The Breach

by Edward J. McFadden III

  “Ready incendiaries,” Silva said. One of the soldiers lifted a missile launcher onto his shoulder. “On my command! It’s too close.”

  Jefferson rushed to the bow, her movements considered and steady as she settled in behind the laser. The bark of the machine gun vibrated the entire boat, and the empty shells fell into the murky water. In the east, the purple-orange glow of sunrise was a dark bruise spreading across the horizon.

  The river was suddenly full of blood. Tanner realized one of Silva’s men had been caught in the monster’s jaws, and it was ripping and tearing at the man as he disappeared down the sea scorpion’s gullet. The man’s black helmet and dark faceplate were visible within the closing mouth and Tanner raised his MK and fired, putting the man out of his misery.

  The massive jaws closed, and a loud crunch shot a nasty pain down Tanner’s back. Jefferson screamed and lit up the predawn dusk with the flash of the laser. It shot upward, off target, and cut across the sky like a stray beam from a light show. She swiveled the cannon as best she could, but the weight of the thing jerked her around, making it hard to get a steady shot.

  Tanner’s mind spun and rage grew in him as the creature flailed above him. A hand gripped his shoulder, and Silva screamed for him to move. Tanner rolled to the side, wishing he’d listened to Randy and Jefferson. They needed more men, more firepower. The distant sound of helicopters approaching filled Tanner with dread, and his stomach burned with angst. If they arrived, the beast would panic, and that would make things worse, but they were still miles off, and wouldn’t make it in time to do more than clean up the mess.

  The scorpion’s mouth opened again, and the cavern behind the teeth and fangs was bottomless. The monster exploded into the Zodiac, and the boat lifted from the water as it was tossed like a toy toward the water reeds that lined the river’s edge. The creature’s hum became a load clicking sound, and the world spun as the raft and everyone in it flew through the air.

  As the elixir of adrenaline flooded his body, Tanner heard the chorus from the theme song of one his favorite childhood TV shows. “High on the rapids, it struck their tiny raft, and plunged them down a thousand feet below. To the laaaaaand of the lost. To the laaaaaaand of the lost.”

  The Zodiac landed with a jarring crash atop water reeds that cushioned the fall. Jefferson tried to sight the laser, but she couldn’t get a bead on the thrashing creature. For the laser to be effective, it had to remain focused for several seconds, and with the sea scorpion fighting for its life, it just wouldn’t cooperate. The animal bucked and heaved, kicking up mud and leaves as its tail stabbed at the river.

  The spotlight blinked out, and everything fell behind a curtain of gray dusk. Tanner jumped into the dark water, scrambling to bring up his MK18 as he fired. If he could draw the creature away, it might give Silva enough space to fire the missiles. His feet sunk into the soft river bottom as he headed into the water reeds, the MK18 held above his head. All around him chaos ruled as the turbulent water engulfed the Zodiac and silenced the machine gun.

  “Fire missile!” Silva yelled as he was engulfed in the torrid river.

  The whoosh of the SPIKE-MR leaving its tube jerked Tanner’s head around, and he watched the missile streak across the river and strike the sea scorpion on its hard carapace. The explosion was ear-piercing, and it sprayed flames across the river. Water reeds caught fire, going up like tinder, and in the firelight, Tanner saw the beast struggling to stay upright. Its tail stabbed wildly as it was engulfed in flames, and columns of river water shot twenty feet in the air as the spike missed its mark. A giant ball of black smoke rolled toward him, its heat so intense Tanner closed his eyes and got low in the water.

  The Zodiac surfaced amidst a mound of boiling water. Silva fired the heavy machine gun again, focusing the shots on the fiery hole left by the missile. The scorpion wailed and cried as fire tore through it. The reek of burnt fish filled the air, and black smoke made seeing anything more than a few feet away difficult. The beast screamed again and flopped into the river with a crash that sent a wall of water at Tanner.

  He dove underwater as fire covered the surface of the river. The water heated, and he was boiling to death beneath flames that threatened to cook him. The river vibrated, as if the Earth had been shaken. Above, an orange-white glow filled the sky and the water got hotter. Tanner’s lungs burned, and when he couldn’t hold his breath any longer, he came up and entered hell.

