Shadow Of The Abyss

by Edward J. McFadden III

  Using the anchor tied to the bow, Splinter pulled the boat to port, revealing most of the starboard underside. Splinter wrapped the rope around a thick scrub palmetto tree and went to help Lenah feel along the bottom.

  They found nothing, so Splinter repeated the process on the starboard side, and he didn’t even have a chance to join Lenah in the search before she yelled, “Got it.”

  The hole wasn’t bad, but the damage to the fiberglass around the hole didn’t look good. Cracks in the hull spidered out from where the beast had rammed them, and clear resin peeled off revealing torn fiberglass fabric. They needed to repair a three-square-foot area, giving extra attention to the hole itself.

  “Shit,” Splinter said.

  “I can fix this,” Lenah said. “Easy.”

  “Will it be able to take a hit?”

  “I haven’t agreed to go back out, but yeah, it’ll be as strong or stronger than the rest of the hull.”

  “What do you need, though? Resin, fabric, hardener, adhesive filler. Where are we going to get all that?”

  “They sell fiberglass repair kits. I can get one at Lenny’s. It’ll cost me another bone for Buster, though.”

  “Alright. Let’s get out of here. We’ll come back after dark and take care of it,” Splinter said. Boat traffic was high, but any passing coastie or harbor patrol boat would surely run the Parker’s numbers if they spotted her.

  Lenah whistled for Poseidon, who trotted from the foliage, and they all got back onboard the Evenstar.

  “I know the perfect spot. We can do some fishing,” she said.

  Lenah cranked the outboards and pulled back gently on the throttle. The outboards clawed at the shallow water, kicking up sand and mud, pulling debris into the cooling system.

  The Parker lurched off the beach just as the engine warning klaxon sounded. Lenah cut the motors. “I’m going to restart for a second. Tell me if you see the water pump stream jetting from the bottom of the powerhead.”

  “Yup. We probably sucked-in some crap,” Splinter said. “Clogged the intakes.”

  The motors cranked, and Splinter yelled, “Off.”

  Lenah killed the engines.

  “Engine one isn’t spitting water. Bring her up,” Splinter said.

  Lenah hit the tilt control and Splinter went out on deck. The sound of hydraulics and crying seagulls were an odd combination.

  “Yep. I got it.” Splinter cleaned the in-takes on the lower unit and the Parker was back in motion.

  Lenah pushed down on the throttle and turned the Parker in a gentle arc north, heading up the Indian River bay along with the traffic. They were doing a steady twenty knots, blending in, green walls of mangroves boxing the bay in on both sides. They cruised that way for several minutes, enjoying the sun and sea breeze.

  She spun the wheel and the boat turned sharply to port, and Splinter gripped the control consol. He didn’t see the tiny gap in the mangroves until they were right on it, and Lenah pressed the throttle down further and the Parker leapt from the water.

  The Evenstar passed into the mangroves, and the waterway widened. Lenah pulled back on the throttle and turned to Splinter. “Sped up because it’s shallow there. Wanted to be on plane.”

  Splinter nodded. “Here I am thinking you’re trying to get choked again.” The second he said it he wished he could have the words back.

  Lenah looked at him and smiled.

  Relief washed over him.

  “Trust me, I don’t want to see that Splinter ever again,” she said.

  Herons flew in a tight flock overhead, their mournful cries echoing over the mangroves. Flies and clouds of gnats littered the air, the sun’s heat baking the sea shore, bringing out the bugs. A large tree with oval leaves rose above the mangroves, and Lenah turned the boat down another byway when she saw it.

  “I think when this is done and we have our picture, or the thing’s head, you need to do something about your trauma, Splinter. You and I may be done, but that doesn’t mean you won’t meet someone else. Fall in love, and I’d hate for that woman to meet evil Splinter.”

  That hurt. He still hoped on some level that bordered on fantasy that he and Lenah would get back together someday when he settled his shit. She talked like they were dead as dirt. “Nothing they can do. Counseling is bullshit,” he said.

