by Michael Bray
"Henry, this is a mistake. Your experience will be invaluable."
"This is your monster now, not mine."
"Is there nothing I can say to convince you?"
"No. Not a thing," Rainwater said.
"Then if you won’t give me a means to contact you, let me at least give one to you." He reached into his pocket and handed Rainwater a folded piece of paper. "That's my direct number. If, and when you get to England and you change your mind, call me."
"Alright, I won’t, but if it will get you to leave me alone, I’ll take the damn number." Rainwater said as he took the card from Andrews.
"Well, I suppose I better let you finish packing," Andrews said, walking towards the door.
"Hey, Andrews," Rainwater called across the room.
"Yeah?"
"Do me a favour."
"What?"
"Clara. Bring her back safe. Don’t forget how dangerous this thing is."
"I'll do my best. Don’t lose that number, you hear?"
"Yeah. I hear you."
Andrews opened the door, and then turned back. "Good luck out there, Henry. I really hope you find what you're looking for."
Andrews closed the door before Rainwater could respond. Rainwater looked around the apartment and let out a long sigh. "Yeah, me too," he muttered under his breath.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The 42 foot, 45,000 lb Whale Shark drifted through the warm waters of the Ningaloo Reef, just off the coast of Western Australia. Despite its size, the Whale Shark wasn't a predator like its kin the Great White. Instead, it was a filter feeder, making up its diet of Microalgae, krill, and plankton. One of only three species of filter feeder in the world, along with the Basking and Megamouth shark, it was a gentle giant of the seas.
After being freed off the coast of Florida, the creature had been aimless in roaming the seas, its senses overcome with stimulus, which it felt compelled to investigate. After spending some time in the colder Antarctic waters, it had followed a pod of migrating whales towards the temperate blue waters of the Indian Ocean. There it had homed in on the vibrations of the Whale Shark as it sucked in another huge mouthful of seawater, filtering it out through the gills and retaining the plankton and other microorganisms.
Now at almost a hundred and twenty feet in length, the creature had developed an almost insatiable hunger. Unlike its parent, which had spent much of its life trapped inside the ice cave, the offspring had become used to regular feeds during its captivity, and had retained that routine since its escape. It had already feasted on numerous squid, whales and sharks, and yet, was never satisfied.
The slow moving giant Whale Shark detected the creature as it drew closer, for now retaining its distance. Due to its size, the Whale Shark usually had no natural predators, and was hardly equipped to fight.
With hunger driving it forward, the creature flicked its tail, closing to within a few hundred feet of the shark. Hoping its size would prove the necessary intimidation, the Whale Shark didn’t flee, but faced its potential attacker head on.
Rising to the challenge, the creature charged, accelerating towards its target and opening its giant jaws ready to strike. The creature spasmed as a great jolt of pain speared through its body. Abandoning its potential meal, and leaving the Whale Shark to its own devices, the confused creature went deep as another surge of pain lit it up from within. Skimming along the seafloor, the creature came across an underwater cave system. Plunging into the darkness, another jolt caused it to smash against the side of the cave wall. It circled erratically above the floor of the cave. Another jolt of agony overcame the creature as it pushed out a pale white egg, which was almost eight feet in diameter. Unable to resist its instinctive urge, the creature snapped at the blood, which clouded the water. More pain heralded another egg, then a third. For the next five hours, the sequence repeated. When it was done, the exhausted creature lay on the cave floor surrounded by more than thirty eggs. Much like the seahorse, the asexual creature needed no companion to reproduce, only a suitable location in which to spawn. Declaring the cave and surrounding waters as its territory, the creature set out to find food and rid the waters of any creatures it deemed to be a threat to its domain.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Washington Harbour
Washington DC
The one hundred and forty foot vessel looked distinctly average as it bobbed against the dock, which was of course a quite deliberate design choice made by the United States government. Underneath the unassuming fibreglass hull, the ship was fitted with the very latest and most advanced in underwater radar and detection systems.
With more than a little trepidation, Andrews made his way down the dock to where it waited. He still couldn’t quite believe it had come to this again. Flashbacks of his time spent with Russo almost made him request someone else take the mission, and yet, he knew he would hate that even more, just sitting in an office and having no real control over what happened. Like it or not, this way was best.
He looked at the people around him as he walked down the dockside, civilians clad in shorts and sunglasses, laughing and relaxing without a care in the world. He wished he could have that, and was envious at their happy go lucky nature as they enjoyed what was shaping up to be a beautiful day.
He could see the boat ahead, and his gut tightened a little, even more so when he saw what was happening on it. There were people swarming over the rear deck with all sorts of equipment. People who shouldn’t be there. He increased his pace, eager to find out what's going on. As he got closer to the stern of the boat, he could see Clara giving directions to the three man camera crew on board whilst a fourth loaded on supplies.
"What the hell's going on here?"
"This is my crew," Clara said, pushing her hair behind her ear.
"TV cameras? Are you serious?" Andrews said, glaring at Clara.
