Behemoth

by Michael Cole

  ********

  The creature glided through the ocean, filling jelly-like sacks along the side of its oval shaped body with saltwater, then expelling it to gather more speed. For hours, it had traveled, searching for a familiar scent. Instinct served in the place of memory and intelligence. Instinct was all it needed. It barely had any memory of where it had just escaped from. The fact that it had just been a long-time captive made no difference in its life now. All that mattered to it now was to find a habitat, suitable for its needs. It needed to blend in. It needed to be able to hide. Not because of fear, but because of the element of surprise. A hiding place would allow it to wait and hunt for food to attempt to fulfill its insatiable appetite. Its instincts would always be calling for it to kill.

  The ocean water was much calmer than it was hours ago, making it much easier to swim. As its sacks flooded with water, they would pick up certain scents that the water carried with it. It sensed natural rock and soil. Not from above, but from its level within the water. The creature squeezed more water from its jelly-like sacks, accelerating its speed in the water. Its eyes opened, giving it a goggle-like vision underneath the waves. It was a nearsighted creature, causing it to rely mostly on its sense of smell. The desired scent grew, signaling to the brain that it was nearing a possible hiding ground. It continued on its straight path towards the scent. The ocean floor was now becoming shallow as the creature’s eyes examined several rock formations that stuck upwards from the sea floor like stone knives. With the water becoming more shallow, the creature expanded its numerous tentacles, stretching a few dozen meters from its main body. Each of these limbs were armed with suction cups that contained spiked claws that pointed out directly from the middle of each cup, allowing for impalement of any prey. The creature reached with these deadly tentacles, using them to grab some of the spiked rock formations and pull itself forward. As it neared the structure of land, the water became cloudier due to the increase of dirt and waste particles surrounding it.

  Its eyes scanned the location, unaffected by the dirt and salt in the water. The underwater world appeared to be of a bluish-green color, with black bits of rock and dirt floating lifelessly in random directions. The ground was covered by a layer of rocks, with dirt and sand creating a slippery surface. However, sharp rocks posed no threat to the creature; its thick shell would provide plenty of protection for its body. With gentle squirts of water from its sacks helping to push it along the sea bottom, it searched for the perfect habitat. It moved through the turbid water, crawling past more of the jagged rocks that guarded the structure of land it approached. Finally, it came to a black, rock-hard wall. It had reached the main island formation. This area appeared to be a good habitat, but instinct continued to warn the creature to keep searching the area. It turned left and crawled along the black wall with its tentacles. Its side brushed against the rocky barrier, breaking off bits of debris as it explored.

  As it traveled along the island wall, its goggle-shaped eyes followed some of the floating debris in the water, moving into a dark location. The wall seemed to have an enormous, circular gap within it. The creature reached out with one of its long tentacles, examining the edge of this gap. Tiny pieces of rock broke off the edge, floating into a tunnel that appeared to be carrying some of the water into the interior of the island. The creature glided up to the edge of this dark tunnel and slowly slithered inside. Its desire to find a home was now replaced with a feeling of satisfaction. This rocky tunnel provided the perfect camouflage and shelter. However, there was no happiness to be felt; it had no emotion. It couldn’t feel happiness, pity, glory, or fear. All it felt was instinct, hunger, and a lust for satisfaction. It allowed the weight of its thick, heavy shell to sink its body to the bottom of this tunnel. In a few hours, the memory of this search for a home would disappear as if it had never happened.

  It would now wait until instinct demanded it to feed. However, it would not end up waiting long. Swimming through the rough and wild ocean in search of a hiding place required an enormous amount of energy. It wouldn’t be long for it to leave its new home in search of food. With the overwhelming drive for hunger would also come the irresistible urge to slaughter. However, until it could find a suitable prey to feast upon, it would have to scavenge. But in good time, it would find something to unleash its carnivorous wrath.

