Free Dead Over Heels by MaryJanice Davidson Page A

have I not taken excellent care of you so far?”
    He seized the lone oar, wrenched it out of the oar-lock, and smacked her over the head with it.
    “Ouch!” she cried, while he stared at the cracked oar. She really did have a head like a coconut. “Bad, bad biped!”
    “Jeez, I’m sorry, I don’t know what . . . came . . . over . . .” Then everything fuzzed out and he collapsed back into the boat.

Chapter 7
    R eanesta shook him gently, and he eventually opened his eyes and grinned dizzily at her. “Hey, you’ve got legs again!”
    “It was the quickest way to get into the boat. I think you’d better actually eat some fish now, instead of just drinking the bl—the fluids.”
    “I’ll tell you, I could murder a steak right now. Oh, and I’m really, really sorry I hit you. You should whip my ass.”
    “You are not yourself. I was wrong to tease you about being a pet.”
    “That was teasing?”
    “I am not funny,” she informed him.
    “No, no, it was hilarious.” He forced a giggle. “I just, uh, wasn’t tracking very well.”
    “See here,” she said. “I have descaled this fish and broken it into small chunks. Won’t you sit up and try some?”
    “I don’t think I can.”
    “Please, Con?”
    He wasn’t sure if it was the “please,” or her use of his name, or sheer desperation, but whatever it was, it changed his mind. “Okay,” he said, and sat up too fast, and the bow dipped and swayed (more than usual) and the sky spun a crazy blue until things settled down. “Oooooh, boy! What day is it?”
    “Thursday.”
    “Really? You guys keep track of the days of the week?”
    “Stop stalling and chew.”
    He opened his mouth to protest, and she stuffed a slimy, fishy chunk inside. He held his nose and chewed, gagged, chewed more, swallowed, gagged again, held his head over the side of the boat, and threw it up.
    “Again,” she said impassively, but he was so tired and wrung out, even the sight of her breasts hanging in his face failed to distract him, or even interest him that much.
    No question: he was dying. The day he didn’t take notice of a terrific rack was the day they’d—
    “Again,” she said, and stuffed another chunk into his mouth. He held his nose again, chewed, swallowed, gagged . . . and kept it down.
    She fed him for about half an hour, occasionally disappearing for more fish, which she beheaded, scaled, and chopped up (with her teeth? He didn’t want to think about it) before getting back into the boat. He managed to keep about a dozen pieces down.
    “I’m sorry,” he groaned, tossing his cookies (his rainbow fish) once again. “This must be so disgusting for you.”
    “It’s fine. You’re doing quite well. Fear not, you will be home soon.”
    “Naw, I won’t. But you’re sweet to say so. I’m gonna nap now, ’kay?”
    Her lips were moving, but he had no idea what she was saying, and then his eyes slipped shut and he knew no more.

Chapter 8
    W hen he woke up, the sun was setting and he felt much better. Ree was swimming aimlessly around his boat, and when he sat up she swam straight over.
    “How are you?”
    “Better. Almost human and everything! Except for the smell. Whoo! How do you stand it, honey?”
    “You cannot help it,” she said with typical bluntness. “Listen, I have a plan. Perhaps I could try to find another of my kind and we could get help.”
    He peered at her. “How come you sound so doubtful?”
    “You were correct; we are in the middle of nowhere. And my telepathic range is very limited. It might take days to find help and by then you’d—ah—”
    “Telepathic—oh, right! I read about that, in News-week I think. How all you mer-guys are telepaths. That must come in handy.”
    “Right now,” she said grimly, “it seems a fairly useless talent.”
    “Aw, don’t be so hard on yourself. I—what’s the matter?”
    For she had turned her head and was looking off into the distance, straight (or so it seemed to him) into the