a few seconds to get away from it. Whatever it is, it hurt, and I need a moment to recover—except I don’t have a moment, because the little boat is moving.

  The engine makes a high-pitched sound, except I’m too thrilled by the chase to pay attention. Besides, the engine should be fine; after all, the killer whale is doing all the work.

  My pain is overcome with joy. I’ve struck what is likely going to be a death blow to my son’s killer. The motherfucker can’t get away now—unless it manages to rip the harpoon free from its blubbery hide, which I doubt. The harpoon is huge, with a curved hook that should keep it deeply embedded.

  I scramble forward across the small skiff and examine the nylon rope tied securely to the cleat, itself screwed into the floor with heavy bolts.

  The boat bounces, and I find myself momentarily lifted into the air. I land hard and claw the bench seat. Ahead, the orca dives below the surface, and I watch the line angle deeper and deeper, until I sense it’s pulling the boat downward. Water rises on all sides. Actually, I doubt it’s trying to sink me. No, it’s trying to pull the harpoon out... to literally tear it from its flesh. Except, I suspect the harpoon is in deep; indeed, I had hurled it with all my strength, and it landed true, sinking in deep. The barb on the tip would all but prevent it from exiting.

  The line is presently hanging off the starboard side near the bow, and the front of my little skiff is tilting down into the water, too. Lord, it’s strong. And pissed. And hurting.

  Welcome to the club, you bastard.

  It’s going to need air soon; indeed, the moment the thought crosses my mind, the line angles back up from the depths, going from damn near vertical to horizontal within seconds. An explosion of black and white erupts from the sea. It would be beautiful, if it wasn’t all so terrible. From here, I can see blood oozing from its side where the harpoon projects from it like a giant hypodermic needle.

  The line once again snaps taut... and we’re moving again. God, it must be in agony. How terrible to have such pain in one’s back. Then again, didn’t I presently have pain in my back, too? I did, where I likely hit the outboard engine... which, for some reason, is still running on high.

  The little boat picks up speed, pulled forward by a whale running from the pain, but never escaping. No, not today, my friend.

  I hold on to the bench seat, bounding over the waves created in the wake of the creature’s passing. Faster I go. Faster and faster. Nearly as fast as if I’d floored the outboard motor, easily going thirty miles per hour.

  Water spray drenches me. Wind roars in my ears. Forty feet ahead of me, the black devil rises and falls in the ocean, moving swiftly—faster than I can believe. But it has to be weakening. It’s definitely hurting, but still we rush over the ocean’s surface, the ice floe long behind me now. The land nowhere to be found.

  I hold on and marvel at the orca’s power, reminded how little a chance my son had had against it. Indeed, Julien’s body had never been recovered. Even though we searched for days, it never turned up. I’d been robbed even of my final farewell, my last chance to do something for my boy. I’d buried a memory and nothing more.

  The boat slaps the surface. The nylon rope groans over the forward gunwale. The boat angles slightly down toward the sea, but so far is not taking on much water. I’m more worried about whatever damage the hull sustained from hitting two chunks of ice. Being aluminum, there’s a slight chance it could be peeling open like a sardine can. God, I hope not. It will really suck to drown before I can exact my revenge.

  I hold tight as the creature pulls me ever west... further out to sea. We are putting a lot of miles behind us. Still. I have him. The bastard is mine. Just need to tire him out.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” I roar at the whale. A stinging splash of spray answers, and I welcome it. It’s as if the ocean is anointing me, blessing my mission, my purpose, and my journey.

  The motor begins making a strange noise—a high-pitched whine combined with a gurgling sound. Now that my head clears a little, I realize it’s probably the throttle handle I hit. Shit, it must be jammed.

  I’m about to lunge over the boat to the engine, when something else catches my eye: water pouring over the bow. The speed of the orca, combined with the downward drag of the line, is causing a surge of water to well up and flow over the gunwale.

  The water reaches my ankles. Maybe four or five inches deep in an instant. I’m still not too worried, because the bottom of the boat isn’t flat. Five inches in the center doesn’t even reach the sides yet. I’ve got time.

  What would my wife think if I never returned? She’d be crushed. I hadn’t really considered how all of this has affected her. She’s my rock—the one stable thing in my life. I’m afraid I’ve been a more significant burden than the loss of our only child. She’s had to watch me deal with his death in my own way. At times it’s been ugly. But now I can have peace. The object of my hatred is in sight. I’m watching it swim like a bat out of hell. No surprise there. It is in agony and doing the only thing it can think of: flee.

  The motor isn’t whining anymore. No. It’s screaming. I finally lunge over to it and hit the kill switch. It shuts off with a shudder and belches black smoke.

  Forty yards in front of me, Kimko leaps into the air, blowing a mighty spray of vermillion-tinged water into the air. It’s hurt. Perhaps even dying.

  Good, good.

  Blood in the water.

  Sharks like blood. They can smell it for miles away. They’d gather, start following us, and maybe catch us. Lots of sharks would feed on a dying orca if they got the chance. They’d take great mouthfuls of the beast away—kill the thing one bite at a time. Feeding the sharks sounds good. Their bites would hurt. Kimko would be in agony before he died, just like my son had been.

  Well, I assume. For all I know, he died quickly, painlessly.

