by Alten-Steve
"She's going to drown," he whispered to himself.
* * * * *
The myriad of boaters anchored in waiting outside the Tanaka Lagoon had witnessed the super-yacht break from the group to rendezvous with the incoming guest of honor. The had seen the helicopter intercept, and attack the vessel, only to end up crashing into the sea as the depth charge had detonated. Now the onlookers grew anxious, wondering if the explosion had killed the creature they had paid good money to see. Almost as one, several dozen of the largest fishing boats grew daring, gradually moving toward the listless Kiku, intent on filming the creature, dead or alive.
Nine media helicopters were hovering above Kiku, perpetually shifting positions in their attempt to gain better camera angles. The underwater explosion created a new twist on the story. The networks ordered their helicopter crews to assess whether the Megalodon had survived.
David Adashek was in the back of the Channel 9 Action News copter, straining to see over his cameraman's shoulder. The white glow of the creature was visible, but whether the shark was dead or alive was impossible to determine. The pilot tapped his arm, motioning him to look toward the opposite side of the copter.
Racing toward the Megalodon was a flotilla of pleasure boats.
* * * * *
From the tip of her snout to the edge of her caudal fin, the Megalodon's skin contained fine, toothlike prickles called dermal denticles, literally "skin teeth." Sharp and sandpaperlike in texture, the denticles were another in the predator's arsenal of natural weapons. As the female twisted insanely within the cargo net, the dermal denticles began sawing through the rope, slowing slicing it to ribbons.
Jonas watched the female shake herself free from her bonds as he desperately checked the sub's fuses. Finally, she turned in his direction, jaw slack, triangular teeth splayed. Desperate, Jonas tried the power switch again — still dead, as the monster propelled itself upward.
* * * * *
DeMarco manned the harpoon gun, training the barrel on his target. He released the safety as the Meg surfaced. He watched as she swam upside down now along the surface, a river of water passing into her mouth as she exposed her glistening white belly to the world. DeMarco aimed, pulled the trigger.
Click.
"Goddamnit!" The explosion had jammed the gun's inner chamber. The entire crew was on deck now, frantically donning orange life vests. In the pilothouse, the ship's physician tended to Masao, now conscious. Terry and Pasquale stood over them.
"He's fractured his skull, Terry," said the doctor. "We need to get him to a hospital as soon as possible."
He could hear the swarm of media copters hovering above. "Pasquale, get on the radio, try to get one of those news choppers to land on the Kiku. Tell 'em we have a serious injury. Doc, stay with my father. I'll be aft.
She ran out of the pilothouse, making her way to the hangar deck.
* * * * *
David Adashek saw her first, waving emphatically on the pad. "I know that girl," he said. "That's Tanaka's daughter. Captain, can you land this bird on the KIKU? "
"No problem."
"Hold it," said the cameraman. "My producer's screaming at me in my earphones to get close-ups of the Meg. He'll have my balls for breakfast if you land on that ship."
"Look," said David, "the Meg is attacking the Kiku—"
"All the more reason why we're not landing."
"Hey," said the pilot, "I'm getting a distress call from the Kiku. They're requesting we transport an injured man to shore. Radioman says it's Masao Tanaka. Looks serious."
"Land the copter," ordered Adashek.
The cameraman looked at him with a scowl. "Fuck you."
Adashek ripped the camera from the man, holding it out of the pilot's open door. "We land or I feed this to the Meg."
Moments later, the helicopter touched down on the pad.
* * * * *
The Megalodon circled madly beneath the Kiku, The ship's exposed metal hull, immersed in seawater, generated galvanic currents, electrical impulses that stimulated the female's ampullae of Lorenzini like fingernails on a chalkboard, driving her to attack.
Sweating profusely, Jonas could feel his claustrophobia building as he strained to reach the battery connections at the rear of his sub. Blindly, he groped the terminals inside the rear panels, searching in vain for a loose connection.
A sudden current twisted the AG I around and upward, giving Jonas an ubobstructed view of a scene that sent pangs of fear through his heart: the Megalodon plunging her snout into the hull of the Kiku.
