Sarah didn't like the look of the distant fins in the water.
Sure, she was on a boat--and a very nice boat--but there was something ominous about sharks circling her. And there wasn't just her on the boat. There was her...boyfriend? Sugar daddy? Gentleman caller? Whatever his title should be, his name was Franklin and he had paid for this romantic vacation.
What Franklin hadn't told her was that there would be a bunch of his other rich friends and their...girlfriends? Sugar babies? Lady callers? Was lady caller even a phrase? Sarah didn't like to think about what title Franklin described her as to his friends, so she quickly ditched this line of thinking.
The champagne was real champagne--from the region of Champagne in France (Franklin's friend Pierre had reassured anyone whom he could trap into a conversation that it was, indeed, not just sparkling wine)--and it was cold. Sarah took another sip and hoped that soon she'd get enough of a buzz to carry her thoughts away from the encroaching fins.
She knew not to get hammered though, especially on a boat filled with rich men (most of whom kept calling her Rebecca of all things). Even if she had been with her friends back in the States, she would want to keep her head around so much deep water.
The ocean was a mistake, she used to joke with people. And while the ocean contained beautiful multitudes, there was so much unknown abyss to it that Sarah never felt truly comfortable around it. Even at oceanside beaches as a child she worried that something would come crawling up from the sea.
It never had, but those fins sure did look like they were getting closer.
Sarah looked around the deck filled with scantily clad 20-somethings dancing to the music and being gawked at by the sweaty, older men in shirts clearly another woman had picked out for them. She spotted Franklin who was, blessedly, just admiring her and smiling. She waved him over and he took only one sip of his drink before making his way to her.
Franklin greeted her with a chaste kiss before putting his arm around her waist. "Beautiful day," he remarked placidly.
"The ocean is a beautiful blue," Sarah said nonchalantly, but her eyes were drawn back to the fins.
Franklin followed her gaze and spotted them as well. "Oh, don't worry about sharks, my dear."
"They aren't even like a bad omen?" asked Sarah, trying to sound coy and not unnerved.
"You expect me to know old sailor lore?" chuckled Franklin, the rasp in his voice reminding Sarah about the expensive, but nonetheless pungent cigars he liked to smoke.
"Well, I know the one about the albatross..." Sarah trailed off before taking another sip of her definitely real champagne.
"No albatrosses her, love," Franklin reassured her before giving her waist a comforting squeeze. "Do you like your party?"
"It's lively," smiled Sarah, trying to a pick a pleasant word that wasn't a lie.
Franklin did read her well though, "We'll have some solo time on this trip too."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Franklin kissed her again before moving back to his friends.
As Franklin left, one of the inebriated women came over to Sarah--Kelly, Sarah thought her name was.
"Whatchalookin'at?" slurred Kelly.
Sarah idly gestured to the fins, which were definitely getting closer and seemed to be coming in faster every passing moment.
"Ohmandoyouthinkit'sharks?!" Kelly attempted to exclaim despite her drunkenness.
Sarah nodded, but paused part way through.
The approaching fins looked more black than gray.
Were there black sharks?
Surely, there were stranger ocean creatures than black sharks?
"We should be safe on the boat," murmured Sarah, trying to reassure herself more than this Kelly woman.
The fins had reached the yacht.
RAM.
The boat took on the full impact and most of the guests lost their footing, having never found their sea legs before imbibing.
RAM.
Sarah realized with cold horror that the fins weren't sharks. They were orcas.
RAM.
There had been stories of orcas attacking yachts, but Sarah had honestly thought they were nonsense--propaganda about nature taking herself back from the billionaires that plagued her.
RAM.
Guests began to fall into the water and the deck began to crack.
RAM.
Sarah remembered something else.
RAM.
Orcas liked to play with their food.
(Prompt from "731 Weirdly Specific Writing Prompts, Batch 2" and done with friends)
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