Behemoth

by Michael Cole

  Napier continuously tried to wrap his mind around the events that occurred during the day, especially concentrating on the phenomenon that was the fact that there was no trace of the main body of the vessel to be found. Although the water was deep in certain areas along the coast of Mako’s Edge, the vast array of rocks usually would hook a ship that would have run aground on one, resulting in the vessel resting on the slope of the underwater body of the particular rock that impaled it. And then there was that bizarre thorny object that he found speared in a piece of debris. It didn’t appear to be a part of the ship, and it didn’t resemble any tool or object that would be on any ship. And undoubtedly the strangest and most haunting incident was a fact that was not broadcasted on the radio station, likely for good reasons: the finding of the severed arm. Only the Lord knew whether it once belonged to Steve Hogan or Burke, and a part of Napier wanted it to stay that way.

  He coasted his truck through his driveway, bringing it to a stop as it arrived at the edge of the driveway in the front yard. He stepped out of his vehicle and walked to the front door of his house. He grabbed the knob, only to discover, to his surprise, that it was still locked. Jane was still not home. He pulled out his house key from his pocket and let himself in. After grabbing a Coca Cola from the refrigerator, he stepped outside to his front yard. He sipped his soda as he stared out over the arrow-shaped Razortooth Cove into the endless horizon of ocean water. His mind continued to question the sinking of Hogan’s vessel and the bizarre circumstances surrounding it. In addition to his immense curiosity of the occurrence, his mind was also consumed by his worries of his fishing nets that were still adrift in their respective locations. The next morning, he and Wayne Michaels would go out aboard the Catcher to go out and pull in the nets. Napier simply prayed silently that they would have a better day in regard to quantity of fish caught than yesterday.

  “Hey, Dad!” he heard Jane’s voice call from behind him.

  “Damn,” he stuttered. “You scared the crap out of me.” Jane laughed as she walked around the front of the truck to the front door. Napier followed her in, freeing his mind from all that was concerning him. He glanced at his watch, reading the time. “It’s almost seven,” he said. “You were with Amanda all day?”

  “Y-yeah,” Jane answered, not restraining her voice from sounding confused to the interrogating tone of her father. “You’d be surprised what us chicks can come up with doing when we hang out.” She entered the house and Napier followed her in and headed back toward the kitchen and dining room.

  “I will not challenge you there,” he said as he picked up the day’s newspaper. He had brought it in earlier, but did not get a chance to look at it. “So, how was your day?” he asked. “What did you and Amanda do?” He unfolded the paper and skimmed over the first few headings. It was mostly economic and political garbage that just got repeated a dozen times over. There was an election coming up for a mayor of Mako’s Center, and seeing as the island was U.S. property, it obviously would spice up a new feud between republicans and democrats. There were a few headlines that listed news regarding issues in the fishing industry. He went ahead and began to read the article.

  Fishermen in Mako’s Center are enraged as they discover that the fishing has gone down in the last couple of days. Reports from around the North and East sides of the island have indicated that several fishermen had reeled in their nets, not only to find that there was hardly any catch, but that their nets had literally been torn to shreds. This shocking phenomenon has been reported by eleven fishermen so far, and there are rumors speculating that these events could be the result of a possible perpetrator who has been personally cutting holes in the nets. So far, there has been no comment by law enforcement personnel regarding this issue.

  “Holy shit,” Napier said aloud to himself. He instantly recalled the incident in which Old Hooper had complained of his net being destroyed. Napier assumed that it was just bad luck: Old Hooper never did take great care of his materials. But this newspaper article reported that eleven fishermen had suffered the same problem. “This is just great,” he said aloud to himself under his breath, “this better not have happened to my nets. With prices going up, sales going down, and buyers getting extra nervous, the last thing I need is my nets to be torn to shreds.” He quickly flipped the page, now trying desperately to get his mind off this particular topic. As his eyes skimmed the articles, he realized that Jane had not responded to his question of her day. Perhaps she didn’t hear him.

  “So what did you and Amanda do all day?” He repeated the question. He tried to make sure that he didn’t sound as if he was trying to pry into her business.

  “We just--,” her voice paused for a moment. “We just… we shopped around town for a bit.” Napier tightened his lips, trying not to look up from the paper. His lips mouthed the word “nice” in a derisive manner. It seemed that she had no true interest in talking about her day-- which was normal for a person her age. However, it did seem slightly strange: It was as if she was making things up. Napier inhaled deeply and ended with a strong exhale. It was just another thing for him to try not to think about. It had been too long a day, and he just wanted to relax, try to sleep, and have a good fishing day tomorrow. He skimmed the headlines on the second and third page of the paper, finding one article that was moderately interesting: “Famous Shark Hunter returns to Mako’s Ridge.”