  ********

  The sun was now almost in the exact middle of the sky as the time neared one o’clock P.M. The Catcher, anchored along the east side of Mako’s Center, bobbed with each wave that brushed towards the island. On the deck at the stern end of the vessel stood Napier and Wayne, who were in the process of passing out a fresh netting line. Both their outfits were soaking wet, mostly from sweat rather than the seawater that came aboard with the tuna, mackerel, and other commercial fish that were caught in the drift net. Napier unfolded the net while Wayne passed it out into the water. In a holding tank nearby was a pile of the day’s catch, which was composed of large tuna, mackerel, cod, and some Atlantic salmon that managed to travel that far south. Fishing work was always hard labor, and it usually took some time to bring in a net, pick the fish from it, and spring out a fresh net in its place. Usually Napier would use the winch to reel the net in, but because the device had broken down, the two fishermen were forced to do the hard labor themselves. Even down near Mako’s Ridge, drift nets were slightly controversial due to dolphins and other creatures being caught in the nets. In many places around the world it was even illegal, but a political battle between the Mayor of Mako’s Center and the Environmental Protective Agency resulted in an exemption for the island chain. Napier was always respectful of the marine life, and preferred a midwater trawl, which was a fishing tactic in which he would lower a large cone-shaped net, called a trawl, either connected to the winch or clamped to large bolts at the edge of the stern. After arriving at a fishing area, with the net in the water he would drive the vessel in a large pass, scooping up several catches in the process. However, he faced another problem: the bolts on the stern had become severely rusted and needed to be replaced. Unfortunately, bolts for a vessel his size were both expensive and hard to come by, leaving him solely with the option of drift netting. When he first started living on the island, he made a personal study of where dolphins and whales would normally be seen, for the sole purpose of keeping them out of harm’s way. This was a quality that his daughter always admired about him; he wouldn’t allow himself to benefit at an unnecessary expense.

  The two men continued unfolding the net, which had another twenty feet to go. Wayne puffed quietly on a cigarette that dangled from his lips as he passed the net out into the water. Napier, a nonsmoker, hated the smell of burning tobacco, but even on his boat he never saw himself fit to tell Wayne to not smoke.

  “Almost done,” Wayne said. His voice sounded muffled with the cigarette in his mouth. A light summer breeze passed by, pushing the thin, dark cigarette smoke in Napier’s direction. He exhaled sharply through his nose to rid himself of the nasty smell. He glanced over at the holding tank. Though it seemed to contain a large number of fish, it was actually about a quarter of the amount that they normally brought in at this location.

  “I’m just wondering what was up with today’s catch,” he said. “Usually we bring in much more than that.” Wayne shrugged his shoulders as continued stringing out the net.

  “I don’t know, man,” Wayne replied. He didn’t sound too concerned about it. “Sometimes you just have an off day, you know? Bad luck.” Although Wayne wasn’t the smartest of all people he knew, he did know his fishing very well. He was probably right. Though, it didn’t happen very often that catches would suddenly decrease in numbers. Mako’s Center was highly known for its fishing because it was literally a breeding ground for commercial fish, which was the main reason why drift netting wasn’t as controversial in this location compared to the rest of the world.

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Napier said. “It’s just that we’ve had some bad luck
with most of our nets today.”

  “I didn’t think the Razortooth Cove net was too bad,” Wayne said.

  “Oh, no,” Napier said, trying to correct himself. “I meant the brown buoy net on the southeast side. That one usually contains the most of our catch, and yet it wasn’t even half full today.” The southeast net, marked by a brown buoy, had been set up in a path where cod and tuna frequently migrate back and forth. It had never failed Napier in creating a decent catch.

  “Well, I will agree that that seemed a bit weird,” Wayne said. “But, like I said, sometimes you just have an off day. It’s nothing to worry about. Now if the amount of catch remains like this for days, or weeks on end, then I’d say it’s time to worry.” While Napier knew what Wayne said was true, he was already starting to worry. He had bills to pay, a daughter to provide for and hopefully put through college, and he was behind on his finances already. Finally, he handed Wayne the last fold of the net, which had a buoy line attached to it. Wayne flung it out into the water and tossed the buoy in along with it, watching the floating black ball splash on the water’s surface. He stretched his arms out to the sides, quietly groaning as his tense muscles began to relax. Unfortunately, with the catch being a bit smaller than the norm, they both knew that the day’s earnings wouldn’t be as high.

