Shadow Of The Abyss

by Edward J. McFadden III

  Splinter grabbed the handrail and held on, lungs burning, his legs braced against the wall as the undertow pulled at him. The force of the water ripped at his clothes, and he strained to keep from being sucked out of the stairwell like sewage.

  He’d wished for death so many times. Now that he’d come calling, Splinter had changed his mind.

  The water drained away and he lay panting on the stairs, still clinging to the handrail. Splinter unscrewed the stock from his speargun, slipped the pistol into his jacket, and strapped his cane-stock to the backpack. He put the pack on, pulled it tight, and got to his feet. He ran up the steps two at a time because he knew that rarely was there one tsunami wave. There was usually a series of them.

  He exited onto the roof and ran to the eastern edge.

  The sea covered everything. The light poles. Cars. Lifeguard stands. Street signs. All of it was hidden by the turbulent sea. Splinter went to the western side and what he saw there was more disturbing. Sections of Sailfish Haven were gone, the small structures sucked into the sea as the ocean retreated. The streets were canals, and the taller buildings stood in the flood, their glass windows reflecting the chaos. The wave surge pushed inland across the mangroves and consumed the inner bay, finally coming to a stop as it flooded Fort Pierce and the Old Dixy Highway.

  He leaned against the parapet wall. His camp in the groves was gone. His skiff. He had nothing except what he carried in his backpack.

  The sea churned as it receded, dragging bodies and the flotsam of humanity. The wind died to a faint breeze. Splinter saw the mother’s blue sombrero sunhat floating in the jetsam, and he thought of the boy. All the people who’d been on the beach. Everyone that came near him died. How much longer could he do this?

  Emergency sirens wailed and helicopter rotors pounded the air. Splinter ran back down the emergency staircase. He needed to disappear and find a place to sleep for the night.

  2

  The twenty-eight-foot Parker sliced through the Atlantic Ocean, its bow lifting and falling with the gentle three-foot waves, throwing sea spray across the surface and leaving a field of dimpled whitewater. The day was clear and humid, and heat pushed across the water like invisible waves. Boats dotted the horizon, and tuna-towers and trolling outriggers swayed with the roll of the ocean. The Parker’s twin 150HP Yamahas whined when Lenah pushed down the throttle, and the boat leapt from the water.

  Lenah Brisbee was a knockout, and Splinter was convinced the only reason the two mobsters from Miami chartered the boat was so they could hit on its captain, his ex-girlfriend. The two greased knuckleheads knew nothing about fishing, and spent most of their time flirting, trying to convince Lenah they were important men down in Miami. She handled them with ease, having been harassed so many times she no longer noticed when she was repelling a sleaze-attack.

  “Lenah, how is it you’re not married? This state filled with morons?” Sal Palmitari said. He claimed to be a made-man, but Splinter wasn’t buying it.

  “Yeah, bunch of fools,” Brownie Keato said. He was Sal’s brother-in-law and Sal made it clear every chance he got that he wasn’t happy about the fact.

  Sal shook his head and turned his attention back to Lenah. “Don’t mind him. He’s missing a few crucial parts, like a brain. Other important parts he’s got, but they don’t work too good.”

  Splinter turned to Will, the third charter, and rolled his eyes.

  “How is it your boat didn’t get sunk with most of the others?” Sal asked.

  Lenah sighed. Six months prior, a series of extraordinary events caused a tsunami that rolled over Sailfish Haven. The mid-Atlantic Ridge experienced a violent surge of lava, which deformed the sea floor. This triggered an underwater landslide on Grand Bahama Bank, which caused the tsunami, but one good thing had come from the events; the fishing off the east coast of Florida was the best it had been in living memory. Scientists from the University of Florida studied the phenomenon, and found there was no pattern in the currents, or any other indicators that explained why fish of every breed and size swarmed to the area. Any captain with a functional fishing boat and the proper licenses migrated to where the fish were hitting, and that meant Sailfish Haven was alive, even though it was still recovering.

  “I was running bass charters out on Lake Okeechobee. Soon as I heard about the fishing over this way, I double-timed it here,” she said.

  “Double-timed?” Brownie said.