  “There are drugs, other ways—”

  “To what? Turn me into R.P. McMurphy from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest?” He did his best Jack Nicholson impression. “Is that crazy enough for ya'? Want me to take a shit on the floor?”

  “Sorry I brought it up.”

  “No, it’s OK, but when people say stuff like that it implies, at least to me, that I haven’t tried anything and don’t know my own head.” Yup, he’d just said that. “Guess that sounds pretty stupid. ‘Cause I don’t know my own head sometimes.”

  “And that’s not you, Splinter. You will win, but you have to have a battle plan.”

  They’d arrived at the end of a thin channel. Lenah turned the boat into the wind and dropped anchor.

  “You have a black marker on board? Like the ones used to label the packed fish?” Splinter said.

  “I do. Same drawer as the lighter. Why?”

  Splinter laughed. “I’m gonna change the five in your hull numbers to an eight, and the four to a nine. Might fool them if they’re in a hurry.”

  “Nothing to lose,” she said.

  Splinter got the marker and hung over the bow and colored his numbers while Lenah prepared some food, and soon the ex-lovers were lounging in deck chairs, baited lines in the water.

  “So we’ll hit Lenny’s after dark?”

  Lenah nodded and took a bite of her sandwich.

  “We have to break in?”

  “Naw. He always forgets to lock the side door, and even if he doesn’t the lock is so worn I can push it open. I’ll grab gas while I’m there as well.”

  “Lenny can be trusted?”

  “I think so, but I didn’t leave a note last time and I won’t this time either. I’m keeping track of what we take, and we’ll pay him down the road. He’ll understand. No point taking the risk.”

  Splinter nodded. “So assuming we can get the boat fixed, we’ll head out tomorrow?”

  Lenah said nothing. She leaned her head way back, trying to catch the sun on her face. “I think we should go see the cops.”

  Splinter had known this was coming, and he was prepared. “Lenah, if we do that, we’re off the case.”

  “Why? They’ll never admit they believe us, and they can’t hold you for telling a crazy story and you’ve broken no laws.”

  “They can hold us. Are you worried about what the creature can do to the boat?”

  “Of course. The thing almost sank us.”

  “It was beauty killed the beast,” Splinter said.

  “Hmmmm. A hard one. Ah, the beast. King Kong.”

  “Yes, but which one?”

  “The original, of course.”

  13

  Splinter and Lenah sat in silence for a time, water lapping gently against the hull. Birds tittered, the sea breeze rattled the mangrove leaves, and a low static emanated from the marine radio, which they heard via an open pilothouse window. The emergency channel was quiet, and the fish stations buzzed with bitchy fishermen whose charters weren’t catching any fish.

  “All kidding aside, I am concerned about going out deep and having this thing crunch the Parker,” she said.

  “If I could get a barrel on the thing we can track it and call in help,” Splinter said.

  “What we really need is a tracking dart, so we can tag the thing and monitor its movements,” Lenah said.

  “That would work better than the barrel. You think Will can get what we need?” Splinter said.

  “Yeah, I’m sure he knows someone. They tag sharks, seals, all kinds of marine life in Florida’s waters, so I’m sure he can find something,” she said.

  “And you’ll go out again, so I can tag the beast?�
��

  “I think so. If done right we don’t need to get near the creature,” Lenah said.

  “OK, we’ll get in touch with Will. He’ll be monitoring our station this evening at the normal time,” he said.

  “I have one more condition,” Lenah said.

  Splinter sighed.

  “Successful or not, after we try and tag the beast, we go to the coasties. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  As the sun went down, they cleaned up and set out for Lenny’s. The boat supply/bait house/fuel depot was nestled on Main Canal, which led to Sailfish Haven’s main marina.

  On route Lenah said, “You see that news piece a couple weeks ago about the Bermuda Triangle? The one about the waves?”

  “No.”

  “You know ships have disappeared in the area for over a hundred years, with an estimated one thousand people lost. Now scientists believe the losses were the result of rogue waves up to a hundred feet tall. Much more powerful than our tsunami.”

  “What do the eggheads base that on?”

