by Michael Cole
“Like I said, I assure you that Architeuthis Brachyura is a successful project in our experiments and we are very proud of it,” Wallack defended. “As you heard on the intercom, the creature is about to have its implant. It’ll be under our control.”
“Look,” the Colonel continued, “I’m no scientist, but something that big is not going to be controlled easily. I’m telling you, doctor, I’m going to recommend to Washington to pull the plug on this one. If that thing goes out of control, we’ll have a catastrophe on our hands. I don’t mind the plan with these sharks, but Architeuthis-- whatever the damn thing is called, is too far.”
Wallack crossed his arms, and his facial expression showed that he wasn’t happy with what the Colonel was saying. “Understand, sir,” he began, “the military wanted a killing machine; that’s exactly what I have created for them. Just wait until they hear what you have to say when you return and tell them what you saw here tonight!”
The conversation came to a sudden stop as the entire facility began to shake violently as if an earthquake had begun to tear through the area. A sudden loud banging noise could be heard from the next holding chamber. Every one of the armed guards rushed toward the entrance of that chamber as members of the science personnel began to go into a panic. As soon as the men had rushed into the room, the sound of gunfire joined the horrifying racket of grinding metal and the screams of people who were trapped in the chamber. The facility continued to shake like an aircraft in heavy turbulence. Red emergency lights flashed overhead in every room throughout the laboratory, and an emergency siren began to sound. Each of the shark hybrids splashed viciously in the water, adding to the immense chaos that had suddenly swept through the laboratory. Dr. Wallack’s radio buzzed with static, with crazed voices screaming into the microphones of their own radios. He unclipped his from his belt and held it up to his mouth.
“This is Chief Doctor Wallack! What the fuck is going on?!” he shouted into the radio while watching the far end of the chamber. “I repeat, what is going on?! Somebody answer me!”
“Dr. Wallack!” shouted a crazed staff member though the radio frequency. “Sir, number 241 is escaping! It‘s escaping!” Within seconds, his white dress shirt was drenched in sweat, as if he had just stepped into the rain outside.
“What do you mean, it’s escaping? I mean, how? What the hell is it doing?”
“It‘s chewing through the wall! There‘s water leaking in! It‘s breaking through the fucking wall! Oh my God! People are dead! There’s blood everywhere! We can’t get out!” Suddenly another beeping noise echoed across the facility as the intercom activated to deliver a message.
“Attention all personnel. Breach in lower level experimentation chambers. Everyone in those chambers must evacuate immediately. Flooding is reported to be increasing. Severe casualties. All personnel must make their way for the top levels of the facility.”
“Let's get the hell out of here!” Colonel Salkil yelled. “Come on!” Wallack didn’t bother to waste time. He ran behind the Colonel towards the elevator. They quickly opened the door and rushed their way in as several staff members rushed into the stairways and other elevators, fighting and knocking each other down in order to get away. As the door closed, they briefly witnessed the far wall bulging inward, as water was filling the second holding chamber. Through the doorway, ocean water began flooding into the first chamber, sweeping personnel off their feet. As the water approached, the elevator door shut, and the unit began to move upward to safety.
********
Its claws and beak tore open the hard object that blocked its path from the rest of the world. The smaller creatures running about in the prison didn’t matter to it. It embraced the familiar feeling of ocean water as it invaded the prison in the form of a deadly tsunami. The creature didn’t waste time to leave. It had no conscience, it had no real intelligence, but it just had a strong instinct. In a number of hours it wouldn’t even remember this place. Its gift and its curse was its ability to forget. But it didn’t matter now. All that mattered was that it was free. Instinct immediately kicked in; it needed to find a proper habitat. A place where it could lie and wait. A place where it could blend in without being seen. A place where it could kill, and keep killing.
