Silurid

by Gerry Griffiths

  He glanced down at the instrument panel behind the helm and noted his heading on the compass. He looked over his left shoulder and saw the uninviting rocky embankment at the base of the prison buildings on Alcatraz Island.

  He was looking forward to seeing Jess; Devon, not so much.

  Vernon reached inside his sweatshirt pocket for his cell phone to let everyone know he was only ten minutes away from mooring at Pier 39.

  ***

  “Are you out of your mind?” Tony yelled at Victoria.

  “Keep filming!”

  “It’s too dark.”

  Most of the sea lions had clambered off the platforms, the ones that were lucky enough to escape the brutal silurid. The others were corpses afloat in the water. The salt air reeked of freshly spilt blood.

  Victoria took a step toward Tony in hopes of intimidating him. “I said…”

  The silurid in the water turned and gazed at the camera crew on the pier walkway.

  “Ah, Jesus. Will you look at that?” Tony said.

  Bernie backed away from the railing. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “Guys! It’s in the water, fifty feet away,” Victoria said. “It can’t hurt us. Keep shooting.”

  Tony slipped his camera off his shoulder and held it out in front of his chest. “You want the shot so bad, you do it.”

  But before Victoria could react, another silurid shot out of the water like a dolphin performing a trick at Marine World—only this fish wasn’t interested in a silly sardine clutched in a trainer’s hand; it wanted the entire news crew.

  In one quick swipe, the silurid lashed out its enormous tail and swiped Tony and Bernie into the water.

  The ten-ton fish came down on the men with a thunderous splash.

  Victoria screamed, dashed over, and hid behind the marine storage locker. She was shaking, huddling down in hopes of making herself as small as possible.

  Her cell phone rang. “What? Not now!” The ring tone had been set at the highest volume and shrilled in the night. Victoria fumbled in her coat pocket. “Damn it, shut the hell up!” She finally got the phone out and flipped it open. She checked the screen. It was Vernon. “You got to be kidding me!”

  The concrete walkway shook under her knees. She felt a blast of hot, smelly air on the back of her neck.

  Victoria turned around, but before she could let out a scream, the silurid chomped down and had her upper torso in its mouth.

  She kept kicking her legs.

  The giant fish threw back its head and gobbled down the woman.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Vernon throttled back the powerboat and drifted a hundred feet from the boat docks at Pier 39. He listened to his cell phone, hoping that Vanessa would answer, but after his call was dumped into voice mail, he decided not to press her, figuring that she still might not be feeling well. He didn’t bother leaving a message.

  The pier floodlights automatically came on and lit up the surrounding water.

  That’s when Vernon spotted the floating black shapes. He counted more than forty sea lions bobbing on the shiny surface. They were all dead; some having been brutally mutilated.

  He heard a thunderous crash on the pier. People were clamoring out of a restaurant, some of them so frantic that they were falling and getting stampeded by other patrons charging outside.

  An enormous head shoved through the storefront, smashing out glass, and collapsing the support beams of the structure.

  Vernon instantly recognized the creature. It was a silurid. The behemoth fish was walking on its pectoral fins, thrashing its body to get out from under the crumbling building. He couldn’t believe its size. It had to be over fifty feet long, maybe even sixty—twice the size of Zeus and Athena.

  Frighten tourists raced through the center of the pier attraction toward the street entrance on the Embarcadero. Police officers ran in the opposite direction. At their first encounter, they drew their handguns and began firing at the massive fish. Their bullets glanced off the creature’s hard-shell armor.

  The silurid lunged at the men. Those that were not crushed were immediately electrocuted, their bodies flailing on the concrete.

  Vernon heard a loud splash and turned. Another silurid had surfaced in the midst of the carnage of slaughtered sea lions adrift in the water.

  The gigantic fish surged toward Vernon’s powerboat. He immediately cranked the helm a hard right and gunned the engine. The bow passed in front of the silurid, the propeller almost striking the fish as it sounded.

