by Michael Bray
"Unhook your foot," Jim hissed in his ear, "I can’t hold you up for much longer."
Clayton tried to comply, the explosive jolt of agony racing down his leg from his shattered ankle causing him to lurch back, his head again slipping below the surface for a second before Jim pushed him clear. "I can’t, it hurts too bad. Man, you wouldn’t believe how much it hurts. I think it’s broken.”
"Hang on, let me take a look," Jim said.
Holding Clayton up with one hand out of the water, Jim shifted position and could immediately see the problem. As Clayton had fallen, the wheel had shifted, threading Clayton’s leg over and under the wheel, and pinning it against the dashboard. Clayton was right. From the unnatural angle in which it was hanging, it was most definitely broken.
"How's it looking?" Clayton said, panic seeping into his voice.
"It's not too bad," Jim said, hoping the lie would go undetected.
"It really hurts, man," Clayton moaned.
Jim shifted position, his arms tiring from holding his friend out of the water. "Don’t worry, Tom and Fernando will be here to help us soon enough," Jim replied, wondering what the hell was taking so long.
Outside, Tom and Fernando were trying to climb up the outer structure of the truck to no avail. Neither of them was particularly strong swimmers, and the thrashing and jerking of the truck as it was pulled ever deeper, had put off those who had initially joined the rescue attempt, leaving Tom and his brother alone in the rescue efforts.
The trailer groaned as the creature pulled against it, shearing loose one of the four housings holding its harness in place and dragging the trailer even deeper so that two thirds of it was now submerged. Back in the cab, the movement of the truck shattered the window that was submerged, flooding the cab with a rush of seawater. Both Jim and Clayton were instantly submerged. The truck rocked, and for a moment, looked as if it were going to tip onto its roof, yet, somehow it remained upright.
Clayton thrashed under water, the agony in his leg second to the desperation to grasp a breath of air. For the second time, Jim pushed his head out of the water to relative safety, although now, his face was barely above the waterline and the position of his body meant he could go no further. He looked Jim in the eye. Neither had to say anything. They knew if the truck were pulled any deeper, Clayton would die.
A shadow moved overhead. Jim and Clayton saw Tom looking down into the cab from the passenger side door. "Hang on, I’m coming down," he said as he started to climb through the open window.
"No," Jim said, "he's stuck. You need to cut the whale loose. If it pulls us any deeper, he's done for."
"We can get you out."
"Look at his fuckin' foot, man," Jim screamed.
Tom did, and saw the way it was twisted around the steering wheel. Fernando had joined him at the window. "Alright," Tom said, "we'll be as quick as we can."
With that he was gone, his brother in tow.
"Don’t leave me here, man," Clayton stuttered as the water lapped against his face. "Don’t you dare. I know what you did. I’ll tell them. I’ll tell them you killed that man."
Jim knew it was the fear talking, and yet at the same time, Clayton was right. He looked around the confines of their prison, the water filled cab, which was eerily silent. It dawned on him that nobody apart from Clayton knew it was he who had shot the driver of the truck. They were both wearing balaclavas. Like a snowball rolling down a hill, one idea grew into another, then another.
How easy would it be? He asked himself. How easy just to release his grip on Claytons head and shoulders and let it fall beneath the waves? How much effort would it take to hold him down as he thrashed in his desperation for air? How long can an average person hold his breath for underwater? One minute? Two?
He locked eyes with Clayton, and there was an unspoken knowledge of what was about to happen.
"Wait, don’t-"
It was all Clayton could manage before Jim pushed his head under the water.
Outside, Tom and Fernando were making their way down the side of the truck, stepping carefully on the steel side rails towards the rear. Between the gaps, they could see the huge hulking shape of the creature as it thrashed against its confines. They could also see the bodies of those who were riding with it in the back, floating on the surface, arms bobbing with the tide.
"Jesus, this wasn’t meant to happen this way,” Fernando said, voice trembling as he followed his brother.