* * * * *
The collision brought the entire crew to its knees. Metal screamed and a low-pitched moan emanated from below.
"Son of a bitch," swore Captain Barre, "that fucking monster's eating my ship. Man the lifeboats! Pilot, get Masao off this boat. We don't need his blood in the water!"
The pilot of the news copter looked at Adashek and the cameraman. "One of you guys has to get off if we're taking on wounded."
The cameraman looked at Adashek with an evil grin. "Hope you can swim, pal."
David felt butterflies in his stomach as he exited the safety of the chopper, allowing the doctor and Terry Tanaka to load Masao on board. He stood on the lopsided deck and watched the copter fly off toward the mainland. "What the hell did you just get yourself into, David?" he asked himself aloud.
* * * * *
Crumpled against the port rail, Dick Danielson stood painfully, grabbed Heller beneath his armpits, and hoisted him to his feet. "We're sinking!"
"No shit." Heller looked around. "Where are Harris and Mac?"
"Probably dead. If so, they're lucky."
"The Zodiac." Heller pointed at the rubberized raft. "Come on."
The Magnate was taking on water rapidly. It began to spin and roll sideways, making it more difficult for the two men to lift and lower the motorized raft over the side. When it dropped to the surface with a splat, Danielson looked at Heller.
"Go ahead."
Heller swung over the rail, followed by his former captain. Danielson brought the sixty-five-horsepower outboard whining to life and gunned the throttle. The raft's lightweight bow rose high in the sea the Zodiac skimming over the waves, accelerating toward land and the pack of oncoming boats.
"Dick, watch those guys!" yelled Heller, the wind whipping in his ears.
Danielson had little room to maneuver, the stretch of motorboats too wide to circumnavigate. He slowed, attempting to swerve around the first wave of hulls.
The female shot straight upward out of the Pacific, her open mouth missing the Zodiac, catching it instead on her broad back and launching the rubber raft fifteen feet into the air. Heller and Danielson flew like rag dolls into the ocean on either side of the shark.
The Megalodon's sudden appearance started a chain reaction. Two oncoming fishing boats veered sharply into adjacent vessels, creating two separate pileups. Chaos reigned among the other craft as the rules of boating were tossed aside for self-preservation. Screams rent the air as pilots frantically tried to turn back, only to crash into the unwitting boaters behind them.
The remaining eight news helicopters dropped to within fifty feet of the armada, contributing to the confusion.
Danielson surfaced, coughing up seawater. He swam toward the nearest pleasure craft, a thirty-two-foot speedboat overloaded with seventeen passengers and a golden retriever. He clawed at the hull, unable to reach high enough to pull himself aboard. The passengers did not see him, could not hear his cries for help over the thunder of the choppers. Then he saw the ladder, and kicked toward it.
The cavernous maw came without warning from below, pulling Danielson underwater. He struggled in time to catch the ladder in a death grip, feeling the sun-warmed aluminum, refusing to let go. His legs, severed at the knees, slipped out of the monster's mouth, blood pouring from the open wounds, swirling in all directions from the boat's propellers.
The Meg's senses lost her prey. Confused by the churning pool of
blood, she submerged, attempting to relocate.
Danielson screamed, still dangling from the ladder. Now the passengers in the stern heard him, reaching down and pulling him up by his wrists, laying him on top of the wide fiberglas transom.
The Megalodon's head levitated straight out of the sea, open jaws rotating sideways against the transom, her teeth gently gripping Danielson, tossing the crippled body up into the air high above her open mouth. Like a dog catching a biscuit, the sixty-foot shark snatched her prey in midair, snapping her jaws closed on Danielson, gulping his remains deep into her gullet. The monster slipped back beneath the waves before the first screams of protest from the petrified witnesses could be uttered.
Circling in a tight formation forty feet above the melee, the pilots of the eight news copters panicked, realizing for the first time how massive the Megalodon actually was. Their first reaction was to immediately achieve a much safer altitude. Eight joysticks were simultaneously yanked backward, eight sets of rotors climbing toward the same airspace.
