Part 1The Fish Have Human Eyes

My name is Dutch. I haul freight for a living.

But you won’t see my rig parked at a Walmart loading dock, and I don’t move consumer goods. I specialize in the kind of “shadow contracts” that most drivers wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.

Word around the depots is that I’m hard to kill—that I was born under a dark star and have enough grit to stare down whatever crawls out of the roadside ditches.

But this last job? The cargo was a truckload of “live fish,” and it damn near buried me.

These weren’t your average catch. They were massive, housed in custom-built black timber crates that looked more like caskets than shipping containers.

The creepiest part was the sealing protocol. Each lid had to be hammered shut with seven iron spikes, black as sin and thick as a finger.

Curiosity is a dangerous thing on the road, but it got the better of me. I pried a corner open for a peek.

Just one look. That’s all it took to make sure that for the rest of my life, the mere sight of open water makes my hands shake.

Because what was swimming in that box wasn’t a fish. It was...

* * *

It was an open secret in the underground logistics circuit that the heir to the Vanderwalt fortune had a taste for fish.

Rumor had it the young patriarch consumed a dozen massive sturgeons every month—creatures bigger than a grown man.

Hauling for the Vanderwalts used to be the golden ticket—high pay, premium routes. But in the last three months alone, seven veteran drivers had vanished or washed out.

When Russo, the owner of the logistics company, cornered me, he looked like he’d been drinking swamp water. His face was a sickly shade of green.

"Dutch, I’m telling you, this is wrong. It’s unnatural," Russo hissed, wiping sweat from his forehead. "We watched them load the crates. They looked like fish. They moved like fish."

"The Vanderwalts have money to burn," I said, scrolling through the video file Russo had sent to my phone. "Why are they importing monster river monsters when they could be eating lobster on a yacht?"

On the screen, a driver I vaguely recognized was curled up on the asphalt, sobbing. His skin was pale as chalk. "It’s not a fish!" he screamed at the person recording. "It’s people! I saw legs!"

The camera panned to the overturned cargo. Sliding out of the splintered wood was a massive, glistening creature. It had scales, fins, and a tail.

"That thing has to be five feet long," I muttered, zooming in. "Growth hormones? Genetic splicing?"

"Rich people and their sick hobbies, who knows?" Russo looked miserable. "Supposedly it’s some rare import. Young Mr. Vanderwalt craves the... freshness."

I lit a cigarette and watched the driver on the screen breakdown, swearing he’d never touch a steering wheel again. I knew then why Russo was begging me.

"Dutch, I need you to bail me out. Just two more runs. If you don't take this, the breach of contract fees will leave me without a pot to piss in."

Russo looked like he was about to get on his knees. The Vanderwalts weren't just rich; they were powerful in ways that made the local police look the other way. I didn't want their karma rubbing off on me.

"You've been pulling too many cursed tickets lately, Russo," I said, exhaling smoke. "I drive for a paycheck, not a death wish. The Vanderwalt water is too deep. People drown in it."

Russo sighed, the lines on his face deepening. "It’s the holidays, Dutch. The boys need the bonus. I warned them about the risks, but the Vanderwalt money... it made them blind. We would have folded three months ago without it."

Russo and I went way back. When I was at rock bottom, he was the one who fronted me the cash for repairs.

"Look," Russo pressed, seeing me hesitate. "Miller just got diagnosed with kidney failure. Lewis's wife is expecting their second kid. They’re desperate."

He leaned in, voice dropping. "I’m all in on this. You do this run, I don’t take a cut. Every cent goes to you. If something happens... that’s on me. I won’t hold you to it."

He had me cornered. I couldn't walk away when he put it like that.

"Fine," I crushed the cigarette under my boot. "Tell them I'm coming. But don't start loading until I get there."