Tom didn’t answer. He was more concerned with what was below him. He could see the creature partly free of its harness, and was horrified by what he saw.
Fernando started to climb down over the edge when Tom grabbed him.
"Wait."
"We don’t have time," Fernando replied. "We have to move fast."
"You can’t go in there."
"Why not?"
"Because that's not a whale."
"Don’t be ridiculous."
"Just look at it, Fred."
Fernando followed his brother’s gaze to the gaps between the metal side rails. It was plain enough to see. The creature had almost entirely slipped free of its harness, exposing its grey green body and array of tree trunk like tentacles.
"What the hell-"
Fernando was cut off as the creature lurched again, dragging the trailer deeper and knocking Tom and Jim off balance. Tom fell into the sea, Fernando's leg slipped between the rails, his foot making contact with the creature. He could only watch as its harness finally gave way. The creature was free of its restraints.
Tom resurfaced, coughing up seawater. He grasped the rear axle of the truck, hooking an elbow around the greasy shaft. He watched in awe as the creature freed itself. It lingered for a moment in the water, mere feet from Tom, then with a flick of its flippers, was moving into deeper waters, the wake it left behind rocking the trailer.
"What the hell was that," Fernando said, staring after the creature.
"I don’t know, just help me up," Tom grunted.
Fernando pulled his brother back up onto the rail of the truck, and the pair hurried back towards the cab. As they arrived, Jim climbed out, eyes wide and lip trembling.
"I couldn’t help him, I tried but I couldn’t keep his head up.”
Tom and Fernando looked into the cab at Clayton's body as it bobbed under the water, submerged from head to chest.
"Holy shit, this is bad, this is really bad," Fernando mumbled.
"It was an accident. We need to wait for the police," Tom countered.
"No man, we can’t," Jim cut in. "He lost it, he had a gun. He shot the driver..."
"Not Clayton, no way," Fernando said, looking down at the floating corpse of his friend.
"I saw it! I was right there!" Jim screamed.
“Where the hell did he get a gun?”
“How the fuck should I know? All I can tell you is he had one, and shot a guy with it.”
“Holy shit,” Fernando said, then turned to his brother, “what do we do now?”
"Let’s get out of here. We need to lay low and figure this out," Tom said.
"Where the hell are we supposed to go?"
"Anywhere, just away from here before the police arrive."
“What about Clayton?” Fernando said.
The three of them looked down into the cab.
“We can’t do anything for him now. Come on, let’s get the hell out of here,” Tom replied.
CHAPTER NINE
Forty minutes after the truck had first slewed into the ocean, Andrews strode towards the barricaded section of beach, pushing past the crowd that had gathered in huge numbers to gawp at the spectacle. He flashed his ID at the guard on at the barrier and was granted access. Gus Freeman waddled towards him, wiping sweat from his brow.
"What the hell happened here, Gus?"
"Bunch of animal rights nuts hijacked the truck and drove it into the water."
"Fuck. Greenpeace?" Andrews snapped as they walked away from the eavesdropping crowd.
&
nbsp; "Not this time. Bunch of teenagers by the looks of things. Driver drowned in the cab. The others managed to get away. We’re taking statements from witnesses, but everyone was so preoccupied with what was happening, it’s not much use trying to get any description."
"I thought the driver was shot?" Andrews said as they strode towards the surf.
"He was. I meant the guy who took over the vehicle."
“Any ID on him?”
“Drivers licence in his wallet. Clayton Sanders, just turned seventeen.”
“Family?” Andrews asked.
“We’re trying to get them. Parents are divorced. His mother lives in Portland. We’re trying to get the father at his office.”
"Did anyone see anything?"
"No," Freeman said, wiping his forearm against his head. He was struggling to keep pace with Andrews, almost having to run to match his stride. "In a way, it was lucky the trailer went over on its side. Blocked the, uh, cargo from view. People are assuming it was a whale."