  The silurid on the pier scrambled off the extension and dove into the water.

  Vernon heard someone call out. Two figures were standing on the seawall by a lighthouse that was swaying in the rough water. He sped over to the barrier.

  “Vernon! Over here.” It was Jess. Devon was with her, waving him over.

  He cut the wheel and let the powerboat drift up against the seawall.

  “Jump in!”

  Devon helped Jess step down into the boat and hopped in after her.

  “My God, Vernon! They’re back!” Jess said.

  “I know,” he replied. He turned the boat around and sped off toward the distant lights.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Devon stormed into Vernon’s houseboat and stood in the middle of the living room. He didn’t say anything as Jess entered but yelled at Vernon the moment he walked in. “I can’t believe you knew there were more of these things out there and you didn’t tell anyone!”

  “Hey,” Vernon said, holding his hands up in case Devon should come in swinging. “Calm down. Let me explain.”

  “Please, Devon,” Jess said. She grabbed Devon’s arm, pulled him to the couch and they both sat down.

  “I wasn’t a hundred percent sure, until tonight,” Vernon said. “For some time, I’ve been monitoring strange occurrences in the Pacific, sightings if you will, wondering if it was possible that any of those eggs had made it to the ocean. When I saw a report of dead marine creatures washing ashore on the Galapagos Islands, I decided to start a timeline and began mapping a course, which eventually led right up the coast to here.”

  “But why would they come back?” Jess asked.

  “I think they’re heading for the Sacramento River.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “They’re returning to Lake Recluse. To spawn.”

  “Then we have to stop them,” Jess said.

  “We need to get the police involved. The Coast Guard, hell, the Navy.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend doing that, Devon. Remember back in ’85, a humpback whale came into the San Francisco Bay and got disoriented. It swam up the Carquinez Strait and was heading up the Sacramento River, but got stuck in a dead-end slough. I’m sure you heard the story.”

  “Yeah,” Devon said. “Humphrey.”

  “Talk about a media circus. There were boats everywhere. If that happens, those silurids will return back to the ocean and we’ll never find them. Right now, they’re just operating on instinct, but I don’t think that will deter them from laying their eggs elsewhere. Remember, with each generation, these fish become even larger. Who knows how big they’ll get next time around. A hundred feet long?”

  “So, what do you suggest?” Devon asked.

  “We hunt them down ourselves.”

  “Are you crazy? How do you propose we do that?”

  “I’ll show you. Come with me.” Vernon crossed the room. Before opening the front door, he reached up and grabbed a key ring from a hook on the wall.

  They went outside in the dark and turned down a short pier with a slip of boats. At the end of the walkway was a group of large storage sheds on firm ground.

  “One of my neighbors is away attending a gun show in Vegas. He gave me his keys to watch his place,” Vernon said. He stopped at one shed and fumbled with the keys until he found the right one and unlocked the padlock. He slid open the double doors, took a step inside, and pulled the light chain down.

  “Oh my,�
� Jess said.

  The inside of the ten-foot by ten-foot shed looked like a sporting goods store stocked with various rifles and handguns hung on the walls; shelves brimmed with boxes containing different caliber ammunition.

  There were wooden crates stacked against the rear wall.

  “Is this even legal?” Devon asked.

  “Probably not. He’s a real gun fanatic.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Tonight, I saw some cops try and shoot one of the silurids.”

  “And what happened?”

  “Low-caliber bullets are useless against their armor.” Vernon stepped to the rear of the shed and lifted the lid off a crate that was over eight feet long.

  Jess and Devon went back and looked inside the crate. A large rifle with a barrel over six feet long was inside a foam insert.

  “You’re looking at a Russian anti-tank rifle. Shoots 14.5-millimeter armor-piercing bullets. I think that might do the trick.”

  “You know how to shoot that thing?” Devon asked.