CHAPTER
2
The sun’s rays stretched endlessly over the now calm Atlantic Ocean. The sky was clear of the huge storm clouds that reached out for hundreds of miles, replacing them with gentle cirrus clouds. The endless body of water that roared in sheer mindless power during the previous night was now a calm, blue surface, seemingly smooth as glass, reflecting the beautiful light of the sun. The reflective water stretched out endlessly into the horizon, rippling every few minutes after a gust of wind would sweep the area.
In the center of this fascinating location rested a small grouping of islands that rested a few hundred miles southeast of Cuba, known as Mako’s Ridge. These islands rested a few miles apart from each other, forming a crooked shape that resembled a serrated-edge knife. On the north-east end of Mako’s Ridge was the island known as Mako’s Edge, which was known for its jagged formation of rocks that surrounded the island, making it nearly impossible for any ship to dock. In addition to the rocks that made up the exterior of the island, several razor-sharp rocks also extended out from the beach, making it dangerous for any ship to come within one-hundred and fifty feet from the shore of Mako’s Edge.
Almost one whole diagonal mile southwest of Mako’s Edge was the largest of the islands, known as Mako’s Center. Unlike its neighboring island to the northeast, Mako’s Center was very approachable. The water gently brushed up to its shores in small, rippling waves. On the east side of the island was a large white-tan beach, which attracted many tourists during the last century. Near these beaches, beautiful tall trees known as Roystonea regia and Cuban royal palms, formed giant patches of canopy. Each of these trees stood around fifteen to twenty meters tall, holding about fifteen four-meter long leaves near the top. Also near these beaches were ports, most notably East Port, where fishermen worked hard to bring in their catch and sell it for profit. During the early morning of each day, fishing boats would scatter around the island like an army of ants, until early afternoon when they would come back into port. Throughout the island were several coves that would cut inland, making good locations to do some sport fishing for Atlantic salmon.
********
The summer morning sun gave a wonderful view of Razortooth Cove as Rick Napier stepped out onto his front porch, dressed in simple blue jeans, brown steel-toe boots, and a white t-shirt. With thin black hair, a clean-shaven face, and a fine muscular build, he stood proud as he breathed in the warm July morning air. He had just finished some maintenance work on his front porch a few days prior, so the light brown wood looked especially new when it was seen against his tan colored house. He leaned against a pillar that supported the hardwood cover overhead as he looked across his green front yard at his fishing yacht, The Catcher, which rested calmly at the dock. Although he was very good with the occupation, fishing was not Napier’s main line of work. For the past five years, during the school year, he had been teaching basic Marine Biology and Oceanography courses at Mako’s Senior High School… that is, until the School Board members cut the budget and removed a few programs from the curriculum. And his subjects were among the first to go. Oceanography was a career he became fascinated with while he attended several special science events during his high school years when he lived in Florida, ultimately leading him to earn his Master’s degree at the age of twenty-seven from Florida State University. However, a job as an oceanographer was very hard to come by, as no institutes had a budget to commence research projects. The few positions that became available required the applicant to have a Ph.D, which Napier was only halfway to getting. So for the next three years, he fished alongside his father until finally a job offer came to him from the high school of Mako’s Center. He was never a true islander, but the locals living on the islan
d usually assumed he was, as Napier had always lived by the sea, and knew more about it than any of the other fisherman.
“Hurry up, will ya,” he spoke aloud to himself as he waited for Wayne Michaels, his friend and partner, to arrive. Michaels had a natural habit of being late, and sometimes that bad habit would get on the bad side of people. The gift of patience was something Napier lacked to an extent, which led to him having to get a grip on his temper while working with rebellious students at Mako’s High School. Teaching wasn’t his forte. He waited and eyed the cove in which he lived. Razortooth Cove was marked by two high peaks of land that were partly separated by an inlet of water that grew narrower the further inland it went, creating a tooth-like shape. Napier’s dock rested at the point of this cove, where he would fish from the shoreline on some evenings.