  “Move fast. Run. You are the dumbest shit I know,” Sal said.

  Brownie hung his head and said nothing.

  Splinter moved between Lenah and Sal, and Will chuckled.

  Will was Splinter’s friend, a local retired cop who’d come on the charter as Lenah’s guest. Like Splinter, she wanted help around because Lenah didn’t trust Sal and Brownie to pick up paper on the side of A1A, let alone be her only back-up out on the water. The goombahs had offered an exorbitant fee she couldn’t turn down, but her normal deckhand was sick, so she’d hunted down Splinter and begged him help.

  Splinter still loved her, but he knew he could never give her what she wanted: a stable life, a husband, kids, all things Splinter once thought he could provide, but everything had changed that night in Kabul.

  Lenah drew back the throttle, snapping it into neutral, and the motors fell to a distant purr. The Parker’s wake broke on the transom, and seawater sprayed across the deck. Lenah fiddled with the Hummingbird Solix 10 fish finder and pulled out her phone and held it up for inspection. “Bluetooth. I can move the boat and get hit signals out on deck,” she said.

  Sal stepped around Splinter and got close to Lenah to look at the screen, and the captain deftly sidestepped him, opened the cabin door, and went out on deck. The four boys followed her like dutiful puppies, and Lenah handed Sal a fishing pole and Splinter put a piece of week-old squid on its hook.

  “Damn,” Sal said. “That’s some nasty shit.”

  “Nasty shit that will catch you a fish. You do remember you’re out here to fish, right?” Splinter said.

  Sal jerked his head back, doing his best De Niro imitation. He cocked his head to the side, as if he didn’t believe what he’d just heard from some dirtbag putting rotten fish on a hook.

  Lenah stepped between them and put her hand on Sal’s shoulder, leaning forward, letting him get a good look at her breasts.

  Pain shot up Splinter’s back.

  “Let me show you how to do this since someone—” Lenah turned and looked at Splinter, “can’t be nice.”

  “Yeah, go swab the deck Mr. Pee,” Brownie said.

  “It’s Mr. Smee,” Will said.

  “I like Pee,” Brownie said.

  Will and Splinter laughed.

  “You’re a grade A asswipe. You know that, Brownie?” Sal said.

  The short, spindly man with dirty-blonde hair and a receding hairline looked at each of them, his face twisted and confused.

  Everyone got lines out and the day wore on, and the Atlantic became a desert, heat pressing on everything, the sea breeze an inconsistent nothing that slowed their float to a crawl. They waited and fished, the roll of the ocean and the rise and fall of the bow lulling Splinter toward sleep.

  “Whoa,” Sal said. His reel spun off line so fast it buzzed.

  “Hook it now. The way I told you,” Lenah said.

  Splinter stopped swabbing the deck, openly staring, and Brownie and Will checked their lines and turned to watch.

  The fight lasted as long as that time Mike Tyson beat Marvis Frazier. Sal climbed into the fighting chair and put the rod in the stainless-steel holder. Then he checked the reel, pulled back on the pole, and the fifty-pound braided line snapped like piano wire. The spool tangled as the pressure was relieved from the line, and Sal handed the pole off to Splinter, who stared at the man in disgust.

  “What do you make of that, Splinter?” Lenah said.

  “Big mother, whatever it is. Not much can snap a fifty-pound braided line,” Splinter said. “Even for an amateur.” />
  “Whatever it is? It’s a fish. Shit. Even I know that,” Brownie said.

  Splinter saw it first, the gray dorsal fin rising from the water, cutting through the waves and coming at the boat. It was three feet tall, and that meant the shark was at least fifteen feet long.

  “Start the engines, Lenah.” Splinter pulled his speargun from his jacket pocket. He didn’t have his stock-cane with him.

  “What is it?” Sal asked.

  Splinter pointed at the dorsal fin coming at the Parker.

  “Oh, shit,” Sal said, and pulled a gun of his own. He held the SIG Sauer P320 Sub-Compact at his side, shifting his weight from foot to foot, eyes locked on the fin as it arced past the boat on the port side. The beast’s caudal fin swept back and forth, the shark’s torpedo body easing through the water like a ballerina.