  Still, drowning is a shitty way to die.

  No, I wanted to be the one to finish off the whale. The sharks can have the leftovers.

  “You should’ve known better than to kill a human. Should’ve stuck to what you’re good at, you shit. Fish, penguins, and other non-human things. You’re big, but you’re not very smart, are you?”

  I can’t do anything else but wait. Wait for it to bleed out. Wait for it to tire. Wait to die of dehydration if Kimko doesn’t kick the bucket before I do.

  Truth is, I’m stuck sitting in the back of my boat while an overgrown fish drags me through the water to God-knows-where. It’s sometime past noon. I’m hungry, a little thirsty, and the spot where I’d hit my back is in agony.

  Is he slowing? I think he is, but it’s almost impossible to tell from out in the middle of the ocean. There aren’t any landmarks—plants or road signs, trees—to be able to tell. Sure, there’s the wake he’s leaving behind, but that’s it. At least the water isn’t pouring over the bow. That has to mean he’s slowing.

  Another swell sprays cold water across my body, causing me to shiver. It’s going to get cold tonight. I didn’t plan on being on the water this late or this far from land. Nothing’s going to plan. Not today. Not the last year. In fact, I can’t remember the last time something has gone well, not since Julien.

  I hadn’t loaded my gun? But I had.

  Hadn’t I?

  Back when he was a kid and I introduced him to the water, I never expected anything bad would happen. I’d made him wear a life jacket every time we went out, even if I didn’t always wear one. I’m not wearing one now. Probably should have.

  Julien would have been scolding me right now. Or he’d say to cut the damned fish loose and let nature take its course. It’s still bleeding, after all. How long could it possibly survive with a harpoon sticking out of its back? Why let it drag me out to sea? Possibly to my own death?

  He’d remind me I had a life of my own to live. I’m a cop, after all. I’ve got a thousand square miles I patrol and respond to. Mostly, I tend to work tracking down missing persons, but there are the occasional crimes. There are also animal cases, too. Bears, mostly, but moose are serious trouble, too. Sometimes I get called out to a break-in.

  Except... all of it seems pointless now.

  The only thing that has any meaning to me is this... exacting my revenge. I know I sound like a supervillain. But revenge feels good, too. Revenge is a way of moving on. And for me to have any chance of ever moving on, I needed to do this. Hell, I am doing this.

  Now, I just need to see it through.

  I need to know this bastard is dead.

  Not in theory. Dead for real.

  I close my eyes and imagine the goal being completed. Me, loading the boat back onto the trailer. Then driving home. My wife will be worried, but I’ll wave her questions off for the time being, and take a shower. She’d have questions later, too, but I’d refuse as gently as possible.

  Eventually, she’ll wear me down. I’ll explain what happened on this day and why I did it. She’ll be mad, but I think deep down, she’ll appreciate what I’ve gone through to make sure Julien got some justice, and I got some closure. We got some closure.

  Everything will be better once this is done. Everything will be better.

  Yes, yes.

  The whale has to be slowing. The boat is still rising and falling over the swells, but I haven’t felt the splash of seawater in a while. That’s good because my feet are soaked. I feel like it’s time to take inventory and figure out how I’m going to ration my supplies. There’s no telling how long it’s going to take this orca to die.

  And so I do just that.

  Chapter Eight

  I’m dismayed by what I find.

  Six bottles of water, four cans of beer, and snacks for a full day, along with a single sandwich. Food won’t be such a huge problem, but water will be. Water is always the problem when it comes to survival. Hikers, hunters, and everyone who gets lost in the woods up here rarely die from animals. Sometimes they freeze to death. But most die of dehydration. It’s a bad way to go.

  I’m still looking into the cooler, wishing like hell I’d brought more of everything, when something bangs against the hull. I grab the outboard and look up. Ah, hell. The orca has found more ice—a whole field of it, with dozens of broken floes. And yeah, the bastard is taking us right through it. Okay, maybe he’s smarter than he looks.

  It picks up speed, weaving around the smaller floes, even as I bang into them.

  No way it’s trying to shake me off. It can’t be that smart, can it?

  Except, I see what’s happening for myself.

  A bigger ice floe is directly in its path. The beast doesn’t veer away. Instead, it heads directly for the big shelf, and turns on its port side. The starboard side—the one sporting the harpoon, is facing up. The great fish veers slightly, slapping its fluke, and just avoids the ice shelf. Well, most of it avoids the edge.

  Its side scraped along, and so does the harpoon projecting from its side. A great swath of blood glistens on the ice with the creature’s passing. A sound of agony emits from it, but its efforts are for naught. The harpoon holds true, though, admittedly, it seems to hang a little looser.

  Still, wow. I find myself impressed.

  And... here comes the same blood-smeared ice floe, rising a good five feet above the water directly in my path. There’s nothing I can do but hold on for dear life, which is what I do. I look for my .308 to secure, but don’t see it. Perhaps it’s wedged under one of the three rows of bench seats.

  Speaking of which, I drop to my knees and hold on to this middle one with both arms and duck my head...

  Wham!

  The collision is deafening and bone-jarring. A great chunk of ice breaks loose and dumps into the boat, itself having suffered a dent to its starboard side. When I look up, I see two things flipping through the air... my rifle and, weirdly, my satellite phone.