JULY 10

DAKOTA

There was blood in the water.

Beneath an indigo sky, I trekked through seafoam stained red as gentle waves nudged my kayak further up the beachfront. A parade of emergency vehicles occupied the gravel road descending the steep cliffside of Cape Blue's cove, and the distant whirling of helicopter blades drowned out the irregular rhythm of my heartbeat.

If it wasn't for the adrenaline surging through my veins, I doubted I would be capable of navigating through the chaos unfolding around me. I wished I could rewind the clock and edit the script I seemed to be following. If I was being honest with myself, everything about the last two months felt as though it was part of an elaborate screenplay. I wondered what role I was acting out.

"Mr. Black?"

I emerged from the sea of sound, reality rushing in like an unwelcome wave. When I cut my gaze in the direction of the voice, the star pinned on the woman's navy uniform secured my attention. Its glossy film reflected the flashing lights emitted by the ambulance parked behind me.

"Mr. Black," the apparent sheriff repeated, her shrill voice straining. I recognized her now as the same hawkish woman who led the stereotypical safety talks in high school. According to her nametag, I was speaking to Sheriff Wakeman. "The paramedics still need to clear you."

"The survival rate of CPR performed outside of a hospital is under fifty percent," I stated, my throat raw from swallowing too much saltwater. "I don't think they say that enough."

If film school had taught me anything, it was how the film industry had a marginal appreciation for accuracy. Last semester in my Introduction to the Art and Technique of Filmmaking at UCLA, I critiqued the industry's portrayal of the emergency lifesaving procedure. But mirroring reality wasn't what earned billions in the box office - case in point, the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Complicated heroes always defied the odds to save the day and made top dollar. That was how show business worked, and I really should have figured that out by now.

"You did everything you could," Wakeman told me, placing a bony hand on my shoulder. "The next best thing you can do is to look after yourself."

I automatically nodded, knowing that she meant well, but I didn't give a damn. I needed to track down my supposed partners in crime to discover what they knew and how they wanted to proceed.

A sudden surge of commotion led by a series of disgruntled shouts snapped my attention away from the sheriff.

"Get back here!"

I turned to see a grizzled police officer standing guard at the perimeter of the scene, marked by yellow caution tape. Shadows obscured the crowd that had started to gather behind the tape, but their whispers transcended the flimsy barrier.

Another dead orca.

A missing girl.

The rumors on Friday Island had big teeth, but most of them proved to be true.

I watched the officer abandon his post, hustling after someone who had nearly succeeded in slipping by undetected. In the fading light and the periodic flashing of emergency vehicles, Allix McGovern's light brown hair appeared almost luminescent. Under any other circumstances, I would describe her as angelic.

Beside me, Wakeman waved off the officer and straightened her shoulders, seemingly bracing herself for the incoming storm of a girl.

Allix stopped a short distance in front of us. The denim jacket she wore over her black jumpsuit was too oversized to be her own. Her sapphire eyes glared daggers, locking with mine for a moment before flicking over to Wakeman.

"Miss McGovern," Wakeman greeted with a stony expression. "I appreciate your concern, but the waterfront is currently off-limits."

"Right," Allix said, sighing as if there were a million other places she would rather be at the moment. There probably were. "Except everyone still seems to believe that this is all just an unfortunate coincidence."

"This is an ongoing investigation, and all viable leads will be pursued," Wakeman answered, her voice razor-sharp. "Now, I suggest you leave before I have to escort you from somewhere you don't belong. Again."

My heart plummeted. I acknowledged that I was probably in shock, or overwhelmed at the very least, so I concentrated on clinging to my dwindling composure.

No one on Friday Island wanted to believe Maud Hamilton was right to accuse Apex of poaching that orca nearly two months ago. No one had any reason to believe her - not even me. I still didn't know if I did.

Risking a glance down at my hands that still seemed tinted red with blood, I replaced my guilt with resolve. I wasn't the type of person who needed to live my life with a clean conscience.

"We're leaving," I announced as a cold breeze rolled off of the water. It tugged at my damp clothes, and a chill shot up my spine. I didn't avoid Allix's gaze, needing her to catch on to my impromptu escape plan. "We're going to the hospital because I might have hyperthermia or something, and then I'm calling my lawyers."