  The creature circled the boat, then turned and headed for the Parker. It floated just below the surface, and rows of razor-sharp teeth flashed white within pink smiling gums, the shark’s dark eyes watching them. It was a fifteen-foot great white, and as it fell back into the depths Splinter went cold.

  With a waggle of its caudal fin the beast angled downward, diving into the blue.

  Sal said, “What the hell do—”

  “Ssssshh,” hissed Splinter. He leaned over the gunnel, scanning the sea. Splinter started to sweat, nerves jumping, the fog coming on like a storm, his vision going red.

  Breathe. Breathe.

  “Who the fu—”

  “Not now, Sal,” Lenah said.

  Splinter shook as he stared at the bubbling water. He gripped the bait bucket handle so tight it cut his hand. A gust of wind brought the scent of blood, and Splinter stepped away from the gunnel. Something was coming to the surface.

  “Splinter, you OK?” Will asked.

  “Yeah.” Splinter didn’t take his eyes off the ocean.

  The sea bubbled red, and the shark’s head burst from the water, rows of teeth gleaming in the sunlight. A primal screech echoed over the ocean. The shark’s head rolled forward, bobbed on the surface, then tipped over and sunk beneath red sea foam. Entrails, gristle, and torn muscles swirled behind the severed head.

  Waves lapped against the hull as a huge shadow glided beneath the water to starboard, and it got bigger as it came to the surface.

  Sal brought up his gun and Splinter his speargun.

  The great shadow passed beneath the boat and disappeared into the deep.

  3

  “What the hell was that?” Sal said. He’d gone white, the dark bags under his eyes puffing out like rain clouds.

  “No idea,” Lenah said.

  Blood and fat floated on the ocean’s surface, but the shark’s head was gone. Most dead fish float because of their swim bladder, but heads didn’t have anything to fill with air. Splinter studied the water, searching for the bigger beast.

  Lenah headed for the pilothouse.

  “What are you doing?” Splinter asked.

  “Calling the Coast Guard. They’ll want to know about this,” she said.

  “No go,” said Sal.

  Splinter’s hand shot out so fast Sal never saw it. One minute the SIG Sauer was in Sal’s hand, the next it was gone. Splinter held the weapon up for inspection, then tossed it in the sea.

  “What the hell?” said Brownie. The skinny shit advanced on Splinter, but whether it was the look in Splinter’s eyes, his stance, or Brownie’s instinct, the criminal thought better of it and stepped back.

  Sal wasn’t so smart.

  “You’re gonna get your head busted for that.” Sal tossed his head right, then left, cracking his neck. He brought up his fists and danced on his toes like a boxer.

  Splinter smiled broadly and said nothing.

  “Sal, I wouldn’t go there if I was you,” Lenah said.

  “You’re not me,” he said. Then he stepped forward and threw a quick rabbit punch aimed at Splinter’s face.

  The ex-SEAL jerked his head, and the punch missed. Splinter stood his ground and smiled.

  Sal tried two more times, only to hit air. Sal’s face reddened, his eyes glowing with hatred. Splinter had embarrassed him, and in front of Lenah.

  “You done?” Splinter asked.

  “We got bigger problems, no? Knock it off,” Lenah said.

  “We ain’t paying you,” Brownie said. The weasel clearly thought that settled the matter.

  “You already paid,” Lenah said.

  “By credit card. I’ll cancel the payment,” Sal said, supporting his brother-in-law in his defiance.

  “You do that, and I’ll come find you. You don’t want that,” Splinter said.

  Silence fell. The sea breeze pushed across the ocean, the gentle waves having been replaced by steep three footers that slapped against the hull.

  “Someone’s gonna replace my gun,” Sal said.

  “Yeah, be sure to hold your breath,” Splinter said.

  “Now that’s—”

  Lenah cut Sal off. “Can we put the testosterone on hold for a minute?”

  “That why they call you Splinter? Cause you’re a thorn in the ass?” Sal said.

  “Very original. Most douchebags go with a derivative of ‘under my skin,’” Splinter said. He’d never let the asshole know that was exactly why his nickname was Splinter. He’d been a relentless taskmaster. Add to that his last name was Woods and the nickname had stuck.