The creaking of the front door caught his attention, causing him to turn sharply around. Stepping out onto the new porch was Jane, his seventeen-year-old daughter. Unlike many girls her age, she didn’t sleep in until noon during the lovely summer vacations. She was usually up by eight o’clock and dressed within the next ten or fifteen minutes. Her hair was of a red tinge, just like her mother, who passed away back when she was five years old. She also had a few other features that her mother had, which included a few freckles that were hard to see because of her tanned face. Also, like her mother, she enjoyed wearing denim jackets over her shirts when it wasn’t too hot. Along with this article of clothing, she wore a purple t-shirt and an old pair of slightly worn blue jeans. She looked at her father and gave a wonderful morning smile.
“Good morning, Daddy!” she said. Napier smiled back at her, full of fatherly love in his heart.
“Good morning, Jane,” he said. “What do you plan on doing today?”
“I was thinking of going out with Amanda, but I haven’t been able to get ahold of her cell phone. She’s probably still sleeping,” she answered, looking out into the front yard. Seeing that her father wasn’t already on his boat, she figured that he was waiting on Wayne. “I’m guessing Wayne is holding you up yet again.” Napier nodded his head with a small grin on his face.
“You know, he’s a good buddy and partner. He works hard and is very reliable on the job; but holy shit, can’t he ever show up without being fifteen minutes late?! It drives me nuts,” he vented. This wasn’t the only time he complained to Jane about his friend. She figured it happened at least once a week.
“Perhaps you could suspend him or something,” she suggested, shrugging her shoulders.
“That probably wouldn’t be such a bad idea if I had somebody to replace him with. Rolling up a net is no easy business when the winch needs replacing,” Napier said. “Besides, I view myself as his fishing partner, not his boss. These days, fishing is an entrepreneurship rather than an employment. I swear, Wayne would be lost when it came to the business aspect of this job if I wasn’t around.” Jane chuckled as she listened to her father let off his frustration.
“Yes, I know the next part,” she said. “If Wayne had gone to school, learned some things about business, and actually learned how to sell things and balance a checkbook.” Napier’s grin grew a bit bigger. Jane reminded him so much of his late wife, Katherine, whom he tragically lost to a car accident during his years in college.
“You know me all too well,” he said. Finally, the sound of a truck engine rattled as Wayne’s truck finally pulled into the driveway. Stones and cement crunched beneath the old tires as Wayne drove the black Ford vehicle steadily through the driveway, which hooked around the side of the house. Much of the paint had fallen off the truck, exposing large areas of rust and wear. The truck was older than Jane. Wayne parked it next to Napier’s much nicer looking white Chevrolet, and stepped out. He was a scrawny looking man in his mid forties, although he looked sixty. He was dressed in his usual attire: old, torn jeans that were nearly green from all of the seaweed and slime he had to deal with from fishing. His red t-shirt and fishing cap weren’t in much better condition. It was obvious to Napier that these particular clothes were washed only once in a while.
“Hi, guys,” he said, walking up to the porch.
“Hi, Wayne,” Napier said. “You ready to get going?”
“I’m ready whenever you are,” Wayne said. Napier opened his mouth to say the next thing that came to his mind, which would have been something like “well that would mean you were ready fifteen minutes ago, dumbass.” However, he stopped himself and simply stepped down the porch steps to walk towards the boat. Jane stayed where she was, leaning against the pillar, watching her father go off to work.
“Have fun, Dad!” she called out after him, waving her hand. He turned around to wave back at her.
“See, ya, kiddo,” he said.
“I think I’m going to head into town for a few things. Probably meet up with Amanda,” she said. Napier felt his stomach tighten. His daughter had her driver’s license, but she had no car of her own at the moment, meaning she would be taking the Chevy.
“Okay! But you be careful with that truck, you hear!”
“Yeah, yeah, Dad,” she joked. “I know it’s like another one of your children. You’d be crushed if anything ever happened to it.”
“Yeah, but at least that child tends to do whatever its daddy wants it to,” he joked back. He turned back around and continued walking to his boat. Wayne caught up alongside him, walking at a matched pace. The stench of his fishing clothes ran up Napier’s nostrils, bringing the disgusting scent of rotting fish scales, and bits of decaying bait.