  The sea scorpion tossed and jerked in its death throes, tossing itself around and trying to extinguish the fire. Its giant jaws chomped on nothing, and its tail stabbed randomly, hitting nothing but water. Massive cracks in the monster’s carapace leaked blood, and white meat pushed out through the shell. Tanner had a twisted vision of a giant lobster tail cut open, covered in paprika and baked with breadcrumbs, a pool of butter next to it. The scorpion breached into the air and came down with a bone-rattling wail and fell still. It laid upside-down in the river, its legs twitching, its pincers chomping at air.

  The Zodiac floated a few feet away. Jefferson stood and released a primal scream and emptied her MK18 into the corpse. The creature spasmed, and even as it sank beneath the dark water, one of its spidery legs jerked back, the pincer at its end grabbing hold of the Coast Guard officer across her shoulders.

  Tanner screamed as the bottom half of Jefferson’s body fell away, her upper half still held tight in the dying beast’s pincer. She struggled to free herself, bracing her arms against the creature’s claw and pushing upward. She smiled at Tanner and flopped like a marionette that’s had its strings cut. Then the beast went still, and Jefferson’s life left her. The pincer claw opened and her remains splashed into the river and floated downstream.

  Tanner let his head fall into hands as he fought back tears, all the emotion of the chase catching up to him. How many had died? Yet he still lived. How can that be possible? It was proof there was no God, because what type of god would let him live while Jefferson died? Then he realized he had Jefferson’s blood and pieces of fat and flesh splattered across his chest. He laid back in the river, water sloshing over his face.

  The monster spasmed again, and this time, its tail stabbed at air and nobody got hit. A crazy memory flitted through Tanner’s subconscious as he watched the scene, unable to move as he floated like a corpse on the surface of the dark water. He’d been fishing at a lake cabin, and he’d caught a nice-sized trout. He brought the fish home and decided to cook it on the barbecue whole. Ten minutes later, as he sat having a beer, the fish bucked and heaved itself off the grill, over the railing, and into the forest below.

  Fire lit the night as the water reeds burned and smoldering pieces of sea scorpion floated on the river. Steam filled the air and the odor of rotting flesh and cooked fish made Tanner gag. Silva staggered across the Zodiac, searching for his men. He looked lost, and when he saw Tanner, he saluted and Tanner saluted back.

  The river flattened, the fires petered out, the smoke dissipated, and the sky turned the blueish-gray of dawn.

  The sea scorpion was dead.

  The sound of approaching helicopters grew louder, and as the sun peeked over the Great South Bay, Tanner wept.

  31

  Tanner spent the day in the hospital with an IV in his arm and getting stitched up. He was released without restrictions and went home, had a stiff drink, and crashed. He slept ten hours straight but managed to get up so he could attend the memorial service for those who’d been lost. Parts of Sal had been recovered, but no remains of Officer Johnson or Officer Kipper were found. There was nothing to put in their coffins, not even scraps of clothing. The dead coasties would get a military burial with full honors, but pictures of Jefferson, Petty Officer Lance “Sharkey” Petrovich, Petty Officer 2nd Class Lester Ramone, and Seaman Yamone James would have pictures next to the cops.

  Agent Silva’s dead nameless soldiers disappeared without a trace, as he did, though Tanner expected him to show up at some point. Those guys always did.

  H
e showered for an hour, but couldn’t get the smell of Jefferson’s blood off him. Her beautiful face haunted him, those cool eyes appraising him from the darkness. There was no malice, or regret, only resignation and loss for what could have been. Tanner thought he’d loved her, though they’d never even kissed. He still smelled the faint scent of her perfume, and remembered the way she’d curl her lips when she was surprised. He knew that people who experienced stressful and dangerous situations together often formed bonds that otherwise wouldn’t have occurred. How many times had he heard of people marrying the person who saved their life? Or the Florence Nightingale Syndrome, where people fell in love with their caregivers?