  “Yeah, my neighbor’s let me have a crack at it a few times.”

  “Oh, my God,” Jess gasped.

  “I know, it’s a big gun but—”

  “Kate and them are up near Bethel Island. They’re in the path of these things. And they have Jonathan!”

  “We need to warn them.”

  Vernon took his cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to Jess. “Here, give them a call.”

  Jess took the phone and quickly punched in Kate’s number. She put the phone up to her ear. “It’s ringing, but no one’s picking up.”

  “This isn’t good.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Vernon pulled the powerboat into a slip at Pier 39, which was under a siege of pandemonium. Emergency crews and police hustled about, searching for survivors in the ruined buildings. Firemen were putting out a few fires that had erupted caused by broken gas lines.

  Jess gave Devon a kiss and jumped up on the dock.

  “Wait,” Devon said and handed her the keys to the Suburban. “You remember where we parked?”

  “Yes. You two be careful.” She gave them a wave and sprinted down the boat dock.

  Vernon reversed out of the slip, turned the bow, and slowly pulled away. He gunned the powerboat out into the channel once he passed the ‘SLOW 5 MPH’ buoy. He glanced down at the GPS tracker mounted on the console.

  “Is that a fish finder?” Devon asked.

  “More of a sea turtle finder.”

  “How’s that?”

  Vernon told Devon about the Charles Darwin Research Center and that they were tracking the goings-on of a particular sea turtle named Gorge.

  “My hunch is that Gorge has been following the silurids. I believe he’ll lead us straight to them.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  ***

  Jess had heeded the traffic report warning of a long delay due to an accident involving a big rig tanker spill on Highway 101 going north. She decided to backtrack across the Golden Gate Bridge and catch Interstate 80.

  What she had not anticipated was the retrofitting on the Bay Bridge. Ever since the Loma Prieta earthquake in 1989 caused one of the bridge’s upper deck sections to collapse when the bolts were sheared off, the structure was heavily monitored with preventative maintenance.

  Today was no exception. Due to some repairs, only one eastbound lane was open, causing a glutted bottleneck.

  After almost thirty minutes of stop-and-go traffic, she was finally off the bridge and proceeding up the North Bay on the interstate.

  She was just passing the outskirts of Berkley when she happened to glance down at the gas gauge.

  The needle was drastically close to empty.

  She had ten more miles before the turnoff for Highway 4 and maybe another twenty miles to Bethel Island.

  As much as she dreaded to stop, she had to choose an exit and fill up, which meant yet another costly delay.

  ***

  “Gorge’s signal is coming from inside that slough,” Vernon said and pointed at the narrow inlet.

  He took the boat slowly up the restricted channel.

  The mud flat banks on either side were covered with salt marsh growth, a combination of tall reeds and scraggly brush that reached up to heights of ten feet in some places.

  After less than a mile, the inlet came to a dead end.

  The thick brush had thinned out, and there was a massive U-shaped mound of sedimentary mud that had built up into a ten-foot high horseshoed wall and could have easily been mistaken for a levee.

  Devon spotted something on the muddy bank.

  It was a little black box.

  Vernon saw it, too. “It’s Gorge’s transmitter. Must have fallen off.”

  “Now what?”

  ***

  Jess turned into the parking lot and pulled up in front of the Bethel Island store. She got out of the Suburban and went inside.

  “Hello,” she said and walked up to the woman standing behind the counter.

  “Hi there.”

  “My name’s Jess McNeeley. I was wondering—”

  “You must be Kate’s daughter-in-law. It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m Pam Foley. Kate and I have been friends for years,” Pam said. “In fact, she was here not too long ago.”

  “She was?”

  “Had to pick up some baby formula. For your little boy.”

  “Do you have a way that I might reach them? A ham radio perhaps.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” Pam said, and gestured to the boarded-up wall on the other side of the store. “Our radio was destroyed in a fire.”

  “Do you have any idea where they were headed?”

