by Jake Bible
“It’s alive!” he shouted. “The shark is still alive!”
***
“What’s that?” Cougher asked, nudging Lake and pointing towards Gunnar. “You hear that?”
“That’s Gunnar,” Lake said and shouted to those inside the lifeboat, “we can see Gunnar!”
“And that’s not all,” Cougher whimpered. “Ah, come on, man!”
Lake saw it, as did everyone up on top of the lifeboat. A dorsal fin so large that even over a hundred yards away it was easy to spot. And it headed straight for where Gunnar was shouting and yelling.
***
He heard the voices shouting back to him, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. He could see arms waving and moving, so Gunnar waved back at them harder. He hoped the lifeboat was operational and they could just motor to him. But it had been a day of hopes dashed and he knew better.
He was afraid to look down in the water, but he forced himself to and was pleased to see absolutely nothing. Gunnar knew that didn’t mean a thing, since the monster could be anywhere. It could be down deep ready to rocket up at him; it could be off to the side, circling him, ready to scoop him up with the bloody mess he was stuck in; it could even be right behind him, swimming fast and ready to chomp.
He looked over his shoulder and struggled not to cry.
***
“Do we have anything that can take it out?” Thorne asked. “Someone tell me we have something!”
“This,” Lucy said as she tossed up a RPG launcher from the water below, “I fucking held onto this the entire time.”
“You’re insane,” Max smiled at her, “I would have let it go.”
“Yet, another reason the Coast Guard has more guts than the Navy,” Lucy said as she was helped up onto the overcrowded surface of the lifeboat. “So who’s going to fire the thing?”
“At this range?” Darren said.
“I got it,” Max said, “I’ll put it right down the throat of that fucking shark.”
“Then do it,” Darren said.
Once more, Max found himself with a RPG launcher on his shoulder. He actually wondered if he’d chosen the wrong profession as a sniper. Despite the circumstances, he found he liked blowing shit up.
***
“Popeye,” Gunnar said, smacking the man, “Popeye! Wake up, man!”
But Popeye didn’t wake up.
The fin was still a long ways off, but at the speed it was moving, it would be to him in seconds. He nodded in resignation and his whole body relaxed. He had rejected human medicine for a life as a marine biologist. It was a fitting end, he thought.
He felt lighter knowing he would be gone soon. He just hoped it would be quick and as painless as possible. The shark closed rapidly. The feeling of lightness increased, like he was being lifted on bubbles. Then he looked down and saw that actual bubbles were coming up from below, pushing at his body.
“What the fuck?” he said as his eyes widened. “WHAT THE FUCK?”
The ocean churned and roiled about him, and he and Popeye were lifted out of the water and up into the air. He had no clue what was happening to him, how any of it was possible.
He was on top of a huge, floating rectangle of steel, just inches from a large hatch. The wheel on the hatch began to turn and Beau’s head popped out.
“You fuckers totally forgot about me,” he said. “Now get your ass inside.”
Gunnar grabbed Popeye and was helped down into the whatever the hell it was. He was stunned at what he saw about him and shook his head over and over.
“No fucking way,” he said.
“You’re the scientist guy, right?” Ingrid said. “How’s it going?”
“I’ve been better,” Gunnar said, “what the hell is this?”
“The armory,” Carlos said from a bank of controls, “now shut up. We’re busy.”
“The Toyshop?” Gunnar asked, looking at Beau. “What the fuck?”
“I said shut up,” Carlos snapped, “and don’t call it that.”
“Ten meters and closing,” Ingrid said, as she turned and pressed her face to what looked like a periscope. Moshi sat right next to her, her hands on two joysticks. “Nine meters. Eight, seven, six.”
“Fire,” Carlos said casually, looking over at Moshi, “let’s finish this. I have a season of Grimm recorded at home. I’d like to get back and watch that sooner than later.”
“No fucking way,” Gunnar repeated as Moshi, still silent in all the chaos, squeezed the triggers that were on the joysticks she held.