  A black shape floated below, and it moved lazily around the boat, fading and becoming darker as the sun went behind the clouds. Splinter barely saw whatever it was gliding beneath the waves, but he felt it, sensed the beast looking for them, taking stock, deciding if they were worth the effort.

  “We gonna fish, or what?” Brownie said.

  Splinter chuckled. “You see that there, dumbass? That thing down there just decapitated a fifteen-foot great white shark. An apex predator of the sea. I think we’re done fishing for the day.”

  “Who asked you?” Sal said. “You the captain, or is she?”

  Splinter said nothing. The grease-ball had a point.

  Lenah ran her fingers through her long blonde hair, her eyes darting every few seconds to the massive shadow lurking portside. “If that thing breaches under us, we’re done. I think we need to get the hell out of here and call the authorities. They’ll want to track this thing. Interview us about the shark.”

  “I’m with you on the first part. Let’s get underway. Then we can talk about what we should do,” Splinter said.

  Sal puckered his lips, but said nothing. Brownie stood by his brother-in-law like a child.

  Will said, “Lenah’s right.”

  “Not now,” Splinter said. He left the fisherman and Lenah alone and entered the pilothouse. He started the outboards, and spun the wheel, pointing the boat west toward shore. The others joined him in the cabin as Splinter eased down on the throttle and the boat moved away from the bloody seas.

  Will said, “What do you think, Splinter?”

  Splinter didn’t respond. He stared out the windshield, looking back every few moments to see if the shadow trailed them. It didn’t. He checked the SONAR, and only the rainbow-colored line that marked the sea floor rolled across the bottom of the screen. He plotted a course for Fort Pierce Inlet, set the boat on autopilot, and sat back in the captain’s chair.

  “I can tell you I’ve never seen anything like that before in all my days on the sea, and those days are many. I’ve sailed every sea there is. Great whites are the kings and there isn’t much in the ocean that can take one out.”

  “What can?” asked Brownie. Sal shot him a dirty look.

  “An orca,” Lenah said. “That’s the only thing big enough. Pods of whales, other sharks, and schools of large fish have been known to repel the attacks of a great white.”

  “That’s what you know of,” Sal said. “They pull strange shit out of the sea all the time.”

  “Yeah, remember that sea monster they dragged in off Hatteras? The thing looked prehistoric,” Bro
wnie said. The dirty look this time made Brownie flinch, and he sealed his lips into a thin line.

  A large swell rolled the boat, and Sal lost his balance and reached for the bulkhead, but missed it and tipped over.

  Splinter moved like a viper, catching the man in his arms inches before the back of his head smacked the deck. Splinter eased the thick Italian back to his feet and stepped back. Sal blinked, processing what had just occurred. His forehead knitted, and he balled his fists, anger painting his face red.

  As Splinter braced for an attack, Sal’s face lightened as understanding washed over him. With what was clearly a great effort, the self-proclaimed mobster said, “Thanks.”

  “Now we’re even,” Splinter said.

  “Even?”

  “For the gun.”

  Then Sal did something Splinter didn’t expect. He laughed.

  Sal’s laughter released the tension on the boat like air escaping a balloon. “OK, hotshot. I guess we are.”

  Lenah tuned her radio to channel sixteen and hailed the Coast Guard. “Coast Guard, this is Evenstar. Do you copy?”

  Splinter stabbed the control panel with his index finger and shut the radio down.

  “What are you doing?” Lenah said.

  “We need to talk about this. Calling the ocean fuzz might have unwanted consequences,” Splinter said.

  “What are you talking about? I’m the captain of this boat, and I say we’re reporting what we’ve seen,” she said.

  Her confidence and strength were two of the reasons he’d loved her. Still loved her in many ways. He said, “This is going to be news, Lenah.”

  “And what did we see?” Sal added.

  Splinter had to admit Sal had a point. What had they seen?

  “I didn’t see anything,” Brownie said.

  Sal shook his head and rubbed his eyes.

  Lenah opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. The five of them stood there, the Parker rocking back and forth.