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FROM ECHO AND THE HOMICIDAL SEA PANDA

The night Echo Fisher first encountered the orca hadn’t felt especially remarkable—besides witnessing the largest, brightest full moon he’d ever seen over the water.

After stopping his boat at the coordinates he’d found in his grandfather’s journal, Echo stood on the bow, the gentle lapping of waves a familiar comfort.

A chill, early spring breeze swept over the surface, tossing his shoulder length hair around his face.

Gathering courage, he peeled the tie wrapped around his wrist off and secured the loose waves into a single ponytail at the nape of his neck. That moon was a sign. A sign that it was do or die. It would provide a little more illumination for his dark deed.

He dragged his gaze away from the moon, reminding himself he was there to work, not gawk.

With shaking hands, he tossed his phone into a lockbox on the back of the boat and then scanned the horizon one last time for signs of company.

At that late hour, he didn’t expect any, but he’d crossed into enemy territory just before he’d reached that spot.

If he was caught… well, he didn’t want to think about being caught.

That wasn’t an option.

Cool, salty air washed over his body as he removed his clothing.

His stomach churned, fear making it harder to concentrate.

Once he was bare, he took one last glimpse at that glorious moon and the calm sea around him, then quickly dove over the side.

He barely made a splash as he broke the surface.

The minute he was in the water, pleasure flowed through him.

He shifted into his dolphin form, the transformation only taking seconds.

It had been too long since he’d been out that deep for a swim, but there was no time to truly indulge himself. He quickly sped toward the ocean floor.

The longest Echo had ever held his breath underwater was twenty minutes, so there was little time to spare.

If he didn’t find the entrance to the underwater cave system his grandfather had written about, he’d have to resurface and dive again.

Over and over. Until he either found it or was too exhausted to continue trying.

His first attempt was a bust. With lungs burning, he raced for the surface.

The second he broke through, he dragged in a desperate breath through his blowhole.

Pausing at the surface a minute to rest his lungs, he contemplated checking the maps again, but he knew he’d spent enough hours triangulating the position and was sure he had it right.

He dove again. Once at depth, he used his echolocation to search the sea bottom, hunting for clues.

He found no signs of an entrance. Nothing hidden under the sediment.

Fear kept him from using too many clicks. He could be overheard and attract notice. But how the hell was he going to find anything with limited echolocation?

After another resurfacing, the doubts emerged.

Perhaps he lacked the skill to find it on his own.

Maybe it wasn’t even out there in the first place.

Echo shifted back into human form and hung onto the boat’s metal ladder, one arm wrapped around the bottom tread to allow him rest. Staring up at the moon, he weighed his options.

He had an X on the map, had confirmed the location, and had spent weeks watching the waters.

Out there or not— skilled enough or not —he’d put in too much time and attention to give up an hour into the search.

No matter the danger he was in being in orca waters.

He scanned the surface, sure he’d see a big, black dorsal poking out of the water—but there was nothing.

After a deep breath and renewed conviction, he dove into the water again and shifted.

And realized he was swimming right between two great whites.

Panic slammed into him. He spun, swimming with every ounce of strength he had.

Racing for the surface, he eyed the shadowy outline of his boat.

With a last-minute burst, he leapt for the boat, hoping to hurdle out of the water—and out of danger—but a stab of searing pain in his fluke prevented his jump.

The agony caused his blowhole to expand for a second, releasing precious air from his lungs.

Fat bubbles rose above him. He had precious little time to get to the surface for another breath or he’d never breathe again.

He watched in horror as the surface grew farther away. One of the sharks had him by a small corner of his fluke and dragged him deeper and deeper.

The other shark could’ve easily opened its massive, gaping maul and cut him in half with razor-sharp teeth. Why it didn’t, Echo would later question. In the throes of terror, his mind was laser-focused on survival, not questioning why he wasn’t being eaten yet.

His heart slammed against his ribcage, lungs burning, as the great white swam at speed. Echo used every ounce of strength to kick his tail, fighting for his freedom. Air thinned, and his vision blurred.