"That's one positive at least. Goddamnit, Gus, this is the last thing I needed. Please tell me the tracker is still implanted into the creature."
"Uh, I’m not sure, sir. As far as I know it is.”
"Jesus Christ, what the hell are we going to do?" Andrews said, staring at the overturned truck and the army of government officials in black wetsuits, which were swarming all over it. Up above, news helicopters hovered like angry flies.
"How many were involved?"
"Not exactly sure, sir," Freeman stammered. "Witnesses say there was either one or two in the truck and another two or three clearing the way for it to get onto the beach. As I said, most of them were preoccupied with gawping at the scene."
"In other words, we don’t know?"
"Unfortunately, that seems to be the case," Freeman muttered.
"I want them found."
"We can deploy local law enforcement, sir, they will-"
"No," Andrews interjected, "no police. We can’t risk this getting out into the public, not yet anyway."
“What should we do, sir?”
“Go round the witnesses again, see if anyone has video of it. Every man and his dog have a camera phone these days. Surely to God, someone got a video or a photograph of these people.”
"Yes sir,” Freeman said, then cleared this throat. “Uh, sir, Commander Tomlinson has called twice for you, now demanding you get in contact with him."
"I will, just as soon as I have something to tell him," Andrews snapped. “First off, I want this scene cleared up. Last thing we want is a crowd of people speculating as to what's happened. Leak the story that it was a blue whale transfer that was intercepted by animal rights activists. Put the dead kid's picture on the news. Make sure he's linked to killing the driver of the truck, and ask anyone who knows him to get in contact. Someone, somewhere, will crawl out of the woodwork, and for the love of God, get those damn news choppers out of the air.”
"And what about the, uh, other problem," Freeman said, nodding towards the open water.
"Leave that with me. Do you have a phone on you? I left mine at the aquarium."
Freeman handed Andrews his phone.
"Thanks," Andrews said as he decided it was better to deal with Tomlinson sooner rather than later.
He punched in the commander’s number, surprised when rather than his secretary, Tomlinson himself answered on the second ring.
"You better have good news for me, Andrews," the commander snapped.
"Actually, I don’t. I have control of the situation here, but unfortunately, our cargo is missing."
"Are you telling me our multi-million dollar mission has been derailed by a bunch of kids?" Tomlinson screamed.
"Please, calm down, sir, it’s under-"
"Don’t you tell me to calm down. Have you any idea how serious this is?"
"All due respect, sir, I do. I was there the first time, up close and personal with this things mother in Antarctica," Andrews snapped.
"Well then, you know what's at stake. Out at sea this thing can grow to adulthood. The last thing we need is another three hundred foot fucking problem swimming around in our oceans."
"I'll track it down. You have my word."
"You know, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it was Rainwater and Thompson who were responsible for this."
"Doubtful, sir, they have little contact anymore. They've moved on."
"That's an assumption at best. Bring them in. Question them."
"Sir, wouldn’t our resources be better used in finding the creature?"
"For someone who has spent the last five years misappropriating government funds, you are in no position to talk about resources. Bring them in and do it now. Then get out there and kill this fish."
"Kill it, sir? Don’t you mean capture it?"
"No, I want it killed. Project Blue is officially terminated."
"But, sir-"
"Don’t say another word, Andrews. You're clinging onto your job by the skin of your teeth. Think very carefully before you speak again."
Andrews pushed his anger aside and took a deep breath. "Yes sir. I’ll get right to work."
"You better. This project has been one screw up after the other. Fix it, do it now and you might just save your job."
The line clicked off in Andrews's ear. He handed the phone back to Freeman and walked to the water’s edge, staring out to sea. For the first time in five years, he felt genuine fear gnawing at his gut.
CHAPTER TEN
Thought at one time to be a creature of myth and legend, the forty three foot colossal squid moved north, planning to feed on the edge of the Antarctic Ocean waters, which were its natural habitat. The squid propelled itself deeper, using its arrow shaped tail to dive to three thousand feet in its quest for food. Armed with suckers on its tentacles, which were ringed with tiny teeth, the colossal squid was also equipped with sharp barbed hooks on its limbs, which made it a ferocious predator.