"It's been authorised."
"Bullshit it has. I don’t know anything about it."
"Then you better check with Tomlinson. He said I could bring a crew."
"Can I have a word with you?" Andrews said, barely able to contain his anger.
"Of course, go right ahead."
"In private."
"No problem," she said, climbing onto the dock.
"Come with me," Andrews said, leading her away from the camera crew, who were now relegated to standing around and looking confused. "What the hell is this? You can’t put this on TV."
"It not for TV. It's for research."
"For another goddamn book?" Andrews hissed. "After all the trouble the last one caused."
"It's fiction, and that's exactly how I'll market it. The cameras are just so I can research everything I need to."
"And you seriously expect me to believe that Tomlinson gave the okay for this?"
"Why don’t you ask him?" She said with a sneer.
"Alright, I will," Andrews countered, determined to call her bluff.
She waited and watched him as he walked away and made the call, speaking in hushed tones and flashing the occasional killer look in her direction. She simply smiled. As a woman who had become accustomed to getting what she wanted, she wasn’t about to let anyone intimidate her. With an expression that could sour milk, she saw Andrews end the call and stride back towards her.
"I don’t know how you managed to convince him of this, but he confirmed your agreement."
"I told you he would."
Ignoring the arrogant response, Andrews went on. "You just make sure you tell this crew of yours to keep out of the way. This boat isn’t really big enough to house three extra people."
"I was going to ask about that," Clara said. "Why such a small boat? I thought the government would have the big guns out for this."
"With what explanation?" Andrews countered. "Like last time, the government want to avoid embarrassment and more importantly, questions. They decided low key was the way forward."
"And how the hell do you expect to kill this thing when we find i
t?" She said, a little panic creeping into her voice.
"We don’t."
"What do you mean?"
"Our job is to find it, nothing more. As soon as we locate it, we have destroyers and submarines on standby. It's not going to be a mess like last time. This time it'll be swift. No screwing around." Andrews grinned as he said it. "What? Did you expect us to go out all guns blazing and kill this thing in a hundred and forty foot boat?"
"Actually I did," Clara grunted as colour flushed her cheeks. "Why else would you ask me along otherwise?"
"Come on; think about it, you're a smart woman."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that before you were hobnobbing with those celebrity pals of yours, you were a marine biologist and a damn good one. Plus, you have experience of dealing with this thing before. We don’t want Clara Thompson the celebrity author on this trip, but the Clara of old."
"I don’t do that anymore. It's not who I am."
"If you want those cameras to roll on your little film to help you write that next best seller, you better get used to the idea. Either way, you'll have to make up your own ending to the story, because you and I will be far away from this fish when the army moves in to finish it off."
"Fine," she said, glaring at him, "I won’t go."
"That's up to you," Andrews shrugged.
"I mean it. You need me."
"As usual, you have way too high an opinion of yourself."
"Look, I already told you, I'll leave. I have no issue with not doing this."
Andrews searched her face, and knew she was lying. For as much as she could almost hide it, he could smell the desperation on her. He knew it was important to establish control now before it caused problems at sea.
"Fine," he said as he walked back towards the boat, "everyone off. You with the camera, move it now."
"Wait, what are you doing?" Clara said, jogging to catch up to him. Andrews, however, was ignoring her.
"Hey, are you deaf?" He said to the camera crew, who were looking from Andrews to Clara in obvious confusion. "Grab your shit and get off this boat."
"Alright, you win," Clara said, "I'll help you find this damn fish."
Andrews turned to her, deliberately grinning. "See? It's easy to make the right call if you really think about it. The United States Government thanks you."
"If you had any sense, you would have a tracker on this thing and know exactly where it was."
"We actually do have a tracker on it, but it's only short range."
"Which, in other words means it's useless."
"It was only intended to monitor its location in its tank for safety reasons when we were cleaning the filters and pumps. We never anticipated it would get out into open ocean."
"Great," Clara said. "What kind of range is short range?"
"Couple of miles, maybe less."
"Like I said, less than useless."
"Look, it is what it is."
"A needle in a haystack, that's what it is."
"And that’s why you're here," Andrews said. "Now please, if we can just get the hell out of here and start to look for this thing, I'd appreciate it."
"I need half an hour. I want to film an establishing shot of me getting on board the boat."
You arrogant bitch.
Andrews didn’t say it, he couldn’t be bothered dealing with the hassle. Instead, he sighed and tried to control his anger. "You have ten minutes. Anyone not on board when time's up is staying here. Understood?"
Without giving her a chance to answer, Andrews hopped onto the boat and disappeared inside the wheelhouse.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
As Greg suspected, Tom and the others had arrived as instructed the following morning. They were every bit as nervous and cautious as he expected them to be, and eyed up the thirty two foot boat with more than a little apprehension. The green painted hull was cracked, tired, and spotted with rust. A far cry from the expensive cruiser he used to own, it was all he could afford and although it didn’t look it, was just about as sea worthy. They had set out to sea under slate coloured rain heavy skies, the vessel tossed around by the choppy oceans. Greg controlled the vessel with ease, his disability not affecting his ability to function as Tom and his friends sat around the table, watching him carefully.
