MEG 01 - MEG

by Alten-Steve

"What the fuck," he muttered, then looked back and saw another swell approaching rapidly, rising as it blotted out the darkening red horizon. Gingerly, he inched onto the board, supporting his weight with his elbows and knees.

  Seconds before the twenty-five-foot swell reached the surfer, the Megalodon's nine-foot maw rose from the dark sea beneath him, engulfing Barnes and his surfboard and lifting both twenty feet into the air. As the wave crashed into its exposed girth, the monster slammed its mouth on surfer and board like a steel bear trap, exerting more than 40,000 pounds per square inch of brute force. Blood and froth shot upward as the Meg shook its head back and forth instinctively, shredding the remains of the carcass still dangling from its jaws, sending chunks of pink flesh and fiberglass cascading outward in a thousand directions. Then it was gone.

  High-pitched screams of terror filled the beach. Almost every remaining bather and observer had witnessed the attack. Dozens of people were standing at the edge of the water, trying to see into the advancing darkness. Ryan, Scott, and Zach had ended their ride and now walked through the surf toward the screaming crowd.

  "What's up with them, man?" asked Scott, confused.

  "They must want more," laughed Ryan.

  "No, assholes. They want us to come in. Hey, where's Jim?"

  * * * * *

  Still hungry, the female circled the spreading blood from the kill, gnashing her teeth as she swam, searching the area for vibrations. Beneath her thick skin, along her lateral line, a canal held sensory cells called neromasts. Mucus contained in the lower half of the canals transmitted vibrations from the seawater to the sensitive neuromasts, giving the predator spectacular "vision" of its surroundings through echolocation.

  * * * * *

  Jim Richards shivered from cold and absolute fear. He had witnessed the massacre and now could only watch as the monster circled less than thirty yards in front of him. Small bits of bloody flesh clung to his surfboard. He felt vomit rising in his throat and swallowed hard to keep it down. The break point lay a good ten yards ahead, but Jim dared not paddle for it. He knew from watching the Discovery Channel that the slightest vibrations would attract sharks. He looked around in all directions — still no rescue boats or copters in sight.

  Quietly, Jim slipped the leash from his ankle. Somehow, the enormous great white seemed to detect the inaudible disturbance. The towering white dorsal fin swung around, gliding forward to investigate! Jim froze, willing his muscles and nerves to be still, but looking down, he saw his board was quivering in the water.

  The Megalodon rose to the surface, its six-foot dorsal fin parting the water before it. The sheer mass of the Meg moving through the sea created an undertow, the momentum of which pulled the surfboard and its passenger back and sideways another ten feet. The crescent tail fin, rising higher in the water than Jim's head, flicked by inches from the teenager's face.

  Jim felt something lifting him. His heart fluttered, anticipating the bloody mouth and rows of fangs. But the shark was swimming away from Jim's position: the pressure had been caused by a swell. The next set was coming in. The first wave rose under Jim's board, pushing it forward six feet. The break point was still a good fifteen feet ahead, the monster thirty feet behind.

  Now or never... Jim rolled quietly onto his stomach, pulling water slowly, tentatively. Ten feet to go, still no swell. He looked back, feeling his heart explode from his chest.

  The Megalodon had turned, detecting the new vibrations. A white snout broke the surface fifteen feet behind him.

  Without hesitating, Jim slammed his face against the board, simultaneously gripping the outer edges with his ankles as he plunged his arms into the ware, double stroking furiously.

  Jim registered the monster's teeth on the soles of his bare feet as the wave caught the surfboard. He expoloded forward, out of the Megalodon's open mouth, rising way out over the crest, plunging down in total darkness. Popping up at the last moment on his exhausted legs, feet wide, crouching low, Jim reached his right hand below the board as he plummeted blind to the bottom of the thirty-foot swell. Miraculously surviving the drop, Jim turned into the furious curl, feeling its power, a gust of salty air at his back. He hesitated, then allowed his right hand to reach back and brush against the moving wall of water, creating a backlash of froth.