Two loud clanking noises rang out and Ingrid pushed on Gunnar’s shoulders, forcing him to the floor.
“Cover your ears,” she said.
He did just a second before the sound of one, then a second explosion nearly deafened him. The Toyshop (or Toyship? Gunnar wondered) shook and shuddered. Then all was quiet.
“Direct hit!” Ingrid shouted as she looked back into the scope. “Killed that bastard!”
“Let’s get visual confirmation,” Carlos said and shoved past Gunnar as he climbed the ladder and opened the top hatch.
“What the hell is going on, Beau?” Gunnar asked. “How is this possible?”
“I was running from the mess when the Beowulf started to go down,” Beau said, “water rushed about me and I was swept off my feet and down the stairs to the deck below. I thought I was dead when hands grabbed me and pulled me in here.”
“My hands,” Ingrid smiled.
“Yeah, hers,” Beau nodded. “As soon as I was inside the Toyshop, the walls started closing about and Carlos was yelling at me to help, while Moshi was busy pushing buttons and pulling levers. The whole fucking room turned into a sub, man.”
“More of a tactical escape pod, really,” Ingrid said. “It was something Carlos insisted we incorporate into the design. Especially after the Beowulf I went down and we lost everything.”
“What the hell happened to the Beowulf I, anyway?” Gunnar asked.
“Oh, we don’t talk about that,” Ingrid said. “Hey, you thirsty or hungry? We have soda and chips over there.”
“Get up here!” Carlos shouted from above. “You’ll want to see this!”
Gunnar left Popeye passed out on the floor of the Toyshop/escape pod and climbed the ladder. His eyes went wide as he saw the swathe of blood and guts that floated everywhere.
“I think we got it,” Carlos smirked.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Gunnar replied.
“You are seeing it,” Carlos said. “I guarantee it’s gone.”
“Hopefully it’s the only one left,” Gunnar said. “If smaller sharks come to feed, then we’ll know the area is clear of any big ones.”
Realization hit him and he turned about and looked towards the others that were far off in the distance and getting further away as the current pulled them in the opposite direction.
“Does this thing have motors?” Gunnar asked. “We need to go help the others get out of the water!”
“Motors?” Carlos grumbled. “Don’t be an idiot. It’s an armory. Motors…”
He was still grumbling as he went below. In a minute, he was back up and tossed two cases overboard. As they flew down to the water they burst open and inflated into rafts.
“Better start paddling,” Carlos said, “before they turn into shark bait.”
“Where are you going?” Gunnar snapped as Carlos descended back inside the Toyshop.
“I want a Pepsi,” Carlos said, “and I don’t paddle.”
Gunnar looked at Beau, then at the rafts that had started to float off. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
Chapter Eleven: The Gig Is On
The sharks did come. Small compared to the monster, but large enough to make many of the Somali crew and the others uneasy, as they watched them feast on the remains of their fallen comrades.
But Gunnar, with the help of Team Grendel, was able to get the survivors to safety. After some time, Cougher even got the Beowulf II’s lifeboat
motor to work, albeit at a severely reduced efficiency level, and ferried over to the small lifeboat and the wounded. There they found Ballantine and Darby clinging to the side, Darby’s arm clamped around the man’s shoulders, keeping him from slipping off and sinking into the water.
With everyone secure, or as secure as they could be in the midst of a shark feeding frenzy, Ballantine sat inside the Toyshop, a cold can of soda pressed to a huge knot on his forehead, and his eyes focused on Carlos with laser intensity.
“All of this behind my back,” Mr. Ballantine stated, “I don’t know whether to be grateful or extremely angry with you, Carlos.”
“Doesn’t matter to me,” Carlos said, his face showing almost no expression, as if he hadn’t been part of destroying a nearly 100 foot shark that shouldn’t have existed. “I’m alive. I could give a crap how you feel.”
Team Grendel (except for Shane who was resting inside the Beowulf II’s lifeboat), Gunnar, Lake, Darren, and Darby, all sat on the floor or stood against the walls of the Toyshop, watching the two men spar.