Tom looked out of the window as the first spots of rain fell, and then turned to Greg. "Why are we staying so close to the coast?"
"We need to make a quick stop off before we head out."
"For what?"
"None of your business."
"I think it is since you brought us along. We deserve to know."
Greg glared at Tom, then slid his eyes to Joanne who sat next to him and was infinitely more subdued than last time he saw her.
"What's the matter with her?" Greg said, avoiding the initial question.
"Nothing."
"Doesn’t look like nothing."
"None of your business," Tom said, echoing Greg’s earlier comment.
Joanne felt their eyes on her, and stared at her hands, which were folded on the tabletop. She hadn’t told the others what was wrong, and for the most part they hadn’t asked, assuming she was simply struggling to cope with everything that had happened. She was happy to let them think it because it meant they wouldn’t dig around for the truth. She was afraid, that much was true, but not of the creature, they were setting out to find.
She was afraid of Jim.
She suspected he had more to do with what had happened on the beach, and was less than convinced by his version of events that fully implicated Clayton, and left him as the innocent party. She knew well enough the kind of background Jim had. He was a troublemaker, a reckless kid who liked to act first and deal with the consequences later. She knew he came from a violent family, but always gave him the benefit of the doubt. Now however, she was convinced he was responsible for not only the death of the truck driver, but also of Clayton. Even as she sat there on the boat, she could feel Jim’s eyes on her, burning into her soul. Flashbacks of the previous night came flooding back, and she had to grip the edge of the table to stop herself from losing it.
After Greg had left the previous night, they had talked for a while, and quickly came to the conclusion that they had no choice but to go along with it. Only Jim objected, saying they should run, and that they could be far enough away so that, if and when, Greg notified the authorities, they would stand a good chance of staying hidden. The rest of the group disagreed, and although he fought it, Jim went along with it. Shortly after, they decided to get a few hours sleep.
Later, with the steady sounds of her sleeping friends all around her, Joanne lay in the dark, too agitated to sleep. They were already in deep, and the way she saw it, things would only get worse. She closed her eyes, trying to will her body to rest and give her some respite, but her brain wasn’t playing ball, and fired scenarios and questions at her with distressing regularity.
She heard a sound.
Opening her eyes, she peered into the gloom. She watched as Jim got up from the floor where he had been sleeping, creep to the dresser, grab the bag Joanne had brought with her and take it to the bathroom. She glanced at Tom, who was still sleeping. She reached out a hand to wake him, and then stopped. Instead, she quietly climbed out of bed and walked to the bathroom door. She could see the bar of light flooding under it, and as she put her ear to the wood, could hear him rummaging around, no doubt searching for the money she had brought with them.
Overcome by anger, she opened the door and walked into the room without knowing she was going to do it, closing it behind her. Jim stared at her as she entered, eyes wide, one arm still inside the bag.
"If you're looking for the money, I moved it," she whispered.
"I wasn’t, I was looking for some pain killers or something for this headache."
"Drop the act. I’m on to you."
"What do you mean?" Jim said, still playing innocent.
"You know
what I mean. The others might not see it, but I know you had more to do with Clayton’s death than you're saying. Wouldn’t surprise me if you were the one who shot the driver too."
She expected Jim to flounder, or stutter some kind of explanation, which would further confirm her suspicion. Instead, he slowly removed his hand from the bag and turned towards her. He smiled, the harsh lighting from above throwing his face into a ghoulish mask.
"You should be careful saying things like that," he whispered.
She tried to back away, finding the closed door stopping her. All the bravery had gone now, leaving only fear.
"I'm not afraid of you," she said, trying to convince herself.
"Yes you are," he replied, taking a step towards her.
"What are you going to do?" She asked.
"Me? Nothing," he replied, stretching his smile. "As long as you stop giving me a hard time in front of the others."
"You did it though, didn’t you? It was you, not Clayton," she said, unable to keep the waver out of her voice.
He leaned close to her, his nose inches from hers. He reached up and put a hand around her throat, his touch gentle but sinister all the same. "Let's just say I did," he whispered, "that means it wouldn’t be hard to do it again if somebody was threatening to tell people."
She was trembling now, unable to stop. She wasn’t sure how she had missed it before, but could see now in his eyes that they were bottomless black wells.
"Then go, if that’s what you want to do. Run, take the money. Just leave us alone."
"I was going to, but now I’m not so sure."
"Why not?"
He tightened his grip slightly, just enough to make her uncomfortable. "Because I know what will happen. As soon as I leave, you'll start to talk, you'll make things up."
"I won’t, I swear I won’t, I-"
"You know what will happen to me? Have you any idea what my dad would do to me if he knew I was involved in all this? I can see him now, sitting at home with his buddies, already half cut and watching the news telling his friends how no son of his would get away with doing something like that."