The pilots were so frightened of the monster below they completely ignored the danger above. Two copters rose at intersecting angles, their rotors slashing against one another, igniting a cataclysmic reaction. The flying shrapnel ricocheted into the paths of the other helicopter blades, violating their airspace. In a matter of seconds, all eight choppers either had careened sideways against each other or had been hit with shrapnel, causing their rotors to shatter. Matching fireballs exploded upward tow at a time, raining metal, gasoline, and human body parts across the crowded sea.
Swimming fifty feet below the carnage, the predator circled slowly, snapping at the sinking debris, attempting to isolate food with her powerful senses.
The female was stimulated, ravenous with hunger.
FEEDING FRENZY
The once-mighty United States Navy frigate dipped sideways, her waterlogged hull finally pulling her beneath the waves. The twenty-three crew members, packed into two lifeboats, rowed desperately to escape the swirling currents of the sinking vessel that seemed to reach for them from below. The outboard motors would not be used lest it alert the monster.
Leon Barre, tears in his eyes, watched as the bow of his command slid silently into the Pacific. Terry Tanaka scanned the surf for any signs of Jonas or his Abyss Glider. David Adashek was visibly shaking, praying quietly, as were many of the crew. Next to him, crouched at the ready, DeMarco waited for the albino monster to reappear.
Leon Barre stood above the rowers, scanning the tangle of boats and helicopter wreckage a half mile away. "Son of a bitch," he swore to himself. "Do we start the motors or wait?" He looked into the eyes of his men, seeing their fear. "DeMarco?"
"I don't know. I have to believe those ships have the Meg's attention. How fast can these boats move?"
"Overloaded like we are, maybe it'd take us ten or fifteen minutes to make land." The men looked up at him, nodding their heads.
"Wait." Terry spoke to Barre, then looked to the others. "Jonas said this creature can feel the vibrations of the engines. We should wait, let the Megalodon clear the area."
"And what if she doesn't?" asked Steve Tabor. "I've got a wife and three kids!"
Another crew member spoke. "You expect us to sit here and wait to get eaten alive?"
DeMarco held up his hands. He looked at Terry. "Terry, listen to me. Jonas is dead, and the rest of us might wind up the same way if we just sit back and hope the Meg won't find us." Murmurs of agreement. "Look what's going on out there. The monster's having lunch. If we stay here, we'll be dessert!"
Eyes turned to the pack of boats. Faint screams came across the water.
Terry felt a lump in her throat. She tried to swallow, holding back tears. Jonas was either injured or dead, and they were going to just leave him. She stared ahead, watching as a cigarette speedboat rose from the water and flipped. Again, screams tore the air. Terry realized they had no choice but to leave.
Both engines jumped to life and Leon Barre's boat took the lead, heading south to skirt the maze ahead.
* * * * *
Frank Heller had managed to swim toward one of the boats. Exhausted and frightened beyond reason, he remained in the water, clinging to the side of a fishing trawler's tuna net, eyes closed, waiting for death. Minutes passed.
"Hey!"
Frank opened his eyes to a vision of a muscular black man leaning over the transom. "This ain't the time to be takin' a dip, old man. Get your ass in the boat." A large hand grabbed a hold of Heller's life vest and yanked him on board.
* * * * *
Bud Harris woke, chest-deep in seawater in the listing pilothouse of his yacht. He pulled himself up and almost fainted at the unbearable agony in his head. The Magnate somehow remained miraculously afloat. He saw Mac working the ship-to-shore radio.
"What happened?" he asked, holding his head.
"I guess the Meg was a little pissed off from that depth charge of yours," replied Mac. "We were in the engine room when she hit. I dragged your sorry ass topside, but this yacht of yours is sinking fast."
"The Zodiac?"
"Gone. Your pals decided to take it for a spin."