“Enlighten me, if you will,” Mr. Ballantine said, “you have obviously proved to be the more prescient of us.”
“After the loss of the Beowulf I---” Carlos started.
“What did happen to that ship?” Max asked.
“We don’t talk about it,” Mr. Ballantine, Carlos, and Ingrid, said in unison. Moshi nodded her head in agreement. Darby rolled her eyes.
“Oh,” Max nodded, “gotcha.”
“As I was saying,” Carlos said, giving Max a quick glare, “after the Beowulf I was lost---”
“Which you don’t talk about,” Max said. Kinsey smacked him in the back of the head and he shut up.
“Yes, that,” Carlos said, “I added some refinements to the design of the Beowulf II. Just enough to get us started and wouldn’t alert you to what I had planned.”
“Because I would have said no,” Mr. Ballantine said, “it would have looked weak in the eyes of the company.”
“Admitting disaster was imminent,” Thorne said, “I get that.”
“Yes, whatever,” Carlos said, “it was fairly easy. And as we sat in port, waiting for you to approach Mr. Chambers, I put my team to work. We had the armory retrofitted before we left Cape Town.”
“It is remarkable,” Mr. Ballantine said as he looked about the space, “but next time, you’ll seek my approval before making adjustments.”
Carlos just shrugged.
“Next time?” Darren asked. “You’re joking, right?”
“Am I, Captain?” Mr. Ballantine replied. “Of course, there are many hurdles to jump before I can even answer that, but we’ll see.”
There was a rapping at the top hatch and Max climbed up and opened it. Beau peeked his head through and looked about until he found Thorne and Darren.
“They’re here,” Beau said, “the Navy. They found us.”
“Good,” Mr. Ballantine said, “I’ll do the talking.”
“Better let me,” Thorne said, “I know the lingo.”
“I was the captain of the Beowulf II,” Darren said, “it would make more sense if I spoke to them.”
“I’ll let you two work it out,” Mr. Ballantine said, “but remember that the Beowulf II was a research vessel that was attacked by pirates. No mention of oversized sharks.”
“Genetically manipulated oversized sharks,” Gunnar added.
Mr. Ballantine nodded as Thorne and Darren ascended the ladder.
***
The USS Hopper took everyone aboard quickly. The wounded were tended to and the rest were fed and given what they needed to be comfortable, as the destroyer steamed to the African coast. A diplomatic ship was sent out by the Somali government to obtain its nationals, so the indentured Somali crew could be returned to their tribes and the pirates could be dealt with as the government saw fit.
Neither Thorne nor the Commander of the Hopper had any illusions that the pirates would end up anywhere but out raiding again in a few week’s time, once they reestablished their leadership.
Team Grendel and the Beowulf II’s crew were scrutinized and questioned thoroughly by US government officials when they were taken to the Gulf of Aden. No one broke, everyone stayed on message. And despite the fact that no one from the US consulate believed a word of what they said, they were all put on planes and sent to their homes. They were even individually escorted to their respective houses, apartments, condos, dive bars, and observed until their doors closed.
It would be weeks before any of them heard from Mr. Ballantine. Although each one was glad to see a sizeable sum of money had been wired to their bank accounts.
When the text came, Kinsey just stared at it, unsure of whether to answer or not. She had used the weeks to get completely clean. With Gunnar’s help, she was weaned off even his formula, and the text from Ballantine made her itch like she needed a fix. She didn’t like that feeling, not anymore, and she tossed her phone onto the café table where she sat.
“Bad news?” Gunnar asked as he sipped coffee across from her. Then his phone chimed and he frowned. “Oh.”
With her apartment serving only as a reminder of a life she wanted nothing to do with, she had moved in with Gunnar, staying in the guest room of his spacious condo in the La Jolla area of San Diego. It was certainly a step up from the ghetto crack hell she’d lived in before.
“Can I get you anything else?” the waiter asked as Gunnar and Kinsey stared at each other, unsure of even what to say.