  Most people are familiar with the famous shark killing character Quinn from the classic 1975 blockbuster “Jaws”, who set out on his vessel to do battle with the awe inspiring monster legend of cinema history. Imagine if that character were real. Today, a true legendary shark hunter, Ryan Rein has come to one of his temporary homes on Mako’s Center. And unlike the ill-fated encounter between Quinn and the 30-foot shark from “Jaws”, Rein has never lost an encounter between him and the creatures of the deep which he hunts. Mr. Rein reports that the reason he comes home to Mako’s Center this time is to get his fishing vessel repaired, after it was damaged during a recent excursion with two twenty-foot great white sharks that were reported to have been lurking off of the Florida Coast. He hopes to be back on the open water soon to continue his adventures.

  “Whatever,” he scoffed at the article. He didn’t see the glory in poaching sea creatures for the sake of the glory. He felt that was a rather sick thing to do. Finally, he folded up the newspaper and set it down on the table. A quick glance out the window was enough to tell him that another storm was about to set down upon the island. “Sucks to be those Coast Guard guys,” he said. He walked into the living room and snatched up the television remote. As he sat down into his comfortable brown chair, Jane walked by to go to the kitchen.

  “So what about your day?” she asked. Napier’s lips tightened once again.

  “It’s a long story,” he said. “I helped Chief Bondy in an investigation. Steve Hogan’s boat sank near Mako’s Edge. The Coast Guard is taking over tonight.” Jane responded with a semi-interested ‘hmmm’ and a nod. She didn’t know who Hogan was, nor was she familiar with any of the island’s fishermen beyond her father and Wayne. Napier turned the television on. The audio immediately came on while the picture took a few seconds to come into focus. The first channel to be seen was, of course, the local news channel. According to the audio of a story the reporters were just finishing off on, it appeared that they were talking about Steve Hogan’s sinking vessel; a story that would likely flood tomorrow’s newspaper. On the bottom of the news screen, there was a scrolling bar that carried information from right to left of the screen, usually full of secondary news that people would find less important. However, one of these new listings did catch Napier’s eye, causing him to lean forward for a closer view:

  “Marine Biologist reports claims of a sea monster off the northeastern corner of Mako’s Center.”

  This was too weird of a day, he thought to himself.

  CHAPTER

  6

  Deputy Drake sipped his black coffee from his brown mug as
he stood along the railing on the starboard side of the law enforcement vessel, which was anchored off the coast of Mako’s Edge. About twenty feet away was the Coast Guard vessel Arthur Bishop. Though it had the same basic design, this ship was considerably over twice as large as the small police boat. Both vessels were pointed toward the main body of the island, which was about eight hundred yards from where they were anchored. On the port side of the Arthur Bishop stood Corporal Robert Arness, almost mirroring Deputy Drake’s posture in the way he stood with coffee in hand. The time was nearing eight o’clock and the sun was on its path to setting. It was already darkening because of the storm clouds that were rolling in from the north, now nearly overhead, turning the sky into a gloomy shade of gray.

  “I hope they find it quick,” Deputy Drake said, looking up at the ugly overcast of clouds. “I don’t want to be out here in this weather.”

  “Doesn’t make a difference to me anymore,” Corporal Arness said. Knowing how long it would take to get back to base in the Gulf of Mexico, he knew he would be driving through some of this weather at some point. From Drake’s view, Arness looked like a giant, standing six-feet-seven-inches tall and wearing a yellow jacket over his blue uniform trousers and short-sleeve shirt. He kept his eyes on the water, specifically the intense blockade of razor sharp rocks that made Mako’s Edge so notorious. “I hope I’ll never have to drive a boat anywhere near this place ever again,” he remarked.

  “I don’t blame you,” Drake said. He looked down into the water, noticing air bubbles popping up on the water’s surface. “Are they on their way up?” he asked, referring to the two Coast Guard divers who were busy searching for the lost wreckage.

  “They might be,” Arness replied. On the bow of the Arthur Bishop was a large crane-like mechanism with a large black cable. Arness grew anxious about the time it was taking for them to locate Steve Hogan’s vessel. If it got too dark, the divers would have a difficult time hooking up the cables so the Corporal would be able to operate the winch and tow the boat up to the surface. On the bow of the deputy’s vessel was a small pile of floating wreckage that the divers had collected from the surface. Other than that, there was no sign of any intact vessel.

  “Have you ever had anything like this happen before?” Drake asked. “I mean, have you ever had a ship just disappear like this, minus the bit of debris?”

  “Son, we’re the Coast Guard. We deal with situations similar to this almost every day,” Corporal Arness explained. “In one case, there was a fishing vessel a few miles off the coast of Bermuda, in which the fishermen were packing dynamite on the boat.”

  “What?” Drake’s eyes flared. “Why the hell were they shipping that stuff? Were they trying to start a war?”

  Arness shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, expressing his lack of a definite answer. “Hard to say,” he said. “But, that was one case in which there was no real wreckage to bring to the surface. Just pieces. Except just a hell of a lot more than we’ve found here, which is how I know this is not a similar case; not to mention that much of the debris contained evidence of powder burns.” He sipped his coffee a bit. It was fresh out of the pot, so it was still scorching hot. He looked up at the sky after hearing another roll of thunder rumble through the clouds. He could hear the rain drizzling in the ocean to the northeast, knowing that it was only a matter of minutes before it would start pouring where they were at. The amount of sunlight was steadily decreasing, as if somebody was slowly pulling a curtain over the sun. He stepped away from the edge of the boat and walked into the cabin. On the right side wall of the cabin was a white switch. He flicked it up, and the spotlights on the front side of the boat came on, reflecting off the water and rocks. He walked out of the cabin and saw Deputy Drake still standing in the same location.