Wakeman worked her jaw, clearly not fond of being talked down to by an eighteen-year-old whose fame was proving to be more trouble than the increase in tourism was worth.

"Check-in with the paramedics before you leave, Mr. Black," she told me, her smile terse.

Once Wakman stepped out of earshot, I briefly pressed my eyes shut and exhaled a breath I  hadn't realized I was holding. I wished I could remain in this secluded darkness for longer than a moment.

"Well played, Hollywood," Allix said, her voice surprisingly steady. "Maybe you should take up acting."

I cracked a smile, but it was short-lived. "What did you find on the boat?" I asked, and Allix hesitated just long enough for suspicion to grapple with rational thought. "Still?" My eyes searched hers for any indication of the truth. "You still don't trust me?"

Allix stood her ground. Her sharp collar bones and high cheekbones accentuated the wispiness of her frame. "Is it impossible for you to not try and make this about you?"

"Jesus Christ, Allix." I raked a trembling hand through my damp hair. I assumed I looked like I'd just spent a month in the Washington wilderness. "For once in your life, get off the moral high ground and tell me the damn truth."

Allix flinched almost imperceptibly, and I realized I'd struck a nerve. As I opened my mouth to backtrack, she silenced me with a hard look.

"Don't waste your breath, Dakota." My heartbeat thundered in my ears when she removed a crumpled slip of paper from her denim jacket and handed it over. "We went on the boat, and this was in the cockpit."

I unfolded it and instantly recognized Maud Hamilton's elegant script from the notes she'd used to scribble in the margins of my old screenplays.

There were only two words on the page.

"Orcinus orca," I read, familiar with the genus classification. Having grown up on an island famous for its local orca population, I'd arguably learned too much about the species. The translation of the genus name Orcinus was something I would never forget, especially now. "Of the kingdom of the dead."

Allix's expression remained guarded, a steely armor of control. "Or bringer of death."

The breeze suddenly picked up again, tangling her long hair in front of her face. As she lifted a hand to tuck the rebel strands behind her ears, I saw the faded scars on her wrist. They were thin and white and stacked one on top of the other like the rungs of a ladder. I found it difficult to look away.

"We really should go," Allix continued after a beat. The last sliver of daylight was a streak on the horizon, and the sea was a striking shade of obsidian. "Syd and Nicki want to search the south coast again."

For what felt like the first time since I'd returned to Friday Island, I swallowed my pride and let someone else take the lead. We snuck up an overgrown cliffside trail to avoid the prying eyes of the crowd when the siren of a patrol vessel sliced through the dense screen of pine trees.

Allix's hand promptly encircled my wrist as we simultaneously whirled around.I'd never liked the use of slow-motion in films; it was usually cheesy and lacked any cinematic technique, yet I suddenly felt as though time started slowing down. My heart clenched painfully, and my lungs burned as I momentarily forgot how to breathe.

We could still see the beach from the trail, and the sea of uniforms parted as if obeying a stage direction. That was when I saw her.

Even at a distance, I could tell that her skin was a startling pale blue like the skies in Seattle following a passing shower. Her long, dark waves of hair cascaded off the upper edges of the stretcher transporting her. Paramedics converged to replace the marine patrol officers, and Allix tightened her grip on my hand. In moments of electrifying fear, heroic action reduced itself to sheer luck.

The odds were really just odds, and hope was a fragile religion.

Little stars sparked in the corners of my vision, and I attempted to reel in another breath. But oxygen was proving to be an inconvenience, and I staggered back a few steps. Allix's voice was a lifeline I couldn't quite reach. I entertained the possibility of drowning on dry land.

✘ ✘ ✘

Welcome to APEX!

IMPORTANT: the following chapter in PART ONE will start two months before the events of 'the human condition'. APEX'S structure is loosely inspired by the thriller television series How to Get Away with Murder, as the storyline starts in the aftermath of a traumatic event (hence the behavior of Dakota and Allix).

However, PART ONE will now proceed in a linear fashion that will build up to the events of this first chapter. The date will always be marked at the top of each chapter!

Lastly, this story uses multiperspectivity to show the points-of-view of 3 characters.