  “The triangle lies in the Atlantic Ocean and stretches 270,271 square miles between Florida, Bermuda and Puerto Rico. Using satellite imagery, scientists observed these rogue waves, which they say are caused by focused wave energy. Storms create waves that go against the normal wave direction, shortening the wave frequency. This can cause waves to join up and create larger waves, but that’s just speculation. They really don’t know,” she said.

  “You’re thinking, why wasn’t our beastie disturbed by one of these in the past?”

  “I was, but these are rare occurrences, and I’d figure the odds of one hitting while the beast was on the surface would be slim. It also made me think the creature might be the cause of some of the disappearances,” Lenah said.

  “Like the odds of this thing being discovered before now?”

  “I didn’t say it explained all the mysteries of the oceans. The Atlantic Ocean covers forty-one million square miles and has an average depth of twelve thousand feet. The Atlantic Rift Valley isn’t that far from here, and it’s deep in spots. Seas cover seventy percent of the Earth, and it’s believed there are countless species in the depths we haven’t discovered. Our monster is most likely part of a tiny family. A long-lost hybrid of a creature that survived and adapted for life in the depths.”

  “These rouge waves get all the planes that have gone down in the triangle too?” Splinter said.

  Lenah chuckled. “Good point. Who knows? We have no idea what this thing is, so speculation is useless,” she said.

  “But fun. It’s obviously some form of rogue mutant gator,” Splinter said, and he half believed it.

  Moonlight and starlight beamed through the thin cloud cover, lighting their way. Lenah drew back on the throttle and the boat slowed. Nothing moved at Lenny’s, and a single light that illuminated the gas pump marked its location. There was a camera on a pole at the end of the dock, so Lenah cruised past and worked the Parker into a narrow gap between Lenny’s and Zeke’s Shipyard.

  Buster bounded down the dock and barked, but when he saw Lenah he bounced up and down, whining and crying like he wanted his mother. Lenah gave him a bone and stepped off the Parker onto a floating dock that served as a maintenance platform.

  “You need help?”

  “Nope. Sit tight and I’ll be back.”

  Splinter leaned against the gunnel and stared at the stars. The rank scent of oil and rotten eggs pervaded the air, and somewhere a lead line dinged against its aluminum mast.

  A cloud passed over the moon and the darkness thickened. The burp-bark of crocodiles and the buzz of insects soothed Splinter’s nerves. A warm breeze pushed across the marina, and a door closed.

  Lenah made her way down the dock and jumped onto the boat. “Good to go.” She tossed the fiberglass repair kit on the dash in the pilothouse. “Covers ten square feet. We’ll do two patches of five. Overlay them for extra strength.”

  Over the next two hours the duo beached the Parker, and Lenah was applying the second patch when 11PM rolled around and it was time for Splinter to call Will.

  Lenah’s cellphone was dead, and she’d forgotten her charger, but Splinter and Will had their regular system. He called his friend on channel 119 every night at 11PM.

  Splinter got a bowed mangrove branch and wedged it into the ground, then propped the flashlight on it so it lit the bottom of the boat. Lenah applied the resin and hardener mixture over the second coat of fabric, spreading it thin and even like icing a cake.

  “I’m gonna call Will. Get him going on the dart,” Splinter said.

  “10-4.” Lenah didn’t look up from her work.

  “Umm. You need to take a break,” Splinter said.

  “What?” She stopped working and looked up. “Why?”

  “I need to go on the boat and if it sinks or shifts it could roll on you.”

  She looked around and sighed, then moved away from the boat.

  Splinter climbed onto the Evenstar, being careful not to shift the boat’s position. He slid open the door to the pilothouse and went to the marine radio. It was on, and he tuned it to channel 119.

  “Rogue One this is Finnick. Do you copy?”

  Crackling static, then nothing.

  Splinter waited a minute, then opened the channel. “Rogue One do you copy? This is Finnick.”

  Nothing.

  Splinter tried several times before he gave up and made his way back to Lenah. She’d commenced work and was finishing up.

  “Will didn’t answer,” Splinter said.

  “That’s odd.”

  “Sure is. I can set my watch by that guy’s habits. When he says he’s going to do something, he does it.”