A half mile away, the near hundred foot long creature circled, weighing up its potential prey. Conditioned by a life of routine and regular feeding times, the creature was struggling to adapt to its newfound freedom. Its senses were inundated with information sent to it by the abundance of life within the oceans. It had already feasted on a giant sea turtle, and was now eager to feed again. Sensing the squid’s depth adjustment, the creature followed suit, delving deeper into the icy waters and keeping a respectful distance. Due to the network of nerves running over and under the creature’s snout, it was able to read the ocean, detecting the electrical impulse of its potential prey from miles away. The sheer darkness of the deep waters was nothing but a minor inconvenience for the creature, as it halved the distance between itself and the slow moving squid.
Powerless to outrun its pursuer, the squid was left with no option but to face its attacker head on. In addition to its barbed appendages, the squid was equipped with a razor sharp beak, which was an impressive eleven inches in length and enough to make most predators think twice. However, it had never encountered anything like this particular type of creature, whose own set of forty eight, fifteen inch, backward facing serrated teeth were more than a match for any defence the squid would be able to muster.
The creature flicked its massive fluke, tentacles at its side to achieve maximum efficiency as it powered through the water. The squid, realising it was hopelessly outmatched, started to dive, hoping that by descending to colder waters, its attacker would give up the chase. Undaunted and driven by its lust to feed, the creature followed, its genetic makeup meaning that although cold, the waters in which the squid dived were nowhere even close to the usual Antarctic waters, which made up the creatures natural habitat.
Closing to within eight feet of the fleeing squid, the creature burst forward, ten foot wide jaws clamping onto the squid and tearing it in half. The creature quivered as it devoured the lower half of the squid, automatically reaching out with its tentacles to grab at the front half of the creature that was starting
to sink towards the bottom. Finishing its meal, the creature pulled the upper half towards it gaping maw, quickly devouring the remains. Hovering for a moment in five thousand feet of water, the creature picked up on another signal, a series of vibrations, which instinct told it meant a creature in distress. With a flick of its giant fluke, it was on the move, looking for another opportunity to satisfy its perpetual hunger.
II
The motel was a seedy, grimy place where questions weren’t asked about the nature of the stay, as long as money was paid up front. The walls were paper thin and the decor grubby, but it was private. Jim, Fernando and Tom sat in the room, perched on the edge of the two double beds and watching the television coverage of their antics. Marie was sitting against the wall, knees pulled up to her chin and not speaking to anyone. She had been the same ever since they fled the beach. The others watched the coverage as it showed footage of the truck driver’s body by the roadside, covered by a sheet as the report stated the gunman had been found dead on the scene at the beach.
"This is fucked up, man," Tom said, his voice wavering. "They're going to find us."
"Nobody knows who we are, just relax." Jim said, surprised how calm he felt considering everything that had happened.
"Why the hell would he do this? Where the fuck did he get the gun from?" Tom replied, standing and pacing the room.
"You need to calm down, man," Jim said. "As for the gun, I didn’t know he had it till he shot the guy."
"And you didn’t think to stop him?"
"Hey, what could I do? He wouldn’t listen. No way am I taking on someone who just shot a guy."
"It's not Jim’s fault," Fernando said to his brother. "We need to stick together. I think we can all agree this is all fucked up."
"This is gonna end bad for us. Don’t you get it?" Tom said. "It won’t take them long to ID Clayton. From there, how long do you think it's gonna take for them to find out who his friends were? We can’t hide from this."
Although he didn’t show it outwardly, a surge of panic raced through Jim. He wondered if it were true, if the police could find them so quickly, and if so, could they prove it was he who was guilty and not Clayton. For the first time, it dawned on him that he was responsible for the deaths of two people.
