by Michael Cole
********
Rein did his best to chamber another round. Suddenly, he stumbled forward, toward the edge of the stern as the vessel began dipping backward. Hooper grabbed onto the wheel, seeing the bow of his vessel beginning to point at an upward angle. He looked back and saw that the creature had at least two tentacles clutching the stern railing of the boat, pushing downward. Water began to seep onto the deck and onto Rein as he fumbled for control of his weapon, which he nearly lost his grip on. Without aiming, he fired a shot, causing a round to crush itself into a mushroom shape after impacting the creature’s shell casing. The creature didn’t hesitate to retaliate. Rein felt one enormous, slimy tentacle wrap itself under his right armpit, enfolding around his whole upper arm, while a second tentacle snatched him by the waist. He felt his body become weightless as he was lifted from the deck and held in the air like a kite in the wind. Old Hooper, even in his state of panic, couldn’t take his eyes off the infamous Ryan Rein. The famous hunter was now the hunted. Worse; he was the trophy.
Rein squealed as the barbs hidden within the tentacle’s suckers, unknown to him, began piercing their way into his gut. As this painful action was taking place, the other tentacle around his arm began to pull away…with his limb. Rein let out a blood curdling scream as his shoulder bones dislocated. The muscles and tendons pulled apart, followed by the skin and blood vessels, creating a spewing of red fluids as Rein’s right arm detached from his body. Rein fell into a state of shock as he looked at his limbless shoulder, now looking like the top of an open ketchup bottle. Before he could lose consciousness, at least two other tentacles rose from the sea to engulf him. All he could feel was one of the slithery limbs folding over his head. His last sensations included a crushing pressure around his skull, followed by a tugging feeling on his neck and legs, as the tentacles pulled them from his body. The many pieces of his corpse were lowered into the bloody red water and into the huge beak of the creature.
Old Hooper cursed several f-bombs as he throttled the vessel immediately into its fastest speed. The propellers kicked on, kicking up water behind the stern. The Thunderhead heaved forward, causing its railings to snap off due to the creature’s unrelenting grasp on them. The front of the vessel splashed into the water as the tension behind it released, allowing it to rocket ahead like a slingshot. Free from the ‘thing’, Old Hooper looked back at the enormous mass feeding on Rein’s body in the water behind him. He redirected his attention to the path ahead of him, just in time to see the tip of a large rock just a few feet ahead of him. His reflexes took over and he spun the boat’s wheel in the starboard direction. However, the vessel’s speed had caused it to immediately close the distance, and the Thunderhead bounced upward as the nearly submerged rock punched a massive hole in the bottom of the port side, raking away shards of wood as the propellers continued pushing the vehicle forward. Old Hooper didn’t bother to stop and check for damage. He had only one goal; to get the hell away from Mako’s Edge. He kept the throttle up to speed and aimed for the safe refuge of Mako’s Center, ignoring the fact that seawater flowed freely into the ship’s engine.
********
The creature felt a sense of satisfaction from tearing apart its smaller, inferior enemy before feeding on it. But now, the larger, inedible intruder had begun to retreat. It had no intention of letting this other enemy escape, especially after discovering that it carried yet another small life form which it could feed upon. Its sacks inhaled several gallons of seawater each, taking only about a second to do so. And within the next moment, it spewed the water out, launching itself after the enemy, and leaving behind a murky trail of water.
The violent zone of ocean soon went calm again as if nothing ever happened. The remains of blood and human tissue spread apart and seemingly dissolved in the water. The only evidence remaining was an inch-and-a-half long great white shark tooth attached to a loop of string, which slowly spiraled in circles as it sank to the bottom of the sea.
********
“Come on, baby,” Ray Dillard spoke to the ocean, as if trying to entice it. “Bring me the big one. Make me famous.” He bounced in his seat, growing impatient with each pass. He occasionally glanced to the right at the other vessel, which appeared to be keeping pace with his. He didn’t think much of it, and simply waited for the familiar tug on his twenty-eight pound line. His much younger date, Jesse, rolled over onto her back to allow the sun to beam down on her tight stomach and chest areas. She released a strong exhale, looking up to the sky through purple sunglasses. She had grown bored.