He had minutes to live.

Echo gave one last massive kick and tore his fluke from the shark’s mouth. Blinding pain nearly made his blowhole spasm again, but if he lost any more air, he was a goner for sure. Blood filled the water around him, adding more temptation for the sharks.

Wounded, he propelled himself toward that grand, glorious moon, praying he could outrun two great whites with a damaged fluke all while knowing his chances were nil.

He was as good as dead.

The sharks were bigger, faster, and stronger. Focusing ahead, he could see the outline of his boat and willed himself every ounce of strength to make it. He had the tiniest chance but that transformed into no chance the second a shadow sped between him and his boat.

An orca.

Barreling down on him.

Echo sensed it would be the last thing he ever saw.

Either the sharks would get him… or the killer whale would.

I’m done for…

The orca’s speed was terrifying. Echo whipped out of the way at the last second, changing trajectory to avoid a head-on collision. The orca never changed course. He bypassed Echo…

And attacked one of the great whites.

Echo blinked a few times, shocked, but his straining lungs didn’t allow him to linger long. He took his golden opportunity and raced toward that massive moon looking down on him. After he reached the surface, his blowhole opened, and he gasped for air.

After a few breaths, he eyed his boat, knowing he should get the hell out of there—yet, idiot that he was, he was too curious to see what was going on below.

One orca was no match for two great whites.

He spun, keeping his blowhole above the surface, and sent out a few clicks of his echolocation to find them in the dark waters.

Both sharks were swimming in giant circles—seemingly to get the massive orca off their tails.

They weren’t fighting? But why?

Great whites were predators, and there were two of them. Even at a size disadvantage, they’d easily gang up on the orca and tear it to shreds if they’d wanted to.

What came next would forever be imprinted in Echo’s brain.

The orca caught up to one of them and plowed into it, flipping it onto its back—which caused the creature to go into a state of tonic immobility, unable to move. Echo had read about it but had never seen it firsthand. Though, as a general rule, he stayed as far away from great whites as possible.

Echo’s blood turned cold as he watched an apex predator go to work.

While the great white lay frozen, the orca eviscerated the shark with almost surgical precision.

He tore out the liver and swallowed it in one gulp.

He’d heard stories of orcas hunting great whites for their livers, but he’d been sure they were pure fantasy.

Great whites were too powerful as predators—but he was witnessing it himself.

And he couldn’t seem to look away.

Suddenly realizing the other shark had vanished, Echo sent more clicks, ensuring it hadn’t circled back and come up behind him. The only thing he found was the carcass of the dismembered great white swaying lifeless in the water, blood pouring from its underside.

And the orca swimming his way.

Echo froze, an odd sensation spreading through his body. A part of him didn’t want to move. He wanted to meet his hero and offer thanks. The orca swam with such grace for a massive creature. It was terrifyingly beautiful to see so close up.

So close up…

Did he have a death wish?

He swam closer to the ladder but paused to give one look back. The orca wasn’t traveling at speed. Not like it had before. It didn’t appear to be on the attack—or perhaps Echo appeared easy pickings compared to slaughtering a great white.

Easy work. Light effort.

Get in the boat and leave before he catches up!

Logically, Echo knew he needed to get the fuck out of there. How many of their kind had orcas slaughtered over the years? Countless numbers, both wild and shifter. Yet something prevented him from moving.

A thrumming in his veins. An ache in his belly.

A whisper in the back of his mind.

Surrender.

When the panic grew loud enough to break the trance-like hold the orca had on him, he shifted and climbed up and out in the nick of time. The orca surfaced and quickly went back under, the motion causing the boat to list heavily to one side. Echo lowered his core and rode the wave.

Seconds later, the orca leapt out of the water, high enough that it arced over his small boat and back into the water on the other side—Free Willy style.

The jump had to have been at least twenty feet in the air if not more.

Water drenched Echo and the inside of the boat—water that had poured off the orca’s massive body.

A massive body that could easily capsize his tiny boat.