  “Alright,” Napier said. “Done with the hard part! Now let's bring this stuff into port. Mr. Gary will purchase these as he usually does.”

  “Sounds good,” Wayne said. He tossed his cigarette butt onto the deck and smothered it with his boot, blowing one last cloud of smoke from his mouth. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out his worn, partly crushed Marlboro pack. He lifted the white cardboard hood and shook the pack a bit, causing one of the light orange cigarette butts to come out a bit from the rest. He then lifted the pack to his mouth as if it was a candy bar, and bit down on the filter, pulling the rest of the cigarette from the pack. He stuffed the pack back into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. He flipped the metal wheel, igniting a spark that turned into a small flame as it connected with the flammable gas. The white tip of the cigarette glowed a bright orange as he held the flame to it, blowing a fresh puff of smoke from his mouth. Napier splashed a bucket of water into the first rectangular holding tank to keep the fish moist, and pulled a large plastic cover over it, protecting the catch from the scorching rays of the sun. There were two tanks that rested in a square-shaped hole that was made for the sole purpose of containing them, but only one of them had fish due to the lack of catch.

  Wayne bent down to collect the old net that had been brought in earlier, folding it up carefully so it would not become entangled within itself. As he worked, he glanced up at the buoy, watching it bob with the ocean current. Watching the water, a sudden bright sparkle of light within the water caught his attention. He stood up straight, staring out hard into the water as he tried to get another glimpse of what he just saw. He’d lived on the water almost all of his life, and he knew what the reflection of light from water itself looked like compared to an object in the water.

  “Hey, Rick,” he called out. Napier was just about to step into the cabin as he heard Wayne call his first name. He walked around the cabin onto the stern of The Catcher, seeing his partner standing at the railing.

  “What do you need?” he asked. Wayne glanced back at him for a moment, then looked back out into the water.

  “I think there’s something out there,” Wayne said. Napier tried to follow Wayne’s eyes, attempting to see what he might have been looking at. All he could see was a black buoy, a thin grey line that was the top of the net, and a blue ocean sea.

  “Give me a minute,” Wayne said. Napier crossed his arms and waited. As usual, he had to get control of his lack of patience. He stood and watched the boring sight of Wayne looking out into the water like some ten year old who never saw an ocean before. Suddenly, his facial expression lit up from the concentrated state it was in. “There it is!” he exclaimed, pointing his finger directly in front of him. “About forty feet away, I’d say. Something’s floating out there.”

  “Alright,” Napier said. “Just keep your eye on whatever it is, and I’ll swing the boat around so you can fish it out.” He walked to the cabin and started the engine. The boat roared and water splashed as the propellers turned. The Catcher turned left and slowly moved forward. Wayne grabbed a hooked pole that lay along the stern and held it over the rail.

  “Okay, stop there!” he called out to Napier. The boat came to a stop and Wayne reached into the water with the pole. Napier stepped out of the cabin and walked back around to the stern.

  “What is it?” He asked. Wayne grunted as he hooked the object and pulled it towards the boat.

  “Looks like a piece of metal,” he answered. He grunted louder as he brought it closer. “A big ass piece of metal.” The object was now alongside of The Catcher, scraping against the paint. Wayne and Napier ducked under the rail and reached down for the object. They both got a decent hold along the edge of the object and pulled it up, gently flipping it over the rail and laying it down on the deck. It was definitely a chunk of steel, almost circular in shape, nearly five feet across, and weighing nearly one-hundred pounds. Seaweed and kelp leaves pressed flat against the dark surface. Some parts of the edge were thick, but other parts appeared chipped and pointed, making the two fishermen realize how lucky they were to have not sliced their hands open while bringing it aboard. The center portion of the piece of metal was heavily dented, as if something had rammed headlong into it numerous times. Napier and Wayne looked at each other in confusion.

  “Where the hell did this come from?” Napier asked himself. Wayne was thinking the same question.

  “It looks like it came off of something,” he said. “Like it was part of a ship or something like that.” Napier bent down, brushing off some of the seaweed and tossing it overboard.