“Want to keep treading this way?” His buddy Tom asked. He was slumped on the boat’s steering wheel, also bored. Dillard didn’t look back at him.
“Yes!” His voice expressed his frustration. “I’m telling you, dude, I have a gut feeling. The winning fish is down here somewhere.” He clutched his pole and kept his eyes on the blue ocean surface.
Several minutes passed. The Babe Magnet slowly moved forward. Jesse and Tom both began to grow more and more impatient. Dillard didn’t care. He remained focused on the water, and the fishing line that extended from his pole. He felt himself beginning to grow excited, feeling that any minute he’d feel the massive tug against his line.
“Hey look!” Tom called out, pointing to the port side. Dillard ignored him, and kept his eyes on the stern. A few seconds later, Jesse stood up.
“Oh cool!” She exclaimed. Once again, Dillard forcefully ignored them. He didn’t care about anything else at this point. However, the distant sound of a large splash, followed by the cheer of the female on the nearby vessel finally drew his attention. He bit his lip and slowly turned his eyes away from his line, and witnessed the dreaded reality, just as a five-hundred pound marlin leapt from sea, holding a horizontal pose for nearly two whole seconds before crashing back down into the sea. Once again, the sound of a woman cheering echoed through the air, as the female on the deck of the white vessel tugged on her pole and reeled in her line.
This can’t be friggin happening, Dillard thought to himself. He forced himself not to cuss the woman out. Instead, he simply stared with a resentful gaze as the lady fought the fish up to the aft of her boat. With each tug of the line, he prayed for it to snap, which would at least prevent her from taking away all of the day’s glory. His glory. However, his wishes were not met, as he watched the woman, with the help of a muscular man on board, haul the marlin onto the deck of the boat and strap a chain through its gill slit. He then felt his own vessel begin to change direction. He looked back at Tom, who was spinning the wheel to port.
“Tom! What the hell are you doing?!” He barked.
“Gonna congratulate this person!” Tom said. He had a much better sense of sportsmanship than his self-centered friend. Dillard simply leaned back in his chair, sulking like a child. “Hey,” Tom said to him. “At least you were right about the winning fish being in this area!”
“You wanna swim back to the island?” Dillard threatened. Tom simply laughed as he steered closer to the other vessel. Jesse stood, anxiously waiting to get a closer look at the likely winning catch. The sun sparkled on her golden skin. Tom slowed the Babe Magnet within twenty feet of the other vessel, titled the Comanche, and began whistling cheers for the other competitors. Finally, Dillard forced himself to see his opposition with what he still perceived as rightfully his fish. A few moments ago, he didn’t think his day could be more miserable. He was wrong. On that deck of the Comanche was a woman in her early thirties, with golden hair, beautiful tan skin, wearing a white tank top and jean shorts. Dillard recognized everything from the hair to the jeans, and his blood pressure suddenly went through the roof. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and his teeth clenched tightly after seeing his ex-wife, Rebecca, standing twenty feet away from him on her own vessel, basking in the glory of catching the enormous blue marlin. His marlin!
“No…no…NO!” He nearly screamed. The anger was boiling. But what was more overwhelming was the pure disbelief of the reali
ty of what just happened. He turned and kicked his fisherman’s chair, bellowing in frustration. “I hate that bitch! I hate her! This is the worst fucking day in my whole life! The worst fucking day! And I paid three thousand dollars for this fucking day!”
“Holy crap, dude,” Tom said. “Relax. It’s part of the sport. Besides, we still have the rest of the day to go.”
“Unfortunately,” Jesse rolled her eyes. She began to wish she was on board the Comanche.
“Oh my god!” Rebecca called out from her vessel. Dillard turned around, knowing his ex-wife had recognized him. He tightened his lips to prevent himself from saying anything rude. He took a deep breath and simply waved.
“Hi there,” he unenthusiastically replied. Rebecca crossed her arms, exposing a victorious smile.