  Was that all Jefferson had been to him? He didn’t think so, but he’d never know because she was gone. The image of her body cut in half, and the look on her face when she realized she would die would stay etched in his memory and would haunt his dreams until the day he died. Did he love her? Not in a traditional sense, that would be crazy, but he felt something for her, something major, because the burning hole of her loss left a pain in his chest worse than any injury he’d ever had.

  He shut down the shower and toweled off. Physically, he felt OK, but he dreaded seeing the wives and children of the cops who’d been killed. He’d make a big deal about their roles in the killing of the sea scorpion, how their bravery saved many lives, but what did that mean to a ten-year-old-boy who would never see his father again?

  He dug out his only suit, a black funeral staple he’d had since his dad passed. It was covered in a light sheen of dust, and he wiped it off with a wet cloth as he mechanically went through the process of making himself presentable. The belt buckle he’d found sat on his dresser, its shiny brass finish catching his eye. He picked it up, turning it over and over in his hand, and then placed it in his pocket.

  The day was bright, and no clouds marred the endless clear blue sky. If it wasn’t for the downed trees still littering the trailer park, he barely would have noticed there’d been a Category 4 hurricane almost two weeks ago. Hurricane Dan crept through the Atlantic and the thought of having to pick up after another one of Mother Nature’s messes made Tanner’s head ache.

  He hopped in his Jeep and cranked it up. The streets and highways were back to normal, power had been restored to half the island, and fuel and food shipments had commenced. Insurance men ruled the land as they evaluated the damage and decided who would get what and when. The federal response was beyond bad, and as usual, New York State needed to bail itself out. Money and support were sent by Albany, but it wasn’t enough. This pissed Tanner off in many ways, the biggest one being he didn’t understand how the people who paid some of the highest taxes in the country weren’t entitled to help when they needed it.

  The ceremony was to be held on the ninth hole behind the marine police station. The golf course had drained, and it would be open for business in a couple of weeks, if Dan didn’t have something to say about it. Much of the turf still needed to fully dry out so it wasn’t ripped up and destroyed by the players.

  There was already a large crowd there when Tanner arrived, and he parked in front of the old post office that had been his temporary office. He walked across the golf course, following the same path he had in the dingy the prior week. He combed his hair with his fingers and took a short pull of vodka from the stainless steel flask his father had given him. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck as the warm liquid slid down his throat, bringing confidence and calm. The organizers chose the perfect spot beneath a great oak tree. Tanner knew the spot well. It was the perfect place to say goodbye.

  The captain saw Tanner and walked out to greet him. “How are you? Doing better?” His face was pleasant. If Tanner was in trouble, apparently it could wait for another day.

  “I don’t know. There are moments when I feel all right, then there are times…” He struggled to find the words. “Then there are times when I think I might shake apart, and my heart hurts and I feel like I’m having a heart attack.”

  Quinn’s eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. “I am sorry to hear that. It’s not like you.”

  “Whatever me there was is gone,” Tanner said.

  “Don’t be so glum. You made it. You killed the thing and you’re a hero. All past transgressions forgotten. Even News 12 didn’t run your history when they did the story. Ms. Alenso, the reporter who crucified you every chance she got, had nice things to say. Your demotion has been lifted, and if you play your cards right, I might be able to get you out of marine division.”

  “No. No, that’s OK. If it’s all right with you, I think I’ll stay, at least for a while.”

  “Fine by me. If you change your tune, just let me know. Listen, the reason I wanted to talk to you is several of the men are asking if you will say a few words today.”

  “Me? Why me? Shouldn’t you—?”

  “Easy. Easy. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I just thought… I don’t know, that since you were there, and saw everything first hand, you would be better equipped to do this. If you don’t want to, I understand, but you should try.”

  “Why? Why me?”

  “You’re their leader whether you want that or not,” the captain explained. “I’m just some suit that busts your balls about overtime and procedure. How about I start and introduce you? You don’t need to say much, just offer condolences.”

  Tanner considered this and nodded his agreement.