  The Megalodon was seconds away from taking its prey from below when it detected the new vibrations originating from the boy's hand. The stimulus convinced the predator to alter its angle of attack. Rising from beneath the wave, the creature burst through the curl just as the surfer cut back against the current.

  Jim shot a quick glance over his right shoulder and saw jaws wider than a school bus snap shut, catching nothing but water. As the Meg's torso plunged headfirst and down into the wave, the surfer cut again hard to his right, accelerating in the dark, shooting past the last place he'd seen the luminescent white monster.

  Jim knew he had only seconds before the creature would relocate him. As the wave spluttered out, he launched his body forward in a racing dive and swam for his life. A good hundred yards still lay between him and shallow water.

  The sea floor was rising quickly, the water now only thirty feet deep, but the Megalodon ignored the danger. Homing in on her escaping target and speeding toward shore, she reached her fleeting prey in seconds flat. The predator opened her powerful jaws and closed them on her victim, crushing it like a carton of eggs in a giant trash compactor. The fiberglass board shattered into tiny fragments within her dripping maw.

  Jim Richards screamed as the lifeguards grabbed him. He had spanned the final fifty yards with his head down and eyes squeezed tight. The beach was lit by tiki torches, a crowd of over a hundred having gathered on the shore. They were chanting, "Jim, Jim, Jim..."

  Zach was hugging him now, slapping him on the back and telling him what a great job he had done. He was exhausted, shaking with fear, the burst of adrenaline nearly forcing him to puke. He caught himself as Marie appeared, a huge smile stretched across her face.

  "Are you okay?" she asked. "You scared the shit out of me."

  Jim cleared his throat and took a breath. "Yeah, no problem." Then, seeing his opening, he gave Marie a crooked smile and said, "So, you doing anything tonight?"

  BATTLE AT SEA

  Moments after Jim Richards had been pulled from the surf, the Coast Guard Air Rescue arrived, hovering two hundred feet above the breaking swells. Spotting the predator's glow, the chopper followed the female as he headed out to sea, radioing their position to the naval base at Pearl Harbor. Within minutes, both the Nautilus and the Kiku had put to sea, racing north past Mamala Bay. By the time tge Kiku reached Kaena Point, the incoming storm had reached gale-force proportions, the raging night fully upon them.

  Jonas and Terry were in the pilothouse as the door leading to the deck tore open against the howling wind. Mac slipped into the dry compartment, slamming the hatch closed behind him, his yellow slicker dripping all over the floor.

  "Copter's secured. So's the net and harpoon gun. We're in for a rough one, Jonas."

  "This may be our only chance. Our last report indicated most of the whale pods have left these coastal waters. If we don't at least tag the female before she heads into open waters, we may lose her for good."

  The three entered the CIC, where Masao was standing over a crewman seated at the sonar console. He looked grim. "The Coast Guard broke off their pursuit because of the weather." Masao turned to the crewman. "Anything on sonar yet, Pasquale?"

  Without looking up, the Italian shook his head. "Just the Nautilus." He hung on to his console as a twenty-foot swell lifted and tossed the research vessel from one side to the other.

  Captain Barre stood at the helm, his sea legs giving naturally with the roll of his vessel. "Hope nobody had a big dinner. This storm is gonna be a bitch."

  * * * * *

  Life on board the world's first nuclear-powered submarine was relatively calm as the ship entered Waimea Bay one hundred feet below the raging storm. O
riginally commissioned in the summer of 1954, the sub possessed a single nuclear reactor that created the superheated steam necessary to power its twin turbines and two shafts. Although the vessel had set many records for undersea voyages, none would match her historic journey to the North Pole in 1958. Decommissioned in 1980, the sub was originally scheduled to return to Groton, Connecticut, where she was built, until Commander McGovern petitioned the Navy to bring her to Pearl Harbor as a tourist attraction.

  When he learned of the Megalodon attack in the Mariana Trench, McGovern knew the crisis required naval intervention. But he also knew he could not justify use of a Los Angeles class submarine to locate a prehistoric shark. Danielson's suggestion to use the Nautilus made sense, and so the submarine returned to duty after seventeen years of inactivity.

