Saltwater

Sarah stumbled up the stairs of the basement, leaving a trail of red.

She walked through the pristine white living room of the Glass House. She picked up a heavy iron poker from the fireplace.

She went to the control panel for the bridge. She smashed it. Sparks flew. The bridge began to retract, cutting the island off from the world.

She walked out into the storm.

The rain felt good. It washed the blood from her skin.

She went down to the dock. Julian’s speedboat bobbed in the violent water.

She jumped in. She didn't need a key; she ripped the ignition panel open and hot-wired it with her claws.

The engine roared to life.

Sarah steered the boat out into the open ocean. She looked back at the Glass House, glowing like a beacon on the rock. It was a cage. And it was empty.

She looked down at her reflection in the dark water.

Her eyes were yellow glowing slits. Her teeth were needle-sharp. Her skin had a faint, iridescent sheen like scales.

She was a monster.

But she was Sarah. She remembered the smell of pine. She remembered Mark. She remembered who she was.

She gunned the throttle, pointing the bow toward the distant lights of the mainland.

She wasn't going back to her old life. She couldn't. Sarah the hiker was dead.

But this new thing? This apex predator?

She smiled, the wind tearing at her bared fangs.

She was going to live forever. And God help anyone who tried to cage her again.