“What the hell are we supposed to do?” Ian gapes at the precious iridescent egg in my arms.

“I don’t know, but we’ve got to go now.” I whisper as my body begins to quiver with my slowing adrenaline. His eyes widen as he finally takes in the whole scene. Blood drips from my nose, my back is ripped to shreds, my clothes are soaked with sea water and stained a dark silver.

“Holy shit Matt, what happened?” he hisses as he rustles through the trash in the back of his jeep coming up with a dirty towel under his scuba gear. He gingerly takes the egg and wraps it gently before placing it in his empty beer cooler on the passenger seat. My vision blurs and I slide down the side of the car to the sandy pavement, my raw back now screaming from the salt, hot metal, and something much worse.

Ian crouches down and slaps my face, “What the hell happened?” I point towards the hundreds of dark serpentine outlines throwing themselves on the beach with each wave, then coalescing, twisting themselves into an erect sinewy structure which lurches towards us. “The Rifka,” Ian breathes. In one motion, he jolts me upright and into the back seat of the jeep. He throws the car into gear and guns the accelerator.

“I swore to keep it safe.” I gasp as the searing pain overwhelms me.