  "Anything on the sonar, Ensign?"

  The sonar man was listening with his headphones while watching his console screen. The screen was designed to give a representation of the difference between the background noise and a particular bearing. Any object within range would appear as a light line against the green background. "Lots of surface activity from this storm. Nothing else, sir."

  "Very well, keep me informed. Chief of the watch, what's our weapons status?"

  Chief Engineer Dennis Heller, six years younger than his brother Farnk, yet still one of the oldest members of the sub's makeshift crew, looked up from his console. "Two Mark 48 AD-CAP torpedoes ready to fire on your command, sir. Torpedoes set for close range, as per your orders. A bit tight, if you don't mind my saying, sir."

  "Has to be, Chief. There's nothing to lock on to here. When sonar locates this monster, we'll need to be as close as possible to ensure an accurate solution."

  "Captain Danielson!" The radioman leaned back from his console. "I'm receiving a distress call from a Japanese whaler. Hard to make out, sir, but it sounded as if they're being attacked!"

  "Navigator, plot an intercept course, ten degrees up on the fair-weather planes. If this is our friend, I want to kill it and be back at Pearl in time for last call at Grady's."

  * * * * *

  The Japanese whaler Tsunami rolled with the massive swells, rain and wind pelting her crew mercilessly. The vessel's hold was dangerously overloaded with its illegal catch: the carcasses of eight gray whales. Two more had been lashed to the port side of the ship with a cargo net.

  Two lookouts held on to their precarious perch and strained their eyes in weather and darkness. The two mates had been assigned the hazardous duty of making sure the valuable blubber remained firmly secured during the storm. Unfortunately for the exhausted men, their searchlight hardly penetrated the maelstrom. Sporadic flashes of lightning afforded the only real vision of their precious cargo.

  Flash. The ocean dropped from view as the ship rolled to starboard, the cargo net groaning with its keep. The sailors hung on as the Tsunami rolled to port. Flash. The sea threatened to suck them under, the net actually disappearing momentarily beneath the waves. Flash. The vessel rolled back to starboard, the net reappearing. The men gasped — a massive white triangular head had risen from the sea with the cargo!

  Darkness. The Tsunami rolled, its lookouts blind in the storm. Silent seconds passed. Then, flash, a fork of lightning lit the sky and the horrible head reappeared, its mouth bristling razor-sharp teeth.

  The mates screamed, but the storm muted the sound. The senior mate signaled to the other that he would find the captain. Flash. The unimaginably large jaws were tearing at the carcass now, the head leaning sideways against the rolling vessel, gnashing at the whale blubber.

  The ship rolled to starboard once more. The senior mate struggled to make it down to the wooden deck, squeezing his eyes shut against the gale and holding tight to the rope ladder. He could lower himself only a rung at a time as the ship listed to port... and kept rolling! He opened his eyes, felt his stomach churn. Flash. The sea kept coming, the triangular head gone. But something was pulling the Tsunami onto its side and into the water.

  * * * * *

  "Captain, the whaler is two hundred yards ahead."

  "Thank you, Chief. Take us to periscope depth."

  "Periscope depth, aye, sir."

  The sub rose as Danielson pressed his face against the rubber housing of the periscope and stared into the darkness. The night scope turned the blackness topside into shades of gray, but the storm and rolling waves severely reduced visibility. Flash. The raging Pacific was illuminated, and for an instant Danielson caught a silhouette of the whaler lying on its side.

  He pulled back. "Contact the Coast Guard," he ordered. "Where's their nearest cutter?"

  "Sir," responded the radioman, "the only surface ship within twenty miles is the Kiku."

  "Captain, you'd better look at this, sir." The sonar man stood. His fluorescent screen showed the position of the downed whaler... and something else circling the vessel.

  * * * * *

  Pasquale held the headset tightly against his ears, verifying the message once more. "Captain, we're receiving an emergency call from the Nautilus." All heads in the control room turned. "A Japanese whaler is down, twelve nautical miles to the east. They say there may be survivors in the water, but no other surface ships are in the area. They're requesting assistance."