  “Big Break. Kate said they were going to anchor there for the day. If you’re lucky, you might spot them from the frontage road.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it. Nice to have met you,” Jess said, and dashed out of the store.

  ***

  Kelly was excited to be able to drive the houseboat. There were no other boats around, none that she could see out the sliding glass door. She kept her speed to ten knots and was especially careful.

  Baby Jonathan was sitting in his highchair, eating Cheerios scattered on his tray. As always, Max was close by, waiting for something to come his way.

  Kelly saw a jetty creeping up and steered clear of the boulders jutting out of the water like granite icebergs and brought the bow around into an obscure cove.

  A few seconds later, the houseboat shuddered and jolted to an abrupt stop.

  The sliding glass door opened and Sean poked his head in. “What did you hit?”

  “I don’t know,” Kelly said.

  Kate and Nell hurried into the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry, Kate, I don’t know what happened.”

  “No, no it’s my fault. I completely forgot,” Kate said.

  “Forgot what?” Kelly asked.

  “To check the tide table. It must be low tide. We’ve run aground.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Devon had taken the helm so that Vernon could set up the anti-tank gun at the bow of the boat. The muzzle extended two feet beyond the handrail. A tote pan full of six-inch long armor-piercing cartridges was on the deck next to the mighty single-shot gun for quick access when Vernon needed to reload.

  There was no telling how far the search would take them so Vernon had brought along six five-gallon cans of gasoline so that they could refuel on the go. The gas cans were strapped at the rear of the boat, butted against the transom.

  While they were in the shed, they had decided to increase their firepower and helped themselves to an M-16 carbine with 20-round clips, an M-1 Garand rifle that held 8-round clips, and what Vernon called “a showstopper,” one M-31 anti-tank rifle grenade launcher, all of which were vintage weapons used during the Vietnam War.

  Devon had put a strap on the M-16, which was slung over his shoulder hanging on his back.

  Vernon confessed that he had never fired the grenad
e launcher but understood how it operated and saw no harm in bringing it along. There were some missile-shaped grenades in a box, along with a detachable spigot-type grenade launcher that fitted to the muzzle of the rifle. If need be, the M-1 Garand could also be adapted and used to propel grenades.

  Vernon had hoped that he could assume a prone position while firing the big gun as it packed quite a wallop, enough recoil to snap a collar bone if the stock wasn’t properly tucked in the shoulder, but unfortunately, there wasn’t adequate space for him to sprawl out. Plus, the gunwale was too high.

  Instead, he propped the inverted V-shaped gun stand on a wooden crate so that he could kneel down behind the gun. For padding, he planned to use a life vest to minimize the kickback. He’d also brought along safety glasses and a pair of ear protectors.

  He was feeding a single cartridge into the breech when Devon shouted, “Straight ahead. I think I see them!”

  Vernon gazed out over the bow. At first glance, they looked like migrating whales, their backs slightly visible, skimming just under the surface.

  Devon pushed the throttle forward. The powerboat leveled out and raced up the channel. “I’ll get as close as they’ll let me. Then try and get off a shot.”

  Vernon signaled that he understood. He put on his safety glasses and ear protectors.

  He knew it would be difficult getting off a clean shot with the boat bouncing over the water.

  The powerboat edged up on the silurids.

  Vernon grabbed the handgrip and slipped his finger inside the trigger guard. He used his other hand to clutch his upper arm to steady his shot.

  He aimed at the silurid to his left, and when he’d lined up his target, pulled the trigger.

  Even with the ear protectors, the gunshot was deafening, sounding more like a cannon. The stock slammed into his shoulder.

  Vernon raised a pair of binoculars to see if he had hit the mark. Blood was gushing out the gunshot wound on its rear flank, leaving a trail in the water.

  “I don’t believe it,” Vernon yelled. “I hit it!” He was surprised how unremorseful he felt, even if the fish were offspring of Zeus and Athena.