  “Good, come on. Senator Jellison wants to meet you.”

  Tanner sighed.

  They made their way across the sixth fairway to the crowd gathered before the elevated ninth hole tee box. Senator Jellison shook Tanner’s hand vigorously, throwing platitudes at him, but Tanner hardly heard him. The podium was set right on the spot where Tanner had been drinking when he’d first encountered the sea scorpion, and pictures of the deceased stood on easels at the back to the tee box. Many of the heads in the crowd turned his way as he approached.

  Randy had filled him in, so he knew the majority of the details pertaining to the creature had been kept under wraps, and the stories that spread around were exaggerated to the point of non-recognition. Randy said two kids he overheard at 7-11 said the monster was a hundred feet long and breathed fire. Tanner chuckled to himself as the crowd watched him approach with expectant eyes. They were going to be disappointed.

  Tanner said hello to Tina and Randy and shared condolences with the families of the lost police officers. It broke his heart seeing the children cry, and part of him felt responsible. If he’d gotten the creature when he had the chance, Sal might still be alive, as well as many others.

  “Hey, snap out it,” Randy said.

  Tanner was staring at the bay and the breach beyond, lost in thought. He sat next to Randy, and the crowd grew silent as Captain Quinn stepped behind the podium.

  “I’ve given this type of soliloquy many times, and they get harder each time,” Quinn said. Someone coughed, an infant cried out, and the wind gusted across Wood Point. “There are no words that will bring back our friends, fathers, and husbands. There is no reason I can give that will put your mind at ease, other than those who died did so to save others, to ensure we were all safe and protected. For that, I, and all of us, will be forever in their debt.” Quinn bowed his head and paused.

  The silence stretched out as Tanner fought back tears. Randy had his head down, but he was crying.

  “I’d like to ask Nate Tanner to come to the podium. He knew these men better than anyone, and therefore, it’s appropriate he put their memories to rest. Tanner?” Quinn stepped back, relinquishing the podium.

  Tanner got up and looked around. All eyes were on him, and he fingered the brass belt buckle in his pocket. He thought of Jefferson, of Sal, of all who’d died so he could live. He felt unworthy, a cheat, a charlatan. What had he done to deserve to be here?

  He settled in behind the microphone and it reverberated, sending a squeal bellowing over the crowd. He backed away from the m
ic, sweat rolling down his back and forehead. Tanner hadn’t prepared remarks, and in that moment his heart had nothing to say. He stared out at the sea of faces, all looking to him to say words that would make everything all right, but he froze, his stomach going cold.

  Silva strolled across the golf course and Tanner watched him make his way toward the crowd.

  “Tanner?” the captain nudged.

  “Yes,” Tanner said. “I’m sorry, everyone. Please bear with me. This isn’t easy, just as it’s not been easy for many of you.” He paused and saw Silva take a seat on a folding chair in the back row. “Salvatore Castro, Toby Hendricks, and Wes Kipper were my friends. They were brave men who put themselves between an incredible danger and all of you. They did this not because they got paid, or because it brought them fame and fortune. My friends did it for you, the folks who sit before me.”

  Tanner paused and wiped his brow with his jacket sleeve. “Belinda Jefferson and her crew went above and beyond the call of duty, and deserve all the honors and recompense they and their families deserve. I’d like to thank Belinda…” he stopped, dabbing a tear from the corner of his eye. “To the families of the civilians lost, I say only, those who lead into danger save those who follow. It is with deep sorrow that I say goodbye to these fine men and women. I extend to all of you my deepest condolences.” He gestured toward the large headshots of the dead policemen and coasties. “Please bow your heads in a moment of silence.”

  Three Suffolk County police honor guards stepped forward, raised their rifles, and pointed them at the sky. As they fired, Tanner flinched, the shots bringing back memories of the events on the river. He bowed his head and said, “Goodbye, Belinda.”

  32

  When the honor guard finished, everyone sat in silence while Tanner collected himself. He looked to the captain, who nodded. “Father Graham will now say a few words, and afterward, please join us for refreshments at the clubhouse. Thank you for coming.”