  “Well, if you need something to do, Deputy, you may want to put on the lights on your boat,” he suggested. “It’s getting dark, and as you may have figured out for yourself, the wind is picking up.”

  “That might not be such a bad idea,” Drake said. What the corporal was saying was true. The storm was bringing in plenty of wind along with the rain, and this could be seen in the steady rising of the waves. Drake looked up at the corporal. “Will you guys be able to work in this storm? The waves are steady at the moment, but they’re gonna be kicking up soon.”

  “The Lieutenant will probably have us throw in the towel after this,” Arness answered. “It won’t be the first time a wreck wasn’t completely brought up. Sometimes, nature just needs to have its mysteries. We may never know what caused it to disappear like this.” His coffee finally cooled down enough so he could finally begin swallowing it. Like Drake, he drank it black. There was no need for him to sweeten it with cream or sugar. As he brushed his jacket sleeve over his lips, he noticed a much more steady array of air bubbles coming up to the surface, only about ten feet from the bow. “That’s them coming up right now,” he said to Drake. The deputy quickly rushed into the cabin of his small vessel and switched on the spotlights and pointed them down to give more illumination to the water. After they were set, he hurried back to the starboard railing. He arrived just in time to see the heads of two individuals emerge from the water. One of them quickly pulled the mouthpiece out, taking in a breath of fresh air before looking up at the corporal who stood nice and dry on the large vessel. The diver then pulled off her mask, revealing her face. It was Lieutenant Lisa Thompson, a thirty-four-year-old redhead. Behind her was Officer Jake Denning, who didn’t bother to take any gear off in case they decided to take one last dip.

  “Is there anything else?” Corporal Arness called down. He could tell the Lieutenant was frustrated, which meant they didn’t have much luck.

  “I think what we’ve already found is all there is,” she called back. She looked up, immediately taking notice of the harsh weather conditions. “Can’t say I didn’t see this coming,” she said.

  “What do you want to do?” Arness asked.

  “Are you sure you can’t find anything down there?” The deputy called down to the divers, interrupting Thompson’s opportunity to answer the corporal’s question. The lieutenant shot the deputy a rather pissed off look, expressing her disconcert over him asking a redundant question. Drake clenched his teeth upon seeing her eyes digging holes into his face.

  “Why, no. I’m only on my five-hundred-thirty-fourth dive and I’m not yet sure if I know how to find a fucking downed sea vessel,” she retorted. Lieutenant Thompson was certainly a woman with a short temper, whose patience gradually got shorter and shorter as she got older and moved up in the ranks of her career. Her father was a homicide detective in Chicago and her mother was a correctional sergeant in a medium security prison for female inmates in that same city. Attitude ran well in the family. When noticing the feisty character in Thompson, some friends of the family would wonder if the strong attitude was genetic.

  “I don’t mean to point out the obvious, but we do have a storm coming in,” Officer Denning said. “As the lieutenant and I clearly know, the water is on the verge of getting rough and I really don’t want to be swimming down here in it.” As soon as he had finished speaking, the drumming of rainfall finally came down on them in a steady drizzle. “Great!”

  “It’s up to you, Lieutenant,” Arness said. Thompson thought about it for a moment, looking south past the stern of the two vessels. She then looked back at Denning.

  “Alright,” she began. “We’re gonna take five minutes more. I’d like to shine my flashlight a little more over that way. If we don’t find anything, then we’re out of here and we’ll report to the commander. If he still wants it found, then he’ll just have to keep a better eye on the weather.” Even though Denning’s face was covered in his diving mask and goggles, Thompson could read his dissatisfied expression. Denning was a predictable person in his behavior. However, he followed orders to the letter, no matter how he personally felt about them.

  “Whatever you say, boss,” he said with an exaggerated sig
h. Thompson shook her goggles clean of water, then spat in them to remove the fogginess before putting them back on her face. With her mouth piece in hand, she looked up once more at the corporal, who continued to lean on the railing. Of course, there wasn’t anything better for him to do.

  “Five minutes,” the lieutenant said, as if confirming the plan. She put her mouth piece in and checked to make sure all her gear was intact, before she and Denning sank into the depths, shining their flashlights into the deep, making them appear as if they were spacecrafts traveling in the dark of space.

  ********

  It funneled water through its various sacks that oxygenated its blood as it channeled into a brief blackout. It had spent precious energy hours earlier as it had finally slaughtered prey that finally brought its hunger to a temporary satisfaction. It could barely remember the killing, but its tiny brain could still recall a sense of fulfillment that came from slaughtering another creature nearly equal to its own size. It didn’t replay the fading memories in its limited mind, nor did it try to analyze the content feeling it was experiencing. The memories didn’t matter, nor did their meanings.