  “It does look like it could be part of something like that,” Napier agreed. He ran his hand over the surface and examined the edges. Some parts of the edges, mostly the ones near the right side of the chunk, appeared to be slightly rigid, but almost flat, as if it had been cut. Other parts, especially near the top of the object, appeared much more jagged, bent and flaked, as it had been ripped from the main body of wherever it came from.

  “What could do something like this?” Wayne asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Napier said, equally as confused. “I honestly have no idea.” He continued examining the object, pulling a large kelp leaf from the bottom edge. “Wait a minute!” As he removed the leaf, his eyes beheld an engraving in the chunk of metal: Warren.

  “What does that say?” Wayne asked.

  “Warren,” Napier answered. “That’s all that’s here at least. I don’t know what that means.”

  “Well, it’s definitely a name,” Wayne said.

  “Yeah, but a name of what?” Napier said. “A ship; a scrap piece from some Navy base; I have no clue.” He stood up and stuck his wet hands in his pockets. “Well, when we get into port I’ll have Mr. Gary call in Chief Bondy. Maybe he’ll have an idea what it might be from.”

  “You think so?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m not keeping this thing. I don’t have the space, nor the use for a big ass, heavy chunk of metal. It’s shitty enough that the thing ended up scraping off some of the paint on my boat.” Wayne began to laugh.

  “Like your boat hasn’t been losing its paint in the last decade anyway,” he joked.

  “Oh, be quiet,” Napier bantered back. “Alright, let’s move back into port. And we’re gonna make this quick, too. I wanna go home; I’m hungry.” He strolled back into the cabin as Wayne stayed on deck. The engine rumbled again and the water kicked from the back of the vessel as it pushed ahead, turning back around on a path to port.

  ********

  A few fishing vessels were docking in at East Port, unloading their catch onto pickup trucks that shipped the fish to the companies that would distribute them. East Bay w
as located in a cove that was shaped like a semi-circle, with the docking center in the middle. This was a preferable port compared to the one on the north end of the island, which was located in a much narrower cove, resulting in overcrowding of ships in tight spots. In East Bay, it was much easier to simply bring the ship in, unload, and leave. That was one of the main reasons that Napier would bring the Catcher to this area, also because his main buyer, Mr. Gary, had a market near the cove. The two had reached an agreement for the purchase of Napier’s fish as long as the catch was made accessible at East Bay, something that Napier had no problem with.

  The Catcher throttled towards the curved bay, aiming straight for a dark brown dock that extended twenty feet from the shore. Behind that dock were two large pickup trucks with tarps in the beds to keep any dirt from catching on the fish, and in front of those trucks stood a man dressed in black khaki pants with a clean red t-shirt. Wayne stood at the bow rail as the Catcher closed the distance.

  “There’s Mr. Gary,” he said. Napier could see him through the windshield of the boat’s cabin. He pulled the throttle back a bit to slow the boat down as the dock neared. Just as the Catcher came to a stop, another fishing vessel entered the cove. Along the side of the bow read the name Thunderhead in large orange letters. The vessel originally had a blue painted bottom, but the chipping and wear over the years had revealed the old, cracked wood that made up the exoskeleton.

  “Oh great, we had to arrive just at the same time as Old Hooper,” Napier grumbled aloud to himself. As the Catcher pulled alongside the wooden dock, Wayne grabbed a holding line from a pile of miscellaneous items near the tip of the bow. The vessel came to a complete stop and Wayne hopped over the rail onto the dock and tied the line to a thick, metal pole. Napier shut the motor off and stepped out of the cabin, seeing the Thunderhead cut through the waters of the port, pulling up next to a nearby dock that rested about twenty-five feet away. Wayne hopped back onto the vessel, getting onto one side of the first holding tank as Napier got on the other. The tank had to be lifted from the square-shaped hole in the middle of the stern. The two fishermen grabbed hold of handles on each end, and at the same time they pushed up with their legs. The heavy metal tank lifted from its secure hold, and the two men stepped to the side to avoid stepping in the empty hole. Once they were clear of it, they carried the large container to the side of the stern, lifting it over the rail, lowering it onto the wood surface of the dock. Mr. Gary, a six-foot tall man in his thirties who wore circular glasses over his eyes, walked up the dock.