“No, thank you,” Kinsey said, “the check will be fine. We have to go.”
“Do we?” Gunnar asked. “I’m not super keen on the idea.”
“What else are we going to do?” Kinsey asked. “I can’t live off you the rest of my life.”
“There are security jobs,” Gunnar said. “I’m looking into taking a research position with a non-profit. I’m sure I could get you something there.”
“Not with my background,” Kinsey said. “The dishonorable discharge alone pretty much bars me from using my skills for anything except paintball.”
“But that discharge was crap,” Gunnar insisted, “there has to be a way to get it cleared up. You were obviously sabotaged.”
Kinsey smiled weakly and looked out into the sunny street that ran next to the outdoor café’s tables. Her eyes misted up and she quickly wiped at them.
“Kins? What’s up?” Gunnar asked, leaning across the table to take her hand.
She pulled her hand back and took a deep breath, laughing at her sudden break.
“I have to tell you something, Gun,” she said, “but you have to promise not to tell anyone. Like doctor- patient promise, got it?”
“Got it,” Gunnar frowned.
“It wasn’t crap,” she said, “the discharge. I deserved it.”
Gunnar just stared for a minute then sat back in his chair. He rubbed at his face and shook his head.
“Why?” Gunnar asked. “What did you do?”
“What they said I did,” Kinsey admitted. “I took speed. I wasn’t going to make it, Gun. I’d spent every bit of energy I had in BUD/S and didn’t have an ounce more when I hit SQT. I was about to wash out.”
“Can you do that?” Gunnar said. “I thought once you hit SQT you were a SEAL.”
“You aren’t a SEAL until you get assigned to a Team,” Kinsey said. “They pushed me hard, harder than any of the men. It pissed me off. They tried to break me at every move. And it worked. I broke, but I thought I could hide it.”
“Jesus, Kins,” Gunnar said, “have you told your father? He retired because of you. You have to tell him.”
“No way, not going to happen,” Kinsey said, “and you better not tell him. You promised to keep this between us. You promised, Gun.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Gunnar said, “I won’t say a word.” He looked up at the bright blue, California sky and sighed. “So we’re doing this?”
“We’re going to see what he wants,” Kinsey said, “listen to h
is pitch. Maybe it won’t be monster sharks that can eat ships this time?”
“Maybe,” Gunnar said and looked back at her, “might be time for my own admission.”
“What do you mean?” Kinsey asked.
“I’ll tell you on the way back to the condo,” Gunnar said, “you drive.”
“About?”
“Monster sharks.”
***
The cabin was the unassuming, two-story modular log construction seen throughout the Northern California coast. Max leaned against it as Shane held the sniper rifle to his shoulder and carefully squeezed off six shots, obliterating the apples that had been perched on a fence three hundred yards away. Once the echoes of the shots dissipated, the sound of the ocean came up over the cliff the cabin was perched near and joined Max’s clapping.
“Bravo, one-eye,” Max said, “six for six. That fruit never stood a chance.”
Shane got up from the ground and leaned his rifle up on his shoulder. The eye patch he wore had a large pot leaf on it, which went nicely with the joint that hung from the corner of his mouth.
“I am Shane Reynolds,” he said, “and I kill apples. I’m not proud of what I do, but it’s a job, and if I don’t do it, then someone else will.”
“Good to see you back in action,” Lucy said as she came from around the side of the cabin.
“Hey there,” Max smiled and hurried over to give her a big hug, “how the fuck are you?”
“Dealing,” Lucy said, “it’s been crazy since I got back. It wasn’t easy lying to Bobby’s family.”
“I bet,” Shane said, “anyone else with you?”
“Not yet, but I think I hear someone,” Lucy said.
The three walked to the other side of the cabin where the Reynolds’s Jeep was parked as well as a compact rental Lucy drove. A black Land Rover pulled up and Thorne, followed closely by Kinsey and Gunnar, hopped out.
“Gang’s all here,” Shane said, “but why’s the fish doctor tagging along? Thought this was a Team Grendel reunion only.”