“I thought that ranting coming from your boat sounded familiar,” she remarked. Tom turned away to attempt to hide his laughter. Even though Dillard was his friend, he knew he was also a bit of a jerk, and didn’t feel very sorry for him on this occasion. When he saw Dillard give him a glare, he pretended to be clearing his throat. His deception didn’t work. Dillard flipped him the finger before he looked back to his ex-wife.
“Good to see you too.” God, kill me now.
********
Old Hooper’s heart raced as he kept racing the Thunderhead at its top speed. The rusty vessel had moved a little over two-thirds of a mile away from the rocky island, which now served as a gravesite for his clients. He frequently looked back over his shoulder, attempting to find out if the monster was chasing him, but unfortunately couldn’t see anything but water. Looking ahead, he could see the northeast side of Mako’s Center in the distance. In front of the large lump of land were numerous sea vessels, appearing just a little larger than white specks to his perspective. In his panic-stricken state of mind, Old Hooper ignored the smoke that billowed from the exhaust pipes, as well as the drag caused from the Thunderhead’s added weight.
********
The creature pursued, like a cannonball in water. Its enemy initially had great speed and had created several yards of distance, but now it appeared as if it was slowing down. The creature began nearing the injured prey, quickly jetting forward with bursts of water from its numerous sacks. Its bony beak clicked rapidly, thirsty for more blood. Within the beak was a tongue, lined with rows of razor sharp teeth. Tissue-thin strands of flesh and inorganic material hung from some of these teeth, soon to be washed down the gullet with a bite from the creature’s next meal. With another explosive burst of water, the creature was nearly upon its prey. Its tentacles lashed out, nearly curving around the fleeing life form, which was barely out of reach. The creature filled its sacks again, ready to make another killer attempt.
********
The engine of the Thunderhead had begun rattling, resembling the sound of a rock being shaken inside of a tin can. Old Hooper heard the sound, and choked on the black smoke which had nearly engulfed the whole vessel. Despite all of the agony on his vessel, he didn’t ease off on the throttle, keeping the boat directed at Mako’s Center. While the island got closer, with each passing moment it was feeling further away. The vessels participating in the fishing tournament could now be clearly seen in the distance, particularly two white vessels that drifted side-by-side nearly two-hundred yards away. He could feel the presence of the leviathan in the sea, and his veins ached for another long slug of alcohol.
“When I get back on that island I’m getting so shitfaced drunk,” he said aloud to himself. He forced a chuckle in an attempt to calm his nerves. It didn’t work. Especially after he felt the shockwave within his boat, resulting from the engine exploding. The metal exterior of the hull peeled outward, where smoke rose in a long narrow form, almost resembling a cobra. The extra weight created by the seeping seawater had taken its toll on the vessel’s buoyancy, causing it to slowly sink. Old Hooper stood motionless in his cabin. “This can’t be happening!” He hissed. The stern of the vessel dipped under the water, allowing water to cover the deck like a blanket. The bow began pointing upward, causing the vessel to resemble a miniature Titanic. And finally Old Hooper beheld the worst as he stepped out of the cabin. The front of the creature emerged from the churning sea, even larger than the Thunderhead. Two tentacles smacked the sides of the railing, constricting anything they could to maintain a grasp on the boat. Old Hooper squealed as he forced his way back into the cabin, fumbling his cabinet drawers open as he located his loaded Taurus pocket .38 Special revolver. Just as he grabbed the five-shot weapon, he collapsed to the floor as he heard the roof of the cabin creaking. The creature had lifted one of its huge pincers from the water. The bony appendage opened like the mouth of a Tyrannosaurus-Rex, and chomped down on the corner of the cabin, bending the metal pillars and splintering the rotting wooden roof. Pieces of debris rained down on Old Hooper, who covered his face with his arms. He looked up again and screamed at the sight of the huge claw hovering above him, wreaking havoc on his vessel. Without any strategy of defense or plan of escape, he pointed the two-inch barrel of his revolver at the towering arm and fired off all five rounds. Each bullet proved useless, as they all were reduced to crushed lumps of lead. His finger continued squeezing the trigger, resulting in a useless click from the firing pin.