  Masao looked at Jonas. "The Meg?"

  "If it is, we don’t have much time," said Jonas. "The whales have vacated the area and she's tasted human blood now. She'll be hungry."

  "Get us there quickly, Captain," ordered Masao.

  * * * * *

  The Tsunami lay on her port side, refusing to sink, instead rising and falling with the twenty-foot swells. Within the bowels of the vessel, eleven men strove in total darkness to escape a chamber of death in which they could not tell which way was up. The cold ocean hissed from all directions, inexorably filling the ship.

  Below the waves the frenzied Megalodon pushed upward on the sinking ship, tearing at the remaining whale meat in the cargo net. It was her physical presence, in great part, that supported the vessel from below, keeping the dying ship afloat.

  The senior lookout had been slammed underwater as the ship fell. But somehow he managed to maintain a grip on the rope ladder, and now he struggled against the waves, making his way toward the Tsunami's vertical deck. Treading water, he located the open cabin door and clung to its frame. From within, he heard the screams of his shipmates. He shone his flashlight inside just as four crew members poured out of the wrecked cabin. Together, they wrapped ice-cold arms against the rigging of the wooden mast and held on.

  * * * * *

  "Captain, I can hear shouts," said the sonar man. "Men are in the water now."

  Damn. How far away is the Kiku ?"

  "Six minutes, tops," Chief Heller called out.

  Danielson tried to think. What could he do to distract the Megalodon, keep the monster from the survivors? "Chief, start pinging, loud as you can. Sonar, watch the creature, tell me what happens."

  "Continuous ping, aye, sir."

  Ping..... ping..... ping. The metallic gongs rattled through the hull of the Nautilus, radiating acoustically through the seawater like sirens cutting the night air.

  * * * * *

  The first pings reached the female's lateral line in seconds. The shrill sound waves overloaded her senses, sending her into an instinctive rage. An unknown creature was challenging the female for her kill. Abandoning the last scraps of whale meat entangled within the net, the Megalodon circled below the sinking Tsunami, shook her throbbing head twice, then homed in on the Nautilus.

  * * * * *

  "Captain, I've got a bearing. Signal's registering three hertz. It's got to be that monster. You've definitely got its attention!" said the sonar man. "Two hundred yards and closing."

  "Chief?"

  "I've got a temporary solution, sir, but the explosion will kill the crew of that whaler."

  "One hundred yards, sir!"

  "Helm, change course to zero-two-five, twenty degrees down-angle
on the planes, take us to twelve hundred feet, make your speed fifteen knots. Let's see if she'll chase us. I want some ocean between this fish and that whaler."

  The sub accelerated in a shallow descent with the Megalodon in pursuit. The female measured less than half the Nautilus 's length. The submarine, at 3,000 tons, easily outweighed her. But the Meg could swim and change course faster than her adversary; moreover, no adult Megalodon would allow a challenge to its rule to go unanswered. Approaching from above, the female accelerated at the sub's steel hull like a berserk sixty-foot locomotive.

  "Brace for impact!" yelled the sonar man, ripping off his headset. BOOM! The Nautilus jerked sideways, her crew hurtling from their posts. The power died, darkness enveloping the crew, as steel plates groaned all around them. Moments later, the red emergency lights flickered on. All engines had stopped, the sub now drifting, listing at a forty-five-degree angle.

  The Megalodon circled, carefully measuring her challenger. The collision had caused a painful throbbing in her snout. The female shook herr head, several teeth falling out. They would be replaced almost immediately by those beneath them lying in reserve.

  Captain Danielson felt warmth dripping into his right eye. "All stations report!" he yelled, wiping the blood from his forehead.

  Chief Heller was the first to call out. "Engine room reports flooding in three compartments, sir. Reactor is off-line."

  "Radiation?"

  "No leaks found."

  "Batteries?"

  "Batteries appear functional and are on-line, Captain, but the stern planes are not responding . We got hit just above the keel."

  "Son of a bitch." Danielson was fuming — how could he have allowed a fish to cripple his boat! "Where's the Meg?"

  "Circling, sir. Very close," reported sonar.