“Which buoy are we gonna go after first?” Wayne asked. Napier stepped onto the deck ahead of him, walking up to The Catcher. The vessel was about a decade old, but it operated as well as any brand new boat would. It was by far one of the largest fishing boats within the island community, stretching to nearly sixty feet from stern to bow. The white paint had been chipped off at certain points, mainly at the bow where the tip of the vessel cut through the water. The main deck on the stern stretched twenty feet across. At the front of the deck was a wall and ladder which led to the second level, which elevated seven feet, where a second smaller deck was located, surrounding the vessel’s cabin. However, the vessel was in desperate need of repairs. At the port side of the vessel, at the corner of the main deck was a large winch, which was used for hauling in large trawl nets full of fish. Due to a massive crack at the base of the device, it was in dire need of replacement, which had come at an incredibly inconvenient time due to Napier’s employment situation. He grabbed the steel railing and pulled himself onto the deck of the fishing boat.
“Well, the first one will definitely be the one just up by the Razortooth Cove entrance,” he said. The entrance of the cove was a common place for him to place his buoys because he knew nobody else would occupy that spot. He normally had three different nets and buoys, each one marked with a different color. The net at the cove was marked with a red buoy, while the other two nets were marked with a black buoy and a brown buoy. Each of them had Napier’s initials on them, which kept him from confusing them with other’s. “I think we’ll go over to the one at the east coast after that.” Wayne pulled himself onto the boat’s deck as Napier went into the cabin. He stuck the boat’s key into the slot and turned it. The engine rumbled and water boiled up from the propellers in the back as they began to rotate.
“Hey, did you hear the news?” Wayne called from the deck. Napier stuck his head out from the cabin to pay better attention.
“What news?”
“You know Old Hooper?” he said. “Remember how he has that crazy net up over by Mako’s Edge?”
“Yes, I know,” Napier said. He already thought poorly of Old Hooper. He was a grumpy elderly fisherman in his fifties, who despised almost any person who he couldn’t make a profit from. He greatly despised other fishermen, possibly because of the competition that had begun to spread around the island due to the heavy loss of jobs. What most of the fisherman found to be controversial was the fact that Old
Hooper had a buoy along the south side of Mako’s Edge.
“Well, you know of that underwater cave that’s over there?” Wayne inquired.
“Uh-huh.”
“I guess Old Hooper’s taking some scientists over there tomorrow. Go figure, right? Anything for an extra dollar.” Napier shook his head. Ever since he first met the old, grumpy fisherman at the main port nearly a decade ago, he almost always tried to avoid him.
“That old toad can do whatever he wants,” Napier replied. “I just hope he doesn’t expect any of us to risk our necks to go out there and fish him out if he ends up wrecking his boat on those rocks surrounding that place.” Wayne nodded his head in agreement.
“And you may find this interesting,” Wayne continued. “Steven Hogan has pulled something just as stupid.” Napier’s eyes widened slightly, as this news interested him.
“Are you telling me he’s also setting up a buoy over by that hellhole?” he asked. Wayne nodded his head.
“I guess he’s having a bit of bad luck with his normal fishing grounds,” Wayne answered. “I think he’s getting desperate.” Steven Hogan wasn’t a best friend of Napier’s, but he respected the man enough because of his decent personality.
“Great,” he said in a stern voice. “I’ll have to knock some sense into that man. I understand he’s down on his luck, but if he gets himself in a bind over there, then others are going to have to risk the same thing happening to them just to help him.” He looked at his watch, seeing that the time was going on eight-thirty. “Alright, let's get going. Did you untie the line?”
“Yes, sir, I have,” Wayne said. Napier climbed the ladder and stepped into the cabin. Once in there, he pushed the throttle forward. The engine of the boat roared and the propellers spun with intense power, pushing The Catcher forward.