"Assholes. Hope they die in pain." The yacht was equipped with several internal pumps. Bud located the controls, flipping the toggle switch up. The motors churned, vibrating the entire vessel as seawater was expelled overboard.
Mac clicked the pumps off. "Too noisy, way too noisy," he said. "I just spoke with the Coast Guard. We're on their waiting list."
"Waiting list?"
"Look around, pal," said Mac. "That monster's on the rampage."
Bud walked back through the control room, down the stairs to his flooded master suite. The room was almost totally underwater. He held his breath, ducked under, and reemerged gasping thirty seconds later. In his hand was an unopened bottle of Jack Daniel's. He returned to the control room, shaking from the cold. On the far wall was a framed picture of his father. Bud raised and removed it, revealing a small wall safe. He manipulated the combination, opened the door, and pulled out the loaded .44 magnum. He returned to the pilothouse.
Mac saw the gun and chuckled. "Hey, Dirty Harry, you gonna kill the shark with that?"
Bud pointed the gun at Mac's head. "No, flyboy, but I just may kill you."
* * * * *
The powerless Abyss Glider bobbed four feet below the surface, the heavier nose cone of the buoyant sub pointing straight down at the ocean floor. Jonas was drenched in sweat, his breathing becoming increasingly difficult as his air supply diminished. He had found the disconnected electrical cables, reattached them, and bore down with all his strength on the rusty wing nut in an attempt to tighten the connection with nothing but his fingers. The wing nut turned one revolution and stopped.
That'll have to do." He grunted, twisting his body upside down, sliding back into the pilot's prone position. He felt the blood rush to his head. "Come on, baby, give me some power!"
The AG I flickered to life, blowing cool air on his face from its ventilation system. He pushed forward on the joystick, leveling out the sub, then bringing it to the surface. Taylor looked around.
The Kiku was gone. To his right he saw the Magnate, crippled but still afloat. And then he spotted the flotilla.
* * * * *
Still bobbing above the Monterey Canyon, in waters adjacent to the Tanaka Lagoon, André Dupont and several hundred other boaters looked on in horror as the Megalodon rose from the sea to wreak havoc among their unfortunate comrades who had risked a peek at the once-sedated beast. Even at a distance of a half mile, the size and ferocity of the monster shocked the camera buffs who had remained behind. The nature of the event had changed: this was no longer a game, people were being slaughtered!
A common thought passed through the group: remaining in the water meant they also could be eaten! Forgetting about their ports of origin, the boaters swung their craft around and raced to land. Without hesitation, they propelled their boats beyond the shallows, beaching the
ir vessels right onto the sandy shores of Monterey Bay.
André Dupont watched the mass exodus. Within minutes, the fishing trawler was the only remaining boat in the water. Etienne walked over to the rail and nudged Dupont. "André, Captain agrees to keep us in the shallows."
Dupont continued to look through his binoculars. "He's not going to beach the boat, like the others?"
Etienne smiled. "Captain says he just painted the hull, doesn't want to scratch it up."
Dupont looked at his assistant. "Those people out there, they are all going to die. We should do something."
"Captain says the Coast Guard is on the way."
The trawler suddenly vibrated, her engines sputtering to life.
Dupont brought the glasses back up to his eyes, locating the Kiku 's two lifeboats, which were approaching quickly. "My friend, please ask our captain to turn off his engines, unless he also wants to be eaten."
* * * * *
Jonas accelerated to thirty knots, holding his depth steady at twenty feet. Moments later, he came within view of the massacre.
Three smaller speedboats were in the process of descending to their final resting places, their fiberglass hulls torn apart. Jonas circled. The passengers had either escaped or been eaten. He brought the sub to the surface, afraid of what he was about to see.
The flotilla, once twenty strong, now consisted of a maze of floating fiberglass and the remains of cabins, decks, and broken hulls. Jonas counted eight fishing boats that appeared intact, their decks overloaded with panicked civilians. A Coast Guard rescue chopper hovered overhead, raising a hysterical woman in a harness. Those remaining on board seemed to be yelling, pushing each other in an attempt to be next.
