Free The Serophim Breach (The Serophim Breach Series) by Tracy Serpa Page A

left.
    Paul pulled up out of habit, letting Derrick take the wave; Jones showed no such courtesy, paddling into the wave as well and shooting toward the beach still lying on his board. As the wave rolled on, Greg and Boomer came into view again. Boomer still had his arms around Greg’s neck, but now they were locked in some sort of strange embrace. Suddenly, Paul realized they were struggling violently with one another. Greg stumbled forward onto his knees just as Boomer lashed out a vicious kick at his face, then tackled him to the sand. People on the beach stood up to observe cautiously; a couple of guys jogged toward them, bodies tensed. Finally, Paul saw Jones striding through waist-deep water and shouting at his friends, gesturing wildly. Greg rolled on the sand, his hands over his face, and Boomer pounced on him.
    The final wave of the set approached, and Paul rode it in on his belly, watching the shore. Jones had reached Greg, but was now backing up the beach, hands stretched out in front of him as Boomer stalked up the gentle slope toward him. Still lying on the ground, Greg was writhing in pain; brief snatches of his cries flitted by on the wind. Another of the beachgoers had reached him and looked to be trying to help, pressing a towel down on a bleeding gash. Farther down the beach, the other tourists were all standing to see what was going on.
    Closer to the beach now, Paul caught snatches of wild, incoherent shouts that he thought might have been coming from Boomer. A man in purple board shorts jogged over to stand near Jones, holding a palm up to Boomer as well. His wide chest and thick arms were corded with muscle, and a heavy brow shadowed his eyes. Under normal circumstances, Boomer would have turned aside. Today, he continued forward at the same measured pace, shoulders hunched, weaving slightly from side to side like some kind of primate.
    “Guys!” Paul shouted. His arms chafed against the board as he dug into the water hard. Twenty feet in front of him, Derrick splashed out of the surf and ran toward Boomer, just as Greg stumbled to his feet. He looked a little shaky and still had his palms covering most of his face, but Paul was relieved to see him standing. Without thinking, he slid off his board and was surprised when the water came up to his shoulders. Keeping his palms on his board, he pushed through the surf toward the beach. The details were getting clearer as he approached; now he saw that Greg was bleeding from wounds on his face, neck, and arms, but he was also moving quickly to help subdue Boomer.
    Then, an eerie wail rose up, blending with the insistent cries of the gulls; a few of the tourists put a little more distance between themselves and the melee. Greg was still sprinting up the beach. He collided with Derrick only a few feet behind Boomer.
    Derrick shouted, “Knock it off!” as he shoved Greg away. His wounded friend snarled and leaped for him again, throwing him to the ground. Jones was still yelling at Boomer, frantically now, and backing away up the beach. The soft sand beneath his feet gave way, and he slipped, tumbling to the ground. In an instant Boomer was on him, but the man in the purple board shorts ran forward and hefted him up, striking him in the face. Boomer was knocked to the ground with such force that Paul winced, but he was back on his feet almost immediately, grappling with the man in the board shorts.
    “Guys! What the hell are you doing?” Paul screamed over the surf. He looked frantically for Jones and found him curled in a ball only five feet from where Boomer began savagely attacking the man in the purple board shorts. People on the beach looked confused, unsure whether to approach or run away. Many were gathering up their things or shouting for friends to get out of the water. Several stood near the parking lot on their cell phones, looking horrified; movements of confusion and fear rippled down the beach.
    Paul was in knee-deep water when Greg appeared