In the midst of this madness, Hooper didn’t take notice that the creature had wrapped several of its thick tentacles around the vessel, and had begun constricting, splintering the structure of the Thunderhead. The fisherman looked down past his feet to see the spot where the door of his cabin used to be, looking into the antenna like eyes of the creature. A purplish-red tentacle slithered its way from the submerged rear of the deck up the incline, all the way to Hooper. He clicked the now useless firearm at the slimy invader. He panted heavily, and screamed once again as the tentacle coiled itself around his feet, continuing up the rest of his body. His eyes bulged as the tentacle draped around his entire body like a Twizzler. The tip of the leathery appendage slapped on his face, placing a round suction cup perfectly over his right eye. He attempted to squeeze his eyes shut, but couldn’t. The gooey suction cup had his eyelid pressed open, leaving him helpless to look into the disgustingly soft flesh lined with red veins and arteries. He couldn’t scream, as his mouth was pressed shut. All he could do was groan in pain, as the tentacle began squeezing tightly. However, for Old Hooper, that wasn’t nearly the worst of it. He felt the donut shaped suction cup pulse against his sweaty skin, and his eye caught the sight of a pointed barb centered in the flesh of his captor. And it moved closer with each pulse. With his eyelid pressed open by the position of the suction cup, Hooper was forced to witness the tip of the barb sink into the cornea of his eye. He attempted to flail in agony, only succeeding in getting his mummified body to rock right and left as his body was pierced by the barbs on the other tentacles.
It dragged him down from the cabin area and down the deck before splashing him into the water. His already muffled screams were forever silenced as the tentacle released him to the beak, where the tooth layered tongue peeled the flesh off his bones like a cheese grater, as the jaws closed down on his body. The creature released his grip on the Thunderhead, allowing the crushed vessel to freely sink into the depths.
********
“Holy shit!” Tom called out, pointing to the northwest. Everyone on the Babe Magnet and Comanche followed his direction, and witnessed the stern of an old rusty fishing vessel rise upward as the bow sank beneath the depths. The enormous fog of black smoke coming from the exploded engine clouded their vision as to exactly what was happening, but they were able to see that the vessel appeared to be breaking apart.
“Oh my God!” Rebecca almost screamed from her boat. “We’ve got to help the people on that boat.”
“You want to help them? Be my guest,” Dillard said. Rebecca shot her ex-husband a stern look. This moment was a reminder of why she left him.
“Go to hell, Ray,” she said. She hurried to the wheel and throttled the Comanche towards th
e sinking vessel. The muscular individual with her, Doug, who was dressed in sandals and athletic shorts and no shirt, began sorting out the contents of a large box to look for a first aid kit. Dillard sat back down in his fisherman’s chair and bitterly watched as they sped away. In his selfish state of mind, even in the midst of a nearby crisis, all he could think about was how that ‘bitch’ stole his fish. He nearly jumped out of his seat in surprise when he heard the Magnet’s engine ignite. He looked back to Tom, who had begun to steer the boat.
“Hey, Tom! What do you think you’re doing?”
“What the hell do you think I’m doing? I’m trying to help,” Tom replied. He was growing tired of his friend’s absurdity. Dillard stood up out of the chair.
“Don’t think so!” he demanded. “Let that idiot take care of this. If I wanted to save sinking ships I would’ve joined the Coast Guard!” Tom ignored his instructions. Dillard tensed with frustration with the insubordination. “Hey! Didn’t you hear what I said?!”
“Shut up before I break your jaw!” Tom threatened. Dillard froze. He’d never been threatened by his friend before. To his surprise, it was quite intimidating. He stayed quiet and sank back into his chair. Tom grabbed a radio that was hanging on the wall and turned up the volume. “Mayday, mayday! Local Law Enforcement, this is the yacht B--…” he paused, embarrassed about the stupid name of Dillard’s boat, “the… the Magnet. We’ve got a fishing vessel nearly a click northeast of East Port. It’s emitting black smoke and appears to be sinking fast. Over.”