  “You worried?”

  “A little, but it could be anything. Maybe he fell asleep.”

  “Maybe,” Lenah said, but to Splinter it didn’t sound like she believed it.

  “Wish your cell wasn’t dead. Lenny’s doesn’t have a phone accessory rack?”

  She shook her head.

  “He should,” he said. “Now what do we do? We need that dart.”

  “Maybe Guppy?” Lenah said.

  Splinter grunted.

  “If you’ve got another idea I’d love to hear it,” Lenah said.

  Brett “Guppy” Reynolds was the owner of a chain of Florida based tourist adventure companies called Oceanic Memories. Guppy’s infatuation with Lenah annoyed the shit out of Splinter, but the bowling pine of a man would do anything for Lenah, and that was useful.

  “We’ll see. I’ll try Will later. Head to our cove and we’ll shut it down ‘til morning.”

  “Aye, aye.”

  Lenah dropped the hammer and the newly repaired Parker sliced through the still water, the twin 150HP Yamahas singing. The breeze died away, the night clear and humid. The wakes of crocodiles snaked across the channel, but there were no other boats. It was late, and even Harbor Patrol had packed it in for the night.

  The sound of the engines changed. One of the motors faltered, choking and struggling. Its rooster tail lessoned from twenty feet to ten.

  “Engine two is losing RPMs,” Lenah said. “And I didn’t touch the throttle.”

  Splinter said, “Slowly back them both down. Then—”

  There was a screech, and a pop, and black smoke bellowed from engine two’s exhaust port.

  Lenah pulled the throttle back into neutral, then killed the motors. A thin trail of smoke rose above engine two.

  The good news was the bilge pump hadn’t come on, so the patches had worked, and the Parker was watertight. The bad news was that without two fully functioning outboards they couldn’t go out on the Atlantic Ocean.

  “Now you can hold the light for me,” Splinter said with great pleasure. He’d held the light for three hours as he watched Lenah patch the boat, but he was the better outboard mechanic. “If it’s a blown cylinder we’re screwed, or the linkage.”

  She clicked on the flashlight and Splinter undid the has
ps on engine two’s cover. He lifted it off, being careful not to hit the powerhead. He placed the cover on the deck and clicked on a penlight.

  Visual inspection showed nothing. There were no odd smells, no oil spray. “Can you get the tool box?”

  “Yup,” she said.

  Splinter checked the fuel filter, and it looked clear. The water intakes were clear, everything was clean.

  Lenah put the tool box on the deck and Splinter took out a socket wrench. One by one he checked the sparkplugs. Nothing looked gummed or burned. He did compression tests on each cylinder and they all read full compression.

  “Turn the ignition on, but don’t crank the motors,” he said.

  Lenah did as instructed and the buzz of power cycling into the engines sounded like a swarm of bees. Using the voltage tester Splinter checked various components of the engine, slowly narrowing the possible problems. When he checked the fuel pump he said, “I think I’ve got it. Fuel pump is dead. That’s why it was choking for fuel. Plus, the smoke and a pop. Fuel pump. I can replace it in an hour. I just have to peel off the pollution controls.”

  “So we need to go see Lenny,” Lenah said.

  “You can’t steal a fuel pump?”

  “No way. The stockroom is a puzzle beyond rational thought,” she said.

  Splinter said nothing.

  He cleaned all the plugs and put the cover back on engine two and unplugged the control cables. The engine would remain up and decommissioned and engine one would power the Evenstar alone.

  When they reached their sheltered cove, the sun was coming up, and purple-black sky gave way to a blue horizon. The Coast Guard weather report said it was going to be a nice day, and with luck they’d sleep through a chunk of it. Lenah went down into the cabin and Splinter called Will. He tried eight times, but got no response.

  Splinter’s stomach went cold. He was worried for his friend.

  14

  When Splinter woke, Indian River was the Sahara. The noon sun was intense and unyielding, and the Parker’s cabin was like an oven. Splinter’s t-shirt was soaked through, and the scent of piss and fish overpowered the sea breeze sneaking through the open portholes.